"No, this isn't working. We've been over this thrice already. I can't use the pictures from the opening night for the new ad campaign. They're blurry. Nothing I can do to fix it." I paused and rolled my eyes. At least the people on the other end of the conference call couldn't see me. I breathed in to calm myself. Soon, I'd strangle them through the phone if I had to.
"You sure none of them are salvageable?" the client asked. Again.
Okay, what didn't he understand? My eyeballs almost bulged out of their sockets. Pressing my lips together, I adjusted the sleeves of my cream ruffle blouse, then took a deep breath. And let it out. Nope. Didn't work. I pushed my palms together under my chin, calling my inner strength to make its appearance to ease my temper. Yeah, better than using the same hands to murder this guy who, by now I was sure, was deaf. Or dead if he kept arguing with me over a damn picture of his not-so-handsome face. He and his team were just a bunch of morons.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three. Breathe out. Three. Two. One.
"As I informed your assistant, your director, and yourself multiple times already, no, we can't. You'll have to provide us with high-definition shots, or we can organize a photoshoot at your convenience.”
"Stop," the jackass said, his twangy voice irritating me. "You don't understand. I want those pictures. I love how I look in them."
How could he be so obsessed with his own face?
Anger radiated from me. Yeah, the client was asking for my wrath. I usually possessed a more leveled mood at work, but we'd been arguing about this issue for far too long.
I cleared my throat, trying once more. "I understand, but it's not possible.”
"But—"
"Let me finish," I cut him. "Next time, hire a professional photographer instead of a kid with a cheap phone if you wish to use those pictures for advertising or anything digital. Or if you are under some delusion of wanting your face plastered on billboards in the future. There are other ways to cut costs," I said, not bothering to hide my arrogance under pretty words, and moved to my feet, adjusting my neon-blue pencil skirt with my fingers.
The walls of the conference room closed around me as my blood boiled with annoyance. I'd had enough. Enough of that jerk. Enough of this circus.
The pictures weren't good. That was it. I was a graphic designer, not a freaking illusionist.
"Give us a second, Mr. Reinart," my boss Joseph said, pressing the mute button on the device set between us on the table. "Addison, where do you think you're going?" he asked, his attention now fully on me.
"My office. I'm done dealing with this guy. If he thinks he's that good-looking, he should go to a model agency, not own a used car dealership. I have work to do, and I've been wasting my precious time with this dickhead all week. Not anymore.”
"Addison—" he warned in a stern tone.
I flipped a hand in front of me. "You know what, Joseph? I'm going home. I've been feeling like shit all day." I gathered my messenger bag, the file containing the client's notes and stupid photos, my mug of tea, and left the room. Only the clicking sound of my heels broke the tense silence as men in silk ties and pressed suits watched me leave.
Joseph must have switched off the mute button because soon I heard his annoyed voice resuming the conversation.
Rebecca, my best friend in town and assistant to the creative director of another campaign we were working on together, hurried after me.
"Addi, what's wrong? Are you okay?”
I continued toward my office, not slowing down. "Fine. Don't worry."
"Joseph will be mad you left him in there to deal with the egoistic loony by himself."
I harrumphed. "He's not alone. Seth and Callum are there. He'll get over it. You know Joseph barks but never bites. He needs me on the team. I'm the only one qualified here since Marjory quit, so I'm not scared about losing my job if that's what you're referring to."
She took a loud gulp of air in and got in step with me. Her small hand gripped my elbow, forcing a halt to my escape.
"Talk to me," she insisted.
I yanked my arm free. "Nothing to talk about. I woke up in the middle of the night twice every day this week. And then it took me forever to fall back to sleep. And during the day I'm exhausted. It just affects my temper. Nothing an afternoon nap and a hot bath won't fix."
My friend pressed her palm against my forehead. "No fever. Go home. I'll hold the fort for ya. Turn off your phone, and go to bed. I'll bring soup when I get home later, okay?"
I nodded. "Thanks, Becca."
"Anytime. And call me if you need anything."
I pulled her into a hug, feeling a bit emotional. If I was being honest with myself, I was so exhausted—and either pissed or teary, if not both at the same time—a half-day off sounded amazing right about now. "There are leftovers from Cece's in the fridge under my name. Help yourself. I'm pretty sure you only packed a PB&J sandwich for lunch, anyway. You wouldn't want their famous pesto pasta to go to waste, would ya?”
A huge smile brightened my roommate's face. "Thanks. You're the best."
I shrugged. "I know. Can't help it."
Back in my apartment, I barely had time to remove my heels before falling face first on the mattress. I never went to bed without removing my makeup, but today I had to make an exception to my usually disciplined bed routine. Too lazy to slip under the covers, I grabbed the blanket at the foot of the bed, tucked it around me, and dozed off in a matter of seconds.
"Feeling better?" Becca asked, sitting on the edge of my mattress, her hand caressing my hair hours later.
The sound of her voice brought me back to this world. I peeled my heavy eyelids open one at a time. For a second, the room spun around me, and I tried to remember where I was and what time it was. Through the window, the sun hung low in the sky, so I'd bet early evening.
"Addi, you look like I've woken you up from a grave," my friend said, her voice soft and comforting. "How are you holding up? You have the groggy appearance you wear so well." A warm laugh followed her words.
I sat cross-legged before her and ran a hand over my face to chase away any trace of sleep. "I feel groggy too. And dizzy. My body weighs tons."
Becca's palm met my forehead once again. "Still no fever. Hungry?"
"Nah." I scrunched up my face. "My stomach wouldn't accept it.”
"Rest some more then. I brought soup if you change your mind later."
"Thanks." I lay down on my back, bringing the blanket along. Flipping to my side, I curled into a ball, and sleep claimed me in no time.
The next morning, I sat at the small kitchen table, wearing a teal plush robe, one foot propped on the chair, my arm around my knee while I drank my morning tea.
"Hey, you're up," Becca said as she joined me, filling her travel mug with hot caffeine. "Glad to see you're doing better. Coming to work?"
I gave her a one-shoulder shrug. "I still feel under the weather. For the first time ever, I called in sick. All I can think about is my bed. I just got up because I had to pee. And shower because I had mascara smudges around my eyes. I looked terrible.”
My friend tugged at my low ponytail. "Sure, you looked terrible, Addi. You always do." She snickered, and I joined in. She took a seat before me and studied me with a frown.
"What?"
"Do you think it could be…you know...?"
"Heredity kicking in?" I asked.
"Or something like it? I don't know. You haven't been yourself in weeks. The only time you've been wearing a smile was after you came back from Nashville a week ago. Other than that, since you learned dickhead cheated on you and might have given you chlamydia, you've been off. I worry about ya.”
I sucked in a breath. My friend knew me too well. "Funny thing. I asked Dahlia if she thought this could be it. Me reliving my family history. But she didn't think so." I paused and fought the thoughts that scared me. "Truth? I can't tell for sure. And I thought I was doing better. I really did. This insomnia is new. Maybe it's a phase. I'm over my relationship. Been for a while. Even when we were together, in the end, I knew he was never meant to be the love of my life. What I miss the most is the idea of love. Sharing a bed. Not the guy. What if I can't find it anywhere else? What if I'm destined to become a cat lady or something? I love being in love. I'm not sure I'm ready to just forfeit the whole idea."
"Still thinking about meeting with Felicia? To try to renew what you girls had for an instant?"
"No. Maybe. I could. But I like men the most. It's stupid. I should really be over them by now. Forget they exist. Felicia is nice. We had some great times together..."
"But—"
"Yeah, there's a but. I won't commit to her. I just can't. She's not the one. That I can tell.”
Becca watched me, sipping her hot beverage. "Addi, you'll find the one. One day. Not all men are cheaters-losers-liars. Dahlia got a great one. You can't stop gushing about him. And I have a good guy too."
"Ben is quite a catch. You're lucky."
"Addison Wilde, you're destined for greatness."
I extended my arm over the table and squeezed her hand, loving her warmth.
"Thanks. I hope you're right. Now go or you'll be late.”
"You gonna be okay on your own?"
"I promise. I'll call you if I'm not.”
Becca screwed the cap on her mug, grabbed her purse, and left after kissing my cheek.
After a morning nap, I sat on the couch by the large window to bask in the sunlight entering the living room with my laptop perched on my folded legs. Our apartment was small, but the location was everything. A ten-minute walk from one of the busiest commercial streets in Atlanta. A fifteen-minute walk from our job. I could be everywhere easily, and I even sold my car after my junior year in college since I never used it.
The place was modestly furnished, but we lacked for nothing. Two bedrooms with walk-in closets—those were considered rare gems in this city—an open floor plan consisting of two rooms coming together. Dining room slash kitchen and living room. Wide windows letting lots of sunlight in, tiled flooring, white walls, and bright blue accent in the form of pillows, picture frames, and other decor items.
I double-clicked on the file holding my latest T-shirt designs and got to work. I loved my job, but this, right here, was something that made me proud. The little business I'd started from scratch. In addition to designing shirts, I had proven myself pretty good at organizing events. Over the years, I had planned weddings, album launches, business inaugurations, and baby showers, among other occasions, including Dahlia's bridal store opening and her upcoming nuptials. If I could find a way to make my two passions coexist together, I’d be a fulfilled gal. Be my own boss and not take shit from people like Pierce Reinart ever again.
Hours passed, and I didn’t notice the time flying when a chime on my phone startled me. I finished applying the glittery purple filter and pressed save before picking up my device.
The biggest smile I could summon bisected my face as I took in the picture.
Tucker: Now you can’t deny I’ve always been the best-looking one between both of us.
I cupped my heart with a hand as I studied the two little boys—probably about six or seven years old—wearing shorts, sitting on the hood of a car, eating ice cream cones with matching grins.
"This is adorable," I said out loud before realizing nobody could hear me.
With a shake of my head, I texted my groom.
Me: Got to say, you two are pretty cute.
I could imagine Tucker's smirk lighting up his cocky face and snickered as the image formed in my head.
Tucker: I knew it. You find me irresistible.
Oh god, his ego.
Me: Don't let it go to your head. I never said you were still good-looking, though.
Tucker: Wilde. Wilde. Wilde. No need to say it. I saw it in your eyes the day we spent locked up in your suite.
Tucker: I got my confirmation from the multiple orgasms I gave you out of my selflessness.
I tilted my head back, laughing, and dropped my laptop on the couch beside me. I made myself comfortable and typed with both thumbs.
Me: Sorry. Truth be told. I was faking it. Was scared to hurt your lack of modesty.
My face hurt, my lips stretched to their maximum. My heart cartwheeled in my chest, and laughter rumbled out of me. Yes, it felt good to be happy.
Tucker: Want me to take the next flight and prove you wrong?
I pushed my hair back, my laughter resuming.
Me: You wouldn’t?
Tucker: Wanna bet on it?
Tucker: If I leave in an hour, I’d land by dinner time. Any plans tonight?
Me: Stop screwing with me.
Me: Truth?
Tucker: Always.
Me: Been having a few off days. Home today. My sleep is disturbed so left in the middle of a meeting with a client yesterday. The guy was being a douche.
Tucker: Whoa. You did that? Same guy you told me about?
Me: Yes.
Tucker: Truth?
Me: Always.
Tucker: You should have let me kick his ass. I’m a pretty good ass-kicker. Also, you need the Tucker magic touch. No wonder you can’t sleep. You miss me, sweetheart.
Me: I do not.
Tucker: Wanna bet?
I poked my tongue out and took a selfie and sent it to him.
Tucker: Yeah, I remember that tongue. And the wonders it could deliver.
I pinched my shirt, fanning myself. For some reason I still couldn’t explain, Tucker Philips had a way to shoot heat through me. In every possible way.
Tucker: Gotta go. I’ll be there at five-thirty. Wear a dress. And your hair down. I love it wrapped around my fist when I’m inside you.
I chuckled. And exhaled. Fervor zinged through me. Somehow, our little conversation had lightened my mood. And I felt better.
Me: Yeah, right. See you at the wedding, big guy.
Tucker never replied. I waited for at least ten minutes but nothing. My smile dissolved, and I got up to warm up some of the soup Becca brought home last night.
Lying on the couch with the remote in my hand, I tried to watch some TV, but nothing captured my attention for more than a few minutes. I huffed and surfed the net, then decided a nap would do me good.
The pounding on my door brought me out of my slumber.
“Coming,” I mumbled, trying to return to the land of the living and escape the lethargic state I was in. “Becca, have you lost your keys again?” I couldn’t believe it. The girl lost them at least once a week. Along with her phone. And once her purse. I tell ya, the girl would lose her head if it weren’t attached to her shoulders.
I unlocked the door and swung it open, only to stare, moving my mouth like a fish out of water, blinking.
“Hey sweetheart. Are you gonna let me in or not?” Tucker asked, pushing past me and ruffling my hair as if I were a kid. “Where’s your dress? Why aren’t you ready? Are you still sick? You sounded fine earlier. Do you want me to make you soup or something?” He leaned in to kiss my cheek. “By the way, you look beautiful.”
My feet stayed glued to the entryway. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t move, frozen in time.
“Wilde? Are you sure you’re okay? Having a hard time closing your mouth?”
I bobbed my head in the slowest motion. Tucker walked back to me, closed the door, and with his fingers intertwined through mine, pulled me out of my stupor.
He looked absolutely divine in his gray suit, dark purple button-up shirt, and black tie. Yes, I had to admit, purple looked amazing on him.
I snapped back to the present. “What—what are you doing here?”
He sighed with a shake of his head. “Told ya I’d be here at five-thirty. Wait... You didn’t expect me?”
“Nah. Thought you were joking.”
He pivoted to face me. “Sweetheart, I never joke about taking a woman out on a date. Now get ready. Our reservation at Cosmos is in an hour.”
I blinked some more. “Cosmos? I’m sure this is all a dream. None of it is true,” I said, gesturing around us. “Please pinch me. Nobody can get a reservation at Cosmos on short notice. This place is booked months in advance. Even on a Thursday night.”
“Well, everyone is not me. Now go. I’ll make myself at home while you change.” He removed his jacket, hung it on the back of a chair, rolled his sleeves, and slapped my ass in an intimate way when I retreated from the room.
In the mirror by my bed, I took in my appearance. Oh gosh, I looked disheveled. My hair was all over the place, dark shadows circled my eyes, and my clothes were rumpled from spending the day on a couch.
Beautiful? Tucker Philips forgot his prescription glasses. Clearly.
Adrenaline shot through me as I heard him humming something from the living room. Cosmos. The guy really went all in for this—date? What should I call it when the guy flew two hours just to have dinner with me in the most romantic and exquisite restaurant in the city?
If anyone else but Tucker had come here tonight, I would’ve already called my best friend to tell her all about it. But since I didn’t want to jeopardize anything before her big day, I chose to keep the news of Tucker being here to myself.
Flutters of excitement ran through me, and I slid myself into an Otto & Newhouse coral sheath I got last Christmas. One of my rare fashion indulgences I bet Tucker would approve of. It gave my boobs all the attention, without looking too desperate, and ended just above my knees.
I fixed my hair into a loose braid, curled my lashes, and applied two thick coats of mascara, wanting my eyes to look bigger and more awake than they seemed. Foundation, a spray of perfume, a pinch of blush on my cheeks, and coral lipstick. I smacked my lips together, ready to go.
Tucker gasped the moment I stepped into the kitchen, hopping on one foot to put a heel on.
“Wilde, wow,” he said, his gaze slowly drawing over my figure with an appreciative nod. “Otto & Newhouse? It’s like you speak my language. Looks great on you.” His perusal weighed on my skin, causing shivers to appear. “All right, I can work with a braid.” He winked. “Come on, let’s go.” His large hand pressed on my lower back as we made it to the door.
In front of the building, a car with tinted windows waited for us.
“After you,” my date said, opening the door to let me in.
I angled my upper body to face him when he joined me in the backseat. “All of this for tonight?” He nodded. His eyes swam with a million things I wished I could name. “Why are you here, Tuck? Tell me the truth.”
He stared into my eyes. And my body shuddered from the intensity of his gaze. “Told ya. To take you out on a date. You said you’ve been feeling off. Wanted to cheer you up.”
I smiled while I studied him. A frown creased his forehead.
“Okay, fine. Truth then.” He fished something from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Here. Wanted to give you those.”
I accepted the envelope and opened the flap. Inside lay over twenty pictures of Nick at different stages of his life.
I swallowed, meeting his serious demeanor. “You flew here to gimme pictures? You know you could have sent them in an email, right? Or by mail.”
He nodded. “Yes. But I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of seeing you in person if I did. Don’t look so surprised, Wilde.”
“We’re not sleeping together.” The refusal passed my lips before I could think of the words.
A mischievous smirk painted Tucker’s face. “I didn’t come here for sex if that’s what you are assuming. We said six weeks, and I’m sticking to my word. I flew over because I wanted to spend some time with the maid of honor before the big day. Get to know each other better. And because I was starving.”
A warm laugh bubbled out of me, and Tucker’s baritone joined in.
“Fine. I guess they don’t have food in Chicago. Let’s feed you, big guy. And for what it’s worth, I’m happy to see ya. Thanks for coming over and cheering me up.”
My heart flipped in my chest when a genuine smile took over his face, but I ignored the pummeling and focused my attention on the view outside
His hand rested above my knee as if it was a natural thing to do, and I didn’t push it away, loving the warmth that zipped through me where our flesh connected. And the flutters that leaped in my belly.
When my gaze drifted back to the man sitting next to me, the smoldering in his irises got me breathless. It sent my pulse into a frenzy, and I tried to shut it down before it could shatter my resolutions. And the safety of my heart.
Without a word, he knitted his fingers through mine, and I relaxed in my seat, my head pressing against his shoulder while I enjoyed the ride.