Trouble Read online

  As is she.

  Gray dots float on the screen, and I’m annoyed by the tension in my shoulders. It’s unprofessional, and I never pursue women I can’t predict.

  Perhaps this is a bad idea.

  Daisy’s reply pops up on my screen. I’ll ask her. If it’s a yes, I’ll give you her number.

  The tension in my shoulders releases at once, which should be another red flag. I ignore it. Thanks. Let me know. Miles would like you to come to the office.

  Another pause. More gray dots. I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon. Should know about Sly then as well.

  Sly. I prefer the name Joselyn, but I’m intrigued by her nickname. I want to know how she got it. Maybe she can tell me as I trace my tongue along the curve of her full breasts, as I cup them in my hands and roll her tight nipples between my fingers. The fantasy rouses my cock, and I slide a hand down the front of my pants.

  One way to handle this. I’ll ask her to dinner, take her home, and fuck this itch out of my system. Then we can take care of the gala and my life can return to normal.

  I don’t do trouble, and I don’t do relationships.

  Passing the gold-framed antique mirror in the long hallway, I inspect my designer suit and straighten my silk tie. My beard is close and my hair is artfully messy. Everything in my life is controlled, including the females with whom I choose to interact.

  It’s a good plan. Balance restored.

  Chapter 3

  Joselyn

  “It’s happening.” My throat is tight as I clutch my phone to my ear. I’m breathless, and I tell myself it’s anticipation, not dread. “He’s going to propose.”

  “Is that really what you want?” Daisy’s hesitant tone frustrates me.

  “God, is it so hard for you to just be happy for me?”

  “Is it so hard for you not to act like a fifteen-year-old on her period?”

  My cousin is one of the few people in my life not bothered by my strong personality. She’ll also call me on my shit.

  “It’s what I’ve been waiting for, Daisy. Yes, it’s what I want.”

  “Well, he’s definitely got you where he wants you.” She still doesn’t sound happy for me. “You’ve given up half your clients, moved in with him—”

  “I wanted to move in with him. His place is gorgeous, and I’m there if he has a spasm in the night.”

  “You were just building your client list. Now you’re his personal nurse. Next, you’ll be his wife. Then you’ll have nothing of your own at all.”

  I’m quiet, because she’s right. Elliot made me give up all my male clients when we got together. He said I could only work with females if he and I were to be a couple.

  Daisy went off when she found out, and while I agree it’s silly for him to be jealous, I can see his side of it.

  Massage therapy requires the utmost professionalism, and while I never, ever give any hint of impropriety, I know a few of my old male clients wouldn’t have minded a bonus cock-rub.

  “Elliot is my primary client because it helps him. He takes good care of me.”

  “He’s your only client.”

  “That’s not true. I have others.”

  I hope she doesn’t ask how many, because she’s right. I’ve got Elliot and about two other women who call me occasionally.

  I met Elliot when I was just getting started. I finished my training in sports medicine and massage therapy at Palmetto college, went around to all the offices downtown and left my card, set up some Groupons. He messaged me back in a day.

  Then I met him, and he was so fine. Golden-brown hair, blue eyes… He’s not tall, but his body is amazing—all hard muscles and a tight ass honed by years on the baseball field.

  A back injury forced him into retirement early, and he went to work with his dad in waste management. Sitting behind a desk all day aggravated his injury, which is how I got my hands on that body. He asked me to dinner, and yadda yadda yadda… three weeks later, I moved in with him.

  It was pretty great at first, but now, that same old injury is the excuse he gives for why we haven’t had sex in three months.

  Three months is a long, damn time.

  I haven’t dared tell Daisy.

  “Weren’t you just fighting last week? What makes you think he’s going to propose?”

  I swallow the tightness in my throat. “I accidentally opened his credit card bill, and I saw a huge charge at Jared’s.”

  “Hold the phone. Snooping in his mail is a big red flag. Also, seriously? What kind of engagement rings do they have at Jared’s?”

  Damn Daisy.

  “Nice ones!” I match her tone, and she blows air into my ear. I shake my head. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll call you after he proposes. Or better yet, I’ll send you a photo of my gorgeous new ring. Then I’ll accept your apology.”

  “Hang on, don’t hang up.” Her tone softens. “I’m worried about you, cuz. I want you to be with someone who deserves you. Someone who’s going to make you happy.”

  “Elliot makes me happy.” My voice cracks, and anxiety flashes in my chest. I choose to ignore it. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Love you, bitch.”

  “Love you more.”

  The sun is setting through the high-rises, and I shove my phone in the side pocket of my black yoga pants. I’m wearing a sports bra and tank, because I did a mini spa day in anticipation of tonight. I got a body scrub, bikini wax, facial, and of course, a fresh mani-pedi so when I post pictures on social media, my hands will look perfect.

  Pushing through the glass doors, I smile and wave at Eric the doorman. He’s on the phone, and he seems startled to see me.

  I hope I’m not spoiling any surprises as I skip into the gleaming elevator and hit the PH button, swiping my door card over the keypad.

  The elevator shoots upwards, heading to the top floor, and I gaze out over downtown Columbia.

  It’s not the biggest city in South Carolina, but it’s bigger than Fireside. I love being a cosmopolitan girl living in a penthouse apartment with a sexy, rich boyfriend. I’m like Gossip Girl or Sex and the City light. Or something.

  The bell dings and the doors open to the small foyer. I cross the space to open the door, and I’m surprised when Elliot meets me on the landing. He’s wearing his suit pants, but his jacket is gone. His white dress shirt is crumpled and buttoned awkwardly.

  “Hey, babe. You’re back early.” Sweat glistens on his upper lip, and his hair is messy and damp at the temples.

  “I’ve been gone three hours.” I glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen and back to my slightly pale boyfriend. “Are you okay? Is your back hurting?”

  “No, no.” He forces a laugh, but it’s off. Something’s wrong. “I’m good. I was just getting changed. Thought I might go for a jog.”

  “Really?” I can’t hide the disappointment in my tone. “It’s after six.”

  “On a Thursday. Did you want to go to dinner or something? We can make a reservation for tomorrow. Tell you what, why don’t you run down and ask Eric if he’ll set that up for us?”

  “Run down? I can call him from here.” My chest tightens, and I push past my sweaty boyfriend into our shared apartment. “What’s going on?”

  My eyes travel around the living room. Everything is in place—the rich leather sofa is pristine. The polished oak furniture is in order, and a low fire burns in the wall fireplace.

  I see no signs of anything unusual, but I can’t deny the sneaking suspicion someone is here.

  “What the hell would be going on?” Elliot’s voice goes high, and he clears it. “You’re being silly.”

  “Am I?”

  “Tell you what, I’ll skip the run, and we can take our chances. Let’s go out to dinner. I’m sure we can get a table somewhere.”

  I don’t answer him.

  I walk to the bathroom, sensing a trail. It’s like a scent hanging in the air. I’m following the lure of suspicion about the truth I’ve wanted to ignore for so long
.

  Anxiety is back in my chest, and my stomach trembles. My shoulders are tight when I realize it’s happening. His lies are about to be exposed, and I’m not looking away anymore.

  “Who’s here, Elliot?” My voice is even, and I glance from the bedroom to the living room, where he stands watching me.

  “I don’t know what you mean, babe.” He smiles, but it’s not his usual, disinterested smile. He’s very interested in what’s happening right now. “I’m here. You’re here.”

  “Who else is here?”

  I don’t wait for his answer. I continue into our bedroom, where the California king is made perfectly. Hospital corners, not a wrinkle in sight. Only…

  “I never make the bed this well.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything…” He exhales a heavy chuckle, and I go straight to his walk-in closet.

  I used to joke it was as big as my first apartment in Columbia. He’s on my heels, but I beat him to it, jerking the door open.

  It’s what I knew I’d find, but still, the blood drains from my face. I feel light-headed.

  Sitting on the divan in the middle of the closet with her legs crossed under the yellow spotlight is Nadine.

  Her only clothing is a push-up bra and beige silk skirt, and her inky-brown hair is styled in a shoulder-length swooshy bob.

  “Your secretary?” I’m shocked by how calm my voice sounds.

  “Surprise…” Nadine does a little wave, smiling as her foot bobs in my slip-on pink feathered heels. They were a gift from Daisy, vintage Chanel. She told me to wear them when I felt sexy.

  Nadine’s lips are swollen and her red lipstick is smeared. My eyes go to Elliot’s clean face, and I taste bile when I realize she was probably sucking his cock.

  “I can explain.” He’s at my side, but I push past him, crossing the bedroom to my smaller closet.

  I moved in here with one suitcase. It’ll take exactly one suitcase for me to gather the few things I care about in this world. Sadly, the vintage Chanel slippers will have to stay behind.

  “Joselyn, what are you doing?” Elliot grabs my arm, and it takes all my strength to keep from slapping him across his stupid face.

  “Even an idiot like you can see what I’m doing.”

  “Don’t do this.” His grip tightens, and fire burns up the anxiety in my chest.

  “Take your hand off me, or I’ll rip your head off.”

  His grip loosens, falling away from my arm, and I jerk open the dresser, shoving everything into my bag as fast as I can. My panties, my Unsolved Mysteries PJs, my fluffy socks. Running to the bathroom, I scoop up my toothbrush and my face creams.

  Making my way to the door, I grab my one Armani suit from the closet. I sacrificed and bought it for when I made executive visits… It still has the tags on it.

  God, I’m so ashamed.

  I hate that Daisy was right.

  I hate I stayed here three months longer than I ever should have.

  “I wish you would slow down and let me explain.” Idiot Flick is still speaking like I have any interest in hearing his excuses.

  Nadine has pulled on a shirt, at least. She’s fastening the buttons over her push-up bra when I see a diamond tennis bracelet sparkling on her wrist.

  “Is that…” My eyes squeeze briefly, and I will not cry.

  Dammit, I will never cry over this loser again.

  “What?” Elliot looks all around the bedroom, and I spy the fucking Jared’s box on the desk.

  I almost lose my battle with the tears, but I steel myself. I’m almost out the door.

  Stay strong, Sly…

  “I’ll leave my key card with Eric.” My voice is so controlled, I wish they gave awards for best actress to regular people.

  “Sly…” He touches me again, and my expression must warn him. He quickly holds up both hands like I’ve pulled a gun. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I hope your dick falls off.”

  With a slam, I’m in the elevator, hurtling to the ground below.

  * * *

  “I knew. That’s the whole problem. I always knew.” My nose is hot from crying, and I’m curled up on a plush sofa with my head in Courtney’s lap.

  I couldn’t drive all the way home, and I couldn’t call Daisy tonight. Instead, I went to the grocery store and bought several pints of ice cream before calling my friend Courtney.

  She told me to come straight to her tiny apartment in Belmont. She’s a true friend.

  “It’s not your fault.” She traces her fingers through my hair. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have stayed with him.”

  Pushing up into a sitting position, I wipe my nose again. “I kept holding on to the memories of when we met, how things were those first months. I couldn’t believe he would let that go… God, I’m such a fool.”

  “You’re an amazing person.” She holds the pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia to me, and I stab the fork in and take another bite.

  Courtney and I met in massage therapy school, and we’ve been there for each other through the pain of getting established in a new town. I’ve kept her son Oliver when Ozzy, her ex, started harassing her…

  “If he would throw what you had away for a bimbo secretary, he deserves whatever he gets.”

  I wipe a fresh tear away. “We hadn’t had sex in three months. I knew he was sleeping with someone else. I just couldn’t let everyone be right.” Shaking my head, I look down at my lap. “I’m the idiot.”

  “You loved him. I remember how giddy you were the day he asked you to move in with him.” She gives my hand a squeeze. “You’re not an idiot for loving someone. He’s a loser for not valuing what you had.”

  “It was too fast. I’m so impulsive. I moved in with him after only three weeks. Who does that?” Falling back on the couch, I curl my legs under me. “That’s it. No men for a year.”

  She starts to laugh. “You’ll find somebody new tomorrow.”

  “Nope. This chick is off the market.”

  Courtney gives me a wink. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  I sit up and hug my friend. “Men are rats. They’re fleas on rats.”

  “He’s probably a Clemson fan.” That makes me laugh, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Two of my best friends went to Clemson.”

  “Oh, well. He’s a USC fan, then.”

  We laugh more, and fresh tears fill my eyes until we spot a little visitor standing in the hallway watching us.

  His mother gives him a gentle frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”

  Courtney holds out her hands and seven-year-old Oliver closes the space between us, crawling into her lap.

  I pass him the pint of ice cream and grab a tissue, quickly blotting my eyes and pasting on a smile. “Hey, buddy. Are we being too loud?”

  He takes a big bite of vanilla with chunky cherries. “Why are you crying?”

  Taking a deep breath, I try to conjure a reason he can understand. “I thought I was getting a present, but I got a kick in the pants instead.”

  He scoops more ice cream, eyes wide. “Mom says kicking is bad.”

  “Your mom’s right. I should’ve known better.”

  “Somebody kicked you?”

  “No…” My eyes meet Court’s, and she rolls hers. “It’s a figure of speech. Like an unpleasant surprise. I found out somebody wasn’t who I thought he was. Or he was who I thought he was, and I didn’t want to admit it.”

  Oliver’s little brow furrows, and I’m pretty sure I’ve only succeeded in confusing the shit out of him.

  Court jumps in and saves me. “Aunt Sly is going to stay with us a few days. Isn’t that fun?”

  His confusion disappears, and he hops onto his feet between us. “Can she sleep in my room?”

  “You’ve got the twin beds, so I guess I will.”

  He bounces again, throwing up both hands. “We can build a fort and tell ghost stories and I’ll let you hold Chartreuse and—”

  “Tonight, you need to go t
o sleep.” Court stands, putting him on the floor, and I stand, too. “Aunt Sly will be along later. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

  And I’ve got to find a place to live. “I wonder if I could afford a place in The Vista?”

  She shrugs. “It’s pretty expensive.”

  “Yeah, and I’m down to three clients now.” Shame squeezes my chest. I hate when Daisy is right. “I’ll probably have to move back to Fireside. Live with Ma.”

  “You’re staying right here until you’re back on your feet. You can’t build a client list from three hours away.”

  “Two and a half hours.” She narrows her eyes, and I concede. “You’re right. If I want to work here, I have to live here. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “When you’ve had enough, you’ll kick me out.”

  She laughs, giving me another hug. “Shut up. I’m not kicking you out. Free babysitting!”

  That makes me smile. “You know it. What else will I be doing all year?”

  * * *

  I never got a photo of your gorgeous new ring. Daisy’s text glows in the darkness, and I roll onto my side so it doesn’t wake Ollie.

  I moved out of Elliot’s place. You were right. My phone starts to ring, but I silence it quickly. Can’t talk. Sharing a room with Oliver.

  Want a job? I’m meeting Miles and Spence tomorrow about a gala. I need a florist.

  Chewing my lip, I think about it. I quit doing flowers so long ago. I don’t have any contacts here.

  They want to do it in Oceanside. You know everybody there.

  I do need the money…

  Real anticipation tickles my stomach at the prospect of seeing Spencer again. I actually turned him down because of Elliot—and after that kiss.

  Heat replaces anticipation as I remember his smoky eyes, the scruff on his square jaw… His angry square jaw that moves when his teeth clench.

  No.

  No men.

  Two tomorrow. I’ll pick you up. Text me the address.

  Chewing my lip, I hesitate. I should say no. I should tell her it’s not a good idea… Only, it’s a job, and God knows, I’m broke. Tamping down my libido, I send her Courtney’s address.