Save the Date, page 7
“What happened? Were they the wrong cards after all? I know Tiffany didn’t send them out yet. She told me,” I say.
“You’ve seen Tiffany?” She looks surprised.
“I was with her this weekend, yes,” I say with a frown.
Caroline shrugs. “I just figured you were out of town this weekend…”
How would she know that? “I was. I returned from New York early Sunday.”
“Oh.”
I lean forward in my chair, resting my arms on my desk, impatience making me fidget. An old habit my father drove out of me when I was younger. “What happened with the save the date cards, Caroline?”
She jumps a little in her seat, and I immediately feel like an asshole. Did I yell at her? I don’t think I did, but I need her to get to the point. The clock is ticking and I have a conference call in less than an hour. “I’m sorry. Like I said, this is extremely difficult for me to say. Okay.” She takes a deep breath, pursing her lips to exhale, and I can’t help but study those lips. They’re not over glossed, and I like that. I like it a lot. “When I went to your house to deliver the cards, I—saw something.”
She’s quiet, her head bent. I notice that she’s absently picking at her nail polish, and it’s pink.
“What exactly did you see?” I ask.
“Tiffany.” She hesitates, her gaze lifting to mine. “Half naked.” Another hesitation. “With another man. Who was also half naked.”
I sit there in stunned silence, blinking at her, trying to comprehend what she just told me. “You saw my fiancée with another man?”
Caroline nods, her expression pained, her cheeks still pink. This is incredibly embarrassing for her, I assume.
It’s also rather embarrassing for me.
“On Friday afternoon?”
She nods again.
I was gone. In New York. Working my ass off while Tiffany was being unfaithful.
And here I was like an idiot, beating myself up over my interest in Caroline. Seeing her stirred up old memories, that was all. I certainly didn’t act on those past feelings. Why would I? What happened between us occurred when we were children.
Yet my fiancée is entertaining another man while half naked in my house.
Anger surges, but I press my lips together, mentally tamping it down. I open the top desk drawer and pull out the recorder I still use on occasion when I have an idea that I don’t want to forget, or when I need to dictate a letter for my assistant Kelsey to draw up and I want to get the wording just right.
Caroline’s eyes go wide when she spots the recorder. “What’s that?”
“Are you willing to retell every single sordid detail of what you saw last Friday afternoon?” When she nods slowly, I add, “May I record you while you tell it?”
The wary expression on her face doesn’t surprise me. “Who are you going to replay this tape for?”
“It’ll be for my own personal use,” I reassure her.
“Tiffany won’t hear it?”
“I don’t want Tiffany to know you’re involved.” I’ll keep her out of it if I can, but no guarantees.
We’re both silent for a moment, and all I can hear is my racing heart. No one ever likes to learn they’ve been lied to and cheated on, but for some particular reason, I have to admit that when it comes to Tiffany…
I’m not surprised.
How sad is that?
“All right,” Caroline finally agrees with a little nod. “You can record me.”
“Perfect.” I hit the proper button and set the recorder in the middle of the desk. “If you could start from the beginning…”
Nine
Caroline
“…and that’s when I ran to my roommate’s car and left,” I finish, reaching for the bottle of water Alex brought to me about halfway through my story. He’d canceled the rest of his appointments for the day, sent his assistant Kelsey home early, locked his office door and then watched me with the keen intent of a hawk studying its prey while Friday afternoon’s events at his house poured out of me.
I drain the rest of the water and he turns off the recorder, his expression void of any emotion. How he can hold it together while I mentioned all of those embarrassing details about the woman he loves, I’m not sure, but he does. He sat behind his desk as still as a statue while I talked about Tiffany in her black lacy panties and nothing else, and the man who hauled her over his shoulder, making her squeal.
There’s no way I would’ve ever said this to Alex, but she looked like she was having…fun. Not that it’s right for her to betray him like this, but if it’s so easy for her to be with someone else and they’re not even married yet, why in the world are they engaged? Do they even love each other? Like really?
Doubtful.
Alex exhales slowly. Loudly. I place the lid back on my now empty water bottle and clutch it in my hands, giving it a squeeze so it makes that weird crackly sound. It’s so loud in the otherwise still of the room. I don’t know what to do or what to say. This moment is about as awkward as it gets, and we had our share of middle school awkward moments, trust me.
“Thank you for repeating your story,” he finally says, his voice low, his expression shuttered. He is as closed off as a person can get. “I know that was difficult.”
“I’m sure it was even more difficult for you to hear,” I say. I need a reaction, just to see that he’s human. But he offers up nothing.
He pauses before admitting, “It was.”
“What are you going to do next?” The moment the question is out, I regret it. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. We don’t really even know each other, so please, forget I asked.”
“No, it’s okay. We share a past.” He smiles at me, but it feels fake. Like a quick stretch of his lip muscles and that’s it. “You’re allowed to ask that question.”
“All because of a childhood friendship?” I’m trying to lighten the moment, and I swear his smile grows. To the point that it appears a little more real.
“The last time we saw each other, we were more than friends, don’t you think?” He raises a brow. That single brow I find so freaking sexy.
I blink at him. He didn’t forget the kiss. Nervous laughter bubbles forth as if I have no control over it. “We were kids. It didn’t mean anything.”
“I couldn’t admit it to you then, because I was shy and insecure, but I had a massive crush on you,” he confesses, the smile fading. “Carter would’ve killed me if he ever knew most of the time when I went over to your house, it was so I could see you, even for just a little bit.”
I laugh again, not feeling so nervous this time, though my heart is fluttering wildly in my chest. It’s more like I’m thrilled with his confession. “You had a crush on me?”
He nods. “I couldn’t talk to girls back then. It was like my vocal cords froze every time I got near one, unless that girl was…you.”
Aw. I had no clue he felt that way. “You were always nice to me,” I tell him. “Nicer than any of Carter’s other friends.”
“Because I liked you.”
All I want to ask is why. “I was twelve and hideous.”
“You weren’t hideous.”
“It was my ugly duckling stage,” I say, and it so was, I swear. I look back on photos from that time period and all I can think is sheeeeesh.
“It was my ugly duckling stage too,” he agrees. “I was going through a lot then. My family—they put huge expectations on me, from the time I was very young. All the tremendous pressure that came with being the heir to the family business didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Instead, it scared the shit out of me.”
That’s so sad. “I want you to know, I had no idea you were from the Wilder Corporation family.”
“Really?” He raises his brows. More shocked by my little revelation versus the horrible story I told about his fiancée? Geez, I hope not. “Well, that shouldn’t surprise me. It wasn’t something I talked about with my friends at that age. I didn’t want anyone to know I came from a lot of money. I wanted to feel…”
“Normal,” I finish for him, and he nods.
We remain quiet for a moment until I say, “I’m sorry about Tiffany.”
He presses his lips together and gives me a quick nod. One of those, I’ll be just fine gestures men give when they are feeling anything but fine. “I’m going to end the engagement. If not tonight, then soon.”
My mouth drops open for a moment and I have to remind myself to close it. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I don’t want to be with a woman who doesn’t want to be with me.” Stated so simply, his words make total sense.
“You believe my story?”
He seems offended by my question. “Would you have any reason to lie?”
“Of course not.” I shrug. “Though Tiffany will probably accuse me of lying.”
“Anything to save face,” he spits out. Ah, there’s some emotion. He sounds bitter.
Panic hits me, and I press a hand to my chest, telling myself to calm down. I don’t want to be the reason they break up. Oh, I know that I’m not the only reason, but I am a huge contributor to their engagement’s demise.
“Just…if she has something to say, maybe you should listen to her.” His lips pop open, ready to protest I’m sure, but I hold my hand up to halt him from speaking. “You should probably let her explain herself.”
“Why? So she can lie and spin a story that is absolute bullshit? I don’t think so.” He rises to his feet, and I note the exhaustion in his features, lids heavy over his brilliant blue eyes. I bet he’s emotionally and mentally tired. “I really appreciate your help, Caroline. More than you’ll ever know.”
I stand as well, slinging my bag over my shoulder, still clutching the empty water bottle in my other hand. “I don’t feel like I helped you, Alex. Not at all.”
He smiles, chuckling, though there’s not much humor in the sound. “You saved me from marrying a woman who’s cheating on me. I’d say you’re a huge help.”
Alex walks me to the office door, his hand at the small of my back guiding me, my skin tingling where he’s touching me. It’s so inappropriate for me to have these thoughts, these feelings, but I wonder…
Does he feel it too? The low simmering attraction between us? A shared kiss when we were middle schoolers didn’t seem like such a big deal only a few days ago. In fact, I’d mostly forgotten about it over the years.
But after seeing him again, I can’t help but wonder how he kisses now. Or what he tastes like.
Yikes, this is so bad. The man is still engaged. He’s going to break up with his fiancée because of what I told him, over what I saw. This entire situation is a twisted mess—
The water bottle slips out of my fingers and falls to the ground, and when I tried to grab it, I somehow trip on the rug, sending myself careening into Alex. He grabs hold of me so I don’t take the both of us down, stopping me in my tracks, his strong arms wrapped tight around my waist, his big hands spread across my back, our bodies nestled close.
An electric hum courses through my body at first contact, and slowly I glance up to find him studying me. Lips parted, breathing shallow, gaze locked on my mouth.
I’m tempted. So tempted. But this can’t happen. Not like this.
Not now.
I brace my hands on the solid wall that is his chest and give him a gentle push. It’s the wake up he needs. He blinks himself back into focus, his arms falling away from me.
“You’re all right?” His voice is rough and he runs his hand through his hair, making a complete mess of it.
“Sorry. I almost knocked you down too.” I run my trembling hands down my front, straightening my shirt. My entire body is taut, like a wire being pulled from end to end, and I exhale shakily, offering him a quick smile. “It was nice to see you again, despite the circumstances.”
“I feel the same exact way.”
His words echo in my mind when I leave his office, when I walk down the hall that leads to the lobby of the Wilder Pebble Beach Hotel. The restaurant nearby is packed with people, their voices echoing, and I realize I don’t want to be alone tonight.
I need to gather up my girls.
Ten
Once I climbed into Stella’s car, I sat there and rounded up my troops, AKA my best girlfriends, via group text for a night of Italian food and drinks at our favorite restaurant in downtown Carmel. Stella’s older brothers just so happen to own and run the restaurant, so they give us VIP treatment every time we go there.
VIP treatment means we get a decent table without having to make a reservation, they give us a discount on the alcohol and our meals, plus we get free appetizers. We in return have to make sure to Instagram our food and drinks, and tag the restaurant.
This is a win-win deal for all of us.
Right now, I need discounted alcohol and free appetizers like I need my next breath. After the fraught-with-tension—mostly sexual, OMG—meeting with Alex, I called Iris and said there was no way I could possibly come back to work…right? She agreed, and let me have the rest of the afternoon off. So instead of working, I splurged and went and got a blow out and a gel manicure. And dang, I feel like a new woman as I walk into Tuscany with my shades on, scanning the restaurant for the table with my best friends.
But none of my friends are here yet. Maybe that’s because I’m a full fifteen minutes early.
I’m greeted at the door by Stella’s big brother Michael, and I stash my sunglasses in my bag just as he approaches with a giant smile on his face. “Caroline, aren’t you looking mighty fine?” he says, giving me a hug. He greets me this way every single time we see each other. He thinks he’s funny, rhyming my name, and I humor him by letting him believe I think it’s funny too.
“Michael, thank you for letting us have a table so last minute.” I return the hug and give him a kiss on the cheek. “You don’t know how badly I need this.”
He pulls away from me, his hands still grasping my shoulders. “Having a tough Monday?”
“The toughest,” I tell him as he leads me to our table. The restaurant is mostly empty, though I can see the bar is already starting to fill up. It is a little after five, so happy hour has already kicked in. “I need a glass of wine.”
“Coming right up,” Michael says as he pulls the chair at the head of the table out for me. “Have a seat. Once everyone begins to arrive, I’ll have your server bring the appetizers out.”
I settle in, already snapping photos of the table with the pristine white tablecloths and the elegantly simple silver stemware, the cluster of red roses in a clear glass vase sitting in the middle. The restaurant is aesthetically pleasing, which makes it ultra-easy to photograph and share on social media.
Stella is the first of my friends to arrive, which is no surprise considering we live so close. She’s wearing a long floral sundress that’s extra flowy and practically covers her feet.
“What’s with the dress?” I say in greeting as I give her a quick hug before she sits down. “You could hide a baby under there. Maybe two.”
“I wanted something fashionable yet comfortable,” Stella answers with a defensive shrug.
Oh no. I hurt her feelings when I didn’t mean to. “You look fabulous,” I tell her, taking a sip from the glass of wine Michael just brought me.
“No, I look fat.” Stella scowls at me. “I want to wear flowing dresses and look like a hippy fresh from Coachella, and instead you ask me if I’m pregnant.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were going for the fashionable boho look.” Stella went to Coachella few years ago, and she’s always wanting to go back and take me with her, but my idea of fun doesn’t involve doing lots of drugs, drinking lots of alcohol, wearing freaky outfits and baking in the sun in the desert.
In other words, Stella sometimes thinks I’m absolutely no fun. Not that Stella did lots of drugs, but she did confess she ate a few edibles…
“Whatever, I’m being sensitive. Ignore me.” Stella leans forward, her voice low. “Tell me what happened with Alex.”
I texted her both when I arrived at and when I left the Wilder Hotel, so she doesn’t really know any details yet. “He believed me.”
Stella’s eyebrows shoot up. “He did?”
I nod, taking another sip of my wine. I’m probably going to drown my anxiety in alcohol tonight, and hopefully I’ll have no regrets. “He recorded my statement, so to speak.”
“Wait a minute. He recorded you? Like a cop?”
Another nod. “He promised me he wouldn’t play it for Tiffany, though.”
“And you believed him?” Stella sounds incredulous.
“Of course I did. He believed me.” That sounds so simple.
Huh.
Too simple, maybe.
“Why would he record you telling him what you saw if he wasn’t going to play it for his fiancée, hmm? It makes no sense. He just can’t go to her and say, ‘Heard you’re cheating on me. We’re through.’ It doesn’t work like that. He needs evidence.” Stella points at me. “And you’re the evidence.”
“How do you think their conversation is going to go down then?” Shit, I was sort of hoping it worked exactly like that.
“She’s going to deny his every accusation. It’ll turn into a huge argument, because she has a lot to lose. He’s rich as hell, and that’s probably half the reason she’s marrying him,” Stella explains.
I don’t doubt what Stella’s saying. It’s just so incredibly…sad.
“When she asks for proof, he’ll whip the recording out and she’ll hear your voice, and yep, she’ll know you’re the one who ratted her out,” Stella continues, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed.
“You make me sound like a jerk,” I tell her.
“That’s because Tiffany what’s-her-name is going to think you’re a jerk. I know you’re not one. And I’m betting ol’ Alex Wilder doesn’t think you’re a jerk either, so you’re fine.” Stella waves another dismissive hand.
But I think about what Stella said as more of our friends show up, as the appetizers start appearing on our table. I don’t want Alex playing that recording for Tiffany. I should’ve never agreed to him recording me in the first place. That was a stupid move.
