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Authors: Emerson Shaw

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BOOK: Acts of Desperation
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Liz already had a mug of coffee poured and waiting for me on the island. I sat down on one of the
saddle barstools and wrapped my hands around my warm saving grace. I inhaled the rich aroma and immediately felt at home as I looked into her smiling face. I knew everything was going to be alright.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she said. “I’ve got quite a day planned for us.”

Chapter Four

 

Liz and I spent a few hours on her plush, down-filled couch watching old John Hughes films:
Some Kind of Wonderful
and
Sixteen Candles.
Liz figured we needed stories of happy young romances to renew my soul.

“Seriously, it just doesn’t get hotter than when Jake Ryan waits for Sam outside the church. When she walks out
, and he’s casually leaning up against his Porsche.” I crossed my arms over my chest and pretended my heart was melting. “I wonder what ever happened to him. I’d accept him as my Mr. Wonderful,” I said as we finished watching
Sixteen Candles
.

“Yeah, Jake is pretty hot, but when Keith g
ives Watts the diamond earrings,
emm
that does it for me. And their kiss after—she was one lucky girl,” Liz said, referring the end of
Some Kind of Wonderful.

I laughed. “You’ve always had a thing for redheads, haven’t ya lass?”

“Shut up! He was hot.”

“He was no Jake. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“You’ll find your Jake and I’ll find my Keith…eventually.”

“I know we will,” I said through an exhale.

She looked at me and grabbed my coffee mug from my hand. “Ok, I’m sensing that we’ve hit a low, so now I’m going to insist on moving us along to phase two.”

“Phase two?” I asked.

“Retail therapy of course. Nothing can make a girl feel better like a new pair of shoes…or jeans…or perfume. I’m
sure
you’ll want something new for when we go out tonight.”

“So we’re going shopping and hitting the town.”

“Yes, we are. So get that booty upstairs and in the shower. I’ll shut everything off down here.”

“I take it you don’t have any functions this weekend?” I asked. Liz was a wickedly successful event planner. She’d started her own business a few years ago and people swarmed to her. She never advertised and got all of her business by word-of-mouth. If there was something to plan, she was your woman. Normally, her weekends were booked solid.

“It’s February,” she said. “People have had all their big parties already, but I’m planning a lot for the spring. I’m all yours this weekend.”

Liz and I hit the local outdoor mall down the road and spent hours rummaging through the sale racks at our favorite boutiques—you just can’t beat after-Christmas sales. When our arms were loaded with purchases, and we felt satisfied that we left no shirt unturned, we went to our go-to diner for lunch. After a delicious meal, we got a quick pedicure
—Liz insisted on a little pampering—then we headed home to rest up for our evening.

 

****

 

“So where are we going?” I asked, peeking my head in Liz’s room.

She was swiping on an extra coat of mascara and was looking fantastic in her skinny
dark jeans. The shirt she was wearing was her find of the day. It was a slinky black number that downplayed her ample bosom and had a deep slit in the back—classy, sexy, and daring—and it was less than twenty bucks. Knowing her, she’d be batting away swarms of guys by the end of the night.

“FB’s on West Sixth,” she said
, perfecting her pout. She envied me for my long lashes and I envied her for her plump lips. Mine weren’t thin slivers or anything, but they were nothing compared to hers.

“Oh
I love that place. The food’s fantastic.”

“There’s a new DJ spinning there tonight too that I want to check out. He’s supposed to be pretty good.”

“Do you ever stop working?” I asked.

“I’ve got my finger on the pulse baby. There,” she said, stepping back from the mirror and fluffing her
platinum inverted bob, “all set.” She grabbed her little red purse off the bed and turned toward me. “Ooh! I love that shirt on you. Trés chic.” The low cut, sheer pink shirt I was wearing was my great find of the day at about ten bucks. I didn’t have nearly the bosom that Liz had, but what I did have, looked great in this shirt—it hugged my curves just right. “Turn around and let me see those jeans, I might need to borrow those someday.” They were new too but they weren't as much of a steal as the shirt. I spun around so she could give me the full once over. “I think we’re ready. You look hot! Look out city, here we come,” she said.

When
we stepped inside the dimly lit,
bohemian-style
lounge, we were seated quickly and served a fresh round of fancy cocktails. I sipped on my Moscow Mule and looked past the heavy black velvet drapes that adorned the full length windows, and out onto the city streets. W
e snacked on a few appetizers before heading into the club. We took our seats on a mismatched set of Chesterfield sofas while the DJ got set up.

“Should I get us a fresh round?” I asked.

“I don’t see why not,” she said, looking at the crowd that was slowly trickling in.

I stepped up to the bar and ordered a couple dirty martinis. I turned around and focused on not spilling the liquid
precariously sloshing around in the glasses—I should have just ordered wine because there was no way I wasn’t going to spill. I stepped forward with my attention focused on the drinks, and I bumped right into the arm of the person next to me.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I said
, splashing vodka and olive juice on an oversized, masculine hand. I took a step back and looked all the way up the towering masterpiece. A shiver went through me. I wasn’t sure if it was from the cool air he’d brought in on his body, or if it was from staring into his beautiful green eyes. Everything about him was perfect: from the smell of his black leather jacket mixed with his cologne to the hint of stubble on his chiseled features—he was one hundred percent gorgeous.

What was odd though was the way he only furrowed his brow and stared at me before running his fingers through his dark, wavy hair. My heart was pounding, and
I smiled nervously until finally, I had to say something to break the deafening silence. “I’m really sorry...I didn’t get too much on you, did I?” I looked down at the glasses and saw not much was missing from either one.

“No…
,” he said still looking confused. “No, it’s ok.” He blindly reached for a napkin, never taking his eyes from mine, and dabbed the liquid off his wrist. “You…you need some help with those?”

“I should be good from here so long as I keep my eyes on the road. Thanks though.” I
shrugged my shoulder and gave him a smirk before sashaying away. I felt the burn of his stare on my walk back to Liz.

“Your
drink,” I said, handing over her martini.

“Thank
s.” She smiled, and we clinked our glasses together. “Who was the hottie that had his eyes glued to your ass on your way back over here?” she asked, taking a sip.

“Just someone I bumped into...literally.”
I took a sip and felt the burn of the alcohol as it slid down my throat and warmed my belly.

She gave me a mischievous grin. “He’s got eyes for you.”

“Yeah, but he just stood there staring at me.”

“Well obviously you took his breath away, dawling.” She gave me wink.

Maybe that was it—I hoped so. I sat down next to her as the DJ faded in. He amped up the crowd with a few choice words, and people piled on to the dance floor. Laughter and chatter filled the room then “Blurred Lines” started to play and it caused an uproar.

Liz shot out of her seat. “You heard the man…e’rybody get up!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.

We claimed our spots and shook our asses, shouting the lyrics at each other while laughing hysterically. More of our favorites played throughout the night—Justin, Britney, and old random hits from the eighties— and we were having such a phenomenal time that we barely left the dance floor. Occasionally, when I glanced back at the bar, I’d see the guy I’d bumped into looking at me. I wanted him to join us, and when I had my back turned and felt a set of hands on my hips, I thought he had. But when I glanced over my shoulder, it was a random guy. He and his friend had come up to me and Liz.

The
two jock-types were nice enough, and our little foursome drank and hung out throughout the rest of the night. I hoped to stir up a little jealousy in my mystery man poised at the bar. He sat with a watchful eye but never moved. When a couple of his friends joined him, he flashed me a million-dollar smile and raised his brow then turned his attention toward them.

The night eventually drew to a close, and when our escorts tried to talk us into an
after party at their place, we wished them a good night and headed out to catch a cab. Walking through the bar, I looked around one last time, hoping to give my mystery man one final opportunity to introduce himself, but he was nowhere to be found. So, Liz and I hopped in our cab and went home. I was lulled to sleep with a smile on my face, feeling the buzz of the alcohol and the vibrations of the music stilling humming through my body. 

 

****

 

When I woke up Monday morning, I was in a great mood and had a new outlook on life. I slipped into my gray, pinstriped, pencil skirt and a cream silk blouse then put my hair up into a sleek pony tail. I sprayed my uncooperative wispy hairs into place before heading downstairs, black sling-backs in hand, towards the sweet aroma of coffee. Liz was sitting at the kitchen table looking at her phone.

“So what’s everyone having for bre
akfast this morning?” I asked, lightly tossing my shoes in front of the door.

“Ha! F
unny,” she said, stirring her coffee with one hand and scrolling through her newsfeed with the other. “Just reading the regular comments about nothing. You ready to get back to the grind?” she asked.

“I am. Thanks for
this weekend—all of it. It was just what I needed.”

“Don’t mention it. You were there for me through my last break-up. It’s the least I could do.” She smiled.

“Hey, I was going to stop by the grocery store on my way home from work. If you think of anything you want just send me a text. I refuse to mooch off of you any more than I already have,” I said. 

“Oh shut up, you know I don’t roll like that. What’s mine is yours,” she said then looked past me at the clock on the microwave. “You better get going or you’ll be late.”

“I just need to fill up my to-go cup,” I said. “What do you have going on today?”

“I’m meeting a bride at The BonB
onerie at one. We’re going to try some cake samples and hopefully get the cake ordered. Then, I’ll need to make some phone calls to set some other things up. Busy busy.” The BonBonerie is a local Cincinnati bakery that creates cakes and pastries that could rival those of the famous Cake Boss. They are one of the most highly sought after bakeries in the city not only because of the scrumptious flavor profiles they offer but also for their classic and elegant designs. Their cakes are tops on the lists of many brides.

“Eating cake all afternoon, how
will
you survive?” I asked with a laugh.

“It’s torture, but somehow I’ll manage.” She grinned. “I’ll have to run my ass off on the treadmill later so it’s not without consequences.”

“Yeah, you gain weight? Whatever.” I rolled my eyes.

“Seriously, you better get going.” She looked at the clock again.

“Shoot. You’re right. My commute has changed, hasn’t it? I’ll see you later.” I took my long black pea coat off the line of hooks and tied the belt around my waist. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my purse and coffee, and waved as I ran out the door.

I parked my car in the company’s private lot then rushed across the street and into the building to get out of the cold. I stepped up to the elevator and listened to the clanking of everyone’s heels against the marble floor, all hustling to get to their respective locations. The smell of cappuccino and cinnamon buns filled the air from the coffee shop in the lobby, and I breathed in deep
, calorie-free drags of the heavenly scents. When the elevator arrived, I took it up to five. 

“Mornin’,” Dee said as I stepped off. Dee was Bernie’s secretary and
the general office manager. She was from Kentucky, had a big gray bouffant, and was perpetually dieting to get rid of those pesky thirty pounds she couldn’t lose. She was always bubbly and friendly, and I absolutely loved everything about her.

“Morning.” I smiled.

Dee handed me a small stack of messages and after a quick round of pleasantries, I headed down to my office. It was one of the smallest on the floor, but I didn’t mind because it had two huge windows that gave me a great view of the city. The short end of my faux wood, L-shaped desk hugged the wall and was where my computer sat, allowing me to look out my windows while I worked. The long end of my desk was faced with the only other chairs that adorned my office and was where my clients normally sat. I had a tall green fake fern, which my mom bought me shortly after I landed the job, tucked away in the corner. And, my degree was prominently displayed on the textured beige wallpaper that, for some reason, reminded me of the beach. I loved my cozy little space.

I passed most of m
y morning away working on a case but was interrupted by a knock on my door. When I looked up to see who it was, I felt all the color drain from my face.

BOOK: Acts of Desperation
11.18Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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