Break of Day (3 page)

I swallowed hard, my stomach churning as I waited for her to finish her lecture. It was one I'd heard a thousand times before. And one I would probably hear a thousand times again. The one argument I could never walk away from. The one argument I could never win.

I looked up, catching the small smirk on my mother's face as she watched, waiting for my reaction. But she didn't really need to wait. She already knew what I'd say. What I had no choice but to say.

“I'll see you Monday,” I muttered.

She beamed. “Wonderful. I'll be counting the hours.”

And with that, she flounced back to the golf cart, climbing in and instructing the driver to head away. I watched them go, the anger burning in my gut again.

First world problems. And maybe they were.

But that didn't make them suck any less.

P
iper! There you are!”

I looked up to see Beth on approach, looking radiant in her flowing white wedding dress and her bouncy long golden curls. Her stomach was only slightly rounded and if I didn't know better I would have assumed she'd just had too much of the wedding buffet. But I did know better. In a few months, Mac's daughter would become a big sister. And their little triangle family would become square.

“Sorry, did you need me for pictures?” I asked. “I'll be there in a second.”

Beth waved me off. “No rush,” she assured me. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Uh, I think I'm supposed to be the one looking out for you,” I protested. “Clearly I'm doing a terrible job.”

“You are doing an amazing job. Best maid of honor ever,” Beth insisted. Then she laughed. “God, I still can't believe we actually pulled this off.” She glanced back at the wedding tents, where her new husband was chasing his daughter around the lawn, the little girl squealing in mock terror.

“I didn't have a single doubt,” I assured her. “You deserve all of this. And so much more.”

Beth grinned. “I do, don't I? And it's not like I didn't put in the work.”

I nodded, thinking back to all she'd been put through—with Mac's earlier commitment phobia and crazy ex-wife. But somehow Beth had hung in. She'd known Mac was worth it. And, in the end, she had come out on top.

It was nice to know that happy endings still existed—at least for some people.

“Though,” I added, “don't think I'm not depressed as hell about losing my awesome roommate. Do you know how hard it's going to be to find someone who likes eighties movies as much as you?”

“Hey, I'm married, not dead,” Beth protested with a laugh. “I can totally bail on wife-and-mother duty for the sake of John Hughes romance from time to time.”

“I'll hold you to that.”

“Speaking of holding . . .” Beth's eyes sparkled mischievously. “What was up with you and Asher at the wedding? I turn around and he's, like, all over you, whispering in your ear and groping you and stuff.”

I laughed. “That was not groping, I promise you. That was simply him assisting me in not dying of embarrassment for interrupting your wedding.”

“Are you sure? We are talking about Asher Anderson, right? The biggest flirt this side of the Pacific?”

“Who is probably knee-deep in wannabe bridesmaids at this point,” I reminded her. “Trust me, I am so not his type.”

“Have you even looked in the mirror today?” Beth demanded. “Seriously, you are so hot in that dress I half feel I should be pissed off at you—for upstaging the poor preggo bride.”

I rolled my eyes. “As if that were even possible. You are glowing, Beth. Glowing like a freaking glow stick at Halloween.”

“Or, you know, one of those pumpkin inflatables,” Beth shot back, holding her stomach in her hands. But she looked pleased
all the same. “In any case, don't change the subject. If not Asher, there must be someone here worthy of my beautiful maid of honor.” She scanned the lawn. “We just need to find him.”

“The only thing I want to find is a bowl of that lobster bisque you were raving about earlier,” I assured her. “And maybe Richard.”

“Richard?” Beth's eyes widened. “Like, news director Richard?” Her nose wrinkled with distaste.

“Ew! Not like that!” I protested, shaking my head. The news director was a great guy, but maybe not, let's say Asher Anderson caliber when it came to the looks department. Not to mention he was probably old enough to be my father. “I just wanted to see if Heather's really leaving the morning shift once she gives birth and whether they'll be posting the job opening when she does.”

Beth shook her head. “That's my Piper. Always working, even when she's not getting paid.”

I felt the blush creep to my cheeks again and wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I didn't want my best friend to think I was using my position as maid of honor as a chance to network.

But still, it
was
a chance to network. A really good one, too. My one chance to mingle with the bosses as an equal. Sure, it was probably tacky to bring up work over wine, but I'd been waiting for an opportunity like this since the day I'd arrived at News 9. I needed to make absolutely sure that Richard knew I wanted this job—that it wouldn't be right for him to give it to anyone else.

After all, while Beth and Asher and the others might have seen News 9 as just a job, to me it was my one chance to escape my past. To rise above the life I'd been born into and actually make something of myself. I'd clawed tooth and nail to get this far. And I wasn't about to stop—until I got where I wanted to be.

*   *   *

I
found the lobster bisque and it was indeed delicious. Then I sat at my assigned table and made small talk with the other guests. From time to time my eyes wandered the tent,
checking in on Richard. He was sitting at a far table with the other prestigious News 9 brass and hadn't gotten up once, as far as I'd noticed, even to go to the bathroom. Maybe I should have asked Beth to seat me next to him, but that might have been going too far, even for me. It was okay, though. He was bound to get up and wander around once everyone started dancing. I'd make my move then.

“So. About these toasts.”

I looked up from my soup, surprised to see Asher had approached the table. He stood above me now, looking down. From behind me I could hear a few excited titters from the other girls sitting with me. But Asher ignored them all, his attention completely on me.

“You're back,” I observed.

“I suppose I am.” His lips curled and I felt my face heat. What was it about this guy that made me blush at the drop of a hat? I mean, yes, he was hot. There was no denying that. But totally not my type. If I even had a type, that was. It'd been a long time since I'd gone on a date. Working two jobs made it almost impossible to have a relationship. Not that I wanted one in the first place. I was married to my job, thank you very much. And work and I were very happy together.

I realized Asher was still looking at me. “What about the toasts?” I asked.

He grabbed a chair from a nearby table, not bothering to ask if anyone had been using it. He pulled it over and sat on it backward, next to me. He leaned in, and my stomach flip-flopped a little as his eyes locked on my face. “Want to help me write mine?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What happened to winging it?”

“Well, yes, that was the original plan,” he agreed. “Until I read yours. Your Emmy Award–worthy wedding toast. Gotta admit, it got me a little nervous.”

“I'm pretty sure they don't give out Emmys for wedding toasts,” I said, a smile ghosting on my lips. “So you'll probably be okay.”

He shook his head. “Can't take that risk. I mean, what if your toast brings everyone to tears? Or makes them laugh
hysterically? And then I go up there, blabbing like an idiot . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “I clearly need to up my game.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it. “It's not a competition!”

“It could be.”

“What?”

I watched as Asher nodded his head thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, almost as if he were talking to himself. Then he turned back to me. “We could totally make it a competition. Like, who gets the most applause. Or the most tears or laughter. Or maybe a combination of all of the above?”

“Mmhm. And what would the winner get?”

“I don't know. What do you want?”

I opened my mouth to answer then fell silent as my eyes locked on Richard, rising from his seat and heading out of the tent. I sighed. Was he leaving already? Had I missed my chance? I considered running over to him now, but that would probably seem rude. And I didn't want to piss him off, at least until he heard what I had to say.

“For a certain someone to know I exist?” I muttered, half to myself.

Asher followed my gaze then raised his eyebrows. “Richard?” he asked, his voice not hiding his incredulity. “Really?”

“No!” I groaned, shoving him playfully. I couldn't believe I'd had to clarify that I did not have a crush on my boss twice in one day. “I just want him to give me a job.”

“Don't you have a job? You already work at News 9, right? In the newsroom?” Now Asher sounded confused.

“Yes,” I said, sinking back into my chair. I was surprised he even knew that much. Mac or Beth must have told him. After all, people at his level did not usually acknowledge the existence of little peons like me. “But I want a new one. I want to be a news writer and there's this position that might be opening up on the overnight shift . . .”

I trailed off, realizing Asher was wrinkling his nose in distaste. I frowned. “What?”

“Overnight shift?” he repeated. “What hours would that be?”

“One
AM
to seven
AM
.”

He made a face. “That sounds like a terrible job.”

I stared at him, anger rising up inside of me. Terrible job? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I mean, sure, the hours sucked. But I'd be a real writer for the newscast, not some glorified errand runner like I was currently. The scripts I wrote would be read on TV, which would make me quasi-famous, even if no one in the world actually knew I existed. This was what I'd been slaving away for. This would be a dream come true.

For me anyway. Evidently not for Golden Boy.

“Sorry,” I growled before I could stop myself. “Not all of us get to have awesome prime time gigs handed to us at birth.”

He stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise. I felt my face go tomato red as I realized what I'd just blurted out. Blurted out to the only son of my employer, I might add. The one guy here who could literally make or break me ever getting this so-called terrible job. Or any job in TV news for that matter.

“I'm so sorry,” I cried, my stomach twisting in knots. It was all I could do not to puke right then and there. “I didn't mean—I mean, I totally shouldn't have—”

Asher reached out, pressing a finger to my lips to stop me from speaking. Which was probably for the best, as I had no idea what I was about to say. At most it probably would have been stupid. At worst—even more insulting.

I was such a fool. What if he went to his mom and told her what I'd said? What if she not only fired me, but blacklisted me from TV in San Diego entirely? Everything I'd worked so hard for my entire life, gone in the blink of an eye.

Because of my stupid mouth.

I looked at Asher. He was looking back at me. The laughter had fled from his face, replaced by an ultra-serious look. A look that, if I didn't know any better, almost seemed . . . sad.

“You're right,” he said in a quiet voice.

I shook my head. “No,” I protested. “I'm so not right. I . . . it was a ridiculous thing to say and . . .” I somehow managed to stumble to my feet. “I should go.”

He grabbed my hand, holding it tightly in his own. “Wait,” he said.

I looked down, sure my face held a mess of mortification mixed with exasperation. “What?”

For a moment, he didn't answer. And the silence stretched out between us, long and insufferable. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for him to say something—anything to relieve the torture of the moment. At the same time, my traitorous body was practically vibrating from the heat that radiated from his hand on mine.

Seriously, Piper, how can you think of sex at a time like this?

Finally, his mouth quirked. “I haven't told you what I want yet.”

“Wh-what?” I stared at him, confused as hell. Then I remembered. The speech contest. The stupid speech contest.

I watched as he rose slowly from his seat, not letting go of my hand. My pulse was now racing, and I was pretty sure I was sweating, too. As I stood there, paralyzed, Asher reached his other hand up, cupping my chin and tilting my face upward to force me to meet his eyes. His piercing emerald eyes shining in the sunset. As he dragged those fingers along my jawline, I bit my lower lip so hard I was almost positive I would draw blood.

“So,” he drawled, “if you win, you want the morning show writing position.”

My face flamed. “I was just joking about that,” I protested. But he shook his head, cutting me off.

“If I win,” he said, “I want a date.”

A what? I stared at him. Speechless. Seriously, at that moment I couldn't have been more surprised if a full-on tsunami had suddenly crested over the cliff and headed our way.

A date? Was this some kind of joke?

I stared up at him, trembling, his hand searing my chin. Half of me wanted to shove him backward to break this odd connection between us. The other half—well, that half wanted something else entirely. Something I should have entirely not wanted.

Suddenly, my phone broke out into song.

Saved by the bell. Literally.

I stumbled backward, managing to break away and put distance between us as I fumbled for my phone in my purse. My heart was beating so fast and hard I could barely breathe and I nearly dropped the phone onto the ground. All the while I could feel Asher's eyes, still on me, watching, waiting.

“Excuse me,” I mumbled, glancing at the caller ID.

Shit. It was Mom.

Under any other circumstance I would have ignored the call. But at that very moment it was my only Get Out of Jail Free card and I couldn't pass it up. I held up a hand to Asher before cowardly retreating to the other side of the tent and answering the call.

Before I even said hello, I knew it was a bad idea.

“Sweetie!” my mother's voice cried from the other end. The connection was crackly. There wasn't great cell service out in the desert where she lived.