Club Abbott: The Deal (Club Abbott Series, #2) Read online

  Club Abbott

  Part Two

  The Deal

  Hazel Kelly

  © 2016 Hazel Kelly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  All characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, brands, organizations, places, and situations is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1: Carrie

  I had no recollection of the walk back to my apartment.

  I didn’t remember the cold sidewalk underneath my thin flats or whether there were any sirens. I didn’t know what the weather had been like or whether I came in the front or back door of my building. I didn’t even notice that I was carrying two plastic grocery bags until I found myself staring at the door of my apartment wondering why one of my hands hadn’t unlocked it yet.

  All I remembered was the feeling in my lips, which felt plump and pretty. And foreign. Like when you discover some new part of your mouth with your tongue and you become obsessed by it, wondering how something in the middle of your head could’ve gone unnoticed for so long.

  Personally, I’d lost track of how many times I made Brook look in my mouth and tell me everything was fine.

  But this time it was me that checked.

  I set my bags down inside the door and turned to the entryway mirror.

  My lips looked completely normal. As if nothing had happened.

  I touched them with my fingers again.

  Why the hell had he done that?

  I mean, I know I asked him to pretend he was my boyfriend, but I didn’t expect him to actually put his hands on me- much less his lips.

  Did he just take acting really seriously?

  Or had he done it for some other reason?

  I guess I would never know.

  Cause I sure as hell was never going to bring it up.

  Plus, there was something I found even more disturbing than the fact that he had so thoroughly invaded my personal space.

  And that was the fact that I liked it, the fact that I’d kissed him back.

  Obviously, I still had more alcohol in my system than I realized or I wouldn’t have been so quick to forget that I was supposed to be feeling like shit and reflecting on the dire turn my life had taken.

  Not kissing handsome strangers on random Sunday afternoons.

  I took off my coat, threw it over the chair behind me, and carried my spoils to the kitchen counter.

  His lips had been so different.

  It was years since I’d kissed someone besides Simon. I’d forgotten how strange it could be.

  Simon’s lips were thinner, more eager. Too eager if his recent behavior was anything to go by.

  But Ben had kissed me so softly it took a while for me to process what was happening, like a song whose crescendo sneaks up on you until all of a sudden your heart is pounding.

  Simon’s kisses weren’t like that. On the contrary, his kisses were always hurried attempts to do something else.

  But the way Ben kissed me made me feel fragile, like I was too delicate for anything but the gentlest kiss.

  It was the kind of kiss I imagined Prince Charming would lay on Sleeping Beauty when it was finally time for her to open her eyes.

  Mine certainly felt open anyway.

  And it wasn’t just my lips that felt funny.

  When he spread his large hand over my back and pulled me against him, I felt like a bird was taking a bath between my hip bones.

  But as good as the fluttery feeling was, it made me feel guilty and terrible at the same time- as if the fact that I could have a sexual reaction to another man undermined the love I had for Simon.

  I knew I shouldn’t feel that way, though. Just because I’d kissed him back and felt that telling twitch I only ever meant to have for one man didn’t make me disloyal.

  After all, Simon and I were through.

  And he’d felt a lot more than a fucking twitch in his belly before we reached this point.

  I opened the fridge, pulled out the orange juice, and poured myself a glass, spiking it with two dollops of whiskey to help numb my whirling thoughts, misplaced guilt, and impending tequila demons.

  The first sip was a bit too strong, but I decided that was for the best since I didn’t want it so weak I might forget I was boozing. Plus, I had a lot more whiskey than I had juice.

  I flicked the oven on to preheat, knowing if I waited any longer, I’d be found dead in my apartment, my hands sticky with the uncooked dough I’d choked on in my deliriously hungry state.

  Then I carried my drink to the window and looked down at the street below. And even though I didn’t want to, I wondered where Simon went, where he was staying, and whether part of him genuinely believed the lies he’d spewed in my office.

  I mean, I knew some women would take him back, give him another chance. They would decide not to throw away years of their lives and shared memories because of one hideously discourteous mistake that may have been as much the fault of his poor judgement as his biology.

  And I’d never been the kind of person who held grudges, the kind of person that was reluctant to forgive.

  But what he did, I swear it changed me.

  When I saw him come inside that other woman, it was like the innocent part of me died. Right along with my trust in him.

  Sure, I could imagine what it would be like to take him back.

  He’d probably be on his best behavior for a while, bending over backwards to convince me of his renewed commitment and busting out every romantic gesture he could find the time and money for in order to put my concerns to bed.

  But eventually we’d both get tired of that, and we’d be eager to return to that comfortable place that couples get to when they’re so good together they feel bad for everyone who doesn’t have what they have.

  And that’s when I’d have to start worrying again. Because it was that happy place that he’d taken advantage of, that happy place that hadn’t been enough for him.

  When it had been everything I ever wanted.

  And now it was broken.

  So I didn’t see how I could put on a white dress and let him say he would honor me for the rest of my days in front of all my family and friends when I’d seen him fucking another woman with my own eyes.

  And even though I still had moments of uncertainty- moments that left me questioning whether he might still be the guy for me- when I put someone else in my shoes, it seemed so obvious.

  Like if it were Brook this had happened to, I’d tell her to run as fast as she could in the other direction. If it were Nora, I’d tell her she deserved better until I was blue in the face.

  And why should I ask less for myself than I would for them?

  Why should I have babies with a man whose moral compass was faulty? A man who didn’t know right from wrong? A man who would always have to travel for his job and work late and be faced with temptation in places where there was a good chance I’d be out of sight and out of mind?

  No.

  I couldn’t do it. And maybe that made me weak instead of strong, but at least I still had my dignity.

  And thanks to Ben, at least I knew I was still kissable.

  Chapter 2: Ben

  I probably shouldn’t have kissed her.

  She was obviously feeling vulnerable and had put her trust in me.

  And I took advantage.

  But she had that look about her- like she needed a momentary distraction from the stress she was feeling.

  Then again, maybe I was just seeing wha
t I wanted to see.

  After all, I saw a lot of women every day that looked like they could use some male attention, and I didn’t usually feel like it was my problem.

  But it was almost like I wanted her pain to be my problem.

  Besides, I’d done a lot more than kiss her in my head already.

  But even in my imagination, it hadn’t been that good.

  Her lips were so soft, so willing. And when I pulled her against me, she fit somehow, as if her lower back was the perfect size for my hand and her height made it comfortable to drag it out.

  And boy did I drag it out.

  Once I realized she wasn’t going to slap me across the face, I started enjoying it- the warmth of her breath, the sweetness of her tongue.

  Afterwards, when she brought her hand to her lips and made a face like she didn’t know whether to thank me or tell me off, I realized she enjoyed it as much as I did.

  And I was glad I could give her something to think about besides that gutless prick, if only for two seconds.

  I shook my head and fell in line with a herd of people crossing the street, moving the plastic bags I was carrying to my other hand.

  I couldn’t believe he’d dicked her around like that?! When they were engaged?!

  No wonder she laughed until she cried like a maniac in the liquor section. For a second I thought she was crazy, but I suspected there was something else at play.

  And after she told me what he did to her, I realized it had just been stress manifesting itself as giggles so it could get out.

  Which didn’t surprise me. She must’ve been heavy with pain, especially considering it happened so recently.

  And she caught him in the act?!

  Even I hadn’t had to deal with that when Nadia did the dirt on me. At least I never saw it with my own eyes, though I can’t say the same for my friends who fortunately cared enough to tell me what she was up to.

  Frankly, I still felt angry when I thought about it.

  And to think I had a ring and everything.

  I waited for a family to cross my path and then headed through the revolving doors of my building, nodding at the concierge as I made my way towards the elevator.

  A moment after I turned the key in my door, I heard a flush from the bathroom at the end of the hall.

  When Christophe appeared in his robe, I was unloading the beers into the fridge.

  “You look a little flushed,” I said. “Were you wanking to the thought of Betty White again?”

  He scowled at me. “Actually, I was jerking it to the thought of your mom.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I said, pointing at him.

  “Seriously, though, how’s she doing?”

  “I said fuck off-”

  “I mean about the news?” he asked, sliding onto one of the black leather barstools on the other side of the counter.

  I furrowed my brow. “What news?”

  He reached his hand out. “Gimme that Mad Dog.”

  I handed the beer to him and slid the bottle opener his way. “What news?”

  “About your dad and Ella.”

  I leaned an ear towards him. “What about ‘em?”

  “Aren’t they getting married?”

  I swung the fridge door shut. “Will’s thinking of proposing, but I don’t think anyone is supposed to know.”

  “Dude. I’m pretty sure he already did it and that everyone knows.”

  I leaned my hands on the counter. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Then you’re the only one,” he said, sliding off the barstool, beer in hand. “Check this out.”

  I followed him into his bedroom.

  He picked up the remote and rewound the paused TV for a few seconds before hitting play.

  I slumped on the end of his bed, barely able to keep my mouth from hanging open as the morning chat show host showed an image of the main billboard in Times Square.

  “Who would do that besides your old man?” Christophe asked, cocking his head.

  I stared at the billboard. It had a big heart on it with the words Will + Ella inside it. Across the bottom, flashing letters shouted “She Said Yes!” I watched them blink on and off.

  “That’s gotta be his doing, don’t you think?”

  I leaned my arms straight back on Christophe’s unmade bed. “I like to think he wouldn’t be that cheesy, but my gut is telling me he’s definitely behind that.”

  “Pretty intense.”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t have any idea?” He took a swig of beer and tossed the remote on the bed beside me.

  “I knew he was ring shopping, but I thought it would be months before he made it official.”

  “Guess you thought wrong.”

  “No shit,” I said.

  “Is this weird for you?”

  “No.” I shrugged. “I’m happy for them. They’re good together.”

  “Something tells me your mom isn’t going to be quite as charmed by the whole thing.”

  “Probably not.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.” I sat up straight. “I’m fine. Just letting it sink in.”

  “What? The fact that you’d totally bone your new mom?”

  “Don’t be disgusting.”

  He laughed and walked back into the kitchen. “Like there’s anything disgusting about Ella. She’s probably the hottest girl in New York.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  He came back with his hand in the new bag of chips. “Oh really? Who’s better looking?”

  “Looks aren’t everything, Christophe.”

  “Answer the question,” he said, crunching a large chip.

  “That girl Carrie from the paper.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did you go see her?”

  I nodded. “I did, and that picture doesn’t do her justice.”

  “She gonna do the club for you?” he asked, leaning in the doorway.

  “I think so. I’m going to show her the space at the end of the week and see what ideas she has.”

  “Cool.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Think you’ll sleep with her before then?”

  I tried to look at him with disapproval to hide the fact that the idea had already crossed my mind.

  “Or are you worried her superior taste will interfere with her ability to find you attractive?”

  “Believe it or not, I might see where showing her some professional respect gets me before I decide anything.”

  “Pussy.”

  I put my hands on the edge of the bed and pushed myself up. “I know this is going to sound Greek to you, but not all women want a guy to come at them like an aggressive predator.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me,” I said, passing him in the doorway so I could go get myself a beer.

  But I couldn’t look at him when I said it- or for the next few minutes. Cause as much as I wanted to believe I could respect Carrie’s boundaries in light of her recent heartache, taking my time getting to know her was the last thing I wanted to do.

  Chapter 3: Carrie

  I was taking the cheese filled croissants out of the oven when I heard a knock.

  “Oh my god let me in before my watering mouth floods the hall!”

  I opened the door. “You can smell that out there?”

  Brook nodded. “As soon as the elevator door opened.”

  “Well come in already,” I said, hurrying her inside. “I don’t want the world to know it’s coming from in here.”

  Brook threw her coat over mine on the chair and walked into the kitchen.

  When I turned around after closing the door, she was already leaning over the steaming batch of croissants. “What is it about bread smell that is so healing?”

  I shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

  She poked one of the steamy croissants and looked at me. “I thought you were going to do the chocolatey ones?”

  I nodded towards the table ne
ar the window where my first batch had already cooled.

  Her eyes grew wide. “May I?”

  I sat up on one of the barstools. “I don’t know. I was thinking maybe I should just eat them all myself.”

  “I insist you don’t,” she said, snatching one off the top of the pile. “You’ll feel terrible.”

  “Gee,” I said, resting my cheek on my hand. “What would that be like?”

  “I know,” she said, covering her mouth as she chewed. “We were really bad last night.”

  “Speaking of which, you didn’t happen to swing by Nomu on your way here, did you?”

  She smiled and popped the last bite in her mouth. “Actually I did,” she said, walking back over to her jacket and reaching in the pocket for her wallet.

  I let my head fall back. “Thank you so much.”

  She set my card on the counter. “You owe me big.”

  “I know.”

  She lifted my drink and sniffed it.

  I pulled one foot up onto my seat. “I can never face that place again.”

  “If it makes you feel better, two other people came in while I was there to get cards they forgot last night, too.”

  “Oh good. God forbid I’m the only drunkass in town.”

  She opened the cabinet where I kept my glasses and poured herself half a glass of orange juice. “Where’s the cure?”

  I reached for the bottle of whiskey and slid it across the counter towards her.

  “It’s been ages since we drank on a Sunday together.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Not exactly something I was making a habit of over the last few years.”

  “Which is weird cause Simon was such a party animal.”

  I sighed. “I know he wasn’t, but I thought that’s what I wanted.”

  “Someone who thought day drinking was only for the depressed?”

  I squinted at her. “No. Someone who was measured and responsible. Someone who would be a good parent.”

  “I know.”

  “Then again, these days I’m not so sure he was ever any of those things.”

  She grabbed the plate by the window. “Let’s take our croissant therapy to the couch.”