Tangled
Authors: Em Wolf
Copyright © 2013 E. Wolf
All
rights reserved.
This
book is a work of fiction. Names, places, locales, and events are either a
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual persons, places, and events are purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Tacked
amid a cloudless, blue canvass, the sun was a brilliant roasting badge of
ninety degrees. Miles of unspoiled beach furled in either direction.
White-capped tides slapped the shoreline coyly, the water’s bejeweled surface
unfairly cheerful in the oppressive heat.
Despite
the broiling conditions, Tess couldn’t help but admire the backdrop. Growing up
in a one-bedroom apartment hemmed in by mortar, brick, and iron bars would do
that to a girl.
As
much as she’d enjoyed her stay, Tess had had her fill of the exclusive Montauk
in all of its tragically self-conscious elegance. The picturesque town had
provided a much-needed breather amidst a chaotic summer. But she missed the
city—the noise, the smells, and most importantly, her bed.
As if on cue,
a volleyball
whizzed past
her head. “My bad, T. Why don’t you get that sexy ass over here and join us.
Maybe we’ll finally win a game.” Tristan glared at his teammates, having not
quite retired the title of lacrosse captain.
“Don’t blame them. It’s the captain’s fault for leading them into
folly,” she teased before kicking the ball to him, eliciting guffaws and jabs.
Tristan rolled with the punches and deferred to her ‘own’ with a
sweeping bow before scooping up the ball and returning to his game. A minute
later his team roared as the opposition’s spike smacked him square in the face.
It was probably a sign he should stick with lacrosse.
Although
it was barely past noon, everyone was hydrated, or rather dehydrated, on
liquored sweet treats mixed by some of the best bartenders this slice of the
peninsula had to offer.
The party had started out
with four people at nine this morning. Eventually four became eight and eight
became sixteen and Tess had stopped counting after her fifth rum and coke.
Since then, the party had lurched from the deck to the beach.
Trussed in their vibrant, haute couture swimwear, sunlight blinked
off carat rich jewelry and trendy accessories.
Her earlobes and wrists were naked by comparison. But she embraced
her minimalist lifestyle.
Unlike
her silver spoon fed schoolmates, she was not the product of upper class
breeding—more like illegitimate backwash.
Hard
to believe a bony-limbed girl from East Flatbush, Brooklyn could make it this
far up the food chain.
Tess
had her mother to thank for such an esteemed position. How a woman who’d barely
scraped by for decades managed to ensnare an investment banker surpassed her
comprehension.
But
she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Her
mother
married the summer before her junior year of
high school and relocated her and her brother to their stepfather’s Upper East
Side penthouse. In addition to adapting to their newfound affluence, they were
forced to transfer from New York City’s public school system to one of the most
sought after preparatory schools on the East Coast.
Yet another handout,
compliments of her generous stepfather, whose connections with his alma mater
ensured a speedy entry.
Fast
forward three years later and here she stood, shoring up a pretense she donned
like a well-worn pair of shoes. Sipping from her cup, Tess surreptitiously
scanned the crowd. It wasn’t out of boredom or obligation that she took up an
offer to join her former prep schoolmates on a weeklong bender
of debauchery.
No.
There
was really only one reason why she’d agreed. After seven weeks of
globetrotting, her best friend would be stopping here first.
Cameron
Reynolds had been
her first friend in the foreign
world of overindulgence.
Her first day of prep school
had been something of an eye opener. At the behest of the school’s dress code,
she was forced to remove her lip and eyebrow piercings and substitute her
favorite pair of Doc Martins for a prissy set of flats.
It wasn’t enough. With no
string of pearls adorning her neck, cashmere headband, or even a Chanel tote to
beautify her uniform, she looked painfully out of place. And like sharks in the
water, they’d scented her out.
One smartass comment about
her earlobes, stretched by years of wearing plugs, was all it’d taken for her
temper to flare. She’d spun around to deliver her thoughts on their
supercilious establishment when her ankle twisted on the step. Flailing, she
sailed backwards and landed in the arms of an innocent bystander. Warm, vividly
shaded eyes had pulled the breath from her lungs and made her forget what she’d
been angry about in the first place.
“I…I’m sorry,” she’d
spluttered, face on fire.
“It’s fine,” he said with a
low, throaty chuckle. “It’s not every day a beautiful girl falls into my lap.”
Still stuck on stupid, her
brain scrambled for some form of intelligence. “Ah, some idiot…he…” Her
cowardly mind hoisted a white flag and promptly blanked out.
“Don’t worry about it,” he
rescued her with a charming grin and offered his hand. “Cameron.”
She stared for a second
before cautiously easing into his comforting grip. “
Tessandra
.
Tess for short.”
The corner of his perfect
mouth dug a little higher. “Nice to meet you, Tess for short.”
The rest, as they said, lived
in infamy.
He swapped out her tools of
war—of busted lips, bloodied knuckles and four letter curse
words—for subtly, deception and doublespeak. She learned that appearances
were everything—that as long as she talked a good game, there was no
going wrong. Perception became everything. He rounded out her sharp edges until
she was able to walk, talk, and act like one of them.
Inevitably, he cracked her
shell and loosed her secrets. He met her past without disgust or condescension.
It was no wonder she’d fallen for him. He accepted her despite her many faults.
And though they clicked in every way imaginable, he had yet to realize they
belonged together. Every time she—jokingly, of course—broached the
subject of a relationship, he waved it off or tactfully changed the topic.
She’d been friend-zoned.
Hard.
But Tess wouldn’t let that
deter her. Not this year. She was tired of waiting in the wings, praying his
flavor of the month wouldn’t become something more.
She swilled her coconut rum concoction to muffle the anxious strum
of nerves.
He’d
texted her three hours ago from Dallas/Fort Worth that his cell would in all
likelihood be dead by the time they touched down at JFK.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
Tess fashioned her features into an amiable expression as blonde
bombshells Lauren Mallory and Erin Beech strolled toward her. As far as
frenemies
went, they were relatively harmless. In fact,
this summer had been the first time she’d been extended invitations to party
that weren’t ‘plus one’ by nature. It was a feat, considering she was one of
the few people allowed into their fold that they hadn’t known since
kindergarten.
Tess washed down a grimace and dipped into her reserve of
enthusiasm. “Hey girls.”
“
What’ve
you been up to? I feel like you’ve been like a ghost all summer,” Lauren said,
stirring her Bloody Mary with a stalk of celery.
“Yeah, I thought you went with Cameron to India,” Erin chimed in,
forever the cosigner.
“I planned on it, but I had other obligations.” Like working. “I
promised this inner city youth organizer I'd help out with one of his
programs,” she said, pulling the excuse from her ass.
“How could you sacrifice three months to deal with
them
?” Lauren said the word as if left a
bad taste in her mouth.
Tess cemented her disdain under a layer of pained forbearance. “I
can't exactly put a trip to Dubai on a resume.”
Lauren looked at her with sympathy. “Oh Tess, forever the
overachiever. When will you learn that resumes and volunteering are purely
supplemental?”
Supplemental for people who
had an in.
Tess, sadly, would have to get by on her own merits. “I wish you
would’ve told me that before summer started.”
Erin bobbed her head as she surveyed her attire. “Love the dress.
Very
boho
chic.
Who’s the
designer?”
“I don’t know.” And it was the truth. She’d plucked it off the
clearance rack at a flea market a few weeks ago. Her stomach fell in knots as
bewilderment sketched across their faces. “It’s by an up-and-coming designer.
He hasn’t really made a name for himself yet.
My way of
supporting the arts.
And besides, I refuse to wear anything made by the
hands of underpaid, inhumanly treated workers,” she didn’t say half-heartedly.
“You should convince them to work for my father. He’ll even
recomp
them a whole three dollars an hour.” Tittering,
Lauren and Erin clinked their glasses in a toast of abject ignorance.
But it wasn’t like she could castigate them; not without risking
all she’d worked for. Guilt pinged hard through her as she tallied another mark
in the hypocritical column that’d become her life. As much as she couldn’t
stand these people with their snobbish cruelty and fake airs, they were
elemental in her climb to the top.
After all, networking was everything, even if it did mean
relinquishing her soul.
A
chorus of shouts and feminine squeals spared Tess from further scrutiny as they
turned toward the deck.
Heat
doused her.
Despite
obvious fatigue from an eighteen-hour flight, he greeted old friends with
matching gusto.
Cameron epitomized the
All-American archetype. Blond hair and cornflower blue eyes topped off the cut
of classically proportioned features: the slender, patrician nose
;
the high, sweeping plane of his forehead, and his
mouth…dear God. Full and sensual, she’d spent many a restless night imagining
if his lips were as soft as they looked. Lithe and lean, his white linen button
down strained nicely against his
pecs
and his khakis
emphasized toned calf muscles.
There were other minute
differences to his appearance. Complexion darker, hair sun-bleached and sexily
tousled, another inch taller, and deliciously fit; these past few months had
definitely been good to him.
“Excuse me, girls.” She flung
dignity to the wind and abandoned the duo. “Cam!”
He singled out her voice amongst the
throng.
The unabashed joy that lifted his face fisted
her heart. “Tess.” He caught her in a swinging embrace. “It’s been a while.”
“Who’re you telling?” She
reveled in his strong embrace and buried her face in his neck. Beneath salted
musk and airport and people, he smelled exactly as she remembered: of rich pine
and end of winter snowmelt.
Cameron pulled back to
appraise all he had missed. “Damn, T, what’ve they been feeding you?”
For a second, she panicked
and immediately thought back to her last few meals. Tess clipped his shin when
she caught the mirth dancing in his eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to
mean?”
“I mean you look good.”
Her skin flushed and prickled
at the same time. “And I didn’t look good before?” she
sassed,
only half-kidding.
“Cam, my man!” someone
bellowed.
Squeezing her hand, he cast
her an apologetic glance before being dunked into a conversation with the
former class president.
