The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (37 page)

“Well, that sounds like fate,” he smiles.

Fate? Maybe. My falling into this dream world, right out of a fairytale romance novel—an incredibly erotic one at that—could have been fate. Fate, or a dream. Either way I hope I never wake up.

“Were you ready to find someone again?” his question snaps me back to the present.

Taken slightly aback, I answer honestly, “Well, I wasn’t specifically looking to meet someone . . . though I was . . . open for it.” Tracing the rim of my cup, I envision my tall bill, my lips turning up in a small smile. Looking up to Andrew, I can sense the wheels turning in his journalistic mind. Though I barely know him, in measure of time, I feel connected to him, comfortable. His honest ‘what you see is what you get’ demeanor is refreshing. “You’re dying to figure out my story, aren’t you?” I smile at him, “It seems I can read you as well as you can read me.”

He grins, shrugging his shoulders.

Laughing, I begin sharing the story of my marriage. How Liam and I met so young and fell in love, how he was the perfect husband, son-in-law, and how I spent so many years hiding my nagging need for . . .
more.
“So, here I am, a new life, a fresh start,” I look down momentarily, filled with awe as my new dream world flashes through my mind.

“Well,” he breaks the silence, holding up his cup, “ . . . cheers to new beginnings.”

Smiling, I lift my mug to his and take a sip.

“Aby,” he waits for me to look at him, “ . . . just make sure you left the rose-colored glasses at home.”

“Wow. Where did that come from? Aren’t you the optimist,” I laugh sarcastically.

“I’m a realist, and I think it’s important for your new beginning that you try to do the same.”

“Andrew, I’m perfectly capable of making intelligent, wise decisions regarding my own life. My eyes are wide open, thank you,” I try to hide my defensive turn.

“Are they?”

He remains unfazed as my eyes open in alarm to his accusation. Taking a deep breath, I feign a smile, “Right, the journalist lacking a filter.”

He places his hand over mine on the table. I pause towards it momentarily before looking back to him. “Aby, all I’m saying is that since you denied your true feelings for so long, you may now be vulnerable to denying them altogether. Wanting so much to follow your perfect plan, you may hide from the signs that were so clear to you before.”

“I don’t have a
perfect plan,
Andrew,” my defensive leash snaps. Pausing, I take another deep breath, “I just know what I want in life now, and I’m enjoying finding it.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” he smiles. “But,” he pauses for my gaze, “ . . . make sure you’re prepared to pay the price. True happiness doesn’t come free, not in the real world.”

THOUGH THE START to my day was relatively painless—a smooth commute on the subway to work, thanks to Andrew—my morning at the office is dragging. Despite its usual busy atmosphere, images of Alex, and how much I miss him, are ever-present in my mind
.
Each passing minute feels like hours as my subconscious mentally recounts the time until his return. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since he kissed me goodbye—one day, twenty-two hours, and fifty-five minutes to be exact. But who’s counting?

You are, you silly, lovesick fool,
I glance up at the clock for the hundredth time today—five more minutes until lunch. “Wanna hit that café down the street?” I grab Emily’s attention
.

“You’re dying to get out of here aren’t you?” she laughs.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little bit,” she demonstrates her sarcastic retort with her finger and thumb. “You know, you aren’t exactly on the clock here. Can’t you come and go as you please?”

“Yes, but I’m trying to pass the time before . . . ”

“Before Alex gets back to suck your face?” she flashes me a
poor you
grimace.

“I know . . . I’m hopelessly hooked.”

“Hooked on Alexander Tate? I have no idea why,” she laughs, pretending to fan away his typically heat-inducing effect.

“Come on, join me for lunch,” I urge her, “Thomas already left, you can sneak out a few minutes early.”

“Only if you agree to tell me more about this neighbor of yours.”

“Deal,” I smile.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go,” she grabs her bag with a super grin.

“AS CUTE AS a Ken doll, hmmm?” Emily questions between bites.

“Yeah, kind of. He’s definitely cute . . . but in a rugged, fun-loving way.”

“What does that even mean?” she laughs. “Is he Alexander Tate material or not?”

“Ummm . . . ” I tread lightly. “I’m not sure I can make that comparison,” I bite the corner of my mouth, visualizing my incredibly handsome boyfriend.

“Right. That’s a dumb question. No one compares to that man,” she shakes her head.

You got that right
—My vagina signals its absolute agreement with a quiver of clenches.
“But he’s absolutely hot. Trust me,” I nod my head at the accuracy of my statement.

“And single?”

“It seems so.”

“Then what’s the plan? Are you going to tell him about me, give him my number? No! You should invite me over, make it look like a chance meeting,” her eyes are wide as though her plotting is brilliant.

“That’s a good plan,” I chuckle at her eagerness. “Maybe I’ll invite a few people over in a week or so . . . ”

“Yes! Like a house-warming party. That’s perfect!” she gushes, “There’ll be drinking involved.” She squints her eyes devilishly, nodding her head, “I will charm him with my alcohol induced flirtation.”

She’s so much like Stacey.
A scaled-back version—no one matches Spicy Stacey—but similar nonetheless. Laughing, I take a large bite of my sandwich, just as my cell phone rings. “Murphy’s Law,” I mumble, quickening my chew as I search through my purse.

Maybe it’s Alex
—my inner dreamer cheers, motioning her hands for me to hurry.

Success at retrieving my phone, I hit talk, jamming it in earnest against my ear. “Hello?” I manage around my oversized mouthful.

“Good afternoon, Abigail
.
How are you, beautiful?”

“U-mmm, I’m g-oo-d. Wh-o’s th-is?” I mumble unsuccessfully trying not to choke, glancing up at Emily with a pained expression as I point to my overfull mouth.

“It’s Ben,” he replies with a flirty laugh. Why is
he
calling me? Why couldn’t it be Alex calling right now?
What a drag.
I don’t even know Ben well enough to warrant a phone call. Let alone greet me in such a way. The way he throws around the word ‘beautiful’ every time he references me is annoying—not to mention his questionable flirty tone at the pronunciation of my name.

“Goo-d after-n-oon, Ben.”
Ugh, can I get this food down.
“How nice to hear from you,” I shake off my discomfort, my ungraceful reply still slightly inaudible as I attempt to swallow the remnants of my sandwich.

“Abigail? Are you okay?” his tone is laced with concern, its suggested playfulness from a moment ago seemingly gone. Weird. Did I imagine it? What is it about him that always makes me think the worst?
Clearly, he’s just being friendly.

“Y-yes. Sorry, Ben. You caught me eating my lunch,” I explain with a giggle of embarrassment, refraining to mention my disappointment that his was not the voice I was hoping to hear.

“Oh, I’m sorry for disturbing you, I won’t keep you. What are your plans after work?” the return of his previous flirty tone is back. There’s no way I’m imagining it.

“My plans? Ummm, I don’t know that I have any. With both Alex and Stacey away, I . . . ”

“My thoughts exactly. In their absence, I would be well obliged to my best mate in seeing you home.”

Well, this is interesting. His invitation to see me home is the last thing I expected this call’s purpose to be. Do I
want
him to see me home? Not really. But . . . I
do
recall Alex’s sweet suggestion to Ben over the weekend to ‘watch out for my girl.’ “I think Alex would appreciate that, Ben. Thank you. I finish around five thirty, if that works for you.”

“Oh, I know he would, Abigail. I’ll be waiting.”

Though his tone, once again, sends an indescribable shiver down my spine, I attempt to push my ridiculous misgivings aside, “I’ll see you then.” Placing my phone back in my purse, I sit slightly confused.

“Everything okay?” Emily asks.

Shaking it off, I glance towards her, “Yeah, it’s all good. I’m just surprised. That was Alex’s best friend . . . I guess he’s taking me home after work.”

“His best friend? Is he an actor? And, is he single?”

“Yes and yes,” I laugh.

“Is he good-looking?” she leans forward anxiously.

Jeez, this girl needs to get laid,
I laugh at my Stacey-ism. “Yeah, he’s handsome.” He rubs me the wrong way, but I can admit the guy’s attractive. At first glance, a girl would certainly do a double-take. All smiles and dimples under his blond tousled hair, a thick, well-sculpted physique hints at his evident gym membership. He’s a handsome man, without a doubt.
But blondes aren’t your thing
—my inner actress ogles her tall dark and handsome checklist.

“What’s his name?”

“Benedict Arnold.”

“Oh,” she pauses, thinking, “ . . . something about his name sounds familiar. Have I seen him in anything?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Oh,” she pouts slightly. “Maybe we should just stick to the Andrew plan.”

“Okay,” I laugh.

CATCHING THE ELEVATOR in the nick of time, I rush inside. Thank God this day is almost over.
Two down, two to go.
Turning around swiftly, I land with a slight bump against the back as the doors close. The sensation of hitting the wall so aggressively instantly floods my mind with memories.
Oh that day at the hotel . . .
the first time I kissed Alexander the Great. The first time we made love.

Lost in my world of Alex, I’m jarred by the electronic chime alerting the closing of the un-exited elevator doors, failing to notice that it had come to a stop on the ground floor. I bolt forward, narrowly skimming the cold metal edges before running smack into Ben. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” I manage, attempting to gain composure against his tall, strong form, his hands securing around me in support.

“Whoa . . . in a hurry?” he smiles sweetly down at me, my hand braced firmly on his chest. “Excited to see me?” His suggestive words cause me to instantly tense in his hold.

“No,” I retort, more overzealously than necessary. Gently pushing away, I mentally note his firm muscles under my palms, the tips of my fingers touching the partially exposed flesh where his dress shirt is open. Unlike Alex, his chest is smooth and hair-free.
Oh, Alex. I so wish it were you picking me up today
. . . And I haven’t even heard from you yet. Attempting to smile, I meet Ben’s gaze, “I mean . . . I just have a lot on my mind. Not that it’s not nice to see you,” I fumble in my attempts to salvage my blight rudeness. “Hi, how are you, Ben?” I start over, my nervous smile shifting out of embarrassment thanks to my wordy lack of composure.
Damn.
First I practically grope him, and now I’m rambling as though he makes me nervous
. Ugh.

Releasing me, he runs his fingers through his hair. He looks somewhat frayed in demeanor, and attire, his navy suit jacket open, his tie undone, dress shirt unbuttoned open at his chest. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say it’s been an absolute shit day, Abigail. Absolute shit,” he begins before recovering with a slight sly smile, “Though with the sight of you, beautiful, it’s getting better.”