Them (Him #3) (23 page)

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author with six books out and many more to come. She was born and raised in Alexandria, Virginia. Ever the mild-mannered citizen, Carey spends her days working in the world of finance, and at night, she retreats into the lives of her fictional characters. Supporting her all the way are her husband, three sometimes-adorable children, and their nine-pound attack Yorkie.

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www.careyheywood.com

The Carolina Days Series

The Other Side of Someday

Yesterday’s Half Truths

The Him & Her Series

Him

Her

Them

Sawyer Says (Spin off)

Being Neighborly (Spin off)

Standalones

A Bridge of Her Own

Uninvolved

Stages of Grace

Better

Read on for an excerpt from

Falling in love? Courtney Grayson has been there, done that.

Men, who needs them? Love wasn’t everything she thought it would be. This time around, she’s doing things differently. She hasn’t sworn off men for good; she just isn’t interested in settling. Trusting someone with her heart again? Someday, but not today.

Falling in love? Sorry, Clay Bradshaw is not the guy for you.

He’s never been in love and he doesn’t see it happening. Hooking up can be fun, but more often than not, women are a distraction he doesn’t need. He’s a busy man, and doesn’t have time to date, let alone fall in love. Will someone ever change that? There’s always a chance, someday.

Life doesn’t always go as planned, and love may find them both on the other side of someday.

Did I turn off the stove burner? The question was stuck in a loop the whole drive to work. I glance randomly at my cellphone while I sit at a red light. I could sneak a quick text to Mike. I’m trying to be good about not using my phone at all in the car, no calls, no texts, no random checking of Facebook updates. I turn back and look straight out the windshield. I’ll be at work in less than five minutes.

Mike doesn’t have to leave for another thirty minutes. I can call him and have him check, no big deal. I hate not knowing. The wondering bugs me, the unanswered question of ‘if it’s still on.’ That question gives birth to another. What if Mike decided to go into work early today? Then another. If he went in to work early, is our place burning down as we speak?

When I pull into my usual spot at work, the one that sides up to the second mulch island, I grab my phone. I don’t text. I call.

He answers on the second ring. “Hey.”

Just hey. “Hi, honey. Can you check the stovetop for me? I can’t stop thinking I forgot to turn the burner off.”

“Really, Court?”

Shit, he sounds annoyed. “Please, babe.”

He doesn’t answer but I can hear him move from wherever he was in the background. After a minute, he replies, “It’s off. Happy?”

I ignore his shortness. “Did you have to turn it off or was it already off?”

“It was already off. Did you need anything else? I don’t want to be late to work.”

I roll my eyes; he works in sales, and unless he has an actual appointment, he makes his own hours. “Thank you for checking. I hope you have a good day. I love you.”

“Thanks, babe.” His tone softens, “I love you, too.”

I smile to myself after we hang up. Tomorrow is Friday, and then it’s the weekend. Maybe we can go out to dinner or go see a movie. Mike has been so grouchy. I know his job stresses him out. He sells heavy machine equipment. He’s always been really good at it. I don’t think he’s ever not hit his monthly goals. Considering the last few years have taken a real hit on the construction industry, that’s saying a lot.

His problem is he sets his own goals beyond what is expected of him at work. His drive, his ambition is one of the things I love about him. I wish he wasn’t so hard on himself.

I’m the first one at work. I’m a secretary. No, it wasn’t my lifelong aspiration to be one. I just fell into it. There is something about being the only person in the office before anyone else arrives, a peaceful calm before the storm. I flip on the lights before I make my way to my desk, dumping my purse and umbrella into the bottom drawer before I head to the break room with my frozen lunch to make coffee.

I don’t drink coffee every day, and if I do, not in the morning. I’m more of an occasional afternoon pick me up coffee kind of girl. However, I do love the smell of brewing coffee. For this reason, I’m the self-appointed office coffee maker. This way I can sit in the break room and hog all the fresh coffee smell to myself. The sound of movement from the hall surprises me. I peek my head around the corner. No one is ever here this early.

“Hello?” I call out tentatively.

I jump when I see Elliot, another secretary. He looks surprised to see me.

“Hey. You’re here early,” I say in greeting.

“Uh. Yeah.” He looks away. “I wanted to take care of some stuff.”

We aren’t work besties or anything, but he’s acting weird. I suddenly feel bad for not making an effort to get to know him better. I make a mental note to go out of my way to do that. Now is not the time though. I head back to my desk and start my computer. My boss, Mr. Fulson, will be here any minute and he’s meeting with a potential client at nine.

Today my long, blonde hair is pulled into a low ponytail; but no matter how frequently I smooth it back, strands around my face always seem to come loose. My hair has curling tendencies, not enough for my hair to be considered curly, enough for it to frizz when it’s extra humid out. Which is April to October in North Carolina.

“Good morning, Mr. Fulson,” I greet as my boss approaches.

“Morning,” he returns, rushing past my desk.

I stand and trail after him to the door of his office. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

Most mornings he drinks his brew at home with his wife. Mrs. Fulson is great and I can’t help but watch them together, and hope someday that will be Mike and me.

We aren’t high school sweethearts as they were. We met in college and we almost didn’t meet at all. It was our senior year, a month before graduation. I never went to very many parties because I was on an educational scholarship, which didn’t pay room and board. For that reason, when I wasn’t studying, I was working.

Jen, my roommate, talked me into going to a party with her. It wasn’t a crazy, frat party or anything; I never would have gone if it were. Not many people were there. I didn’t intend to stay long; however, once I met Mike that all changed. His gravitation toward sales after we graduated was no surprise. He is a born salesperson. That night he sold himself to me.

I don’t know what about me drew him in. I do know, previously, I had never felt so pursued. I wasn’t naïve or new to dating; but his level of interest from the start just seemed different. Here we are, eight years later, still together. As intent as he was on us becoming a couple, he seems uninterested in getting married.

We’re engaged, have been for three years. Things have happened during that time to explain why we haven’t actually gotten married. Understandable things, I guess. Only, I see or hear about couples all the time who have even more going on but still somehow manage to make it happen. I tell him it doesn’t bother me, but it does. Most of our friends are married now too; it’s hard to go to their weddings and not think about the fact Mike and I have been engaged longer than any of them were.

“Courtney?”

I shake my head and realize I’ve been standing there lost in my own thoughts. “Sorry, Mr. Fulson. I zoned out. Did you want coffee?”

He looks annoyed. “No, I had my coffee at home this morning. I asked you for the Offenheim file.”

I nod, giving him my best professional expression. “Yes, Sir.”

I turn and hurry to my desk. The Offenheims are well known in town, and every business locally has tried to add them to their client lists. The company I work for acts as an asset manager. On staff are estate teams, retirement teams, tax advisors, and growth experts. Mr. Fulson is one of the best relationship managers in the business.

I pass Elliot in the hall and give him a small smile. He looks distracted and avoids my eyes. Maybe I could ask him out to lunch; he seems so stressed. I grab the Offenheim file and bring it back to Mr. Fulson. Most of the records we have are duplicates of stuff he could have easily found on our computer network. My boss is old school; he doesn’t like reading documents electronically. He likes to spread them out on his desk to review them.

Old-fashioned, yes, but it works in his favor. He has a knack at being able to identify what a client seems to be missing. Most of the time, the clients, themselves, have not been able to figure out how to put into words what they need. He can, and when presented correctly, he has won accounts frequently that way. I look up to my boss. He is a good guy and smart.

I have tried to emulate the way he evaluates situations. It wasn’t my dream in life to be a relationship manager. I was a history major. I had hoped to teach; but even though I applied all over, I couldn’t find any openings near where we lived. I thought about subbing, but Mike knew someone who was able to get me an interview here.

“Here is the file.” I reach out to hand it to him.

“Were you able to add the real estate reports yesterday?” he asks, flipping the folder open.

“Yes, they’re right on top.” I smile, hoping he would be happy with all of the work I had done yesterday.

“This looks good, Courtney,” for some reason he seems almost disappointed as he says it. He pauses before continuing, “They should be here in less than thirty minutes. I’ll be meeting with them in the small conference room. Please prepare a beverage tray, and then run to the bakery to pick up a few scones.”

I hurriedly start a new pot of coffee before going down to the bakery located on the first floor of our building. Because the food’s so good, I avoid the place like the plague. I am past the days where I can eat whatever I want without worrying about gaining weight. Mike still looks the same. He is better than I am about working out.