There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story
Read There's Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story Online
Authors: Z.L. Arkadie
Tags: #hot romance, #steamy romance, #Contemporary Romance, #billionaire
There's Something About Her, A Manhattan L.O.V.E Story
Available Books in the LOVE in the USA series
There’s Something About Her
A Manhattan Love Story
(LOVE in the USA series, #2)
by
Z.L. Arkadie
Cover Design by Karri Klawiter of
Art by Karri Photo Illustrator
Copyright © 2013 Zuleika Arkadie
License Notes
All rights reserved, including right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form or by any means whatsoever without prior written permission from the author.
Links To Available Books in the LOVE in the USA Series
A sexy kind of LOVE…
Find Her, Keep Her - A Martha’s Vineyard Love Story
There’s Something About Her, A Manhattan Love Story
Say You Love Her, An LA Love Story - Coming March 2014!
Next book to read after completing this one:
Say You Love Her, An L.A. Love Story (LOVE in the USA, # 3) - Coming March 2014
Charlie Lord has loved Daisy from the moment he first laid eyes on her, only she’s head-over-heals in love with and married to his brother. He’s tried just about everything to get over her. He’s positive that the irreverent Monroe Blanco is the one woman who can cure him of his obsession. Then he meets Angelina Beauchamp. He’s instantly attracted to her. Aside from being Daisy’s long lost sister, Angelina could be his real thing. But is Charlie truly ready for the “real thing?” He’s about to find out.
About The Author
B
orn and raised in Southern California, I consider myself a sensual and emotional writer. Essentially, I write to make you feel whatever's on the page. That's my brand. Whether contemporary romance, paranormal romance or sci-fi fantasy, the reader can look forward to be taken on a highly charged emotional and sensual journey. I have a BA in Broadcast Journalism and an MA in Communications Studies from California State University, Los Angeles. I've read scripts, providing coverage for production companies and screenwriting contests. I have been writing fiction steadily and honing my craft for a very, very long time.
Chapter 1
What’s In A Wedding?
Dear Patty Welch,
Thank you for–everything. I appreciate learning what I have under your tutelage.
I hereby resign effective immediately.
Sincerely,
Magnolia Conroy
What I really want to say is, “Thank you for teaching me that bona fide mean, nasty, and insecure bitches exist in the world. If I ever had any doubts, well, you cured them.”
I’ve read this letter a million times. I wrote it six months ago. One day, I’m going to hand it to Patty, walk out, and let my finances—and thereby my life—fall to pieces.
“What’s going on, little Magnolia Bud?” my cousin Charlie says as he flops down beside me and lifts his foot onto his knee.
I turn up my nose because he smells like the inside of a keg and looks like an unshaven, red-eyed hobo in a sloppy suit. “Charlie,” I mutter. I wish he would’ve chosen to sit elsewhere.
I hate being called Magnolia, which he’s aware of. I prefer the flower exploding through this humongous space. My other cousin, Charlie’s brother, is getting married. Belmont’s bride is named Daisy, hence the daisies.
“Why the hell did I show up for this?” Charlie grumbles as he rolls his eyes around the room, viewing it. “Goddamn daisies everywhere.” It’s no secret he’s in love with his brother’s soon-to-be wife. But in truth, the yellow flowers aren’t a bad touch at all.
Belmont and Daisy wanted to take their vows against the Manhattan sunset—at 8:20 p.m. approximately—which is twenty minutes away. We’re fifty-three stories high, and this room takes up the entire floor. The walls are glass, and I feel as if we’re sitting in a garden on a perfect early evening.
Inside the huge room, near the east windows, is a makeshift duck pond that flows into a waterfall to the south and a field of daisies to the north. Twinkling white and yellow lights are tastefully placed throughout the room, and the frames of our chairs are made of quartz. The seat and back cushions are golden silk and patterned with little daisies.
And the guest list is bloated. There are at least three hundred people, and every single person looks as if he or she’s stepped out of
GQ
or
Elle
, all except me. I’m just a pale-as-a-ghost, limp-haired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated marketing assistant who works for the devil incarnate.
Belmont, who we call Jack, rented a cruise ship for the reception, and he’s given all the guests rooms to sleep off the monumental celebration he’s got planned. But I’ll have to skip it because my boss wouldn’t give me two days off. She wants me in the office tomorrow at six a.m. sharp to prepare for the Black Marble presentation.
The reception ship will sail tonight from the North River Pier in Manhattan and dock by seven p.m. tomorrow evening in Vineyard Haven. Jack has arranged to fly everyone back home from Martha’s Vineyard. There will be lots of dancing and music performed by popular bands, but Jack wouldn’t tell me who they were because it’s a surprise to Daisy. He’s gone gaga over this woman, but I’m not surprised. He’s not the douchebag that Charlie is.
“You look like shit, Magnolia,” Charlie comments, blowing his horrible breath in my face.
“Grow up, Chuck,” I snap.
“No disrespect, Mags. I’m only making an observation.”
“Whatever.” He’s such a douche.
“This is a shotgun wedding. You know she’s pregnant. What a way to trap him,” a very tall woman with a lot of bronze hair says in a dull, cynical tone. She’s talking to the freakishly thin girl who came in with her, but everyone in a five-foot radius can hear her. “How long have they known each other? Five minutes?”
That’s when I realize I’m sitting with the bitter wedding-day gang. I scoot to the edge of my seat to see if any chairs are available. There are a few empty ones in the back, but I don’t want to sit that far away.
Charlie, still slouching, leans forward to wave to the bitter woman next to me. “Mandy Hill.”
She grunts and rolls her eyes. “Great. It’s Charlie. You should’ve told your future sister-in-law to pull back on the daisies. Can you say Bridezilla?”
Now I recognize her. She’s Mandy Hill, the actress. I’m waiting for Charlie to correct her. He knows the explosion of daisies was Jack’s doing.
Instead, he says, “You know, if you want to get back at him for not realizing what he lost, we can find a room and you know…” He grins and pokes his fist back and forth.
I’m disgusted and squirm uncomfortably. This is just my luck.
“Been there, done that, doesn’t work,” Mandy replies to my utter shock.
Suddenly, I can’t believe I’m sitting between the two of them. Thank God the full ensemble band starts playing a dramatic piece that sounds like the music from a suspenseful scene in a movie.
“Welcome to the big day!” Jack shouts from the rear.
The entire room turns to see. In a snap, I’ve gone from feeling dread at being sandwiched between Charlie and Mandy to curiosity at hearing Jack at the back of the room—isn’t the groom supposed to be at the altar? Now I’m smiling, enthralled by the sight of Jack holding the most gorgeous bride in the world.
“Get the hell out of here,” Mandy mutters.
Charlie makes a sound similar to a pig snorting and whips his face forward, refusing to watch the spectacle.
The wedding has officially started. Jack takes long, strong strides down a white carpet that lights up as he advances. There are gasps of awe and then applause at the weird special effect. Daisy giggles and buries her face in his neck. She says something to him, and he tosses his head back, laughs, and stops before reaching the platform where the minister waits. In front of God and all eyes in attendance, he tongues the hell out of her.
I sour my expression. It’s going on and on and on—and on.
“I really truly hate her,” Mandy mumbles.
The woman in the row in front of us looks away from the kiss to get a glance at the person who had the audacity to say that about the bride on her wedding day.
“Shit, Jack, get up there so we can get this over with already!” a guy yells from somewhere in the audience.
Daisy takes Jack by the face to guide his mouth off hers. She points to the minister, and everyone erupts in laughter. One thing about Jack is he can’t keep his hands off of her. It’s crazy as hell.
On Monday night, I had dinner with them at their new brownstone in Gramercy Park. Jack was always massaging her shoulders, neck, hands, or very small baby bump. He had kissed Daisy after they let me in. He kissed her again before the servers set the table. He kissed her after we sat down to eat. Then again before dessert, after dessert, and every time she said something that he liked. I never knew Jack had so much affection inside of him.
I can’t count the number of my friends who tried to get him to want them in the same way he lusts for Daisy. Once, when Jack and Charlie’s parents were still alive, we went to St. Barth’s for their twenty-fifth anniversary. I brought my friend Hannah, who only wanted to tag along because Jack would be there. On night two, she stripped naked and slid into his bed while he slept. She demonstrated how she smashed her tits against his back. He woke up and asked her what the hell was she doing in his bed. She lied and said she got lost in the dark although the hallway lights were on. Jack didn’t overreact. He covered her with his blanket, led her to the door, and put her out of his room.
Hannah and I had a good laugh about the whole thing afterward. She considers herself a ten plus ten when it comes to looks, and she is. She resembles a Brazilian model, and she’s never been rejected by the opposite sex. From that day onward, Hannah and the rest of my girlfriends assumed he was closeted gay—until they heard he was getting married.
Monroe, who accompanied me to dinner on Monday, didn’t believe it until she saw them kissing and gazing into each other’s eyes all night. I knew he wasn’t gay, but I believed he was bored with women since they always made it so easy for him. I always figured Jack would end up alone but content.
Jack steps onto the platform while still carrying his bride.
“You can put her down,” Reverend Weasel says. That’s not his real name. It’s Reverend Collins. He used to be Jack and Charlie’s father’s “spiritual advisor,” whatever that means. Uncle Charles didn’t have a spiritual bone in his body. Jack, Charlie, and I used to call him a weasel because, with his long, skinny, leathery red neck and pin-sized head, he looks like one.
Despite Weasel’s continuous requests to rehearse the ceremony, Jack refused and gave him a script at the last minute that told him what and what not to say. That’s why Reverend Collins looks as if he chugged a jug full of sour milk.
Collins goes into a spiel about love and fidelity as the bride and groom gaze into each other’s eyes. I don’t think they’re listening to a word he’s saying. I tune Collins out from habit. My mom used to force me to attend church every Christmas and Easter, and I had to hear him yap on about stuff that’s already written in the book. Talk about redundancy…
I wonder what Jack and Daisy are thinking when they look at each other like that. How do two people reach that point?
I’ve only attended two weddings: my dad’s second and third ceremonies. I snorted my way through each of them. He’s a fashion photographer, and both girls were fashion models. He’s divorced again and living on a beach somewhere in South America.
However, I’m not snorting my way through
this
ceremony. The Manhattan sunset provides a perfect backdrop. Daisy’s dress is a dreamy, unpretentious white gown that clings effortlessly to her body. She’s five months pregnant, and her baby bump is barely visible.
They’re holding hands, and Jack pulls her against him. He puts his nose into her hair and closes his eyes to sniff. Watching them almost makes me want that for myself—almost. It’s hard to focus on happily ever after with Prince Charming when I’m trying to survive working for Cruella La Bitch.
