Happily Ever Never

1. Brooke

1

brOOKE

My heart hammers in my chest as I run down the stairwell. It’s 11:59 on Friday morning, and I am on a mission that requires split-second timing.

I’ve got precious cargo in my purse, and nobody is going to take it from me—not even the devil himself.

And, speaking of . . .

“Brooke, get back here!” My boss’s voice thunders down the stairs. Lucas Sheffield, the man who haunts my nightmares. His voice is as commanding as his presence. You don’t even have to be in the same room as him to know that he’s tall, broody, and handsome.

I run faster.

“Brooke Langley! I know you can hear me!”

Did he actually just use my full name, like I’m in kindergarten?

“No, I can’t,” I murmur rebelliously.

“I heard that!” he shouts.

The heck? He’s two flights above me.

I shoot through the door into the lobby of the Sheffield Building. My heels clack on the marble floor, which is inlaid with accents of gold and onyx. A massive, custom-designed chandelier dangles overhead, designed to mimic cascading water, and I’m scurrying past an abstract sculpture that costs more than I’ll earn in ten lifetimes.

Lucas Sheffield’s father Dale designed the lobby, with its aggressive display of wealth and mirrored walls. As I hurry by, I see the reflection of a frazzled woman with chocolate-brown hair escaping her bun, a stylish houndstooth jacket and skirt, and a pinched frown. My pink lip gloss has mostly worn off because I’ve been chewing my lips in frustration today. Also, I have a coffee stain on my white blouse. Why didn’t Lucas tell me?

“Don’t tell him where I went!” I order the doorman, Mario, a stocky older man with silvery hair.

“Tell who what?” He winks at me and returns his attention to the Field I’m just existing. Sheffield Properties owns my every waking minute.

Well, the new Serena Lovelace book came out today, and I am going to use my one free hour to devour at least a couple of chapters if it kills me.

It’s a beautiful, mild April day, perfect for an outdoor reading session.

This is my only chance. I can’t read tonight; I’ll eat dinner at work and go home after dark, and by then I’ll be so tired I won’t be able to keep my eyes open. My roommate Tara will yet again beg me to quit, offer to lend me money, and say she can get me a set designer job at the theater that she works at, which will make me want to cry because I want it so bad.

I glance around to make sure the coast is clear, then make a mad dash for the park. I know this section of Central Park like I know my Serena Lovelace books—intimately.

“Suck it, Lucas-ifer,” I murmur. I dodge down a couple of winding pathways and find my spot, behind a large boulder, mostly concealed by an overgrown shrub. This is my secret hiding place. Lucas has tried to find me on my lunch hour several times, as he told me in tones of deep irritation, and he’s always failed.

I settle down on the grass and reach into my purse. My fingers graze over my sketchbook and my box of colored pencils. I haven’t felt the creative spark in ages; I don’t know why I still bring them everywhere with me. I pull out my book and my sandwich and then glance at my watch. I’ve got 55 minutes left. Ha!

I flip the book open, running my thumb lovingly down the page. It’s set in Serena’s favorite fictional town, Green Acres, Virginia, and it’s a grumpy billionaire/marriage of convenience romance. My favorite tropes .

My mind briefly flashes to Lucas. In some ways, he’d make a great heroine in Serena’s book—if he wasn’t an irritable, insufferable, ungrateful ass.

Damn it, he does not get to live rent-free in my head on my lunch hour.

I force myself to focus on the page, and slowly, some of the tension starts to flow from my body.

My heart leaps in my throat. It’s him. Tate McMasters. Otherwise known as my husband—after we go through the fake ceremony, of course. “Not having second thoughts?”

Is he kidding? I’m having third, fourth, fifth, up to infinity thoughts. Why did I agree to fake-marry my best friend, who I’ve been in love with since first grade?

“Not at all.” I smile so wide it hurts my face.

“Okay. Let’s just get this over with.”

My smile twitches and I clench my bouquet so hard it hurts my hands. “Wow. The words every bride longs to hear on her wedding day. Be still my beating heart.”

Wind whips through the air, and a few raindrops spatter on the ground. I glance up at the horizon. Dark clouds bunch together in the distance.

Rain is not allowed on my lunch hour. I close my eyes for a brief moment and send a message to the universe, willing it to leave me in peace. Reading is my happy place. My escape. I need this.

I open my eyes again and resume reading.

Tate narrows his eyes at me. “This benefits both of us. I get to inherit my company, you get to save your family business.”

I can’t wait to see her snarky rejoinder. I live inside every Serena Lovelace heroine. I shape their sassy repartee in my mouth and recite her lines in my head. I may not have a life in the real world anymore, but when I read a Serena Lovelace book, I do, and it comes with a guaranteed happily ever after.

I flip the page of my book, anticipation blazing through me .

The phone rings with my mother’s ringtone. I let out a groan of frustration. I have to answer. She could be calling about my father.

With a sigh, I pull my phone from my pocketbook. “Hello, Mom. Everything okay?” I say brightly.

“Of course, dear. Just wanted to say hi to my favorite daughter.”

“Only daughter. So I’d also have to be your least favorite, and middle favorite,” I remind her, and we both laugh at our tired old joke. “How is Dad?”

She visits him every day after she closes up shop at the bakery.

It was so hard moving him into the memory unit, but he’d gotten to the point where he wasn’t safe anymore. He would leave the house and wander into traffic. He’d try to walk into strangers’ homes.

“He’s doing really well. I think the new medications may be helping him a little bit. He asked about you. Well, he thought we needed to go pick you up at school, but he did remember your name!”

“That’s great, Mom. Listen, could I possibly call you back after work tonight?”

“Of course, sweetie. I didn’t mean to bother you during a workday. Call me tonight, or I’ll see you on Sunday. Bye!” And she hangs up.

Sudden tears sting my eyes. I am the worst daughter in the world. My mother is lonely and lost without my dad, and here I am rushing her off the phone. I think of how many nights I told her I’d call her back after I got home from work and I meant to, but then I just fell asleep.

It’s a catch-22. I work all the time so I can help pay for my father’s care, but then I have no time and energy left for him and my mother. When I visit him these days, I feel like I’m not even there for him .

I glance at my book. Read the book? Call her back?

Or neither, because apparently the universe has other plans for me today. “There you are!”

Oh my God.

He’s found my hiding space. The one place where I could get a little peace.

Lucas strolls up, a scowl stamped on his forehead. From where I’m sitting, he looks ten feet tall, barreling towards me, his cupid’s-bow upper lip curled in contempt, his thick, dark brows drawn together in a scowl.

Lucas is classically handsome, with his strong jaw and tousled hair. Unfortunately, his good looks are wasted on him. He might as well look like a bridge troll and give his looks to someone who could get some use out of them. He’s a grouchy workaholic who wouldn’t recognize joy or fun if it bit him in his perfectly sculpted ass.

As he gets closer, I hold my fingers up and make the sign of the cross, but it doesn’t work. He just keeps coming.

Not a vampire, then. Just the human variety of monster.

“Why are you sitting on the grass?” Lucas says impatiently. “And don’t even try to pretend you didn’t hear me calling you.”

“Okay, I won’t pretend, if you don’t pretend that you’re a normal human being and not a robot fueled by the tears of damned souls.”

“I’ve fired women for less than that.” He glowers down at me. I scramble to my feet, brushing grass off my butt. Frustration swells up in my throat and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I have nowhere left to hide on my lunch hour now. This little spot, and my books, was the only thing keeping me sane.

“Knock yourself out.” I’ve been his executive assistant for two years, and I’m the only one who’s lasted more than a few months. He went through eight assistants the year before he hired me .

Eight. That’s insane. Especially because the pay is killer.

My boss is a giant walking red flag.

“The McRawlins account is on the verge of falling through, and I don’t have time for this. Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Looking for horns.”

He snorts impatiently. “I had them lasered off, along with my 666 tattoo.”

My mouth twitches, but I refuse to smile. Instead, I flap my hand at him in a shooing gesture. “I have forty-eight minutes of lunch hour left, Lucas. Run along.”

“Forty-six,” he says triumphantly.

Look at him, knowing how to tell time, being all smug. “Two points to Gryffindor,” I scoff.

“What?” he looks at me in bafflement.

“It’s a Harry Potter reference. Actually, sorry, no, you’re a Slytherin.”

“Are you having a stroke? I don’t have time for you to have a stroke.” He leans forward, peering at me. “Smile really wide so I can see if your facial muscles are still symmetrical.”

Did he just order me to smile after sabotaging my lunch break? I shove my book into my purse and flip him off with both hands. “How’s that for symmetrical?”

That earns me a martyred sigh. “Very mature. Come on, let’s go. There’s a storm coming in anyway.” The sky has turned a dark, sullen gray. The wind has picked up, drops are splattering the ground, and I’m not going anywhere.

“You’re right, it was so childish of me. You should fire me.” I glare at him. “I am finishing my lunch.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I already give you every waking hour, and most Saturdays. I go home after dark every night.”

“Yes, and I send you home in a company car so you’re safe, and I pay you double overtime for every minute over eight hours, and you also get a paid lunch break.” He shakes his head at me. “Come on, let’s go.”

“No.”

Anger flares in his whiskey-brown eyes. “If you want to keep your job, you’ll come with me.”

“Fire me,” I dare him, pulling my book out. “Try to find someone who will put up with you.”

“Don’t tempt me, Brooke.”

I stifle a shriek of frustration. He’s rude, demanding, unappreciative, and dismissive. The only reason I’ve stayed is because the salary he pays me is obscenely good.

Okay, and sometimes I feel a little sorry for him. He has no life. He took over the business from his father, and this is all he does. He’s the crabbiest billionaire I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to be swimming in bucks like Scrooge McDuck, but what’s the point of having all that money if all you do with your life is chase more money?

There are things he actually enjoys doing, mind you—he just never does them. He likes fishing; he likes jogging instead of going to the gym; he likes golf; he likes trying out new cuisines. I’m in charge of scheduling his schmoozing sessions with various high-level contractors, and I always try to have him meet up with them at a place where he’ll have fun. It’s only because of me that he went fishing four times last year, golfed six times, and ate at an Indonesian fusion restaurant.

I meet his gaze steadily. I’m the only person I know who doesn’t lose staring contests with Lucas Sheffield. “I’m staying here. And you have taken up approximately four minutes of my lunch break, so I will be back at the office at 1:04.”

“This is your last chance. If I fire you, how are you going to pay for your father’s fancy care unit? I’ve got bad news for you. Costume design doesn’t pay the bills.”

“Set design,” I snap at him. My major was in set design .

Wait a minute. How did he even know my father was in care?

I’ve never told him that. So now he’s digging into my personal life? Thinking he owns every part of me?

And how much longer can I live like this? I mean, it’s not even really living.

I shove my book into my purse. “I quit.” A shock wave hits me as I say it. Am I really doing this?

I used to think that I’d save up enough money to work with Tara, but it’s never happened. The idea of working in theater is a pipe dream. They pay in coffee and parking vouchers.

How will I pay for my father’s care? He’s in the nicest memory care unit around.

I’ll have to get two jobs to even have a chance at covering the costs.

Or I could move back home and he could come home and I’d be his full-time caretaker, which would make my mother feel incredibly guilty.

Lucas looks at me with impatience. “No, you don’t. Quit messing around.”

Of course he’s not taking me seriously.

My hand is still on my book, fingers clenching it tightly. I’ll figure it out somehow. This has been a long time coming. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, because I no longer work for you.”

He glances over my head, looking off in the distance. “The storm’s getting closer.”

More drops are spattering us now. “Then you should get inside.” I will sit here and drown before I go back to the office.

My skin starts to tingle, and my hair lifts up on end. There’s a strange metallic taste in my mouth.

Lucas looks around in puzzlement and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s feeling the same thing I am.

Why do I feel like this? I’ve read about this somewhere.. .

Oh, hell’s bells . . .

This is what happens right before you get hit by lightning.

I leap to my feet. “Run!” I shout at him. I reach out and grab his arm.

There’s an enormous explosion of pain and heat and light, and the light around me flickers on, flickers off, flickers on...

Flickers off.