chapter 1 #3
“My husband just . . . My husband dropped me without any warning and hasn’t looked back since, Jules,” she said, easily and
automatically falling back on the nickname his closest friends and family had always used. “This was the man I was hoping
to have a family with—the man I was hoping to grow old with.”
His muscular shoulders lifted in a shrug. “He’s also the man who doesn’t deserve you. Good riddance to Clifford Jackson—that’s
what I say.”
“Because he’s a professional athlete?”
“Because he’s a selfish bastard.”
She stiffened in surprise. “How would you know?”
“It’s obvious from the way he plays ball.” He opened the doors to her closet and stepped inside.
“What are you doing?” It looked like he was rifling through her suitcase, which was lying open on the floor. She hadn’t bothered
to unpack. Why would she? She’d been hoping Cliff would invite her back to the gorgeous Malibu mansion she used to call home.
“Finding something for you to wear,” he replied.
“I’m not coming down to dinner,” she reiterated.
“I know.” There was a plop as he tossed some of her clothes to the side. “We’re going out.”
“What?”
His voice drifted to her, once again, from inside the closet. “You heard me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she argued.
He took a moment to poke his head out. “It might look weird if I’m carrying you over my shoulder, but I guess that’s up to you.”
She felt her jaw drop. “You’re saying you’ll haul me out of here if you have to?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not going to let Clifford Jackson get the best of you—that’s why.”
She considered his response, found it somewhat empowering and, therefore, appealing. “How do you propose we stop him?”
“We’re going to be seen around LA, make sure we’re photographed together and leak those pictures to every online source that
might be interested.”
That would be a long list. For the news outlets, it’d be almost like receiving shots of Hailey Bieber hanging out with another
man if she ever split with Justin. “You want to make him think we’re seeing each other? That I’ve already moved on?”
“He can think whatever he wants as long as he knows you’re not sitting in your room—” he poked his head out again “—crying
over him.”
“What about the evidence?” she grumbled. “You don’t think my swollen eyes and red face will give me away?”
“That’s what makeup and sunglasses are for.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip as the nasty online comments she’d read about herself floated through her mind. It wouldn’t
help her broken heart, but maybe it would feel good to salvage a portion of her pride . . . “You really believe we can sell it?”
“Why not? Any woman would want to be seen with me. After all, I’m a hell of a good-looking guy.”
That made her laugh out loud in spite of everything. “You’re definitely not bad.”
“You probably think Clifford’s hotter, but I’m cutting you some slack for being delusional at the moment.” He came up with a shirt and a skirt from two different outfits and held them up before tossing them over to her as if he’d decided they’d do. “Here you are.”
“Those don’t even go together,” she informed him.
“Now you’re questioning my fashion sense?”
“I’ll pick my own clothes, thank you—if you’ll just step out of the room.” She wasn’t wearing anything other than a tank top
and a pair of panties, so she couldn’t get out of bed until he left.
“I’m not that stupid,” he said. “Once I’m gone, you’ll just lock the door.”
She laughed again, and the sound of it reminded her of who she normally was. This was what friends were for, she reminded
herself. They picked you up when you were flat on your ass and compelled you to journey on. Her problem was that she’d let
her friends go because of Cliff, had let him dictate who they saw and what they did. She’d felt she had to do that to keep
him happy.
Little good it had done her . . .
“Then turn your back,” she said.
He instantly obliged, and she dragged herself out of bed and over to her suitcase. “Where’s your wife, by the way?” she asked.
“Won’t she mind you taking me on this little escapade?”
“I don’t have a wife.”
She’d just pulled the rest of her clothes out of her suitcase and hadn’t found anything that wasn’t too wrinkled, so she was
going through what he’d already tossed aside. “Sloane told me you were engaged.”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
He kept his back to her. “My fiancée came to her senses, I guess.”
“She broke up with you?”
“Went back to her douchebag ex, who, it turned out, had been calling her. So don’t tell me I don’t know how bad you’re feeling.”
“That would hurt,” she acknowledged. “But as long we’re comparing war wounds, I was actually married and thought we were ready to start a family—and all of America was paying attention to our relationship
and is now witnessing my fall from grace.”
“You’ve got a backbone. You’ll get through it.”
Would she? That remained to be seen. “How long ago did your fiancée leave you?” she asked as she pulled out a clean pair of
panties.
“It’s been about fourteen months, but it was only nine weeks before the wedding. We were just about to send out the invitations
when she realized she’d rather be with him.”
“That sucks. So . . . are they married now?”
“No. Didn’t work out between them again. I, of course, wasn’t surprised—but neither was I interested in taking her back.”
“You were over it?”
“I was more than over it. I was grateful she’d left me—feel like I dodged a bullet. Distance gave me a certain perspective I’d lacked before.”
After nearly drowning in feelings of inadequacy and allowing her own internal critic to beat her up over and over again by suggesting everything she should’ve done differently so she wouldn’t have been tossed out by the one person she loved more than any other, it felt like Julian was throwing her a life preserver.
She hated that he was seeing her at her most vulnerable, especially because it was the first time they’d been together in over a decade.
But he wouldn’t let her send him away, and his tough-love approach—although, admittedly, a little callous—was actually helping.
He was essentially saying, “Shit happens to everybody—get over it.” And he was right. What other choice did she have?
“You’re lucky,” she agreed.
“So are you. You just don’t know it yet.”
She was far from feeling the gratitude he felt, but she certainly hoped he was right.
“What are you doing in town, anyway?” she asked as she finally settled on a casual black spaghetti-strap dress. She’d always
loved yoga, had stayed in shape, so at least she wouldn’t look too bad if she could fix her face and hair.
“My mother had to have a full hysterectomy, and my father had to get an operation on his hemorrhoids,” he replied matter-of-factly.
She covered her mouth. “I’m sure your father wouldn’t want you telling people about that!”
“Let it be a lesson to you. Eat more fruits and vegetables or suffer the consequences. Anyway, Sloane’s design business is
so new I didn’t want her to leave it.”
“So you stepped up. That was very good of you.”
“I have my moments.”
She dropped her tank top on the floor before yanking the pool dress over her head. “I’m decent.”
He turned around. “Nice. Now you just need to wash your face and comb your hair.”
Fresh tears filled her eyes—out of nowhere—but these tears weren’t for Cliff. “I’ve missed you,” she admitted, somehow feeling
as if she’d suddenly come across an important part of herself she’d lost along the way.
His smile softened. “Yeah, well, you might think of me more as a pain in the ass before this is over.”
Impulsively, she walked into his arms—and her bruised ego and broken heart felt just a little better as he hugged her. “You’re
going to be okay,” he murmured in her ear. “Let’s go.”