Gathering Storms (Wild at Heart #4)

Prologue

RORY

The thudding of my heart is so loud in my ears, I almost don’t hear Baylee call my name. Standing in the doorway of the spacious bridal suite, I juggle my garment bag and purse so I can dry my palms on my sweater before I step inside. I take a deep breath and pray I don’t vomit.

I’ve been nauseated about this wedding since Baylee invited me to be in it.

The thought of walking down the aisle with everyone staring at me makes me want to rock in a corner, but Baylee has been so good to me, I couldn’t turn her down.

I only hope I don’t lose my breakfast in a flower arrangement.

My anxiety melts away when I see all of the familiar faces. I know almost everyone. It’ll be okay. If I can only avoid Jace Walker, I might actually get through today.

The trouble with Jace isn’t that he’s handsome. It’s that men like him leave a wake of destruction in their playboy paths.

Ironically, people seem to think I have a crush on him, but I’d have to be really freaking dumb to fall for the same kind of man twice.

“Rory! Come in!” Baylee’s voice cuts through the ambient chatter. Before I can put my things down, she crosses the room in a flurry of white silk and wraps her arms around my neck.

I can never think of what to say in social situations, so I go with the obvious. “You’re getting married.” She’s loved Maverick forever, and I’m really happy for her.

Excitedly, Baylee hops up and down, bouncing me with her.

“I know!” Everyone chuckles, and she waves her bridesmaids closer.

My former boss looks so comfortable in her robe and curlers, beaming with a bridal glow.

She claps her hands. “Before things get too crazy, I have a little something to thank y’all for being in my wedding. I love you guys.”

My eyes widen when I pull out a spicy romance novel and a black journal stamped with the words The Meet-Cute Club.

She grins. “Since we all love reading and margaritas, I thought this would be fun.”

That’s when it hits me. Baylee wants me to join her group. I shouldn’t be surprised since she asked me to be a bridesmaid, but making friends has never been easy for me.

My throat squeezes, and I swallow past the knot. “That’s really cool. Thank you.”

I hold out a gift I made for her—a coupon book, handmade and slightly mortifying given the content. Baylee cackles as she flips through it. “I am so getting my sex on next week.”

Her best friend Paige peeks over Baylee’s shoulder and giggles. “Did you really make Maverick a sex coupon book?”

My face must be ten shades of red. “I was only following directions,” I blurt out because I don’t want anyone thinking I was perving on Maverick. I had to look up half of the positions Baylee suggested, a detail I keep to myself.

I just wanted to give her a memorable gift because I love crafts. It wasn’t until I was staring at explicit diagrams online that I realized I’ve never been even remotely adventurous.

For the next hour, I get primped and prodded until I don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt pretty. My thick brown hair gets brushed and smoothed into submission, and the expertly applied makeup enhances my eyes. I can’t help but smile at the results.

As if my family can sense I’ve achieved a modicum of happiness, my phone buzzes with a text from my stepsister.

Taylor: Hey, nerd. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?

Me: It would have to be a cold day in hell.

I delete the message before I send it. Why give her the satisfaction when she stole everything that mattered to me? I turn off my phone and tuck it into my purse. I’ll wait until I get home tonight to torture myself with whatever she sends next.

Once I’ve changed into my dress, Baylee yells, “Check out Rory! Holy hot mama!”

I blush and cover my mouth to hide my smile. I usually prefer button-up sweaters and long, vintage dresses—my typical librarian attire—but I have to admit I feel elegant, almost beautiful.

Baylee hands me the coupon book to tuck in her bedroom, and I slip down the hallway. When I find the suite with a king-sized bed and fluffy white bedding, I put the booklet on a pillow and turn to leave.

That’s when I hear the male voice through a cracked-open door on the other side of the room.

I freeze.

“Tell her to sell the building, dude. The market’s hot right now. I bet she could get enough to retire.”

I know that voice. It’s Jace.

My stomach tightens—my usual reaction to the man.

Another guy asks something I can’t make out. I catch a quick glimpse of him before he steps away. Then Jace replies, “Who, Rory? The girl I’m standing with in the wedding?”

Two things hit me at the same time.

One, that’s a suite for Maverick and his groomsmen. And two, Jace Walker is talking about me.

The familiar urge to curse him bubbles up in me, but I swallow it down. I don’t know firsthand that he’s a dick. It’s just a suspicion based on how he’s always preoccupied with his phone whenever he’s around me.

I lean closer to peek through the door, and my pulse races when I spot him in a black tux. He has the ethereal beauty of a fallen angel—gorgeous green eyes, light brown hair, and a lethal smile.

Jace carries that brand of careless, magnetic confidence I’ve learned to despise. When he runs a hand through his artfully messy hair, his face settles into a familiar infuriating smirk that reminds me entirely too much of my ex.

Pressing my lips together tightly, I shake my head, refusing to let another arrogant jerk make my heart skip.

“Bruh, is she hot? You gonna hook up later?” the other man asks, making me jump back so neither of them see me.

“I’m doing that cleanse, remember? Besides, she’s not my type.”

No one has to tell me I’m not Jace’s type. Because lead singers in popular bands don’t date wallflower librarians.

“All you had to say is she’s a dog.”

Mortified, I stop breathing.

My sad little heart waits for Jace to toss me a bone. She’s cute. She’s kinda pretty. She’s not that bad. Something. Anything.

His silence lacerates me.

I glance in the dressing table mirror across the room as I acknowledge that no amount of makeup will ever change the fundamental equation.

But more than anything, I realize I was right—Jace Walker’s an asshole.