Sin & Tonic Read online

  But every minute that passed without her only increased my certainty that, no, nothing was better without her.

  Laine isn’t Sophia. She isn’t selfish or manipulative or mercenary.

  She’s kind and generous. And she always tries to do the right thing.

  But I hadn’t trusted in her enough to accept that no matter what she chose to do with the information, she must have believed it was the right thing.

  So I texted. I called. I stalked appointments she didn’t make.

  I told myself she needed some time. Fine. I was a dick. And it wasn’t like she could avoid me indefinitely. The hotel might be big, but it’s mine and my people are team Laine-and-Jason-kissing-in-a-tree. Whenever she showed up, I knew she wouldn’t make it a foot past the door without someone clueing me in to the fact that she was here.

  Only no one called because she never came.

  Now it’s Saturday and we’ve got a wedding booked for the rooftop rose garden at ten with a reception following in the ballroom at noon. Blissful Brides Inc. listed as the contact for arrangements. Which is why I’ve been staking out the lobby since six. Now, at eight-thirty-six, the wedding planner finally stomps in, arms laden with a confusion of papers, looking almost put together.

  Connie Bliss is only in her late fifties, but smoking and sun have added more years than any plastic surgeon could remove, and with her over-processed helmet of hair, she looks like the nasty grandmother no one wanted to snuggle.

  Lead fills my gut. Laine would never miss a wedding.

  “We have a contract,” I say striding up to her. “Laine Malone handles all the Henley brides, and I refer all inquiries to BB.”

  “There you are, Jason. Nice to see you again,” she says, stopping to squint at me. “You look like hell.”

  Great.

  “Late night.” Or a week of them. “Where is she?”

  “Who? Laine?” Connie gives a shrug that has my bullshit meter spiking. “Sick. Nasty flu. She’ll be back next week.”

  “Sick.” In the two years I’ve known her she’s never taken a sick day. She’s still avoiding me. She’s missing a wedding to avoid me.

  Damn it, how am I going to fix this?

  Friday, July 17th

  Laine

  One door closes and another opens. It’s always proved true, but the timing in this case is remarkable, even by the standards of a professional in an industry known for serendipity.

  I’m moving on, moving forward.

  But come on, is it absolutely necessary to rip my heart out while I do it, because that’s what Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” pouring out of the overhead speakers is doing. I smooth my hand over the polished oak table between us in the back corner of this bar, grounding myself in the moment, in the man seated across from me, and the proposal he’s offering.

  Jason Henley has no place here. It’s been two weeks. Two brutal weeks, and maybe I’ll cry later. Who am I kidding, I definitely will. But right now? No tears.

  I suck a deep breath and pull it together.

  Max Johnson is watching me intently, waiting for my response.

  Refocusing my attention, I let my gaze run the length of his body, taking in the details. This guy is a catch, if ever I saw one. Clean cut good looks, nice dresser, a smooth smile, and trusting eyes that stay focused on me, proving I’m the center of his attention—an essential skill. The body is a plus, no doubt about it—talk about a strong back. He’s old enough to have some experience and young enough he’s still eager to learn.

  And he’s been pursuing me for months. Looking at him now, I recognize this is exactly what I need.

  Deliberation over, I smile and offer my hand. “Okay, Max. You’ve got me. Let’s do this.”

  Jason

  The crowd in the Henley bar is still thin, but as Dil pointed out when I asked what the story was, it’s only six. Granted, I’ve been sitting on my stool at the end of the bar for about three hours, which explains why it felt later.

  I’m not getting blind drunk tonight. I mean, yeah, I’d like to numb up and put the fact that Laine won’t take my calls and hasn’t been back to the hotel in nearly two weeks behind me— but it won’t help, so I’ll be done after one more.

  “How you doing?” Dil asks, polishing the bar with a rag.

  Swirling the amber liquid in my glass, I shrug. “Good. Great.”

  Dil lets out a dry laugh, but nods. He’s got a good sense about when to press and when to leave it. And maybe I need that more than I need another drink.

  “Hey, man. Any chance you can get someone to cover?”

  He raises a brow. “You want to watch a game or something?”

  “Yeah. How about it?” I want company… only partly because I don’t want to call Laine again. It sucks when she doesn’t answer. And even worse, when she doesn’t call back.

  He’s up for it. I toss down the rest of my drink and leave him to sort out the details. Back in the lobby, there’s a cluster of staff huddled around a phone. If they’ve got another video of baby goats springing around during yoga, I want to see it too.

  Walking up to the group, I lean in to see the screen. “What’s this?”

  Mary Sue shrieks, jumping back a good three feet, clutching her phone to her chest, panic in her eyes as the rest of the group starts backing away.

  Whoa. Something is definitely up. “Mary Sue?”

  “I’m sorry, Jason. We weren’t gossiping, but… Kristi from housekeeping was out with her boyfriend and,” her uneasy pause has the muscles along my spine ratcheting tight. “She saw Ms. Malone.”

  Laine.

  I nod, schooling my expression. “How is she?”

  Blanching, she turns her phone around and shows me the snapshot not dark or blurry enough to leave any doubt that it was Laine. “Not alone.”

  She’s with that guy from last month in the lobby, and he’s got his hand at the small of her back, looking like he’s never going to let go.

  There’s a buzzing in my head, too loud to hear what I say as I turn back to the bar. I don’t stop at my still vacant stool, instead heading around to the end and cutting back to the service side. Pulling out a clean glass, I give myself a generous pour that’s tossed back before Dil stops on the customer side of the bar.

  His brow is furrowed, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Look man, I just heard, but you’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow if you don’t slow down.”

  “Don’t have to wait for tomorrow.”

  The writing is on the wall. She’s not taking my calls and now she’s out with another guy. She’s going to walk in here tomorrow morning, and we’re going to be over.

  “Okay, boss, here’s how it’s gonna go,” Dil drawls, leaning further over the bar until he’s close enough to shift out of focus. “You’re getting back on the horse. And you’re doing it tonight.”

  I shake my head. “Fuck the horse.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you’re into, I guess.”

  An hour later, I’m sitting in the Henley’s five-star restaurant, wondering how the hell I let Dil talk me into this.

  “Oops,” Pammy titters, pulling the scrap of her dress back over her nipple. Peering up from beneath a thick mane of bleached blonde hair, she bites into her bottom lip and winks.

  I smile and raise my glass, draining the last drop before returning it to the table with a thunk. Glancing around the restaurant, I can’t miss the unusual number of staff lingering at the perimeter of the room, each looking away with obvious embarrassment as my gaze lands on them. The hotel had been a poor choice for dinner, one of many. Well, at least with this many prying eyes, I won’t have to wait on the refill. Holding up my glass, I clink the ice around and raise a brow for a taker.

  I’ve got a fresh drink on the table within ninety seconds.

  “Five-star service,” I comment, daring a glance at Pammy. The suggestive manner in which she’s running her fingers up and down the stem of her wine glass has me on edge, and I pull at my collar. She’s eyeing m
e like a piece of meat.

  “How’s the risotto tonight?” I sound like her waiter, not a man about to rock her world. Two years ago, she would have been perfect. We would have been playing footsy under the table, whispering conversation thick with innuendo. Hell, two years ago, I would have been fingering her panties in my suit pocket by now.

  The pointed toe of a stiletto jabs into my shin, making me jump back.

  “Sorry.” Her nose wrinkles up, and she starts to lick the tines of her fork. “I’ll have to kiss that owie for you later.”

  Her mouth going anywhere near what’s promising to be a swollen purple bruise is decidedly unappealing. This date isn’t working. I don’t feel better. I’m not distracted from the flesh rending pain of my heart being broken. All I can think about is Laine, and all I want is to stop.

  My phone vibrates, but it’s Dil not Laine.

  Dil: You really going to let your life go back to a revolving door of Pammy’s or you going to get off your ass and fix this?

  Like I said, the guy has a knack for knowing what you need.

  Downing half the contents of my freshly filled glass, I lean forward and take Pammy’s hand. Truth time. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  I’m getting Laine back.

  Forty minutes later, Dil is behind the wheel of the Henley limo, wearing a look of utter amusement. Dick. “Look, I didn’t mean tonight, Jay.”

  Slumped in the front passenger seat, I nod then shake my head and finally just shrug. The booze is catching up with me. “I’ve already waited too long. It’s go time.”

  Dil turns a slow skeptical eye in my direction, and then through the passenger window to the apartment building beyond. “You sure you don’t want to try calling her instead? I’ve got the phone right here. Or better yet, wait until tomorrow?”

  “No. It can’t wait. I fucked everything up and a romantic gesture’s in order. I’m gonna do it.” Pocketing the coins off the dash, I shoulder into the limo door. “Fuck.” On the second try it opens and I start toward the darkened side of the brick building. Most of the lights are out and I briefly wonder what time it is, but whatever.

  Dil comes up beside me, his phone in front of him.

  I lean forward. “You filming this?”

  He grins. “Fuck yeah, I am.”

  “Dickhead.” But then I’m laughing with him, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I love you, man.”

  “I know. So, Jay, tell me again why we can’t use dimes or pennies?”

  I let out a snort. Amateur. “She’s special.” Then, after testing the loft, I throw the first silver dollar at the window.

  Obscenities run out of Dil in a steady stream as the first coin rustles through the leafy branches behind us and finally drops to the ground. “That wasn’t even toward the building, man.”

  “Don’t start with me.” I point a finger at him, sternly. “Practice throw.”

  “Don’t lie to yourself. It was a pussy throw.”

  “Fuck, Dil. Language. People live here. This is a romantic gesture.”

  “Yeah, yeah, boss. Sorry.”

  “And now with the boss business.” Emotion clogs my throat as I turn to him. “I thought we were friends.”

  “Why do you think I’m driving your ass around tonight. Now throw.”

  Tottering, I pick up the coin and then focus on the building again.

  “Which window are you aiming at?”

  I ignore him. Dil isn’t a romantic; he doesn’t understand about fate.

  “Which window?” he asks again, and the phone is back up.

  “The one this hits.” Using all the strength and coordination I can muster; I launch the coin.

  “You don’t know?” He’s totally laughing now. “Is this even her building?”

  I’ve only been to her place twice, and I wasn’t driving. But I’m pretty sure this is it.

  Laine is going to love this. She’ll come to the window, her hair falling down around her shoulders, maybe a tissue in her hand—because she’s still upset about going out with that loser. She’ll see me and wipe away her last tear.

  “Watch it!” Dil barks.

  I blink, my face still tilted skyward, there’s no one at the window. But what the hell is that coming straight— “Fuck!”

  I’m on the ground, blinking at the warm goo oozing into my eye where the heavy coin struck.

  Dil’s face pops into my line of vision. “For crissakes, you’re a bleeder too? That’s it. Night’s over, Romeo. We’re going back to the hotel.”

  Wiping at my eye, the back of my hand comes away wet and sticky.

  “Is she going to take me back?”

  “Sure, she is. And I’m going to play this video at your wedding.” Dil’s voice softens as he holds out his hand and hefts me off the ground. “But it’s not happening tonight.”

  Chapter 10

  Saturday, July 18th

  Jason

  I ’m nursing the hangover of all hangovers, but I’ve been up and showered for hours because it’s Saturday morning, and there is no way Laine’s going to miss a second wedding. I’m not going to fuck things up by jumping into her path the second she clears the lobby doors, demanding to know if she’s into this guy. If it’s really over with us. If she misses me the way I miss her.

  No. Definitely not.

  I just want to see her.

  The serious groveling can wait until after the wedding.

  I’m on my third coffee when Connie shows up. She takes one look at what I’m guessing is a pretty thunderous expression and the starch leaves her spine completely.

  “It’s a shame about Laine,” she starts, warily. “But some people just don’t have what it takes for this business.”

  Agreed, but I’m more of the mind that Connie is the one out of her depth. For now, the only thing that matters to me is where the hell Laine is.

  “Explain.”

  Clucking her tongue, she shuffles a binder overflowing with papers. “She wasn’t up for the job. She flat out refused to follow my direct order about some rather unpleasant business with that wedding a few weeks back. You’d think she’d have some respect for the years I’ve put into this business, but she wouldn’t listen to reason. Ran off and spilled to the bride against my express orders not to. What did it get her? Nothing but a sad girl in a white dress going through with the wedding anyway. Knowing her man was swapping spit with a groomsman instead of her. Hmph. I’ve seen everything. If I’d been the one meeting with those two, I would have known he swung the other way, and…I would have known the bride knew about it too.”

  Laine had told the bride after all. No wonder she looked so sad when he came back. And he’d just blown past her. She’d risked her job—wait. “Did you fire her?”

  Connie stiffens, her eyes going hard. “Okay, technically, yes.” Her hand flies up. “But I didn’t mean for it to stick, so back off, big boy. I had a point to make. Figured I’d let her squirm overnight then give her another chance to get in line the next day. You and I had a deal, after all, and the girl knew weddings and brought in business. Got it done all right.” Connie sighs, shaking her head. “She turned me down. Told me she didn’t respect my business practices. Fed me a bunch of malarkey about having a responsibility to our clients. I told you she was soft. This business eats the soft ones for lunch.”

  Connie is still making noise, but all I’m thinking is that Laine isn’t coming back.

  She quit because the principles I didn’t give her enough credit for were so important to her. “Has she got another job already?”

  “I would have heard about it if she’d been picked up. But she’s got contacts everywhere. If she decides to stay in the business it won’t be long. I should have pushed for the non-compete.”

  Jesus. I can’t listen to more. “Connie, you’ll be working with Erica from here on out. Front desk will set up a meeting for you.”

  I need to find Laine.

  Laine

  “Max, I’ve got to run out f
or a couple of errands. I’ll pick up some coffee on my way back.” Stuffing my feet into my sneakers, I pull my hair into a loose ponytail. “You need anything from Staples?”

  He pops his head out of what will become our office bathroom, and flashes that megawatt smile the brides are going to eat up. “Nah, think I brought all the supplies I need. I might need to run to the hardware store for this leak under your sink though. Lemme see what I can get done while you’re out.”

  “You are amazing. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He flashes a wink and ducks back into the bathroom.

  Tucking the leather braid of my key chain between my teeth I swing my bag over my shoulders and reach for the stack of binders by the door. Straining to collect them, I pull a deep breath in through my nose and stop.

  The leather smells like wedding cake.

  I close my eyes, tamping down the images and emotions that come unbidden.

  I don’t have time for buttercream fantasies when I need to be building a new business, only I can’t seem to stop them. I can’t pretend that I don’t miss Jason, that every day without him has me feeling more like there’s something fundamental missing.

  I’ve been going through the motions of moving on with my life, but none of it feels real. None of it feels right. Deciding to start my own bridal consultant business should be a thrill—it’s been my dream for a long time. But not having Jason to tell about it, to celebrate with, has left a drab sheen over the entire thing. I miss him at every critical moment and still keep expecting to see him every time I turn around.

  For two years he’d been there whenever I needed him—as if he sensed my every emotion and need. He was there to bolster me when I felt doubt, to argue when I needed to get back on track. To hold me when I couldn’t stand to be alone anymore.

  I had been crazy not to run back to him and explain, beg him to understand. Yes, I’d been hurt, and my ego had gone into a full-on temper tantrum when he’d walked through the lobby with that disappointed look plastered across his face. I’d been furious and brokenhearted.

  But the more I think about it, the more I realize I’ve been scared. Too scared to risk being hurt again. Only, not being with him… hurts worse than anything I can remember.