A Sudden Crush Read online

  “No, she didn’t,” I reply like a schoolgirl who’s being reproached in the principal office.

  “You’re right, she didn’t. She kept going with her head held high, and she found herself a new gorgeous husband, and you’re going to do the same.”

  “But I look nothing like Jennifer Aniston, and Liam’s wife looks a lot like Angelina Jolie,” I protest.

  “She doesn’t look anything like Angelina Jolie!”

  “Okay, Gisele Bundchen, then. Is it really any better?” I’m desperate.

  “Jo, what do I do for a living?”

  “You’re a beauty blogger. I mean, vlogger…?” I answer, a bit confused by her question.

  “Exactly, and a pretty successful one. I will bring you to all the right places and I promise that by the time I’m done with you, you will be as gorgeous as Jen. But you have to do this—you can’t let him take away something else from you. You just can’t.”

  She’s right. I know she is, but it is so hard.

  “Jo, promise me you will do it, or I will come over there and drag you to New York by force,” Tracy threatens when I don’t say anything.

  I finally give in. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it.”

  “Great. I’m sending you a couple of links. You need to start a cleansing diet today. It will do wonders for your skin. And buy all the different moisturizers on the second link—they are expensive, but you need them. I’ll send you my special insider coupons too. And I’m calling Ashlynn immediately. She will have to take you shopping, unless you want to choose your dress here.”

  “No, too much pressure. What if I don’t find one? I can go shopping on my own, you know?”

  “I know, but it’ll be more fun with the girls. I’m designating them as my patrol squad over there just in case you decide to bail out at the last minute.”

  “I really have to do this, don’t I?”

  “Yes, baby, I promise you will feel a whole lot better after you do. You need closure—that bastard has evaded you for too long.”

  “Tracy, we’re not going to talk about stuff at an official gala dinner, not with his wife there.”

  “No, probably not, but at least you’ll get the satisfaction of showing him how gorgeous you are—”

  “He is married to a Victoria Secret’s Angel! It’s not like I’m going to put her to shame, no matter how good you are at your job,” I snap.

  “No, but that’s beside the point. You have to show him you’ve moved on too.”

  “Have I? I’m not sure.”

  “Do you think you’re still in love with him?” She sounds shocked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “How often do you think about him?”

  I concentrate, trying to remember the last time I thought about Liam before today. I can’t pinpoint it exactly. It’s been a while.

  “Not very often, I guess,” I admit. “Not anymore.”

  “See, you’re totally over him.”

  “But how can I know if I haven’t even seen him? Not once after we got married. One thing is not thinking about him, but having him standing in front of me with his new wife on his arm is a different scale.”

  “Maybe she won’t even be there. I mean, given the circumstances…” Tracy leaves the sentence hanging.

  I know what she’s implying, but I pretend I don’t. “A model missing a red carpet event in New York? Fat chance.”

  “One way or another, you need to find out and face him—or them, whatever it will be.”

  She’s right again. I hate it when she’s right.

  “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “It’s not going to be easy, but you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

  “And if I’m not, at least you’ll be there to pick up the pieces…” I conclude grimly.

  “Always.”

  “Okay, I need to search for a dress and buy the bus tickets. I’ll have a look online, and then I will call Ashlynn and Katy.”

  “Don’t forget to order your beauty products too. It’s essential you start with them right away. Let me know when you’ve booked everything, for real this time.”

  “Will do, and thank you.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  We say our goodbyes, and when she hangs up I stare at the office around me in utter terror. I am already regretting my decision and want to call her back, but I know she won’t put up with any of my complaints, and I am not in the mood for another pep talk. I need to keep myself busy before the panic begins to spread again. So I book the bus tickets, order all the beauty products Tracy imposed on me, and send a text to Ashlynn and Katy to see if they’re free to come shopping with me tomorrow. Then I attack my email backlog. I mean, three-hundred plus emails should be good enough to keep me busy for a long time. I need to push the Liam thoughts in a faraway corner of my mind and ignore them until I actually have to deal with them.

  I have to say, my strategy works for the most part. I have always been good at organizing my thoughts in watertight compartments, and they seem to be working pretty well. Or, at least, they function better than the ones on the Titanic. There’s the occasional leak of pure dread that gnaws at my stomach every now and then, but I feel mostly in control. My emotional boat is not going to sink today. Tracy is right; this could be a good thing after all. I need to face my past and open up to my future, whatever it might bring into my life.

  34

  About a Book

  “What do you think?” I ask, holding the most beautiful blush gown against my body and looking in the mirror. The dress is long and in a pastel pink shade. It has only one shoulder strap with a pretty, silky bow on top, and a floral lace bodice. The dress is in a slight mermaid shape, and has a small train in the back.

  “It’s very elegant and classy, but I’m not sure it is sexy enough,” Ashlynn offers. She’s sitting on a creamy sofa bench leafing through a fashion magazine, while Katy is scouring the shop for more gowns. We are downtown searching for the perfect dress for my New York rendezvous.

  “I could settle for elegant and classy. I’m sure the angel will lean toward sexy, and I can’t hope to compete on that side.”

  “She just had a baby, how fit can she be?” Ashlynn snaps.

  I catch Katy give her the evil eye in the mirror, and Ashlynn blushes slightly and gives me an apologetic stare. It has become common practice for my friends not to use the b-word in front of me. Like Tracy did last night, they may vaguely allude to babies but they never mention them outright. At least not since I nearly had a breakdown when I read about Adriana’s pregnancy in the papers and watched the scoop on E! News. I had just started Price Publishing and I was barely out of my depressed mood when the announcement went viral. The only thing I could do to survive was to spend an entire weekend crying with the girls, eat only chocolate for a week—I ate so much of it I almost outgrew it completely―and then pretend it never happened, that I did not know, or that it wasn’t real. For once, nobody forced me to accept reality or deal with it, and so the months passed with no further mention of the b-word.

  I hang the gown I was looking at on a rack and sit on another plush settee in front of Ashlynn. My friends are both staring at me with worried expressions.

  “It’s okay,” I reassure them. “It’s about time I come to terms with the idea that there’s another woman out there living in my home, sleeping with my husband, and having my babies.” A baby girl, in this case.

  Ashlynn snorts.

  “What?”

  “You don’t sound exactly in acceptance. How do you feel about Liam?” she asks.

  The name still has the power to make me jolt.

  “Is today ‘easy questions’ day?” Where is an annoying, interrupting sales assistant when you need one?

  “Come on, we haven’t talked about him in forever,” Katy says, sitting next to me.

  She’s right, the Liam topic has gone untouched since Chocolate Week.

  “Liam, huh.” The name turns a bit sour in my mou
th. “I think I’m past denial and depression, but I still have a lot of anger toward him, and I’m definitely not in acceptance. You’re right, Ashlynn.”

  “You think you may possibly still love him?” Katy asks.

  “I’m not sure if I still have feelings for him, but how could I not? The last time I saw him, I was getting married to the guy!” I say sincerely.

  “You know, I’ve heard there have been troubles in paradise,” Ashlynn offers tentatively.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  From my publishing world minions I know he’s missed the deadline of his latest manuscript, but they didn’t say anything about his private life.

  “Oh, you know, it’s mostly gossip. But I’ve heard he doesn’t like having a half-naked-most-of-her-working-time top-model wife that much after all, and it’s never easy with newborns.”

  “Mmm,” I mumble. His wife is too hot and they just had a baby. It doesn’t sound so bad to me.

  “So, if he were to become single again, would you be interested?” The interrogation comes from Katy this time.

  “Maybe I’d be interested in punching him in the face,” I burst out. “But I don’t wish for his new family to blow up in pieces. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

  “Are you sure? You’re okay with him having a new family?” Katy asks while massaging my back supportively.

  “Yes. I mean, no. What I meant to say is that I don’t think I will ever be okay with it,” I admit. “But I’m ready to acknowledge that’s how things went. That when I called Liam to tell him I was alive, he probably freaked out because his new wife was already pregnant, and that there is nothing he or anyone else could have done about it. I can’t magically un-crash my honeymoon plane. There is no turning back time, and that’s how it is.”

  “That’s a good start.” Katy smiles encouragingly.

  “But I’m still scared about seeing him,” I continue, “even if I have rationally accepted that we are over—you know how our lady brains are stupid sometimes. I’m not sure if he still has a hold on me or not, and frankly the fact that I have to find out very soon is unnerving me.”

  “Is there any way we can help?” Ashlynn asks.

  “I need to find the most beautiful dress ever seen on earth.” I look at them.

  “Understood,” Ashlynn enthuses. “You want to have the bastard drooling.”

  “Honestly, no.” I shake my head. “I don’t want this night to be about Liam at all. Yes, I want to look as fabulous as I can, and I want to at least try to swim in the league just below the angel’s, but I don’t expect Liam to come to me and pledge his undying love for me. I almost don’t expect to be talking to him at all. What I expect—what I want more than anything—is to win the Adawell prize. I have been dreaming about this kind of recognition for my entire career, and I don’t want this night to be about a man. I want it to be about a book.”

  “How feminist of you,” Ashlynn jokes. “I’m so proud!” she adds, coming over to our settee and hugging me.

  “Me too,” Katy chimes in, joining the group hug. “Let’s find you the perfect gown!”

  “And the perfect shoes,” Ashlynn adds, “and the perfect bag.”

  “You scare me,” I tell her.

  “And with good reason. The Visa people are probably going to give you a call when I’m done with you,” she threatens, grinning.

  35

  Dear Diary

  It’s Monday morning, and I’m celebrating the achievements of the weekend with my staff. I feel definitely up today, even if my bank account has hit a new level of low after funding my shopping spree. However, I have found the perfect gown―the blush one with only one strap, the more-than-perfect shoes and clutch—and I feel unstoppable. Everyone else seems on the hyper side too. You can almost touch the buzz within these four walls. I wonder if they’re genuinely excited, or just overly relieved they still have a job. It was no secret that if We Fall Together bombed we would all be unemployed today.

  The only exception is Claire, my publishing director. She seems a bit quiet, and I wonder why. I move closer to her, and as I do so I sense her uneasiness spike up. Is she leaving us? That’s it. She had another job lined up just in case, and now she’s going to give me her notice. I can’t afford to lose her. I will do everything it takes to have her stay with us.

  “Hey,” I say, approaching her. “How’s everything going?”

  She immediately confirms my fears. “Can I talk to you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I reply, slightly taken aback. I had expected—or at least hoped—for a denial.

  “Not here. Can we go outside for a coffee?” Claire asks.

  “Coffee it is,” I say, gloomy. If we can’t talk about it in the office, it means it’s nothing good.

  ***

  “So what’s up?” I ask her ten minutes later, as we sit at a high table opposite to each other with two venti cappuccinos in front of us.

  “Joanna, do I have your complete trust as publishing director?” Claire sounds unsure.

  “Absolutely, why? Have I given you any reason to think otherwise?” I’ve always taken pride in my soft skills with colleagues. What can I have possibly done to throw her off?

  “No, not really…” She hesitates.

  “Then what is it?” I prompt her.

  She shifts uncomfortably on her stool. “So you still trust me to screen and vet all the manuscripts we receive?”

  “Yes, one hundred percent. Why?”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them.” What’s going on here? I’m beginning to get annoyed at her. “Claire, if something happened, please just tell me so that I know what we’re talking about.”

  Claire stares at me uncertainly for a couple of seconds, before fishing for something in her maxi bag. “I found this.” She hands me a folder.

  I open the binder and stare at its contents in shock, a furious blush spreading on my cheeks.

  “Where did you find this?” I ask her.

  It’s her turn to redden.

  “It was on your desk,” she admits. “I knocked it over by mistake, and the papers came spilling out. I wanted to put it back, but I couldn’t avoid peeking at it first.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  “Yes,” she confirms.

  “What do you think?” I challenge her.

  She switches from embarrassed to professional and gives me her opinion. “It’s somewhat raw, but it has potential. It needs a touch more adventure, and the two characters need to get together already—they were driving me crazy with that chasing each other to no end. With the right editing, I think it could be a great novel.” Finally, she gets to her point. “Why did you take this manuscript for yourself, instead of having it go through me as usual? And since when do we accept unfinished manuscripts? If you don’t trust me to manage the selection process anymore, I’d like to know and ask you why.” She stares at me expectantly.

  “Claire, you have my compete trust and you’re still in charge of the selection process for every single manuscript.”

  “But—” She tries to protest, but I stop her.

  “I didn’t show this to you because this isn’t a manuscript. It’s as simple as that.”

  “What do you mean it isn’t a manuscript? Joanna, I can recognize a book when I read one.”

  “This is not a novel…” I pause. “It’s a diary.”

  “A diary? But the story is so over the top!”

  “You can’t think of anyone with that kind of history?” I pierce her with my eyes.

  She inhales sharply and covers her mouth with her hands as comprehension dawns on her. If she was red before, now she’s about to ignite and become a supernova. “I thought it was fiction…I mean, you changed the names…I didn’t think…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to stick my nose in, it sort of happened…”

  “It’s okay.” I put her out of her awkward misery. “I just never thought someone else would read this.” I tap the folder with a finger. �
�I typed it to get my ideas in order.”

  “You mean you don’t intent to publish it?”

  “No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “Absolutely not, it’s too private.”

  “Joanna, that’s a mistake. You have a potentially great book here. And it coming from you after all that happened, it would drive the public crazy. You have to publish it—you have to.”

  “Claire, I appreciate the compliments and the enthusiasm, but you said it yourself—it’s raw.”

  “Joanna, I have to insist. If you add the romance and some adventure—I don’t know, put some smugglers in there or something—it will be an instant best seller.”

  I can’t deny I’ve thought about it. I even have an idea in mind for how to spice up everything with some action, and I’ve fantasized about the development of the romance enough to know I could make it a killer story. But I’m not sure I want to. It would mean putting everything so out there. I’ve never been the writer, always the editor. I like being behind the scenes.

  “I don’t know—it still feels too private to have thousands of strangers read it. Especially if I blow the romance out of proportion to what it really was. Everyone will think something happened between me and Connor, and it’s not true.”

  “Let them think it. We can say it’s a work of fiction, and that you barely drew some inspiration from your accident.”

  “But nobody will believe it,” I protest again.

  “But that’s the beauty of it—no one would know for certain. It would leave everyone wondering. It’s perfect.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “Why don’t you try to write the rest and decide later?” Claire suggests.

  “Because if I write the rest, I know I’m going to publish it.”

  “Can you promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

  “That I can do, but now we’d better get back to the office. We have a lot of work to do on finished books.”