Chapter One
Willow
THREE MONTHS LATER
I should’ve never answered his call.
“Have you been smoking crack?” I screech into the phone. “I’m telling Stella to break up with you. I can’t have my best friend screwing a dude who does crack.” I’m deleting him from my Contacts as soon as the call ends. I can’t associate myself with someone this batshit crazy.
Hudson sucks in what sounds like an irritated breath. “No, Willow, I’m not smoking crack. It’ll be the icing on the cake if you show. She misses you.”
“You know I can’t come back there.” My throat tightens, the memory of that night crashing through my mind like a horror movie that keeps you up late at night. Hell, he does keep me up at night.
“It’s not like you’re fucking blacklisted. You’ve chosen not to come back. I emailed you your flight information. See you in a few days.”
The line goes dead.
Asswad.
I grip my phone, ready to call him back and tell him to shove that ticket up his ass, but I can’t.
I can’t because he’s proposing to my boss/best friend at her surprise birthday party. Stella deserves this—deserves love, happiness, and her best friend in attendance for one of the most important nights of her life. So, I’ll put my hate of the small town aside and risk seeing him—the jackass whose bed I fled from after our very drunken and very regrettable one-night stand.
He’ll be in attendance, given it’s his brother doing the proposing, which means I have to put my big-girl panties on, keep them on, and refrain from smashing a wine glass over his head.
All while keeping the biggest secret of my life.
While staying sober.
This will be interesting.
Some people believe in soul mates.
I believe in champagne and cupcakes.
The problem tonight is that I can only binge on one of the above, and it’s not the one I prefer.
I get a whiff of Stella’s signature rose perfume before she cages me in for a hug. I squeeze her tight, a silent sorry that I’ve been a sucky friend, and we’re both nearly gasping for breath by the time we release each other.
Damn, I’ve missed my best friend and how I could always confide in her without judgment. That’s changed now. My secret will destroy her relationship.
“I can’t believe you came,” she cries out with a red-lipped smile. “How did Hudson convince you? Buy you a mini pony? Promise to kick Dallas in the balls?”
I laugh. “Two horses actually. And I didn’t consider the second option, so thanks for the idea. I’ll add it to my list of demands next time.”
I snag her manicured hand to admire the glistening princess cut diamond sitting beautifully on her finger. It’s perfection and so Stella—nothing too exuberant or obnoxious but still flashy.
“I have to give it to the corn-fed, small-town boy,” I go on. “He did a kick-ass job in the ring department.”
She stares down at her finger, her smile now nearly taking over her entire face. “He did, didn’t he?”
Hudson threw her a great party. He invited the few family members she talks to, his family, and everyone on the cast and crew of her show. There’s food galore, confetti sprinkled all over the white-tableclothed tables, and a Happy Birthday banner hangs in front of the empty DJ booth.
Stella is not only my boss, but also childhood star turned Hollywood’s princess. I’m her assistant. That’s how I met Mr. Wrong One-Night Stand. We worked together for years until he quit to move back home, and Hudson took his job.
Hudson couldn’t give Stella mansions or fancy cars, but he did shower her with enough love and happiness to make up for it. She moved from LA to Blue Beech, Iowa, after convincing a producer to shoot her new show here. I tried to resign, but she wasn’t having it and agreed to let me do all my work from my apartment in LA.
Her hands rest on her hips over the black designer dress. “Are you staying with us tonight? I just put a new smart TV in the guest room, and we know how much you like your classic movies.”
I grimace. “That’s a giant hell no. The last thing you need around on the night of your engagement is Willow, the giant contraceptive. I’m crashing at Lauren’s.”
Lauren is Hudson’s and Mr. Wrong’s sister.
She groans. “Fine, I’ll settle for that because you showed up. That’s a big deal, and you did it for me.”
I crack a smile. “I also came for the cake.” That comment results in her pushing my shoulder.
Her face turns serious. “Have you seen him?”
The mention of him gives me a nasty taste in my mouth. “Who?” She crosses her arms at my response, and I scoff, my heart racing, “Oh, you mean the bed evacuator? Nope.”
That’s a lie. He was on my radar as soon as I walked in—for precautionary reasons, of course. I saw his back first, the one I assaulted so much, I ruined my manicure, and worry snaked through me. I cowardly fled the scene when he spun around and saw me.
“Hopefully, he’s ducking underneath tables, so we don’t have to face each other,” I say.
She smirks. “We both know Dallas is not a man who ducks underneath tables.”
“Looks like I’d better start then.”
“Don’t you think it’d be a good idea if you talked? Cleared the air?”
“I need to talk to him like I need anal bleaching. Both of them would be a pain in the ass and are never happening.”
She laughs, snagging a bubbly glass of champagne from a waiter walking by, and thrusts it toward me. “Here’s some liquid courage. Just don’t drink too much that you land in his bed again.”
I swat the drink away. “Not happening, and no, thank you.”
She stills and studies me. “Since when do you turn down champagne? Alcohol is always mandatory in these situations.”
“I’m trying out a new diet.”
“You might want to wipe the icing off the side of your mouth if you want to keep up with that lie.”
I scrub away the remnants of my sugar binge and lick my finger. Thou shall not waste buttercream frosting. “It’s this new craze diet where sugar is the main source of nutrition and alcohol is bad. Very bad. It’s called the good decision-making diet.” I start fake picking lint from my dress, so she doesn’t see the untruth in my eyes. The black dress is ugly and shapeless, and I bought it specifically for tonight to hide my body and secrets.
“So, you’re not drinking because he’s here?”
Shit. That would’ve been a more believable excuse than a damn diet. I nod, feeling bad for lying to her, but I can’t break the news here. It’d ruin her night.
“Does that mean, the chances of letting him rip off your panties for round two is likely?” She sets the glass down on the table behind her and bounces in her heels, like me banging Dallas again would cure world hunger.
“Calm down, matchmaker. Studies show that alcohol gives you shifty eyes.” I point to my hair. “Shifty eyes don’t look good on redheads.”
“Bullshit. You can’t deny you had a connection. Neither one of you is the casual banging type. Talk. Maybe there’s a spark that’ll lead to a firework.”