ONE WEEK 1
Authors: Kristina Weaver
ONE WEEK
PART 1 of 3
KRISTINA WEAVER
All Rights Reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to events, businesses, companies, institutions, and real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Becky
“Stupid freaking idiots. I hope they all get the clap and crab crotch,” I mutter under my breath as the hags that work in my office continue to titter and cast sly glances my way, as if by some chance I don’t know that they’re talking about me or taking the mickey.
Goddamned simpletons haven’t stopped giving me hell since my boss, Abigail Cox, chewed my ass out in front of the entire office and their mothers, for something I didn’t even do!
“Hey Becky? Is it true Abi’s got you on probation?”
I snarl silently and force my lips to smile, even though I’d like nothing better than to walk up to Trish and her coven and start swinging haymakers their way.
But my parents and four brothers had been adamant that I use my self-defense skills only in matters of self-defense. A lady does not beat the crud out of other people just because they’re spiteful.
Or so they all have been telling me since the fourth grade, when I’d given Duffy Simon a shiner and broken one of his teeth. They’d made me pay for the cap on his tooth for six months with my pocket money and made me promise not to use the skills my brothers had taught me unless I have to.
So instead of answering I keep the smile pasted on my face and shrug, something I’ve been doing so much it’s a wonder my shoulders aren’t lopsided by now.
It’s an attitude I’ve had to adopt for the last three months, after Peter Gunther, one of the top lawyers in the firm, had started sexually harassing me and spread the rumor that I’d slept with his disgusting carcass.
It’s the reason my boss is being such a cron
e
—
Peter is her secret crush, though from the looks of her, the secret is so ou
t
—
and the reason I’m trying to ignore the ‘friendship’ offers from half the secretarial pool.
They want the dirt, and I refuse to give it to them, seeing as the only dirty thing concerned is Peter and his forceful advances.
“Oh, come now, Becky. Lighten up. We’re all friends,” she says, and they titter some more, driving me precariously close to the very edges of my temper.
I’m saved from assault charges and losing my job when my phone rings, forcing me to ignore their continued giggles and sidelong glances.
“Miz Cox’s office.”
“Hey, Beck.”
I smile for the first time and clutch the phone tighter when I hear Lila’s voice. My brother Grey’s fiancée is not only my best bud but one of the only people I enjoy talking to outside of my family. We’d grown up together in our small town of Granger Falls, Georgia, and have been best friends our whole lives.
I’d always counted on us coming to the big city together and spending our college years partying it up and enjoying our freedom. Thanks to Grey and his possessive ideas, I’d spent four years alone in a moldy dorm room, studying to keep myself sane while they played house and took things slow.
They’ve been engaged so long I’d started wondering if they’d ever get married. Now I regret it, thanks to the fiasco that is the grand wedding, a weeklong event that means I’ll be fitted, prodded, and poked at by every old lady in attendance.
Oh, and then I’ll have to answer a million questions about my still-single status and fend off advances from the boys Mama is sure to have lined up like a herd of cattle.
“Hiya, what’s up?”
“Grey called. His business trip is gonna be extended by a day, and he…uh, he asked if you could get Devon from the airport and bring him on down to the house for Wedding Week,” she says hesitantly, her voice more of a whispered grimace.
What? No. Hell no. Definitely negative.
“Uh, um, the thing is…”
Oh, why didn’t any of my brothers teach me to lie better than this? I suck when cornered and everyone knows it, which is no doubt why they’d gotten Lila to call instead of doing the dirty work themselves.
Grey or any of my other family would get a quick no and dial tone. Lila, well, I can never say no to her, especially not now, when she’s stressing herself to death about the little details.
“Oh, please? I have another fitting tomorrow morning and Mama’s going ape-shit about the roses I ordered and Grey’
s
—
”
“Can’t he just rent a car or something? Please?”
“He’s getting in at Gate Three; I’ll text you the details. Please do this for me, Beck. You know I wouldn’t ask, but I’m so swamped,an
d
—
”
“Fine,” I mutter, rolling my eyes heavenward. “Just don’t have a freaking stroke the week before your wedding, or my brother will murder me.”
Shit. It’s not that I mind taking the time or making the effort where the wedding is concerned. It’s that I’d rather collect Hannibal Lecter from the airport than be forced to spend a two hour car ride with the oh so delectable Devon Baxter.
The guy is like, super-hot, and I’ve been crushing on him since I was thirteen years old and he was nineteen. I’d spent two summers following him and Grey around like a lovesick puppy until he’d very gently told me to get lost and lose the stars in my eyes.
Easier said than done.
I’ve kept the crush, though from a very far distance, and would happily have done so for the rest of my life if not for Grey and his stupidity.
“Thanks, babe, I owe you one.”
“No, you owe me like six for this alone, not to mention three months ago when you made me go on that date with your cousin Kurt. The guy has seven arms, the way he was fondling me!”
That gets a laugh, exactly what I was going for, and we spend the next few minutes reliving my night of horrors.
“You remember what he said to me?”
“Oh, Jesus, don’t say it, Beck!” she laughs, making me smile and giggle down the phone.
Kurt’s oka
y
—
for a pig, I guess. Handsome, blonde,and charmin
g
to everyone but me. He’d told me in a matter of fact tone that while he’s not a ‘chubby chaser’, my face more than made up for a lot of things, and that he could see a future for us after I made a ‘few changes’. And then the schmuck had ordered me a salad, and I’d had to force it down while he ate a rib eye and baked potato.
Asshole.
“Slade! In my office.”
“Oh crap, I gotta go. The Darkness calleth my name.”
“Good luck. And thanks again.”
Don’t mention it.
“Miss Cox?”
I’m practically jumping out of my skin by the time I make it to her offic
e
—
while the others smirk knowingl
y
—
and stand a few feet away from her desk, waiting for whatever she has to throw at me.
“I have to leave for a meeting in five minutes. I want everything on the Anderson case on my desk tomorrow morning for the deposition, and make sure Harvey gets copies just in case he has to sit second chair. I don’t know what’s going on with Mia yet, and I can’t trust that little slacker, so make sure everything’s done for me.”
Bitch.
Mia is going on seven months pregnant and her doctor wants her on bed rest, since her workload has put a lot of strain on herlately. The fact that Abi doesn’t give a shit and has actually given her more work makes me wanna slap her senseles
s
—
well, more senseless than the twit already i
s
—
and tell Mia to get the hell out before these losers turn her into a revenant like them.
“Okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah, keep your legs closed and your mouth shut around Peter, or you can kiss your job goodbye. Now get the hell outta my office.”
Have I mentioned how much I hate her?
“You in trouble Beeeckyy?” Trish asks when I stomp back to my desk, her drawl irritating my frazzled nerves that last little bit that I need to completely lose my mind. “That boss lady of yours can be a real bitch.”
I don’t respond, because my mama taught me decent manners, but that doesn’t mean I disagree one little bit.
You need another job, Beck. Working for that viper isn’t gonna get you anywhere fast, and you know it.
Yeah, I do. I’ve been here going on three years, and I’m still at the bottom of the freaking totem pole. Not that I mind much, since I’ve sort of lost interest in law, and though I’m studying I have no interest in sitting for the bar exams. But gosh darn it, it irks me that I’m being looked over because of Abi’s jealousy.
Yeah, my life has turned into a real crap shoot, and to top it all off I’m going to be stuck in a car with the hottest man alive, for like, hours! How the heck I’m supposed to keep myself from looking like a drooling idiot is beyond me.
I’m literally a drooling mess at just the mention of his name, so being that close is definitely going to test my powers of coolness to the extreme.
Not that I’m cool or anything. I’m a little on the plump side, my hair is plain brown to go with my plain brown eyes, and I have freckles across my nose that no amount of makeup will get rid of.
In shor
t
—
yeah,I’m short to
o
—
I am exactly the opposite of sexy, and so far out of Devon’s league it’s heartbreakingly sad.
“You can do this, Beck. Just take a deep breath and plaster a smile on that face. Nod when necessary, and just pretend that you’re not practically pissing yourself when he comes through that gate.”
Easier said than done, I think, looking down at the dirty spot at my knee where I’d landed after tripping up the escalator and falling on my ass in front of a billion onlookers.
Oh yeah, maybe I should mention how clumsy I am. Always have been. I could fall wearing a freaking harness, and odds are I’d do it in a crowd.
“Well hey there, gorgeous. Please don’t break my heart by telling me you’re waiting on your significant other.”
I turn with a squeak and face plant into a brick wall, one that smells absolutely delicious and feels warm and….yummy. Two broad, steel bands shoot out and wrap around me, keeping me firmly planted on my feet and smashed against all that tasty hardness.
When I look up I practically have to roll my tongue back into my mouth, the guy is so hot. He’s about six one to my five two and so muscled his shirt looks like it’s painted on.
My eyes flit up and I blush, licking my lips in an unconscious need to taste the dimples that have popped out. Blue eyes the color of a winter sky smile down at me, and it’s a freaking miracle when I find myself smiling back instead of fish-lipping myself into mime school.
The guy is hooooot!
“Uh…”
“So are you?”
“Um, what?”
Cool, Beck. Just stay cool and you won't be making an ass of yourself.
“Are you gonna break my heart, gorgeous? Are you waiting on your man?”
The way he asks the question is so cute, especially with the way his lip pouts out and trembles beneath puppy dog eyes, that I can’t help but giggle and bat my eyes at him.
“You’re full of it. And no, I’m not waiting on my man, just
a
man,” I laugh, feeling the lie hit my stomach like a lead boulder. “My brother’s best friend is flying in.”
I’ve always considered Devon mine, always, even though we’re not even living on the same continent and despite the fact that he probably doesn’t even remember my name after the last time we’d seen each other four years ago.
Christ, the guy probably hasn’t thought of me once since leaving after a quick visit when Grey and Lila had their engagement party. I almost cringe just recalling the stumbling and clumsy hilarity that is me after two glasses of champagne.
Talk about a show stopper.
“Well, now I can breathe again,” he drawls, grinning down at me. “Name’s Dillon, and I am most definitely all too pleased to make your acquaintance.”
I laugh and step away, feeling out of sorts and jittery all of a sudden. Is this what it feels like to be attracted to a guy? I mean… But no, I am definitely attracted to Devon, have been for years, and this feels nothing like that.
All I’m feeling is a small amount of amusement and quiet, friendly interest. There are no butterflies or happy nerves. All I feel is…friendly affection.
Damn.
Why though? Dillon is hot, I mean seriously hot, and he’s got a big, open smile that makes me want to smile right back, but…I dunno, I’m not all tingly and breathless, I’m not thinking of what to say not to make a fool of myself, and I am most definitely not thinking about what’s under those jeans and his white shirt, even though I suspect any red-blooded female in my position would.
Bummer.
“Becky,” I say, holding out my hand for him to take. “So what are you doing here, Dillon?” I ask, pulling my hand away to scan the gate again.
Still no Devon.
“I’m here to get my little sister, Mags. She’s coming home from college, and I thought her big brother should take her out before the parents get their claws into her poor hide again.”
His tone makes me laugh, and I relax, reminding myself that being hit on by a gorgeous man is not a bad thing. I’m a little dumpy and what I would consider plain, so this is most assuredly a new experience for me. I should enjoy it, not look around for a way to fob him off gently.
“Big brother, huh? I have many of those creatures in my life, and as far as I recall they live to torment little sisters,” I tease, casting another quick glance at the gate.
“Huh, well, I can’t say you aren’t wrong, but the little darlin’ has spent the last four years cooped up in a dorm with nothing but her books. It’s time for her to live a little.”
Damn, now I’m a little jealous. I’d spent four years being managed by my over-protective siblings, and the last two
being managed
as well.
My brothers even take turns coming up every three months to check things out and make sure I’m ‘safe’.
“So, you live around here?”
‘Here’ being Georgia, which is big, so I should have been more specific, but truth is I really don’t care that much. Huh.
“Yeah.” He laughs, tweaking a curl that’s fallen over my shoulder. “We should go out some time, ya kno
w
—
”
“Rebecca?”
My body goes hot and cold at the sound of that cultured accent, and I feel a blush spread over my skin, heating me up in a way I wish the tall, teasing Dillon could have.
What’s the use of getting all hot and bothered for a guy who doesn’t even know you exist most of the time? He’s so…intense, and…he’s a playboy, I keep telling myself as I take a deep breath and turn, willing myself not to blush or start stammering the moment I see those blonde locks and gray eyes.
“Devon.”
The name is a breathy whisper of sound that makes my lips tingle and the jittering start low in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t allowed myself to even think his name since the last tabloid article had shown him smiling down at a reed-thin, leggy blonde who’d looked air brushed, she’d been so perfect.
Blech.
Yesterday had been the first time I’d so much as thought his name in years, and yet here I stand, feeling every bit the gauche, plump girl I’ve always been in his presence.
Those gray eyes hold mine for a second before going over my shoulder, the slight smile that had played there hardening when he spots Dillon and the hand still resting at my hip.
“I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance,” he says, his eyes trained on the hand that now feels like it’s burning a hole through my flesh.
“Oh, hey man, I’m Dillon, Dillon Johnson. Becky here was just about to agree to a date, ain’t that right, gorgeous?”
No! I want to scream that I am so not even interested in the tall, hot hunk beside me and prostrate myself at his feet in payment for a betrayal that shouldn’t exist, that I really shouldn’t feel, considering I don’t really exist as a whole person to this man. But I can’t.
I do have some pride, after all, and for the first time ever I’m desirable to someone and not just plain little Becky, the kid who’d spent half the summer following him around like a loser.
“Uh, yeah. Let me give you my number and you can call me,” I say, my voice a high-pitched squeak as I fiddle with my phone, ignoring the man beside me.
“Sweet! Thanks, Becky. Oh, I see my little sis. I’ll call ya soon!”
And then he’s off, leaving me alone with the silent man beside me. With a will that is born of sheer bravado I raise my eyes and keep the smile on my face, only holding my breath when our eyes meet and hold, staying connected so long I feel a renewed blush heat my cheeks.
“Uh, so welcome back? You look different?”
Everything I say comes out a question, something I’ve done since I was sixtee
n
—
three years into my crus
h
—
and have yet to rid myself of.
I can’t help it. Whenever I’m in his presence every pep talk and shred of common sense I possess flies out the window, to be replaced by the gawky nerd he’s always known.
“Thanks, imp. You’re looking all grown up yourself,” he drawls, and I shiver, blushing all over when his eyes run the length of my body and back up, a smile back in place. “Still the same though.”
Every warm feeling I possess evaporates all at once, and I fight back the hurt, not wanting him to see how much it hurts. To Devon I’ll always be the plump little dweeb, and nothing I do will change that.
Two years ago I’d actually gone on a diet and succeeded at losing ten pounds. Grey had invited him over for the holidays, and I’d had this fantasy that if I could look the part and somehow change my personality he’d finally see me.
I’d been sick that year, thanks to the extremes I’d gone to in order to lose weight, and gone against doctors’ orders and traveled back home, so excited for him to see my transformation.
He’d called the day before Thanksgiving and begged off, and I’d felt so shitty I’d eaten enough for three people and slunk up to my room, sick to my stomach.
Now every time I think of the things I’d done to my body to be good enough that he’d finally recognize me, I get so pissed at myself I can’t breathe.
That emotion does what nothing else has the power to, and instead of stammering and tittering like an idiot I give him my stoniest glare and seal my lips, cocking my head toward the doors.
“We should get going.”
“Have I said something to upset you, imp?”
“Nope. I’m just tired. I worked all day, and then I had to ask my boss for time off to come get you. Not one of my top twenty things to do before I die, I’ll tell you that. Come on, we better get going. Mama and the gang are expecting your hallowed return.”
Here’s the thing. I have two settings: sweet, kind, bumbling Becky, and the hell’s spawn Becky who rips shreds into people when she’s hurt or peeved.
A minute ago I’d been my usual self, and now I’m the product of Devon’s sardonic drawl, as if I needed the reminder that I’m a little less than perfection itself.
“Did I say something, imp?”
I keep walking and ignore his question, because honestly, since when would he give a hoot about whether he’s said something wrong or hurt my feelings?
It’s only once we’ve cleared the automated doors and I’m unlocking the trunk that I turn back to him, back in that calm, serene place my shrin
k
—
the one I’d gone to as a tee
n
—
had taught me to find.
According to Doc Mallory, I can overcome anything by channeling my emotions in a constructive way. I just need to breathe and keep telling myself that I can only get hurt if I allow it to matter.
I’ve survived over two ears of Abi living on that theory alone. I can survive two hours in a car with a man I’m not even sure I want to like if I just keep that in mind.
“You want to get something to eat before we hit the road, or no?” I ask, unlocking the doors and sliding into my compact little Fiesta.
I almost laugh when he’s folded almost double and has to fiddle around for the seat adjuster before unsnapping himself from his pretzel-like slouch.
“No. Thanks, but I ate on the plane,” he mutters, glaring at my twinkling eyes. “Could your car be any bloody smaller?”
“Well, yeah. My grandpa gave me this sweet little old school Mini for my eighteenth birthday, but Grey went nuts and started yelling about semi-trucks and cardboard boxes and, well, I didn’t make it past the driveway before this one replaced it.”
Too bad, because that hot pink little cutie had stolen my heart from the start. She’s still sitting in my folks’ garage, awaiting my return.
“Buckle up, Brit. I plan on making good time,” I warn before shifting into gear and hitting the gas.
His yell and white-knuckled grip on the dashboard lift my spirits considerably, and by the time I make it to my parents’ place I’ve loosened up enough to have sung along to three Spice Girls songs and a lot of Jessi Jay.
“Bloody menace,” is all he says as he bolts out of the car and glares at me, his eyes shooting daggers my way.
“What? I just gave you the ride of your life, big guy.”