The Sweetest Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (10 page)

There. She’d admitted it. Breaking her promise to Jace to wait, and then be together once the storm blew over, had been a mistake.

Beverly sagged, setting her purse and keys back down. She sighed. “It’s those damned puppy-dog eyes of yours. I swear it.” She wagged a manicured finger at Claire. “I will hear you out. And that is all. And no more of this I’m-all-you-have stuff. It is manipulative and not entirely true.”

Claire scowled and put her hands up. “How do you figure?”

Beverly smiled sweetly. “You have Oliver.”

Claire snorted as Beverly summoned a waiter. With a deep breath, Claire began her story of Jace. From the beginning, including every last promise-by-sunrise detail.

When she ended, Beverly sat shaking her head. “Claire, Claire, Claire. Who knew? All your lists and planning, and all you ever wanted was to be swept off your tight-laced feet.” She pulled out her worn, plastic-covered planner and clicked her pen. “Well, if you’re going to do this…

Number one—find a way to see Jace Fletcher,” Beverly said.

~~

Chapter Eleven

One good thing Claire could claim about working for Schnebly, Hill & Garrison—the privacy of her very own office. She loved it. Stacks of paper filled her desk, no one could see the screen of her PC, and whenever someone walked by or glanced in the sliver of window she had, Claire thoroughly enjoyed appearing supremely busy.

Truth be told, she didn’t have much work. More like much paperwork. But she was new.

Everything else about her new job sucked sweat socks. The all white staff room with nothing but a water cooler sucked. The tail-wagging interns looking for scraps of attention so that they might request a recommendation from her. The way Oliver felt it appropriate to kiss her and call her pet names like “Snookie” in front of her peers. And most of all, the way that everyone seemed to treat clients in an imperious way, gossiping about cases behind closed doors irked her no end. It
all
sucked.

She missed her old job. Where people talked smack to your face.

Thankfully, when she typed away, papers swimming atop her cherry wood mammoth of an executive desk, glasses on, no one bothered her. She kept waiting for someone to yell “aha!” and call her bluff.

She hadn’t worked more than a week’s worth of her new exorbitant yearly salary. And it didn’t bother her in the least. What little work she was assigned was neither pressing nor all that interesting, let alone noble. Nothing was as rewarding as her work at the WRC.

Clicking the “Send” button on her instant message—thank God for chat windows because no way could she do this by email here—to Beverly put a sly smile on her face. Today’s agenda proved far more fun than either job. Playing detective.

It was not only fun, it was energizing. The research made her crazy hope of somehow, some way, winning Jace over feel half-sane. Plus, it kept her mind from spiraling down a dark tunnel of fear and insecurity rooted in what-ifs.

What if Jace laughed in her face? What if he brought his girlfriend in to hear it, then they
both
laughed in her face? What if Jace was madly and deeply in love with the very sweet and pretty Bels? What if Jace was glad that she’d never returned his calls so long ago? ...

Claire shook her head and forced her attention back to the Google search results loading on her screen.

Jace Fletcher. Was that his legal name? Jace? She wished she knew. Uh, wow. Google was no help. Maybe searching Facebook would be better. Jace short for Jason?

She messaged Beverly:
What now?

The first few days, they’d plotted various ways Claire could win Jace back. Today was geared toward finding a way to implement the plan.

Jace wasn’t in any high school friend finder, he didn’t have a MySpace page, he wasn’t listed in any of the three phone number directories they’d gone to. Three Jace Fletchers showed as possibilities on Facebook, all without a profile pic versus about a hundred Jason Fletchers. At close to five p.m. now, Claire didn’t know any more today than she had known at the café.

Well, except about how she still felt about him.

She also knew a little more about Beverly—mostly how much of a closet romantic she was and also how good a friend. She knew a little more about herself.

When had she ever guessed that she could be insecure? Thinking back on it now, she could see it in little corners of her life. The way she played things safe, even when she was being rebellious. The way she needed to please her parents so badly.

They weren’t going to like this. That was certain.

If it worked out, that is.

Claire tapped her fingernail to the desk, willing Beverly to reply.

Julia and Mitchell Byron loved the Garrisons, and Claire’s engagement to one was just about the only topic they were able to civilly discuss at dinner. Choosing to date, and then get engaged to Oliver, had seemed a little like a gift to her parents. A truce agreement between two warring countries. What a relief!

If she wanted to see this through, she could not think about the storm—more like category five hurricane—that ending it with Oliver would bring on.

If she ended it. After they’d hashed out the latest—last time they would fight over his fantasy, she’d become torn. Oliver agreed that some things were left to the imagination and that marriage was a trade off. Spending the rest of his life with her was better than the what ifs.

Progress. Right?

Fantasy aside, Oliver would be a great husband, a solid match. He was everything she imagined a husband would be. Solid, dependable. No fireworks and swooning. Safe. If only her heart would get over Jace.

For now, she only had to entertain the possibility of living a dream. Once that dream was realized, she would begin dismantling the life she’d spent the last four years building.

Beverly’s reply flashed onto the screen, a lime green smiling face next to her all-caps reply:
WE NEED SOME INSIDE HELP. A SPY ...

Claire’s stomach tightened as she waited for the next line.
WHO CAN WE GET TO HELP US WHO KNOWS HIM?

Her mouth fell open and she slowly shook her head, as though Beverly could see her. She quickly typed back:
No one. BAD idea. Really really *BAD* idea. What else????????

The cursor flashed in time with her pulse. Her palms sweated as her mind turned Beverly’s less-than-brilliant idea over and over. Help? Who? No. Bad, very bad idea. The only person she could ever think to ask something like this was part of the original problem.

Beverly typed: MILLIE. Weren’t you two friends once?

Yeah, and Millie had dropped Claire flat within the day they’d come back from the wedding. For all Claire knew, Millie might have had a serious thing for Jace. Plus, she was a friend of the family now, which hurtled Claire’s imagination into all sorts of new directions.

Millie running after Jace. Millie disliking Claire. Millie knowing what Jace and Claire shared that night. What if Millie had been spying already? Claire didn’t trust Millie. Period.

Claire typed: NO. Millie won’t work. Bad blood. What else?

“Come on, Beverly,” she said to the little pop-up window. “There’s got to be something else we can do.”

There was no one else who might care about Claire enough to help. Except Tyler.

She could not,
would
not ask Tyler Fletcher for help in the seduction of and thereby sweeping off-his-feet plan that she had made for his twin brother. It would break his heart.

It would ruin any chance she might still have with Jace. She didn’t know why or how she knew this, but she knew, deep down. She had so little time left, if they didn’t find a way to Jace soon—

Oliver’s popped his head through her door, making her jump in her seat and nearly cover her screen with both hands.

“Hey, I gotta stay late. How about some Chinese food?” he asked, winking.

Was Chinese code for sex? No. They’d had some last week. Chinese food. They hadn’t had sex in two months. Claire smiled and nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Sounds good.”

Oliver scowled a bit. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, great. Just great. Busy,” she said, shrugging one shoulder and gesturing to her screen.

“Alright. Order your usual?”

A flash in her peripheral—the chat window—told her Beverly had replied. “Perfect. Thanks.”

“Meet me in the conference room in thirty minutes then,” he said and smooched a kiss in the air.

Claire nodded, air-smooched back, and just about sagged when he closed the door. She was too anxious to sag. Fingers crossed, her eyes went straight to the words on her screen.

What if we contact the mom, maybe use the wedding as an excuse, just to get his phone number or where he works????? I dunno. I’m tapped. (Sad smiley face.)—P.

Helen! Of course, Helen. Why hadn’t she thought of her before?
Duh, Claire, duh.

Claire happily typed back: Tapped, but brilliant. *muah*

~~

Chapter Twelve

March 15th.

And counting.

At first, the plan had seemed simple. She would get hold of Jace, secure a lunch or dinner date—meeting—and the temptation games would begin.

A glass of wine at a hotel bar, her sexiest dress, hair up, dinner at a hotel restaurant, and then a little oh-my-gosh-have-you-seen-their-rooms comment or something, would work.

Claire could flirt. That much she knew. And she even trusted herself to be able to go only as far as to make their attraction obvious. She didn’t want to hurt his girlfriend. She hated the idea of hurting anyone who loved Jace. But if it took extremes to make Jace see they had something still between them, well, last chances could create desperate measures.

On the coffee shop paper napkin, and even later on the computer screen, the plan looked achievable and smart. Super. But they never counted on how difficult it was to get a freaking phone number these days.

Helen was her last hope.

Claire knew it. But that didn’t stop her from gnashing it over and about in her brain, trying to come up with the right thing to say to Jace’s mom for three days. Three. She knew she was burning precious time, but that only seemed to make it harder for her mind to work. Invite her to the wedding that might never happen. Fine. Good.

Then what?

Oh, by the way, can I have Jace’s number?

Or maybe everyone’s number?

What if Helen asked why? “I feel like I should call. Etiquette says. I want to catch up with everyone first.” Okay. That’d work.

Three days of avoiding this told her she was really avoiding failure. Rejection.

Better to know than to wonder, though. So, with shaking fingers, Claire picked up her office receiver a third time and took a steadying breath. She went over the lines in her head, written in front of her should she choke on the ball of nerves building in her throat. She dialed. The number was the same from six years ago, and how she remembered that little fact now was beyond her.

She hit the last number.
Beep
. The line rang. She breathed again, and put a smile on her face. She’d read somewhere that if you smile on the phone, people will know you’re sincere. She was lying her ass off, but she was sincere. Her intentions were, anyway. A small part of her worried that Tyler might answer, but her rational self said that it was highly unlikely. None of Helen’s children were old enough to be living at home still, and the Fletchers didn’t seem like parents who’d raise children unable to spread their wings. Plus, if he answered, she could always just hang—

“Hello?”

“Hello, is Helen available?” Claire said, impressed with how cool she—and even her words —sounded.

“Can I tell her who’s calling?”

Oh, crap. It was Jace! The ball in her throat seemed to implode—all of a sudden numbing Claire’s working speaking parts and functioning brain.

“It’s—this—I’m calling for—” she said, trying not to cough. Jace.
Just ask if it’s him!
her brain shouted to her mouth. But her mouth still fumbled for feeling.

She paused to swallow, unconsciously spreading her fingers out on her desk before her. The smile on her face stayed locked in place. “Jace? Is that you?”

Silence.

“Claire?”

She could practically hear Jace scowl in the one word. “Yeah. Hi. How are you?” she said on a puff of nervous laughter.

“I’m good. Hold on, my mom’s right here.”

“No wait,” Claire said, knocking a stack of papers to the floor. “Jace?”

“Hello?”

“I wasn’t actually calling for your mother,” Claire blurted, scrambling to right another stack before it toppled as well.

“Well, I suppose that’s good, as she’s been dead ten years now.”

Claire straightened, ignoring the teetering stack as it tipped over. “Mrs. Fletcher?”

“Yes. Claire?” The older woman’s voice held a note of warning.

“Yes. Hi. Hello. How are you?”

“I’ll be a lot better if you call me Helen.”

“Sorry,” Claire said. She put her hand to her forehead, knocking her glasses. Quickly, she shoved away the unnecessary things and held them in a fist. “I thought Jace was still on the line.”

“Oh.”

Oh crap! “I mean, I thought ... never mind. How are you?”

A low chuckle met her ears. “I’m good, thank you. And yourself?”

“Super. I was calling you to find out if you’ll be able to make the wedding. My wedding planner is anxious for me to finalize the seating, and so—”