Текст книги "Crush "

Torn

Dazed

Mended

Blurred

Frayed

Kim Karr is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author.

She grew up in Rochester, New York, and now lives in Florida with her husband and four kids. She’s always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an English major in college, she wanted to teach at the college level, but that was not to be. She went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until quitting to raise her family. Kim currently works part-time with her husband and recently decided to embrace one of her biggest passions—writing.

Kim wears a lot of hats: writer, book-lover, wife, soccer mom, taxi driver, and the all-around go-to person of her family. However, she always finds time to read.

Kim likes to believe in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends, and happily-ever-afters. She loves to drink champagne and listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart.

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And don’t miss Toxic, where, as a reader you’ll first meet Logan. It is an unforgettable stand-alone romance! Available now. Continue reading for a preview.

TOXIC

Familiar Faces

My mother taught me many things . . .

To stand up straight.

To be thankful for what I had.

To never talk to strangers.

And to always answer when spoken to.

I didn’t always listen.

“I miss you.” The text had arrived early this morning and I hadn’t been able to reply. I didn’t know what to say but I knew why Dawson had sent it.

It was October fifteenth.

Our wedding day.

Or it was supposed to have been anyway.

The rain was steadily falling as Lily and I left the movie theater and quickly made our way to the waiting car.

As soon as I got in, I collapsed in the smooth leather seat and looked next to me. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always being there for me.”

“That’s what best friends are for,” she smiled.

And that’s what she was. Lily Monroe had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. And like me, she was in a strange place.

“Has he called yet?” I asked, uncertain if I should bring it up.

Lily shook her head.

“You should just call him.”

She shot me an if looks could kill glare. “No, I will not. And we’re not talking about him. As far as I’m concerned, Preston Tyler is dead.”

Okay then.

I knew when to shut up.

Lily and Preston were always breaking up and getting back together but this was the longest they had been apart in the three years they had been a couple. The breakup was going on nearly four weeks.

Lily opened her purse. “Here,” she said as she unscrewed a small bottle of wine. It was the kind you get when you’re flying. A glass for one.

I took it and gave her a smile and when she pulled out a second, I had to laugh. “Always prepared.”

“You know it,” she said raising her hand. “To rainy days.”

“And rainy nights.” I clinked her bottle.

“To new beginnings.”

“And old endings,” I said, and then I drank the wine.

All of it.

I needed it.

After a final gulp, I let my forehead fall to the window. The sound of faint raindrops that drizzled down it as I stared out into the night triggered something inside me—that lonely ache that I couldn’t seem to ever shake. And for the first time since I had woken up that morning, I allowed a melancholy wave of sorrow to wash over me.

I’d second-guessed my decision to end things with Dawson every day. So when I woke up this morning, I thought I’d be sadder than I had been.

But I wasn’t sad at all.

I was relieved.

I was ready for the shadow that had been looming over me since I broke off the engagement to be gone. Even after the wedding was canceled, the countdown to the big day was still there. Just because two people ceased to exist as a unit, it didn’t mean you no longer felt the other person’s presence in your life.

And Dawson Vanderbilt, even with his gallant stand-up and let’s be friends attitude, had felt like a constant mark of failure in my life.

The seemingly perfect man, a wedding planned with all the trimmings, and I still couldn’t go through with it. I knew the chemistry wasn’t there to sustain a life of happiness together.

I loved him, yet the spark I wanted to feel each time I saw him and the leg I wanted to kick back with a pointed toe when he kissed me—neither ever came.

My phone rang and glancing at the screen, I rolled my eyes.

“Your mother again?” Lily asked.

I nodded. “She’s called me every hour since I left her at lunch. She says she’s checking on me but I can’t help but feel like it’s more. Like she’s punishing me for not going through with the wedding by reminding me of all the things we would have been doing today.”

“She means well, you know she does.”

“I suppose,” I said as I glanced again at the ringing phone.

“Give it to me.”

I looked at Lily questioningly.

“Give me your phone.”

She powered it off. “Everyone you need to talk to will be right inside there.” She pointed to the large brick building we were coming up on in the Meatpacking District.

I gave her a weak smile and slipped my phone in my purse.

When the car slowed, Lily put her hand on my leg. “You sure you’re up to this? We could just go back to my place and watch another movie.”

I flashed her a huge grin, letting my pearly whites show as the black Escalade pulled up to the curb. “Are you kidding?” I chuckled. “And miss the funeral tonight?”

She giggled. “Speaking of, did you see Danny’s tweet?”

I shook my head.

She pulled out her phone, tapped a few buttons, and showed me. “May our ideals RIP. #Bestfuckingfriends #Somethingsshouldneverdie.”

“I really have missed him,” I sighed.

“Me too but at least his social media obsession keeps us up to date with his daily life,” Lily replied with a wink.

“That’s true.”

“Last chance,” she said.

For one moment, I thought about backing out but I plastered a smile on my face instead. “I’m fine. Now let’s go have some fun.”

The door opened and a big black umbrella was held above it. I placed my hand on Hugh’s shoulder. “I’ll take a cab home, so don’t wait up for my call.”

Hugh had been our family’s driver since I was eight years old.

“Miss Phoebe,” he said in his heavy English accent. “You know your father insists I see to it that you make it home safely.”

With one foot out the door, I tried not to laugh at the irony that even from his jail cell, my father still felt the need to watch over me. “I promise I will.”

He shook his head with a heavy sigh, conceding quickly before an argument arose that he knew he’d never win.

I gave him a little squeeze before dropping my other foot to the ground. “Have a good night.”

As of that morning, Hugh’s duties had been transferred from our family’s personal driver, to a driver for the Saint Hotel. He’d still drive my mother as well, of course. Poppy had all but refused to cut back and I knew losing her driver wouldn’t sit well. Soon enough she would be feeling the repercussions of not doing as I had suggested. The Hamptons house went on the market last year and sold right away so that kept her bank account full over the past year. But with no money coming in from The Saint Corporation, I estimated within a year she’d have nothing left.

The trust fund I had access to was also almost empty. My grandfather had divided the money in half—I got the first half when I turned twenty-one and the second when I turn thirty-one, which was still five years away. Most of what I had was used for my father’s legal defense when all of his and my mother’s assets were frozen. I was surprised that my father dragged the proceedings out as long as he did. I knew he was guilty. Everyone knew he was guilty. He’d been charged once before though, when I was little, and had gotten off. I think that’s why he refused to plead guilty. But this time it cost him—no us—a fortune. And he wasn’t acquitted as he was over twenty years ago. I had never thought of my father as selfish, but I did now. After everything, in the end, to receive a lighter sentence, he finally did plead guilty.

By then the St. Claire fortune had been nearly depleted. My parents had been living beyond their means for years anyway, so it didn’t take much to empty them once their accounts had been released.

I had to turn the company around. If not we were not only going to be penniless, we would be homeless. My apartment was a rental, with a steep rent. My lease would be up next month and I planned to move out of the Park Avenue apartment my mother had insisted on when I went to grad school. But my mother would never leave her home on East Seventy-Sixth Street until she was forced to. And a small part of me didn’t want her to. It was my childhood home after all. But the reasonable side of me knew that even after the second mortgage was paid off, the five-story home would sell for enough that she’d never have to worry about money.

And then I wouldn’t have to worry about her.

The open velvet rope was only a few feet away but it seemed so much farther. I grabbed on to Lily’s arm to steady myself. I was feeling slightly tipsy from the wine and my mind was running in a million different directions.

My mother.

My father.

My job.

I took a deep breath.

The cool air felt good in my lungs. It helped to shift my mind away from my problems. I looked at Lily; she was worried about me, I could tell. But I knew I’d be fine. Today I was allowed to be down but tomorrow I would pick myself back up. Still, I wanted to ease her mind. With thoughts of the flick we had just watched, more specifically of the very hot, very sexy Captain America, slamming into my head, I decided to do something to convince Lily I was okay.

So I held my phone to my ear in mock conversation and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “Hello, Marvel Studios, I really want to play the Black Widow in the next Captain America movie.”

She looped her arm through mine and her dirty-sounding chuckle was loud. “Gorgeous, all legs, and sexy vixen with a husky voice—yeah I’d say that part works for you.”

Flashing a smile at the bouncer, I stopped. “We’re Danny Capshaw’s guests, Phoebe St. Claire and Lily Monroe.”

He glanced down at his clipboard and nodded for us to pass.

Danny belonged to some entertainment circuit that had come to the city last year, called Jet Set. It was the hottest new thing—membership not only allowed exclusive weekend access into some of the city’s hottest clubs, it was the only way to gain VIP status. It was brilliant. Nothing the rich and famous valued more than exclusivity. And they were more than willing to pay—a lot. Membership fees were ridiculously high.

The soles of my high heels clicked on the red and white checked floor, and as soon as we entered the club, my vision blurred as the pink walls coated everything in my sight with a slight blush. I looked over to Lily. “By the way, I was thinking more like a pistol-toting badass, but I’ll take sexpot.”

Right in front of a fifteen-foot Rorschach print by Andy Warhol, Lily snorted, “You’d have to remove the cobwebs from your vagina to even remotely gain that title.”

“It hasn’t been that long.”

She rolled her eyes.

“What? It hasn’t. Just because when you and Preston are on, you do it morning, noon, and night doesn’t mean the rest of us do.”

She shrugged. “I can’t help it if I have an overactive libido.”

I had to laugh.

“And besides, most younger couples do it more than once a week.”

“Dawson and I did it more than that but even if we didn’t, I’m sure we’d be considered way more normal than you and Preston.”

With a tug of my hand, Lily led me toward our table. “Let’s see what everyone else has to say about it.”

“Oh God, let’s not.”

Everyone else was our four best friends. We had pledged growing up we wouldn’t turn into our parents but as of that very morning the last of us entered the ranks. Now, each and every one of us had joined our prospective family businesses. Making it official, we’ve broken the vow. And now we’re doing the only thing we can—gathering together to bury it.

Morbid yet true.

Making our way through the crowd, I noticed the way the glass shelves that towered over the bar seemed to shimmer with the aged scotches and exotic liquors. It was a Saturday night, and like most Saturday nights in every nightclub all around the world, the patrons were out to celebrate. But unlike everyone else, we were coming together to mourn the death of our young ideals.

Coincidence the burial was taking place on the same day as my canceled wedding?

I hardly thought so.

It had to have been a sign that it was time to put them both to rest.

The Rose Bar was the newest addition to Jet Set. Danny met the owner of Jet Set last year while he was partying in a club in Miami. Under its new management, the Rose Bar had been touted as one of America’s swankiest clubs. It even had a fleet of white cars, including Hummers, Lamborghinis, Ferraris, and Porches, used to pick up and drop off Jet Set members.

The club was packed and brimming with wealthy men and women, some of whom I was sure would turn up on Page Six. Because the men and women inside weren’t just anyones, we were all someones—the great-granddaughter of Eisenhower, the great nephew of Ford, a great cousin of Kennedy. No one needed to know how many greats were before our name—it was irrelevant. The bloodlines were all that ever mattered.

I rolled my eyes at the thought and draped my leather jacket over my arm. My little black dress fell a few inches above my knees and the vertical lines of crystals gave it some shape. I preferred comfort to style in a way that seemed to separate me from my peers whose motto was all fashion.

Lily and I passed a brilliant red billiards table and a loud cackle of laughter caused me to look up. At the center booth, in the middle of the VIP section sat a bunch of guys. Even as Lily continued to pull me along, my eyes stayed locked where they were, as if some kind of magnetic force wouldn’t allow my gaze to shift.

The guys in the booth toasted one another and then slammed back their drinks, laughing boisterously. However, when a group of scantily clad women walked by their table, they all stopped talking. The women eyed the guys as languorously as they possibly could, hoping for an invitation to join them, I was sure. The guys stared back with equal vigor.

I knew those guys.

I dropped Lily’s hand and walked closer. Standing at the edge of the stairs, I recognized a few of the girls’ faces from grad school at Stern. My eyes redirected to the horseshoe of men in the booth, also from Stern. Lars Jefferson was the bookend to the group. In grad school he was always the loudest, most obnoxious, and most arrogant guy on campus. He held his elite social status as a pass—a pass to do and say anything he wanted. Unfortunately, he was also Dawson’s best friend.

I never could stand him.

He leaned forward and that’s when I saw the blond hair I’d have known anywhere.

Dawson.

I froze, glued to the spot I was standing in.

It had been three months since I’d broken up with Dawson. Six weeks after we set the date. The day I was supposed to move in with him. Now I couldn’t help but stare. Of all the places to run into him, I never thought I’d see him here.

Lars stared at the women. He took his time choosing the girl he wanted and then beckoned her with his smile. I watched as it went down, needing to see if my ex-fiancé did the same. Lars tipped his chin and sure enough the woman beamed with glee. Dawson just sat there while a few of the other guys followed Lars’ lead.

The girl Lars showed interest in brushed her jet-black bangs away from her face, patted her hips with her hands, and walked slowly to the table. I was certain she must have known who he was and probably also knew he was involved with someone, but from the white-toothed smile Lars gave her as she walked over, she must have been confident that didn’t matter.

“Hi,” she said to him.

I was good at lipreading. I’d spent a great deal of time watching people. No, I’d studied couple’s interactions. It was an unhealthy habit I had picked up when I was lost. But it was Dawson who had helped me stop. It was Dawson who helped me live again. It was Dawson with that group of men looking to fuck any girl they could. And it was Dawson who I had let go.

Ice formed in my belly.

Lars ran his eyes up and down the girl’s body, as if he was trying to assess her dress size. Then he gave Dawson a sideways look. Dawson shrugged. If it was because he wasn’t interested or didn’t care, I couldn’t tell. But then Dawson shifted his eyes toward a pretty blonde who walked by and Lars did the same. I had to assume Lars maybe just wanted what Dawson was interested in.

Prick.

Hand on hip, the woman did a runway turn, like a schoolgirl in front of her bedroom mirror and started to walk toward them again. When she passed, Dawson nudged Lars. Comically, Lars got up and chased her.

My eyes settled on Dawson. There were so many guys in the club and they were just as handsome as the ones at that center table, but none of them were as eligible as those bachelors sitting together. None of them had ever been married, each was under thirty years old, and surprisingly, each was very gainfully employed. They were New York City’s biggest catches and every Eloise could only hope to land one of them.

Why had I been the exception?

“Stop shooting daggers his way. He’s not doing anything wrong,” Lily barked at me.

I blinked a few times, suddenly realizing I was doing just what she said I was. The shock I felt that Dawson would join that crowd looking for a meaningless hookup was quickly replaced by hurt.

Over the thumping bass of the music, Lily said, “Come on. You’re staring.”

I gaped at her. “I’m not staring,” I snapped.

She took my hand. “Hey, are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Do you remember why you broke up with him?” she asked.

I nodded again.

“Then let’s go.”

I didn’t move. “I just feel a little confused right now.”

Her grip around my fingers tightened. “I know. And you know I love you and I’m only looking out for you when I remind you again that you broke up with him for a reason, and a good one. So quit looking like you wish you were still together.”