You’re Still The One: An angsty second chances romance (NYC Singles Book 1)

“How’s Andrew’s book coming along?” Mary asked on Thursday, at the doorway of the meeting room before the eleven o’clock acquisitions meeting.

I haven’t even read a page.

Since running into him at the cemetery, Ashley had been procrastinating on the book. She was well aware of what exactly was causing the trepidation—the fear of her feelings towards him changing.

“It’s going well,” Ashley lied, before settling into her ergonomic chair in the boardroom packed with editors, assistants and interns, in-house publicists, the marketing director and the sales director.

“I heard Derek couldn’t make it to lunch last week.” Mary massaged hand sanitizer over her palms. Mary could be really OCD sometimes.

“Yeah, his daughter broke her arm.”

“That’s bad. How did it go with Andrew?”

“We talked about the publishing process and about the editing process. I think he knows what to expect.”

Mary fiddled with the notes she’d made for the meeting. “Good. I was worried that working with your ex-husband might prove to be challenging for you.”

“You knew I was married to Andrew?”

“Derek emailed me this morning about it.” So Mary hadn’t known all along. Ashley had been a bit worried that her boss might be the most heartless bitch in the world. “I know you’re doing this as a favor, but I don’t want you to work on his book if you’re not comfortable. I mean, I’m going through a divorce now, and I don’t think I’d ever be able to look at something Nicholas wrote.”

Ashley felt the same way. But she feigned competence. Mary would be in real trouble if she didn’t.

“I think it’s a good book. I’m enthusiastic about working on it.” She waved her hands, like she was really excited.

With that, she had pushed herself deeper into the hole she was trying to escape from.

“You sound like a professional. I’m surprised you can not be affected by your past.”

No, she wouldn’t say that.

“It was a no-blame, mutual consent divorce, so we don’t have hard feelings towards each other.”

“So it’s that. No wonder. I was surprised when I heard you used to be married to Andrew. I almost couldn’t believe it. I thought Derek was pulling a prank on me.”

I almost can’t believe myself that I was married to that jerk.

“We’re very different,” Ashley said, but since the afternoon at the cemetery, she was feeling the opposite.

“Oh, before I forget. I won’t be able to make it to tomorrow’s book launch. I promised to attend Mark’s football game. You’re still going to go, aren’t you?”

“I’m going.”

The book launch scheduled for Friday was for one of the lead titles that Doubleside was launching this fall. It had been heavily promoted with ARCs, co-op and all that jazz, partly due to the fact that the writer was a financial maverick who had a professional and personal network as wide as the landmass of Canada, so getting mouths and fingers going on social media wasn’t a big issue for him.

“Good, at least somebody is going. Oh, John’s here.” Mary snapped her attention back to the documents on the table.

The head of marketing walked in and shut the door. All the gossiping in the room dropped to nothing. The editors, all excited to pitch their darlings, readied their profit and loss statements.

It was time to roll.

***

The Barnes and Noble store on Fifth Avenue was buzzing with energy and anticipation on a Friday night. Throngs of people hovered around the bookshelves like busy worker bees, looking to suck in their fill of books. The tills rang constantly, until their pings started resembling a concerto.

Ashley loved this energy, loved soaking up this atmosphere. It was the sound of success.

A large poster of Sam’s latest book and a cardboard cutout of him adorned the sides of the table where hills of his books were arranged neatly.

She wove through the restless crowd. Wow. She had never seen so many people at a book launch party before.

She found Sam—a jolly forty-five-year-old with the energy of a fifteen-year-old—leaning against a shelf in the business section.

“Congratulations. That’s a big legion of fans you have in here.” she said.

He wrapped her in a quick one-second hug. “Thanks. Glad you could make it.”

Nobody else from Doubleside was here, as far as she could see. Not even Aoi, who was Sam’s editor.

“I’ll go and buy a copy of the book, so I can get it signed by you.”

“Wait,” He handed her a camera from the table. “I’m sorry to spring this on you suddenly, but do you mind taking a few pictures of the event? The photographer left for a break.”

“Sure. I’d be happy to.”

Hanging the Nikon camera around her neck, Ashley grabbed a cupcake before she found a spot where the lighting was good. She wasn’t a pro, but she had taken a photography class in college, so she knew her way around a camera.

Bending her knee to adjust the angle, Ashley lost her balance when her ankle folded, unable to continue standing on the three-inch pencil heel.

Something tore. Her hand darted to her back, where a slit went from the bottom of her knees, all the way up to her hip. She could feel the soft cotton of her underwear underneath her fingers. Her mind raced.

Great! She should have known that the skirt was too tight for her. She had decided to carry her mini-clutch, so she couldn’t even cover the tear with her bag.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, her heel was broken too.

Ashley tiptoed to the wall, leaning up against the back, waiting for something.

A miracle.

A miracle was what she needed now. Nothing short of that could help her.

***

The jab of heat in his lower abdomen at the sight of her threw Andrew off balance.

He’d seen her skirt tear—and gotten an unwanted peek at her perky bottom before she’d pasted herself against the wall. It was a sensible thing to do, because an ass like that could easily steal the spotlight from everything else.

She sucked in her lips and closed her eyes. To Andrew, it looked like she was praying. He should do something.

Don’t get close to her, the voice in his head warned. She could sort this out herself. She had been taking care of everything on her own for the last seven years. He should pretend he hadn’t seen.

But he couldn’t just look away and leave. The desperation in her tense shoulders tugged at him to play knight in shining armor.

And that was what he ended up doing.

“I wasn’t expecting to meet you here. We are running into each other a lot these days.” He rolled up to her nonchalantly.

She twirled, a curly golden strand uncoiling from her ponytail. The lines on her face instantly arranged into a frown.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was positively unfriendly. He’d expect nothing less.

“Sam invited me to the launch party. I figured that since I am going to be doing one of these in a few weeks, stopping by would be a good idea.”

“Andrew… forget it.” Her nose hit the wall when she turned away.

“Need a new skirt?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“You saw it?” Pink spots burst all over her cheeks.

“Yeah. All of it.”

“Ah! Great!” She stamped her broken high heels on the laminated wood and rolled her eyes. “Who should catch me at my most embarrassing moment but you?”

“It could have been much worse. Someone else could have seen it—someone who’s not seen you naked before. Don’t you think it’s lucky that it was me?” Andrew turned on his smoldering gaze on her. She returned it with a glare.

“Please don’t mention ‘lucky’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence.” She clicked her tongue.

“I see you’re in a bad mood.” He brushed away the strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. She passed him an annoyed glance, but he could see she was affected by it from the way the blush intensified. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one. What’s your size?”

“Thirty-four B.”

“Your skirt size, Ashley, not your bra size,” he reiterated. “Unless you want me to buy you a bra too?”

She slapped her forehead, mortified by the slip.

“Six. Size six.”

“Any color preference?”

“Black. Just hurry up.”

“I’ll be back in five.”

He sailed out into the humid evening, her stunning face leaving his consciousness only long enough for him to ask the retail assistant at Saks Fifth Avenue for a black size-six skirt.

The line at the cash counter was longer than he expected, but a quick swipe of his card and he was out of there faster than lightning.

***

Relief washed over every pore in Ashley’s body when Andrew handed her the Saks Fifth Avenue bag. She eyed the bathroom, which was on the other end of the floor.

“You need me to come with you?” Andrew asked. She couldn’t help but melt at the concern in his eyes. It was moments like this when he made her weak.

Ignore him, she told herself.

“I’ll manage.” She didn’t want to let him too close, especially when her heart was unarmored after the incident at the cemetery.

She positioned the bag over the torn back of her skirt and ducked to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty, so she could get in without any uncomfortable encounters. Paper rustled when she reached into the bag.

She fished out a black skirt which was similar to the one she was wearing. Her feet gave out when she saw the price tag.

Five hundred and ninety-five dollars. For a skirt.

Her pulse picked up. Why would Andrew buy her something so expensive? He hadn’t been so extravagant during their marriage. He must be trying to intimidate her with his wealth. Or maybe… well, there was going to be no maybe.

She debated on whether she should accept such a lavish gift from him. Not that she had any choice now. She’d pay him back, she assured herself. Even if it meant scrimping on her food budget for the rest of the month.

The soft fabric of the skirt glided over her curves smoothly. It was a perfect fit. She’d gained a few pounds since the divorce, so it took a while to zip the skirt.

Oh, the frustrations of being apple-shaped.

She picked up the bag again to leave, but felt something move inside.

At the bottom was a red box that held a pair of white ballerinas. Miu Miu. The white satin which was wrapped over the shoes was silken. A glittery bow ornamented the otherwise plain shoes. They were simple and elegant. Andrew’s taste.

She hadn’t asked for shoes, but he must have noticed her broken heel. Her chest buzzed at his thoughtfulness. She could fall in love with him all over again if she wasn’t careful.

Ashley ensconced her tired feet into the comfortable flats. Heaven. There was a layer of padding cushioning the soles. Andrew could be counted on to take care of the small details.

She felt so good she wanted to hug him. Then she looked at the price tag sticking out from the side and her heart did a backflip—this time due to pure, unadulterated shock.

Eight hundred and fifty dollars, it said. Okay, they were designer shoes, so they were bound to be expensive. But this expensive?

Ashley’s head spun as she totaled up the amount she owed him. It took her a while, since mental math wasn’t her strongest skill. A thousand, four hundred and forty-five dollars. Almost a fourth of her monthly salary.

Did Andrew accept monthly installments?

Andrew was hanging out close to the bathroom. He shook his head in approval when he saw her in the new clothes. Ashley closed the gap between them with unsure steps.

“It fits you well,” he remarked. His eyes covered the landscape of her lower body.

“Can I pay you back later? I’m not carrying cash with me now.”

He waved dismissively. “Forget it. You paid for the meal at Pink Fish. Consider this my gift.”

“That meal didn’t cost upwards of a thousand dollars. And it wasn’t my money—it was the company’s.” She wasn’t going to accept gifts from him when he had no business giving them to her.

“Price doesn’t matter. What matters is the intention.”

“And what exactly was your intention in buying me such expensive stuff? I didn’t ask for a designer skirt or designer shoes.” She put her hands on her hips.

Andrew blew out an exhausted puff of air.

“Saks was the first shop I spotted, okay? Maybe I should have thought more about how offended you’d be to receive such extravagant gifts from me, but I was in a hurry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not offended.” Did she look offended?

“Then why do you look so pissed?”

“Andrew…” Her hesitation was gone in a second.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for not saying it earlier.”

He’d saved her ass, quite literally. If she wanted to pick a fight over the price, she should do it after she had expressed her gratitude.

“You’re welcome.” Beads of sweat glistened at his temples—a sign of his hurried excursion to Saks.

Telling herself that she was just being nice, she held out a tissue to him. At his confused expression, she mopped his forehead herself. Her skin touched his and her legs began to buckle. But thanks to his him buying her flats, she remained stable on her feet. Sometimes Andrew could be so smart. She avoided looking at his eyes, but when she did, she saw her reflection. And there was no doubt about the expression on her face.

Andrew snatched away the tissue from her and interrupted their contact.

Their eyes scanned all the wrong parts of each other’s bodies. The air became saturated with flammable tension—threatening to explode as soon as an ignition source was found. Only the sound of people around them kept them apart. His taut muscles rippled against the thin cotton of his blue shirt. She wondered how his body looked now, under that stuffy jacket.

He cast her a worried glance.

“I’ll go and get my copy signed by Sam before it gets hotter… I mean busier.” Even the infallible Andrew Smith was frazzled. Shit, this was bad.

He wound down the flight of stairs to the main level of the bookstore. Without thinking twice, she trailed him.

“Don’t follow me.” Liquid lust simmered in his eyes.

One. Two. The countdown started in her head. She wouldn’t last beyond five.

Three, four… They both knew where this was going. She pulled him into a dark nook of the bookstore, away from prying eyes.

His scent blotted out everything else in the vicinity. And his eyes… his magnetic, stormy eyes… trapped her into the prison that was him.

He’s Andrew Smith. He’s Andrew Smith, she recited to herself, hoping she’d snap out of the haze, yet the only thing his name did was make her burn hotter for him.

She resorted to mental distraction, meditation, deep breaths, chanting… but it was too late. She was past the threshold of rational reasoning.

There was only one way out of this—and she took it. Cupping his face, she plunged into the most satisfying, delicious sin.

Her lips draped over his, recognizing him, welcoming him back. Oh, it had been so long. So long and so lonely without him. One hot, hungry tongue glided over another until she couldn’t tell which one was hers. He tasted different. Like wine, he had acquired a more pleasing flavor with time.

The slow groan from his throat melted into her mouth, ratcheting up the conflagration consuming her ecstatic nerve endings.

It was a devastatingly powerful, carnal reunion. One she hoped would last as long as eternity, yet lasted barely a few seconds longer until someone’s sneeze jolted them both out of their kiss.

“Don’t ask me why I did it. I just felt like doing it,” she said, the instant she regained her breath… some of it, at least.

“What else do you feel like doing?”

“A lot of things. None of which I should be doing.” She wet her lips.

“Me too.” His gaze descended to the zipper of her skirt.

“Your place or mine?” Her lips played over his jaw. She licked the strong bone.

That drew a smirk from him. “I thought you said you shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I don’t mean everything I say.”

“Mine, then.”