The Fiction of Forever (A Stand By Me Novel Book 2) (5 page)

But I stop myself from blurting that lame reply. “I like my men a little less dirty.”

He chuckles, as if I’ve said something totally funny. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” One corner of his mouth continues to quirk skyward.

I’m glad for his cutting comment. It clears my head of all the things I was two seconds away from saying. Crazy things. This is real life and not some music video where Gunner smiles at me, I smile at him, and we run away together.

“Are you going to tell me what time or do I have to guess?” he asks.

Westley, who’d been napping in the kitchen, comes wheeling around the corner at warp speed. His high, vapid barking fills the room. Gunner eyes him cautiously.

My cell phone rings. “Give me a second. The caterer might be lost.”

Gunner exhales. “What time?”

I race to find my phone in the other room. Finding it on an ottoman, I breathlessly answer. “Hello.”

“Miss Vanderbilt? This is Five Star Cuisine. We need to confirm the arrangements.”

“Great,” I say, and peek around the corner to see why Westley is so quiet. My dog sits five feet from Gunner, eyes trained on him for any sudden movements. Gunner leans back against the front door, arms across his chest and an unhappy look on his face. It’s an official showdown. Giant versus small beast.

“The delivery will be at 6:00 pm,” the voice says.

“No. It’s supposed to be at five.” I glance at the ornamental clock hanging across the room. “Five is better.”

“It won’t be ready then. You’ll have to wait until six for the delivery.”

I inhale and attempt to stay calm. “My guests are arriving at six.”

“Then we’ll be there on time.”

“No,” I say, my voice rising. “It can’t be at the same time. I need everything here before then.”

“It’s not possible. Are you canceling it?”

“No!” I wave a hand in front of my watering eyes. “No, no, no. Not canceling. Bring it.”

“Good. We’ll be there on time at six.” The caterer ends the call. I hold the phone and listen to the dead silence. With my free hand, I place my palm against my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut.

“Kiley? Did you forget I’m waiting?” Gunner sneaks up on me and I twirl around.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Um, the time. Yes. The guests will be here at six.” My voice strains, thin and reedy.

Westley follows Gunner into the room, then trots over to stand guard beside my feet.

“Do you feel all right?” Gunner’s gentle voice unlaces the tight hold I have on my composure.

“No. Not all right. I cannot do this.” I sit in the nearest chair. “I should go throw myself off the second floor balcony. Now.”

“What is it you can’t do?” He raises a brow, but he’s not mocking. He’s actually concerned. I must look as though I’m serious about planning a swan dive to end my misery.

“The caterer is getting here at the same time as my guests.”

Gunner shakes his head. “I’m not understanding the problem.”

“This is a big deal. It’s my fiancé’s clients. I can’t instruct the caterer about the food while people are here. And I didn’t hire people to serve it.”

“You’re losing me. You can let your people visit with each other. They’re grownups, right? So, what exactly is the problem?” Gunner fidgets with the brim of his ball cap, certainly out of his element talking about a dinner party.

“I should’ve called Mason’s mother for advice on a caterer like he asked me to. But, no. I was going to do it my way. I didn’t want to do what he asked. I was going to set out a buffet in the dining room. I wanted it to look like I did everything. Well, not everything, but most of it. And it would be rude to ignore the guests. See, my fiancé needs…” I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m screwed. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

He holds up a hand. “Calm down. What if you had help?”

“Mason thinks I’m this perfect woman who knows how to do this stuff. He assumed…he expected…” My eyes tear up. Great. Why can’t I be normal? Why do I have to keep talking?

“Want my help?”

“You’ll help with the dinner?” I attempt to imagine Gunner setting up a dinner service. No matter how hard I try, it doesn’t work.

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not exactly. I have a friend who owns a bar. He can probably come up with some help for you. You might have to pay them overtime wages. Maybe double their pay.”

“Done.”

“Would two or three people be enough?”

I nod frantically. “Yes. Make sure to tell them to wear black slacks and white shirts. I don’t want them showing up in bar clothes. This isn’t a barbecue I’m having and—”

He lifts his hand a second time to cut me short on my talking. “And you’ll owe me a huge favor.”

“Like what?” I gulp. I’d like to do a lot of things for him, but most would be indecent—especially since I’m supposed to marry another man in four weeks.

He shrugs, drawing my attention to the broadness of his shoulders. “I’ll think of something,” he says in a slow drawl.

His words are innocent, but the look in his eyes makes my pulse sprint. I suck in air and smile as if I’m not turned on by the thoughts I have. “You name the deed, and it’s yours.”

O
nce Gunner made
the call to his friend and sent people to help, everything else fell into place. I owe him. I had time to take Westley to the dog-sitting service and plenty of time to get ready.

Mason didn’t plan to do anything for the dinner, as was evident by his arrival a half hour before guests are to arrive. I check my lipstick in the stainless steel server on the buffet table.

“Mason?” I walk through the kitchen and into the entry. He’s disappeared, so I wander around the main floor to find him.

There’s a sound from Dad’s study, so I reverse directions and head that way. He should be helping me instead of sneaking off to make business calls.

I stare at the wooden door of a room that is normally open. Frowning, I place my hand on the knob and slowly turn it.

Mason sits in Dad’s chair while he faces the window. He rocks slowly in the chair, his foot tapping on the wood flooring. “Kiley and I talked it over. She doesn’t want to do the show.”
Pause.
“We realize it will leave you in a bind, but surely you can find someone else.”
Pause.
“She asked me to call you because she knew you’d be disappointed.”

“Mason? What are you doing?” It’s a stupid question. I know exactly what he’s doing.

Lying. Manipulating. Dictating.

C
urrent Day

Gunner

P
retty girls always mean trouble
. They bat their eyelashes, drum up a tear or two, and you find yourself rearranging your schedule.

I’ve spent an hour worrying about her dog falling into the holes I dug near the koi pond. One false scramble after a leaf or frog, and the dog will be trapped in the bottom of a deep hole—the kind I usually cover until a tree is planted, but didn’t, since I was so distracted.

After I finish dressing, I hop into my Jeep and drive the short distance to the Vanderbilts’. If I hadn't inherited my own property from my grandfather, I'd never be able to live in such a beautiful place—green pastures and blue sky everywhere. Two horses graze along the white wood fences that parallel the road.

There are only a few vehicles parked out front, including a white van with a catering logo on the side. She must’ve convinced them to come early after all. I park on the side of the garage so I won't be trapped in case someone pulls in behind me. I figure I don't need to go to the front door. Only guests will be entering the front of the house. The kitchen is closest to the rear of the house, so I get out of my vehicle and walk around back. The sound of the waterfall I created as a water feature in the koi pond gurgles pleasantly.

From somewhere near the patio arbor, voices carry in the still evening. The conversation punches with anger—each word staccato and strained. I freeze before I make the turn, wondering if I've arrived too late to check on things or if some guests are already here.

“You had no right to say those things to Dad.” Kiley must be holding her temper in check, because her words have icicles hanging from them.

“I only did what I thought was best for you.”

“You don’t get to make that decision.”

“I do, as your husband.”

“You aren’t my husband, yet. It’s not too late to back out,” Kiley says. “If you can’t respect me and my decision to work on the show, then I think we need to reevaluate.”

“Sweetheart. Baby. What are you saying? You’re stressed over tonight. That’s all it is.”

He’s using pet names, but they sound false to my ears. The manipulation of a guy who tosses around endearments he’s used with every girl he’s dated—even the one-night stands.

If she buys that load of crap, they deserve each other. I don't hesitate any longer. Walking around the corner, I glance up and act surprised to see them. “Oh, hi.”

She appears embarrassed for a split second when she realizes I must’ve heard them. Her shame is raw and real. My chest tightens to see her so vulnerable.

In the next second, Kiley puts her emotions away. She’s a damned actress.

“Gunner. I didn't know you were coming by.” She gives me a genuine smile—a grateful smile—and something loosens within my chest. I take in her dark hair that falls in gentle waves around her bare arms, the navy silk material of her dress that clings to every curve, her bare long legs and high-heeled sandals that bring her closer to my height.

She's more gorgeous than a sunset over water and as blinding. I kick myself for staring. “Wanted to make sure Dane sent some help for you.” I nod at the guy beside her.

“Hi, I'm Mason. The kitchen is through that door.” He turns and looks at the door as if pointing me in that direction. “And there are still some things to be unloaded from the caterer.”

“He's not here to work,” Kiley says to her fiancé. She takes an almost imperceptible step closer to me, but I see it and Moneyclip does too.

He sizes me up, trying to put a label on me. “I don't understand. Then why are you here?”

“Only to check on things. I also left an uncovered hole in the back lawn that the dog might fall into.”

“No, Westley’s not here.” Kiley takes another step toward me. “That was thoughtful of you. That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

“As long as you're here, you could make a few bucks if…” Moneyclip trails off as he looks at my face.

I rub my hand along the back of my neck instead of punching the asshole. If a guy isn't wearing a designer suit, he must be the hired help. “Mason, right? I—”

She puts a hand out and touches her man on the arm. “Could you go inside and put the wine into the wine case? We want it to stay chilled.” Kiley stares at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh, and I think I heard the doorbell. You'll want to get that.”

He hesitates for an instant, giving me a last, assessing look. Then he turns and enters the house.

She shakes her head and closes her eyes briefly. “Sorry about him. He's not happy with me right now. We were having a disagreement.” Kiley immediately blushes and I can see she regrets revealing this fact to me. She looks out at the back lawn as if searching for something to say. “It's so pretty back here. I almost wish we were having this thing outside.”

I exhale a long breath at her change of subject and give in to her need to pretend everything is normal. “It's too warm tonight. Maybe in a month or two, it will be nice…if you have another dinner party.”

She cuts a look in my direction. “I hope you're kidding. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.”

“And yet your fiancé…”

“Mmmm. Good point. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done to help me. But I need to check the food and make sure we have everything on the buffet table. So, I’ll see you when you come back Monday to do the landscaping in the front.”

“I won't be back.”

“Why not?”

“Because I was only filling in for someone,” I say. It’s not a good idea to return next week. I already want to beat her fiancé for being such a shit.

“What if I tell your boss we need you? Will he let you come back?”

“Listen. You can tell the boss, but it won't make a bit of difference. Travis is showing up on Monday.”

“But I want you.” She fidgets and looks behind her at the back door. The sounds of opening and closing doors tell me that her guests are arriving.

Lord help me. This woman is used to getting her way. Was she this spoiled in school? Probably. But I was so blinded by my crush I couldn't see it. Although I’m my own boss and can decide who works a job, I suddenly don’t want to explain why I won’t be back. I already can’t seem to stay away from her—a very engaged woman—and the more I see her, the worse it gets.

I shake my head. “I’m real sorry about that. See you around, Kiley.” My legs feel shaky as I walk away from her toward the front of the house.

A definite regret settles inside me that things can’t be different. But I'm no thief and she belongs to another man.

Besides, I like women with more substance and heart than Kiley Vanderbilt. A person who gives more than they take. I've only known two women like that in my life: my mom and my stepsister. One no longer graces this earth and the other lives in Missouri.

I get into the Jeep and pull out from the side of the garage. A woman stands next to the catering van, attempting to balance a large cardboard box and some sort of rolling cart. I stop and cut the engine.

“Ma'am? You need help?”

“Si. Por favor.”

I jog over to her and take the box.

“Drinks,” she says.

“Ah.” I wait for her to lead the way. She walks to the side entrance, a door I'd missed in my time working outside the house.

We walk down a corridor and into the kitchen. I glance around for empty counter space and place the box on the nearest empty spot next to stacks of white china, white napkins, and silver platters. I back away carefully so I won't knock into anything breakable. Jesus. You'd think this is the makings of a wedding reception.

“Gracias,” she says.

I smile at the woman and turn to leave the house, going the same way we came in. I'm walking down the short hallway when I hear Kiley's voice from somewhere. She's irate, if the barely controlled timbre of her voice is any indication.

“You called my dad and lied,” she says. “I never agreed to quit the show. You made the choice to—”

Moneyclip interrupts her. “I think you need to start acting like the wife of an attorney. That's all.”

They both come into sight from a doorway in front of me. Kiley walks in front, her head down and studying the floor.

“Maybe I shouldn't get married to an asshole attorney,” she mumbles.

“What did you say?” Moneyclip grabs her arm from behind.

My heart pounds in my ears, my temper riled by what I've seen and heard. I cannot tear my gaze from his hand on her arm. If there’s one thing I won’t stand for, it’s Moneyclip laying his hands on her.

Kiley's gaze flicks up and she sees me. Her face flushes and she gives a confused smile. “Oh. Gunner. What are you still doing here? Are you looking for me?”

“No. I helped your caterer carry a box to the kitchen.”

Moneyclip steps to her side. “Thank you,” he says with a fake pleasant look on his face. “You know the way out?”

What a dick. If he thinks he can dismiss me so easily, he's wrong. “Everything OK here?” I look at Kiley as if we are the only two people in the hallway.

She furrows her brow. “Sure. Only having a little disagreement.”

Her fiancé's mouth twists. “I believe this is private. We don't require your help for anything else.” He drops his hand from her arm.

“Kiley?” I still ignore him.

“I'm fine,” she says. Her tremulous smile, only a tipping at the corner of her mouth, does crazy things to my instincts. She's not fine.

I nod. “If you say so.”

My footsteps slow in the distance to the side door. It's not as though I belong here, lurking in her house, but I don't want to leave.

I strain to hear their conversation, but I can only tell her voice from his. Turning around, I pause and stare toward the kitchen area where the voices are. Their volume increases or maybe I've stepped closer without realizing it.

“Say that to me one more time. I dare you,” Kiley says.

“You’re used to being a daddy’s girl, and you're throwing a tantrum at the wrong time,” he says. “You’re spoiled and don’t know what’s best for you.”

“Don’t you ever speak to me that way again.” There's no mistaking Kiley's words, but now her voice lowers. “I want to talk about us. I think we’ve made a mistake. We want different things in life.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Moneyclip says. “Honey, you’re not that bright. You’re on your daddy’s show only because of who you are. What happens after
Forever
ends? Next season, you’re out. It’s not like you have a future in television. I’m not going to put up with this crazy talk. You pick now when we have a house full of the people who matter—”

“Do you think I care about those people? We’re talking about the rest of our lives here,” she says. “Get your hand—”

I don't need to hear more. I stride away from the back door and toward the kitchen. When I turn the corner and see them, his hand grips her upper arm. Again.

Holy shit. “Take your hand off her,” I say only inches from both of them.

“How did you get back in?” He releases her. “I suggest you turn around and leave before I make sure you're off this property.”

“He's not leaving.” Kiley rubs her arm where he grabbed her.

“What? Something is going on here. Kiley, have you been messing around with the lawn boy?”

She doesn’t respond, her face surprised and ashen at the accusation.

Moneyclip misinterprets her expression of shock. “I know you’re stupid, but I didn’t peg you for a cheater. You cunt. I should’ve known, since you put out anytime, anywhere.”

The surprise is gone from her face. She shoves him in the chest. “You stuck-up, small-penised bastard,” she screams, loud enough to be heard two counties over.

If I weren't so pissed, I'd laugh my ass off. The guests in the house heard that one. There's a moment when I consider the consequences of my next words. Oh, what the hell. “She hasn't done anything with me. Yet.” My lips part in cocky smile that says I certainly know how to please a woman. “After tonight, I'm thinking I might be able to persuade her.”

He lunges toward me, his right hand balling into a fist. Before his elbow lifts, I step forward with an uppercut and his teeth click together with a sickening pop. He falls back three steps and his body hits the kitchen counter.

“No!” Kiley inserts herself between us. She grabs my hand and yanks. “Come on. Please.” She pulls at me. Her hand is small in mine.

I search her face, trying to figure out what I should do about the mess I've made.

“You’d better leave before I call the police.” Mason pushes away from the counter.

“Take me away from here.” She tugs once more and we're running through the back of the house and out the door. Her shoes make clipping sounds as they hit tile and then brick.

I turn and the guy still isn't following us. What kind of idiot would take a punch and then let a guy leave with his woman, the one he had planned to marry? “What about your guests?”

“I didn't invite them. He can deal with dinner.” She tugs at my hand again. We're at the edge of the grass and she takes off her heels. “Where's your vehicle?”

I point. “Beside your garage.” I'm not sure what to think about the way she's holding my hand as if she's afraid to let go.

“Hurry. Before I chicken out.” She does let go now and runs faster than I'd thought she'd be able to in a dress.

Her long hair streams out behind her in the moment before I move. Then I'm chasing after her to the Jeep.

She stands beside the vehicle in her dress, those high-heeled shoes dangling in one hand and her other hand on the sidebar. I grin and grab her by the waist so I can lift her into the passenger side.

She settles into her seat and the dress rides high on her thighs. I'm glued to the expanse of tan skin. She lifts one perfect eyebrow brow. “You coming?”

“You bet.” I run around to my side and hop into the driver’s seat. My grin makes the corners of my mouth hurt. How long have I been smiling?

I glance sidelong at the woman beside me—a rich girl with no idea of the mess she’s making for me. Her dad has a good head on his shoulders, but he’ll likely fire me for running off with his daughter during a swanky dinner party. I work hard for a solid reputation in my landscaping business. I would hate to lose Ed’s respect more than the fact that I could lose his business.