Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James

CAMRYN

“What’s wrong?” Olivia says the second she opens the door.

I headed straight here to the apartment home of my best friend and boss after leaving the disaster of a PR event I was running.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

Her gaze drifts to the glass bottle in my hands. “Vodka for lunch is generally a bad sign, no?”

I make a sound of agreement, a sad acceptance of her truth. “Can I come in or what?”

She opens the door wider and motions me forward. “Only if you promise to tell me what’s going on.”

I nod. I showed up here in a similar fashion six months ago when David and I broke up, and while wine had been my elixir of choice for that breakup, I knew today called for something much stronger.

She leads me into the kitchen to get me a glass of ice and a can of lime soda from the fridge. I open the bottle of cheap vodka because in addition to everything else, now I won’t get my bonus, which means my money situation is screwed. The headache I’ll have later will be punishment for my stupidity. Pouring a healthy splash into the glass, I fill the rest with soda and take a long sip.

“Come on. Let’s go talk,” Olivia suggests, leading me out to the living room.

We sit down, me on the sofa and her in the leather recliner across from me. She props her feet up with a smile.

“Sorry. My feet are so swollen, they look like bear claws.”

I take another sip of my drink, wondering where I should start. Sterling’s betrayal? Anna’s? Or the fact that I’m probably going to be fired when Olivia learns what I’ve done?

“Wait a second.” Olivia’s eyebrows pull together. “Isn’t the event for Sterling today?”

I nod, looking down at my hands. “That’s why I’m here. I’ve messed up, Liv.”

My voice cracks, and I can’t hold it in even one second longer. A bitter cry bursts from my throat, and tears began to spill down my cheeks. Setting my drink down on the table, I hug a pillow to my chest.

Then I spill all of it, every ounce of truth that I’ve kept buried in my heart. I don’t stop until I’ve told her everything—that I went and fell in love with him like a world-class idiot, that we made love, that it was the most perfect earth-shattering sex of my life, that I met his mother, all of it. And Olivia sits quietly listening, her hand on the round bump of her belly.

“It felt so real,” I whisper.

She looks at me with a sadness in her eyes. “I was worried about this.”

Then I remember her stark warning at the nail salon that day all those weeks ago. She warned me not to fall for him.

“Are you mad about me ruining the recruiting event?” I was half-afraid to show up here and be turned away, that I’d be told I was going to be fired on Monday.

“No,” Olivia says. “Of course not. His behavior was outrageous. And besides, I should have known better than to pair you up. You two have always had amazing chemistry. It was probably a recipe for disaster from the start.”

That little admission makes me feel the tiniest bit better, like maybe falling for him somehow wasn’t my fault. It was predestined or something.

“Anna’s behavior is entirely unacceptable. I’d recommend that we let her go on Monday, if you’re on board with that,” Olivia adds.

I merely nod. There’s nothing about losing a friend and watching her get fired that I find satisfaction in.

Just then, Noah walks into the living room, a red apple raised halfway to his mouth.

I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Hey, Noah.” Taking a sip of my drink, I try to compose myself.

His gaze slides from me to Olivia, and he lowers the apple. “Is this girl talk?”

Olivia nods.

“It’s fine; you can come in. This is your house,” I say.

Noah still looks wary, like he wants to make an escape but is silently checking with his wife to be sure it’s okay.

“Actually,” Olivia says as she drums her fingers on the arm of the chair, “we might be able to use your opinion.”

I groan inwardly that my very embarrassing truth is about to become public news. This is why having married friends sucks. Nothing is sacred.

“Is it okay?” Olivia asks.

I take a large gulp of my drink, polishing it off. “As long as you keep these coming.”

Noah chuckles. “Coming right up. What is it?” he asks on his way into the kitchen.

“Vodka soda, and mix yourself one too, mister,” I shout back.

Olivia’s eyes widen.

“I’m not drinking alone, and since you’re in no condition to partake, that leaves lover boy.”

Olivia merely rolls her eyes. “You two are going to be fun to deal with later.”

I give her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get my payback one way or another.”

Noah returns with two fresh cocktails, hands one to me, and then sits down in the chair next to his wife. “Now, what in is going on that we’re drinking hard liquor at twelve . . . thirty-eight,” he says, glancing at his wristwatch.

Wow, it hasn’t even been an hour since I discovered Sterling boinking his ex in the conference room. It feels like I’ve aged sixty years since that time.

While I concentrate on putting a dent in my second cocktail, Olivia fills Noah in on the basics. She spares me the embarrassment of repeating the delicate parts of my story, but Noah’s expression goes from neutral to angry, but never seems surprised.

“You knew,” I say when Olivia finishes.

“Crap.” He pushes his hands into his hair. “I knew something was going on. But this stuff with Rebecca doesn’t make sense. He likes you; he really does.”

That revelation doesn’t mean much. Sterling might have liked me, but not enough apparently.

Noah rises to his feet. He returns with a bottle of vodka and a fistful of takeout menus. “We need to turn this into a proper post-breakup pity party. Pizza or Chinese?”

I laugh despite the crappy mood I’m in.

“Both,” Olivia says, grinning.

Later as we sit there, eating plates of egg rolls, lo mein, and pepperoni pizza, Noah offers a solution.

“I could just call Sterling. Find out the truth of what happened today.”

In my buzzed state, I consider it for a second. It’s not a half-bad idea.

“No way,” Olivia says. “He’ll try to talk his way out of it, then he’ll want us to put Camryn on the phone. So, no,” she repeats. “He needs some time to sit and ponder what he did wrong. There’s no redemption for him tonight. Let him suffer in silence.”

She already made me turn off my phone earlier, and then hide it somewhere in her kitchen where I won’t be tempted to see if I have any missed calls or voice mails.

Noah and I have put a hefty dent in the bottle of vodka, and I know later I’ll eventually be faced with the decision to cab it home or stay the night in their guest room. But there’s something about being inside their happy home that makes me feel out of place.

Maybe it’s just that they’re married, and their love is a real, visceral thing I can feel in the space around us, or maybe it’s just because I’m so far from anything similar in my life. It hurts when I pause to think about it. Which is why I need to just keep drinking.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I only know that I won’t be working with Sterling on his search for a wife ever again.