Chapter Two
Threesetsofeyesstared at me on the bleachers, waiting for me to speak. My eyes were set on Chloe talking animatedly with her soccer team at the park after practice. They were enjoying the last warm evenings we would have as September wore on. She was at the center of the decision I had to make. My beautiful girl whose carefree spirit lighted my world and her heart of gold that reminded me I must have done something right despite all our challenges, financial and otherwise. I smiled, watching her twist her golden-brown ponytail like she always did. We shared the same hair and eye color, however her green eyes shone pure and trusting. Mine were marked with caution tape.
Emma, one of my best friends from high school and Chloe’s soccer coach, interrupted my gaze. She placed her hand on my knee. “Did you get the promotion?” she asked.
I turned my gaze from Chloe and faced the best friends a woman could ask for, Emma, Jenna, another long-time friend from high school, and Shelby, the Southern belle who had crashed our party a year ago. Funny we all thought we would hate her, but none of us could imagine our lives without the perky blonde now.
I rested my hand over Emma’s clammy one. Poor thing was dying from morning sickness. I sighed. “They gave it to Stephen.”
All their eyes widened while shaking their heads. Each disappointed for me and confused. Not only had I complained about Stephen’s incompetence for months, but they had each seen the slimy man.
“We can bury that weasel easily,” Jenna said, always willing to dispose of a body.
Shelby placed her hand across her ever-growing chest. Pregnancy had the opposite effect on her. She was even perkier, if that was possible, and her voluptuous chest was expanding, to her husband’s delight, I was sure. Those two couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I’d seen some pictures, but that was another story.
“Well, I will march down to that bank tomorrow and inform them that my husband will be taking his business accounts elsewhere.” She sounded reminiscent of Scarlett O’Hara. Losing Prescott Technologies would be a significant loss to the bank, but it wouldn’t help my cause. In fact, it might cost me my job if they found out why.
I smiled at my fearsome friends. “I appreciate your willingness to go to jail or disrupt your husband’s life on my behalf, but . . .” I bit my lip, “losing the promotion isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Each leaned back with narrowed eyes.
Emma rubbed my bare knee. “Everything okay?”
“Let’s just say I had an interesting proposition today.”
“Did Cory the teller manager ask you out again? You should totally say yes.” Jenna grinned. “I know he laughs like a hyena, but he’s hot.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Cory’s given up and moved onto nicer, greener pastures.” They all did. I made sure of it. Best to push them away before any hurt or hopes occurred on either end.
“You’re as sweet as can be,” Shelby patted me, “most of the time.” She giggled.
“I’m not sure about that.” I wanted to be nicer.
“Well, what is it?” Jenna was growing impatient.
I let out a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out on me or tell me what I should do based on who it is. And along those lines, I don’t want to hear any ‘this is fate’ crap.”
They were all thoroughly confused now and wore perplexed looks.
“Do you promise?” I was going to make them swear. I was already freaked out enough about the prospect of working for Miles. Miles, who had done his best to convince me. Even offering more money after he found out how little I made at the bank.
They all nodded eagerly.
“Okay,” I swallowed, “today, a man named Miles Wickham—”
“As inPride and Prejudice’s Mr. Wickham?” Emma interrupted.
“Yes.”
Shelby’s beautiful blue eyes began swirling with possibilities. “Is he British?” They all knew I had a thing for the BBC and British men. It was the accent and the way they carried themselves. It was different than American men.
“He is,” I breathed out. “Remember, you promised me no conjecturing.”
Theyall grinned slyly, telling me they were doing exactly that. I hadn’t even told them the half of it, which gave me no hope for an unbiased opinion now. To their credit, they tried to suppress their smiles.
“Anyway,” I continued, “he came into the bank today to open an account. And he happened to have his adorable three-year-old nephew with him, and the little guy and I hit it off.” I thought back to how sad he was to say goodbye to me. His tears broke my heart and made me want to take the job even more than the money. “So much so,” I paused, “his uncle offered me the position of his nanny.” I left out a lot of details—on purpose.
If I thought my friends looked perplexed before, they were downright puzzled now.
