Four
December, Six Years Ago
Wyatt
* * *
Naturally, Hollis is late.
My younger brother’s the one who signed us up for a wintertime jump into a large body of water, and it sounds way less fun if Holly’s not joining me in the misery. And since I left my phone in the car to keep it safe from the freezing embrace of Lake Beaucoeur, I can’t even call to yell at him for flaking.
“Okay, polar bear plungers!” a chippy young organizer shouts. “Let’s head out!”
Resigning myself to tackling this challenge solo, I pick up my bag and sling my towel over my arm so I can join the group of thirty or so other people crazy enough to brave the freezing water at the crack of dawn in Illinois in late December. The wind slaps me in the face when I step out of the lakeside restaurant that’s serving as our staging area and the post-plunge warming center.
“Goddamn,” I gasp as goose bumps crawl over my skin. Had I been looking forward to testing my limits when it comes to extreme temps? I was wrong. I am not a polar bear, and my balls are already trying to retreat into my body.
As annoyed as I am at my reliably unreliable brother, it’s not unexpected. I’ve always been the loner Jones brother. The surly one who doesn’t attract friends or women or attention like Holly’s done effortlessly his whole life. Now, apparently, I’m the loner Jones brother risking permanent shrinkage during this fundraiser for the Beaucoeur women’s shelter. That’s my lot in life, I suppose.
Mercifully, the walk to the pier is a short one, but before I can set my bundle of dry clothes down a safe distance from the splash zone, a breathless voice cuts through the quiet murmurs of my fellow plungers.
“Wait! I’m coming! Don’t jump without me!”
A chill that has nothing to do with the temperature races down my spine.
I know that voice. I’ve spent the last year trying to forget all about that voice and its treacherous snake of an owner.
“Whew! Made it!” A soft body bumps against me, and I know without having to look that it’s CJ slipping into the lineup. “Who’s ready to—” She glances up at me, and her voice cuts off in a strangled croak. “Wyatt.”
I shove my hands into the pockets of my joggers, lower my chin, and hunch my shoulders, resolutely turning to stare out at the water. “Huh,” I say. “You’re still in town.”
“Still in town,” she says tightly, turning to set her hot-pink bag on the wooden boards behind her. “Surprise.”
It is, actually. That night…
Fuck. The way I’ve avoided thinking about that night. That night almost exactly one year ago, when she was driving me insane by pressing those hot-as-fuck curves against me. CJ’d told me almost shyly that she could look into a remote position so she could stay in Beaucoeur permanently. And I wanted that so much. Until I didn’t.
In the twelve months since then, I never once looked her up. Never googled her name. Never made a single attempt to see where she ended up after she submitted that second audit that recommended axing the entire Financial Wellness Division and funneling it to fucking Retirement Products. I told myself that she was out of my life. That I didn’t care whose livelihood she was fucking with now. That I wasn’t curious about where she ended up next.
And I didn’t. I wasn’t. I moved on. But here she is now, glaring up at me as the sweet, floral scent of her hair makes my stomach clench at its familiarity.
“Surprised, yes,” I bite out, forcing myself back to the present where nothing about CJ should feel comforting or welcome. “Surprised you’re showing your face in town after your little sabotage attempt failed.”
This gets a reaction out of her.
“My what?”
My hands tighten around the strap of my bag as I sneer down at her. “That audit you spent so much time on.” Acid burns in my stomach at the reminder of her vindictiveness. “Every i dotted and every t crossed when it came to gutting my division. So much attention to the little details. It’s almost impressive how much effort you put into destroying the only unit in my company that actually helps people.”
“I don’t understand.” She rocks back on her heels to blink those big fucking eyes at me. If I didn’t already know how devastatingly manipulative she is, I could almost believe the confusion I see in them. But I know better than anyone how well she covers up her true nature.
“Sure you do,” I say with false patience. “You were the one who wrote that my team… what was it?” I pretend to have to think about it even though every word is burned into my heart. “Oh, that’s right. We’re a ‘nice-to-have perk’ that doesn’t justify the bloated budget we command, and our employee-facing workshops and one-on-one benefits counseling are neither unique nor necessary.” I click my tongue in contempt. “Your words, CJ.”
“They’re Howard Randall’s words, actually. And yes, I included them in my second draft after you pissed me off,” she says, a crease forming between her brows. “But they weren’t in my third one.”
“What third one? God, and a liar too.” I laugh in disbelief. “You really are the complete package.”
When I sneak another glance at her, it’s not because she’s even sexier than she was a year ago, with her sweatshirt hugging the lush lines of her body and her leggings molded to her cuppable ass. Everything about her looks so fucking soft. It’s a tragedy that she turned out to be such a cutthroat bi?—
