AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He nods once.
“Did you drive here?” I ask because unlike him, I’m not comfortable in awkward silences.
“Oh, I’m not leaving. I only arrived a few minutes before you crotch-splotched that dude.” That gets a laugh out of me. Seeming pleased, Lorenzo continues. “I’ll go back to my friends once you’re gone.”
Once I’m gone.Because no onereallywants to spend time with me. Lorenzo said it himself— it seemed like fun. That’s all this was.
As if on cue, tires screech next to the sidewalk where we stand, and I slip my phone into my purse.
“Thanks for waiting with me.”
“And for acting like your boyfriend back there.”
I roll my eyes. “Both highly unnecessary.” I open the backseat door of the car, waving at the driver.
“Bothfun.”
Our gazes lock for a moment, my stomach swirling with stupid butterflies. I get into the car, but as I’m shutting the door, he grabs the frame and says, “Merry Christmas.”
“Happy Holidays.” I squeeze my lips into a tight-lipped smile and finish shutting the door, letting the driver take me away. I glance through the back windshield when we’re about to turn the corner, finding Lorenzo watching the car with his hands in his pockets.
I’m officially done with relationships,I decide. Trent cheated and left me for someone else, which according to him was my fault. Brad literally didn’t see any potential in me, seeing as he stood me up without a word. I don’t need to check the app to know he’s probably blocked me. Not that I’d reach out— that’s all sorts of desperate.
Lorenzo was really cute.
Cute is an understatement, but we’re not going there. I refuse to think anymore about him. He didn’t even ask for my number— that’s telling enough. It’s the nail in the coffin of my love life, because even my just-met, fake boyfriend didn’tactuallywant me.
Chapter Two
December 23rd
“Champagne,ma’am?”
I’m startled when the server carrying a tray full of sparkly, disposable flutes meets me at the entry of the mini-mansion.
“Um, sure.” I take one from his tray and he scurries back to the corner, ready to pounce on the next guest that walks in.
My boss, co-owner of the company, throws a holiday party every year for our branch. He calls it a holiday party, but it’s very obviously a Christmas party. Not that it bothers me, but if you’re going to call it a holiday party, it should include all of the holidays, right?
I face the vast living room, finding the place decked out in Christmas—not holiday—decorations from floor to ceiling. Lights are strung across the second story railings that wrap around the three walls in front of me.
I take the single step down from the entryway into the living room and glance around, confirming I’m the first to arrive. I’ve never understood why people always arrive late to a party. What’s the point of putting a time if you’re not going to adhere to it? Why not just list ‘evening’ or ‘afternoon’?
“Kate! Punctual as always,” Rowan Valeri says.
“Someone’s gotta be first,” I tell him with a grin. He’s a great boss— it’s why I accepted his job offer after interning at his brokerage for a year. I started my internship the week before the holiday break four years ago, and I've been an underwriter ever since. Despite my proffer to start upon the return to the office, Rowan insisted that I attend the holiday party. “It’s a great way to get acquainted with your new coworkers,” he’d said.
“Well I’m happy to know that someone is still you. Make yourself at home. Lily will be out in a few minutes and others should trickle in soon.”
He rushes out to the patio through the open french doors. The entire back wall of his house is floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the luscious pool deck and lawn. I peruse the spread of appetizers on the table and shoo off the two different servers who ask if I need anything.
With my champagne and small plate of bread and cheese, I travel out to the patio deck and take a seat at one of the many tables set up with decorative red and white table cloths. I pull my phone out of my purse and check my text messages.
Char: still no word from Brad?
Oh, Charlotte. The eternal optimist. When I talked to her this morning, she insisted that Brad must have fallen ill or had some other sort of emergency that caused him not to show. I couldn’t stop myself from double—fine,triple—checking the app to make sure he didn’t message me. Just as I knew, he hadn’t, which meant he just didn’t want to meet me.
After I’d checked Tinder, I mulled over the run-in with Trent. Or rather, I mulled over his words.You made sure of that, didn’t you?Bile rises in my throat. We were together for nearly two years. While he did confess to cheating while he was breaking up with me, it still broke my heart. It still shattered my trust with men.
