Page 39 of Happily Never After

Her mouth pressed into a hard line. The gala was in three days, and there were still so many details to be double-checked. If she forgot tablecloths or napkins because she was out at a romantic dinner with Luke, she would never forgive him.

“I can feel the tension radiating off you like a nuclear bomb,” he said. “For someone who spends their entire life planning marriage proposals, you really hate romance.”

“I don’t hate romance,” she said, perhaps a little too vehemently. “I just don’t have a lot of free time right now and being away from a computer stresses me out.”

Brad had changed his requested appetizers for the third time earlier that day and the local casino had had a last-minute snafu with renting out enough blackjack tables, which meant Claire had to drive to Wilkes-Barre to a different casino and beg the manager for help. Now two casinos were involved and it was impossible to pick which one had been more aggravating to deal with.

“You’re spreading yourself too thin. I woke up last night and you had one leg off the balcony railing and a kitchen knife tucked in your leggings,” Luke continued. “If you don’t get rid of some of this stress, you’re going to start sleepwalking into lakes and stealing tacos again.”

“It was one time!” She groaned, throwing up her hands.

He raised his eyebrows as he made a right-hand turn. The turn signal clicked accusingly.

“Okay, it was like five times. I have control over it now. Dr. Goulding has been a huge help.”

“Is that why you had a bottle of Fireball and half a pound of Lebanon bologna in your bra?”

She sighed. He had a point. “Fine. I’ll schedule another appointment.” But there was no way she was going on medication. What if she was so drug-addled that she missed an emergency client phone call?

“Damn straight.” Luke squeezed her knee. He made a left turn and pulled into a parking lot.

“Wait, why are we at your bank?”

“Just a quick stop before dinner.”

She glanced at her watch and crossed her arms. If she could have reached across the center console and murdered him in cold blood, she would have done it. They were never going to make it home at this rate. She settled into her seat. At least she could fire off a couple of emails while Luke was inside.

“Coming?” he asked as he climbed out of the car.

She gripped her phone like it had personally wronged her. “Why?”

He narrowed his sea green eyes. “They have the good lollipops here. Trust me, you’re going to want one.”

She lifted her gaze to the sky. Could she make it through this evening without strangling Luke? She couldn’t pull off any of her upcoming events from prison, so hopefully somewhere deep inside was an untapped pool of self-control. She flung off her seatbelt and climbed out of the car. Anything to move this date night along.

They walked into the chilly foyer of the bank, and Claire hung back, tapping her foot on the floor. Taking a deep breath, she forced her hands out of tight fists. Dr. Goulding would probably suggest she practice mindfulness in a moment like this. Hmm. What would a mindful person think of right at this moment?

Don’t think about the past, don’t worry about the future. Whoever came up with the concept was clearly not an attempted-murder-victim-slash-proposal-planner.

She fixed her attention on Luke. Maybe the taut, round shape of his butt in those jeans would ground her in the present. Or the way the sinews in his forearms flexed when he reached across the counter. Great, now she was mindfully hornyandpissed. Besides, there was no way a man was going to be the answer to a new, mindful Claire. That would have to come from within. Maybe on a less stressful day.

Luke leaned forward and said something to a teller, who came around the desk and escorted him across the bank. What fresh hell was this?

“Come on,” he said to Claire.

She followed him wordlessly.

“Vanessa? Your three o’clock is here.”

Who the hell was Vanessa?

A red-haired woman with a startling collection of porcelain angel figures littered across her desk looked up. “Oh, great! Come in, Mr. Islestorm. And Miss…?”

“Hartley. Claire Hartley.” What was going on?

“So you want to open a joint checking account.” Vanessa pulled her keyboard toward her.

Claire stared at Luke. He smiled. “Yes, that’s why we’re here.”

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