Page 35 of Happily Never After

Claire’s footsteps thudded in the hallway as she walked toward the back of the house, opening and closing doorways as she went. It wasn’t likely that Rosie had learned to open doors since she had left two days ago, but stranger things had happened. Finally, the only door left was the ballroom. A knot of apprehension grew in her stomach. The pool waited just beyond the windows of the ballroom. The latest physical reminder that ESA was still very much around and had a score to settle with her.

She swiveled away from the doors. Rosie couldn’t have gone inside the ballroom anyway. One of the wooden stairs creaked as she crept upstairs. Her suitcase stood by the vanity in the master bedroom, already brought up by Luke. And there, on the floor beneath the king-sized bed, was Rosie. She was curled tight into a cinnamon bun, back end shaking.

“Come here, darling,” Claire called, lying flat on her belly with her hand outstretched toward her beloved dog. “It’s okay. Mommy’s home now.”

Rosie tentatively stretched her neck out and licked Claire’s hand. Claire rubbed her snoot for a minute until the shaking stopped.

“Much better. Come with me,” she ordered, shimmying away from the bed. Rosie crawled out and jumped at her, planting her feet on Claire’s knees until she bent down for a proper hug. Warmth flooded Claire’s body. Rosie hadn’t forgotten her. She was home.

Five hours later, Claire’s half-eaten sandwich was limp on its plate as she typed fervently. The smell of garlic wound its way seductively into the room, but she didn’t have time to worry about food. Her calendar was filling up with meetings. A PowerPoint presentation with their newest applicants sat in her sent box. And then there were thirteen separate emails from Brad.

Her phone dinged, and she glanced at it. A picture appeared. Nicole stood in front of a wall, one hand on her belly. A sticker in the corner read eight weeks.

Claire sent a whole row of heart emojis and leaned back in her chair. She pressed a hand to her abdomen. Alice had been dropping hints about fertility teas and rituals for months. She already had one grandchild in California, but she seemed determined to surround herself with them. Maybe, one day, Claire would be taking baby bump updates of her own. Of course, she would prefer to convince Luke to marry her first, but that was about as likely as Winston learning to surf. Not impossible, but statistically speaking, unlikely.

Next, she needed to tackle the latest accounting work for Brad’s proposal. She scrolled to the bottom of the spreadsheet. The number of zeros at the bottom sent her heart into palpitations. She closed the spreadsheet and went back to the compatibility test Brad had filled out.

They were in love, weren’t they? Like really, truly in love? Surely he wouldn’t go to such great lengths to propose if they weren’t. Was the magic of that one question getting bogged down in this insanely elaborate event? Ordinarily, she wouldn’t think twice about the client wanting something huge. Big proposals were the reason she had a job. But this was next level, and the geographic discrepancy was preventing her from doing her in-person screening.

Part of her process was spying on her couples on dates, seeing how they communicated. But she hadn’t had the opportunity to witness Brad and Karen on a date. Sure, they had been together for eight years and lived together for six of those, but were they really ready to get married again? And changing the Hollywood sign? Was this really all for Karen, or was it just so Brad could get on some morning shows?

Claire leaned back in her chair and pressed her palms over her eyes. Why had she agreed to do this? The entire future of their company now hinged on this proposal. News coverage from changing the Hollywood sign was inevitable. Every part of this project would be up to public scrutiny. If it went perfectly, maybe it would wipe the public memory of Claire as a proposal planner for serial killers. They could hire a West Coast staff member and take the first steps in growing Happily Ever Afters. If they succeeded, supporting the shelter was a much more attainable goal.

But if it failed, her reputation would be tarnished forever. Her entire plan to have a West Coast branch established so that she could workandspend time with her sisters and Luke would be destroyed. She would be all but shackled to clients who neglected to google her name.

The door to her office banged open, startling her out of her introspection, and Rosie and Winston flipped to their feet and barked.

“I said six.” Luke put both hands on the back of her chair and wheeled her into the hallway. The clattering of dog nails on hardwood followed them.

“I didn’t get to save my document—” She twisted in the seat and tried to stand, but Luke forced her back down.

“I’ve seen you type. You save your documents every fifteen seconds. Now it’s time for dinner.”

Claire crossed her arms as he pushed her to the kitchen. Didn’t he understand what was at stake? Not everyone could make a living by exploiting the tawdry mystery of a serial killer for an audience of millions. Some people preferred to orchestrate beautiful moments for couples instead of celebrating the macabre.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Luke’s entire documentary revolved around honoring Barney’s victims and telling their stories. He had begrudgingly allowed Claire to watch the first episode when he was apologizing for asking her to be in it. She had refused to watch her episode, where she had finally consented to speak about her experience on camera, but she knew it existed.

He deposited her in the kitchen, and her stomach growled. Loudly.

“What is it?” She sniffed the air. Notes of garlic and lemon clung seductively to the air.

“Shrimp scampi.” He steered her to a bar stool and dropped a bowl of pasta in front of her. A vase full of stargazer lilies stood on the island. Her favorite. “And after this, we’re going to spend some quality time together and there will be no talk of work. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Claire grumbled, twining some strands of pasta around her fork. The first bite nearly sent her into a full-blown mouthgasm. Of course he was amazing at cooking. With the exception of sorting laundry and practicing open andhonest communication, there was nothing that Luke wasn’t immediately awesome at. It was incredibly irritating.

“Now tell me about your hotel stay.” He settled beside her. “I know Nicole and Mindy joined you.”

She nodded. “We made a list of all the ESA chapters and snooped on Professor Taylor’s online presence.”

Luke sighed. “I wish you’d leave things to your dad. You already did your part. You got Barney put away for ten years.”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Do you really think he’s going to stay in prison for ten years? I’m sure he’s already started on his appeal. He’ll find someone he can pay off, and then he’ll be right back to murdering.”

Mindy had helpfully pointed this very real possibility out during their long weekend. Appeals often took a while, but there was no guarantee that Barney was going to remain in prison. Claire’s stomach twisted despite the delicious food. She set her fork down.

Luke stared off into space, eyebrows drawn together. For the first time in recorded history, he didn’t seem to be in the mood to argue.

She took a deep breath and picked her fork up again. “That’s why I also decided I’m going to figure out the William Hickory thing.” It was a puzzle to solve, something she could control. Unlike Barney.

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