What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

It would be so easy just to stay here in Nashville.

The question is: would I regret it?

And will Allison regret leaving all this behind?

And where will either of us be in the aftermath of our regret?

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Models with long legs and perfect bodies, who date famous authors probably eat fruit. Or they don’t eat at all. Cupcakes make for a good breakfast for us humans who have to go to work early. I say this at the wee hour of seven AM, as I sit behind my desk and take a bite of my cupcake. And because I’m me, and things go this way for me, Tyler—looking oh so arrogantly good-looking in a blue pinstriped suit—chooses that moment to appear in the doorway.

I quickly sip my home-brewed coffee and try to swallow as delicately as possible, but the entire process doesn’t go well. I’m two for two on this eating around hot men thing and I don’t believe I’ll try for three for three. It takes a moment or ten and Tyler just stands there, watching my struggle. Funny thing is how judged I feel while the same situation with Dash felt—different. It was different.

“Morning,” I finally say.

“Good morning, Ms. Wright,” he replies, thankfully ignoring my struggle. “I trust you settled into the house well?”

“I did. It’s a beautiful house. I feel spoiled. Thank you.” I stand up.

“Quid pro quo,” he says. “It helps me and it helps you. Did you look at our lounge area?”

“I did. It’s beautiful and perfect. I’d love to hold the event there, but how much will that cost you with the hotel?”

“Nothing. Tell them we want a refund. If they don’t cooperate, tell me. Then I assure you, they will.”

Of this, I have no doubt. “I’ll do that this morning.”

“What is your plan to intake auction donations?”

“I’m meeting with the head of the charity again today for that very reason. Obviously, we plan to have Hawk Legal’s clients become the biggest source of donations, but if they bid on items and win, that counts as a donation as well. That means I need items for them to want to bid on. I’m going to call her prior donors myself, but first, we’re going to go over what I need to know about each before I do so. I’d like to do the same with someone here on a list of clients.”

“Email me a list,” he states. “Don’t call anyone I don’t approve first. You should have my number in your phone, but check your email. I sent it anyway. We’re holding a birthday event for a client Friday night at my house. I suggest you attend and figure people out yourself. You might find at least one noteworthy surprise.”

He says nothing more. He just disappears into the hallway, leaving me and my cupcake to wonder what an event at Tyler Hawk’s house will be like. I think of him catching me eating a cupcake and decide there is one certain word: uncomfortable. And of course, my next thought is to wonder if Dash Black will be there. Just as I wonder if he will be at my meeting with Millie this afternoon. He knows about it, but he also told me to quit. Okay, technically he told me to go home. Same thing. Isn’t it? I really should tell Tyler about this little Dash situation but it might well be the end for me. I could call Dash and try to talk things out, but somehow that doesn’t feel right either.

I’ll just go to the meeting with Millie and carry on.

Good or bad, that’s my plan.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

My meeting time with Millie arrives with me a bundle of nerves that all come down to my hope and fear that Dash might attend.

So much so that as I walk to the meeting, the cold day doesn’t even compute. Instead, all the ways this meeting could go badly consume me. My rambling mind goes a little like this:

Dash told me to go back to New York.

Asshole.

Dash is supposed to be at this meeting.

Asshole.

Dash may have told Millie there’s no need to meet me at the bookstore for those reasons.

Or Dash could just show up and tell me to go home all over again.

Please don’t be an asshole, Dash.

I enter the bakery side of the bookstore, and my fear that Dash might have instructed Millie to cold-shoulder me ends quickly. Millie, looking quite beautiful in a black dress that contrasts with her red curls, greets me with a hug and a smile. “Thank God you’re involved in this,” she proclaims. “I really feel better about things.”

“Hopefully Dash does as well,” I say, feeling her out for any input he might have offered or any blow that might be to follow. If it’s coming, just hit me with it now.