Sweet Talkin' Lover EPB Read online

  Dedication

  To

  Alvenia Scarborough

  Cassandra Williams

  Dr. Imani Williams-Vaughn

  Tanya Smith Evans

  I’m so proud to know you and call you my best friends. Our annual vacations are the inspiration for this new series. Love you always.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Acknowledgments

  Like Lovers Do

  About the Author

  Also by Tracey Livesay

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  “Mistakes happen. You’re lucky nothing leaves this department without my final once-over and approval. But there are no third chances. Fix it and have the revised version in my inbox by eight a.m.”

  Caila Harris ended the call and immediately made a note in her digital agenda to check for the report at 8:02 the following morning. What was that saying? If you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself? She should get the words tattooed on her inner arm. A reminder that when all was said and done, relying on others was the surest path to disappointment. She couldn’t afford to let a screwup, especially one not of her own making, mar her performance record in the eyes of the partners. Not when she was so close to getting everything she’d ever wanted. With one final tap on the screen, Caila glanced up and found three pairs of eyes focused on her.

  “What?” Caila closed the cover of her iPad and opened her laptop.

  “That’s the third call you’ve taken in the past half hour,” Ava Taylor said, stirring the mouthwatering lemon caper sauce.

  Caila dragged a finger over the mouse pad and scrolled the list of files on her screen. She’d told her assistant to transfer the PowerPoint of the new digital marketing campaign for their anti-aging under-eye serum to her computer. Where did she put it? “It was work.”

  “So you’re the only one with a demanding life?” Nicole Allen asked, pausing in the act of slicing cucumbers and gesturing with the blade. “I put off patients, Ava found another judge to temporarily take over her docket—”

  “And I’m missing several performances,” Lacey Scott added, gliding up behind Nic and removing the knife from her clenched fingers. “I’ll just take this.”

  Caila rolled her eyes and continued searching for the file. “It was important.”

  Caila was a regional marketing manager at Endurance, the fastest growing manufacturer and marketer of organic skin care, cosmetics, hair care, and fragrance in the United States. Due to the success of her last assignment, her boss had suggested the possibility of entrusting her with the national rollout of the company’s newest product.

  She had to take those calls. This went beyond one employee’s mistake in one report. Her entire future was on the line.

  Ava snapped her fingers. “Hey!”

  Startled, Caila jerked and shot a glance at her usually even-keeled best friend.

  “Our careers mean just as much to us as yours does to you. But we shifted our schedules and pushed vital issues aside because we all agreed to make these days we spend together a priority.”

  Heat flushed Caila’s body at Ava’s censorious tone. The other woman was right.

  The four of them had met their first year of college at the University of Virginia, when they’d all gathered at the same time in the dorm’s TV lounge to watch Oprah. They’d become best friends—remained that way throughout all four years—and despite the exciting lives and successful careers that followed, they still managed to get together for one week every year. What began as a spur-of-the-moment invitation to join Caila on a work trip the year after they’d graduated had turned into cherished time they never missed. If a particular date didn’t work for someone, they rescheduled. No one had to ask. These women were her sisters more than the two who shared her blood. They understood her in a way no one else did.

  “I know, I know, but a national rollout is huge! The partners only assign them to senior marketing personnel, and I’m only a regional manager. But since our director of marketing for cosmetics recently left for one of our rivals, and if Kendra is considering me for the project . . .”

  The conclusion was as obvious to her now as it had been when her boss first mentioned it. A promotion was in the offing.

  One she deserved.

  There was no way Caila could entrust her work to a coworker now. Would a coworker have caught the mistake in that report? Was she willing to take that risk?

  “This promotion is the reward for all of my hard work.”

  “Didn’t you say that after your last promotion to your current position?” Lacey arched a delicate brow while pouring a crisp sauvignon blanc into four stemless wineglasses.

  So? It was still true. Caila motioned with a dismissive wave. “That was two years ago.”

  No one climbing the corporate ladder stopped mid-rung of his or her own accord. The goal was to reach the top. With this promotion she’d be one rung from the C-suite. Successful enough to be in control of her destiny, where the whims of others couldn’t affect her life.

  Caila narrowed her eyes. “Why are you guys acting like I’m the only ambitious one in this group?”

  “We’re not,” Ava said, removing the large pan from the burner. “But it’s the one night of vacay where we stay in, gorge ourselves on food and wine, and reminisce. And you’re missing it all because of that phone fused to your hand.”

  Fine. She’d give them a few hours. Then she’d return calls and emails later tonight when the others went to bed.

  “You win. I’ll put my work away.” Her phone rang and she looked at the display. “After this call.”

  She ignored the chorus of groans and a lone “You are so trifling” as she rose from the table and headed into the great room. A minute later, she ended the call, but instead of immediately returning to the others, she stood peering out of the sliding glass patio doors that extended the length of the far wall.

  During the day the oceanfront view was stunning, with its cloudless blue Caribbean sky, idyllic rays of summer sun, and the foaming spray of ocean waves crashing upon the sand. But now that it was dark, all she could see was the sophisticated interior of their private luxurious villa reflected back at her, the nautical color scheme that brought their surroundings inside, the high rattan ceilings framed with dark wooden beams.

  Caila leaned her forehead against the cool glass. She hated the idea that her preoccupation might be ruining their vacation. She valued her time with these women, looked forward to it with an eagerness rivaled only by children on Christmas morning.

  But her friends hadn’t been there when she was growing up. Her life had been perfect. She’d had friends, played sports, and been ranked as a top student to watch in the city. Because of her outstanding academic achievement, when she was thirteen, she’d been granted a scholarship to attend a prestigious prep school starting the following year. Her father had been overjoyed, but one month before she was to begin, he passed away.

  She’d been devastated. Doubly so whe
n her grandfather had come to their house in Baltimore and insisted that she, her mother, and her two sisters move to the small town in rural Maryland where he lived, claiming he was fulfilling a promise to his deceased son.

  “Your father always told me if something happened to him, I needed to take care of his girls.”

  No one had asked Caila’s opinion. They hadn’t looked at options, like allowing her to stay with other relatives. In one fell swoop she’d lost it all: her father, the prep school, and her emotional stability.

  Her mother had loved ceding control to a man. As did her sisters, who couldn’t understand Caila’s anger at the change. Pop-Pop somehow sensed Caila wasn’t like her mother and sisters.

  Rightly so.

  She exhaled. She couldn’t change her past, but she could focus on making sure history didn’t repeat itself. When she returned to the kitchen, Nic was moving Caila’s iPad to the counter and Ava was placing a steaming platter of chicken piccata in the middle of the table while Lacey handed out drinks.

  “Are you done?” Ava asked.

  “You’d better be,” Nic said, a twist to her lips and a bowl of salad in her hands. A real-life version of a vintage housewife meme. “If you take another call tonight I’m going to toss that fucking phone into the ocean.”

  Lacey’s exaggerated sigh seemed to spring from her soul. “Why don’t you try not being a bitch for once, Nic?”

  Nic shrugged a bare shoulder. “I did. It didn’t take.”

  Ava sat down and placed a cloth napkin in her lap. “This promotion won’t do anything for your love life. I can’t imagine your mother was happy to hear about it, but Pop-Pop’ll probably take out an ad in the local newspaper.”

  Caila’s throat thickened at hearing the name she used for her beloved grandfather. She hadn’t spoken to him in months, not since the argument they’d had when she’d missed her younger sister’s baby shower because of a work trip. She was used to long periods of separation from her mother and sisters, but Pop-Pop . . . She absently rubbed at the spot over her heart. The estrangement was killing her, but she had a plan. Once she got the promotion, she’d head back to Maryland for a few days and surprise him.

  “I haven’t told them yet. Julie is still pissed about the shower. But, come on, it was her second one. In three years.”

  “But you’re her sister,” Ava said.

  “She didn’t need me there. She had her suburban mom squad. And I sent a gift!” But that hadn’t been enough. “She called me ‘frigid.’ Said if I didn’t hurry up and get married, I’d ‘end up bitter, frustrated, and alone.’”

  Nic’s green eyes widened. “Damn!”

  Caila hadn’t been surprised by the sentiment. Both of her sisters had married young and their spouses were nice, if you liked the I’m-the-man-I’m-the-provider-I’ll-take-care-of-you type.

  Which Caila did not.

  “You’re always shading them for their choices,” Lacey said, “but they seem happy. Maybe they just want the same for you.”

  “Being married isn’t the sole destination of a woman’s path to happiness,” Caila said, her molars reuniting the way they did whenever this topic came up. She spooned some chicken onto her plate.

  “Did you read that on a pillow?” Nic asked.

  “No, smart ass . . . a calendar.”

  “It may not be the only one,” Lacey agreed, a loopy grin illuminating her delicate features, “but you have to admit it would be nice.”

  Caila pursed her lips. She didn’t have to do anything except stay black and die. “If married life is so great, why don’t they focus on it and stop worrying about my social life.”

  “Or lack thereof . . .” Ava muttered.

  Caila raised a sculpted brow. “Et tu, Ava?”

  “C’mon, leave her alone.”

  “Thank you, Lacey,” Caila said, reaching over to affectionately squeeze the other woman’s arm.

  Ava, Caila’s mom, and Caila’s two sisters all observed the same philosophy: Get Caila laid and mated, though her mother would gasp at the crude phrasing. But while their wording might differ, they employed similar methodology. If Ava wasn’t sending Caila screenshots of eligible men from the various dating apps she subscribed to, her family was “casually” texting her about random Jims, Joes, and Bobs she went to high school with whom they ran into at the store. They were obsessed with her dating life.

  They couldn’t seem to grasp that she was content. Adding a man into the equation would change everything. What guy would put up with eighty-hour workweeks, constant travel, and dates when her phone constantly rang with incoming calls, texts, and emails? Not anyone who’d capture her interest. A man searching for a sugar momma held zero appeal. No, she loved her life the way it was, and she wasn’t inclined to change any part of it because everyone thought she needed a boyfriend.

  “Caila is a grown woman,” Nic said, rising and grabbing another bottle of wine. “She knows what she wants. I know I wouldn’t want to be tied to one man when there are so many to choose from.”

  “You never could,” Caila murmured, taking a bite of salad.

  Nic’s caramel brown curls jiggled when she jerked her head back. “Really? I’m on your side.”

  “Remember that time Nic came home with one guy to find another one waiting on the couch for her?” Lacey asked, the corners of her mouth quivering.

  “Don’t even try it!” Nic yelled over their howls of laughter. “He was my organic chemistry lab partner.”

  Ava snorted. “Maybe, but from the look on his face, he’d had ideas for much more.”

  “It was so awkward,” Lacey said. “She and her date were kissing like he’d been deployed and was heading off to war. They’d barely broken apart for her to open the door.”

  “And that poor boy was sitting there, his mouth open.” Ava shook her head. “What was his name?”

  Caila ticked the options off on her fingers. “Geoff? Jim?”

  “Gordon!”

  “Thank you, Lacey,” Nic said, her voice lacking any gratitude. “If you could remember the important things, instead of twelve-year-old college gossip, we might let you plan a vacay.”

  Oh shit!

  Grooves appeared in Lacey’s forehead. “What do you mean ‘let’?”

  “Nic—” Caila warned.

  The other woman ignored her. “You haven’t noticed that you’ve never planned a vacation?”

  Lacey’s gaze landed briefly on each of them. “By the time I’d thought about it, someone else had sent the email. I assumed it was random, but . . . Wait a minute, this was a concerted effort?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘concerted’—” Ava began.

  “Yup!” Nic interrupted with her trademark bluntness.

  “Why?” Lacey’s light brown eyes widened.

  It wasn’t the way Caila wanted to deliver the news, but . . . “Really? Do we have to spell it out?”

  Lacey leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Apparently, you do.”

  “You’re allergic to planning. You’re Ms. Spur of the Moment, which, for some mystical reason, always works for you. Just not for those in your orbit.”

  “That’s not true!” Lacey said. “Ava, help me out!”

  Ava grimaced. “I’ve got four words: What about Chase, tho’?”

  That was all it took to make them roar with laughter and send their memories tumbling through time to their third year of college.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Lacey protested.

  “What happened was the very definition of your fault,” Nic said.

  Ava had been the first of their group to turn twenty-one and they’d wanted to do something more than the pedestrian barhop for their friend. When Caila got her first UTI, Ava was the one who’d taken her to student health, picked up her prescription, and stayed with her through the painful and frightening experience. When Lacey won the lead role in their college’s spring dance recital, Ava had made her favorite dishes for an impromptu celebrat
ion. And when Nic caught her boyfriend making out with another girl in the library stacks, Ava had organized an early morning raid when they exposed his cheating by hanging a large sign in the lobby of his dorm. Ava was the mother hen of their group. She took care of them. So on this special and momentous occasion, they wanted to return the favor.

  “We’d planned the surprise for months,” Caila said.

  Nic nodded. “Took double shifts at our jobs, saved up money . . .”

  Lacey’s gaze flicked upward. “Do you guys practice this little comedy routine during the year?”

  “Somebody asked Caila for a task, promised she could handle the details.” Nic jerked her thumb in Lacey’s direction.

  “Said booking him would be, and I quote, ‘no big deal.’” Caila made quotation marks with her fingers.

  Lacey pressed her glossed lips tight.

  “We take Ava to dinner, keep her out for a while, and when we finally get home, expecting to walk in to the big surprise, we find . . . nothing.” Nic deflated her posture in a dramatic fashion.

  “It wasn’t my job to pick him up and drive him to our apartment,” Lacey grumbled.

  “So we’re trying to pretend it’s all good, that everything’s fine—” Caila said, grinning.

  “And failing miserably,” Ava said. “You guys were acting so weird and I didn’t know why. Dinner had been perfect.”

  Caila continued. “Twenty minutes later—”

  “—forty-five minutes after he was supposed to arrive—” Nic inserts.

  “The doorbell rings and there’s this five-foot-four white guy, with blond hair, wearing a double-breasted . . . tuxedo . . . suit.”

  Caila had difficulty getting the last few words out, she was laughing so hard.

  “‘I’m Chase, your stripper,’” Nic said in a perfect imitation of a stereotypical frat boy, before cackling and clutching Caila’s arm.

  “I was trying to figure out what’s going on,” Ava said.

  “We were, too! He’s not who we picked out,” Nic said, using a napkin to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “We know your type. At least six-foot-three and chocolate brown.”

  “Chase was neither,” Ava said, stating the obvious.