On the surface imperfect.., p.1
On the Surface (Imperfect Love Book 3), page 1
Imperfect Love series: book three
by
Table of Contents
On the Surface
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Excerpt from Through His Eyes
Excerpt from The Pickup
Other Books by Nikki Ash
About the Author
Acknowledgements
On The Surface
Copyright © 2019
Nikki Ash
All rights reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at AuthorNikkiAsh@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Cover design: Jersey Girl Designs
Cover photograph: Sara Eirew Photography
Dedication
To the readers who see under the surface, through the fakeness, beyond the shattered, and love the broken characters. This book is for you.
We are all broken. That’s how the light gets in. –Unknown
One
Celeste
“Two weeks until I’m finally Mrs. Shaw.” Olivia squeals loud enough that the patrons sitting at the table next to us look over. Her hands clasp together in excitement as her eyes run along everyone at the table and land on her fiancé, Nicholas Shaw, who is known to most as the newly retired quarterback from the New York Brewers. To me, though, he’s my childhood best friend. Despite our four-year age difference, I’ve spent the last two decades following Nick around while he’s chased his dream of playing pro ball, and I’ve chased mine of becoming a model. There was even a short span of time when we almost got married—a stupid decision on both our parts, stemmed from a teenage pact in a moment of weakness.
Of course, that was all before he met Olivia, who swooped in with her sweet and adorable self and stole his heart—while simultaneously winning me over and becoming one of the few people I call a friend. She and Nick are expecting their second baby in September. Their son, Reed, is eighteen months old, and at home with his grandparents tonight.
In response to what Olivia says, Nick snakes his arm around her shoulders in a protective manner and pulls her into his side with a wide grin. His lips press against hers softly in a loving gesture, and I’m almost positive they’ve just given me a cavity from all the sweetness that’s radiating off them.
“Which means a bachelorette party is in order!” Olivia’s best friend, Giselle, states. She’s also pregnant—due in November—and someone I consider a friend. Her husband, Killian Blake—who is a receiver for the Brewers—also wraps his arm around his wife and pulls her in for a kiss. Only theirs is more intense, more passionate. I can’t help but watch as things between them become heated. It’s one of those kisses where you want to look away to give them their privacy, but you can’t stop watching. Yep! I’ve definitely got a cavity, maybe two. It isn’t until Nick clears his throat that they come up for air. Giselle’s face is bright red—not sure if it’s out of embarrassment over their public display of affection, or if she’s turned on—either way, she’s completely captivated by her husband.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Olivia’s nose scrunches up, and she shakes her head. “I’m half-baked.” She points to her protruding belly. “And you’re pregnant too.” She eyes Giselle. “The only person who’ll actually get to party is Celeste!” She laughs, shooting me a soft smile.
My gaze goes to my—and I use the term loosely—boyfriend, Chad Vacanti. Chad is forty-five years old and the VP for the investment banking firm he’s a partner in. We met at a function we were both attending and hit it off. Shortly after, I left for the UK to promote my clothing line that went international. Apparently, he had some business over there as well and reached out. We spent several weeks together—when we weren’t both working eighteen-hour days—and decided to keep things going when we returned. It’s worked out well for both of us—giving us someone to attend functions with and get lost in after long days of work. He’s a lot like me and knows the score, so there aren’t any hurt feelings. Chad’s nearly twenty years my senior, which is the way I prefer it. Older men tend to have their shit together and are far more mature than the guys my age.
“And it will stay that way,” I say with conviction in response to Olivia’s comment. Chad looks up from his phone as I finish saying the words, completely focused on work and having no clue what the conversation is about.
“What will stay what way?” he questions—apparently he’s somewhat good at multitasking—good to know he at least hears me when I speak.
“My getting pregnant.” His eyes go wide in fear, completely misunderstanding. “That I won’t be getting pregnant anytime soon,” I clarify, and he lets out a harsh sigh of relief, as if having a baby with me would be the absolute worst thing in the world. It’s not as if I would want to have kids with him—or with anyone for that matter—but Jesus, does he have to look so relieved?
Taking a bite of my shrimp salad, I try to ignore the four pairs of eyes staring at me—not including Chad’s, as his are already back on his phone. It’s no secret I’m the odd one out in our group of friends. Unlike Olivia and Giselle, who are both happily doing their part to add to the ever-growing human race, I have no desire to ever procreate. I have one goal in this life: to make something of myself. Which I happen to think I’m doing a damn good job at. I’ve learned over the years that independence is the key to a woman’s success. While Chad is decent in bed and someone I can talk business with, he’ll never be anything more than that. I don’t need him—or any man for that matter. I push back the thoughts of the one guy I allowed myself to need and how that turned out…with my heart broken and my future nearly destroyed.
“I still say we need to throw a party!” Giselle insists. “We can do a combined bachelor and bachelorette party at an upscale club.” She stops talking, so I look up, and she’s giving Olivia the stink-eye. “And not at a strip club.”
A loud laugh escapes me as I remember not too long ago when Olivia convinced Nick to take her to Assets, a high-end strip club. I thought he was going to kill me when I surprised her with a lap dance. The poor guy wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or upset that his fiancée was thoroughly enjoying another woman grinding on her.
“No, not at a strip club,” Olivia agrees. “But it would be fun for all of us to go out and have a good time before we get married.” She looks at Nick, who of course nods in agreement. She could tell him she wants him to participate in a shit-eating contest and the guy would nod in agreement if it meant making her happy.
“Mind if I invite Jase?” Killian asks. It doesn’t go unnoticed that his gaze quickly meets mine before he looks away. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at the mention of that name. Jase Crawford. The one who… I shake myself out of my thoughts, refusing to even finish that sentence. He doesn’t deserve a place in my thoughts, in my head, in my… Nope, not going there. He’s nothing more than a mistake from my past. A lesson learned the hard way.
“I saw him yesterday at the shop,” Killian says, “while getting some work done. Seems like he doesn’t get out much.”
“Of course he’s welcome to come!” Olivia says, speaking for Nick. “He’s also invited to the wedding.” Her hand comes up and rests on top of Nick’s. “After we ran into him on Giselle’s birthday, he and Nick have been keeping in touch again. Jax and Quinn are both invited as well.” Jax and Quinn are Jase’s brother and sister. They own a tattoo shop here in New York called Forbidden Ink. We went there the night of Giselle’s birthday so she and Olivia could get their first tattoo. Olivia chickened out, but Giselle ended up getting a beautiful quote across her upper back just below her nape.
“How many people are coming?” I ask, trying to remain calm, even though the reality of having to see Jase at the wedding has me feeling anything but. “I thought you were keeping it small and intimate.” Nick doesn’t speak to his parents, which only leaves Olivia’s family and their friends. She didn’t want something huge, which could easily happen since Nick’s a four-time Super Bowl champion and Olivia’s dad is an NFL coach. And then there’s her mom—who is no longer alive. She was a huge international supermodel—one I spent many years looking up to. So you can imagine how many people they’re acquainted with.
“Only about a hundred and fifty people. We’re still keeping it small.” She gives me a questioning look. “Jase isn’t in the wedding party if that’s what you’
re worried about.”
“I’m not,” I say far too quickly. Everyone’s gazes swing over to me—except Chad, who’s still typing away on his phone. “I’m not,” I repeat in a tone that makes it clear to drop whatever they’re all thinking. It makes sense that Jase and his siblings are invited since Nick has been friends with them since high school.
“I like your new hair color,” Olivia says, changing the subject. “It makes you look less…harsh.”
“Less like an evil witch?” I wink, and she laughs. When Olivia and I first met, Nick referred to me as the evil witch in their story, and I’ve yet to live the nickname down. So I figure, if I can’t beat them, I might as well join them. But she’s right, the black hair gave me an edgier look, which is what the modeling agency I used to be signed with was going for. Since I’m no longer signed with anyone, and I’m free to do as I want with my hair, I dyed it back to my original color—a mahogany brown with hints of auburn mixed in.
“Yes! I mean you can totally pull off any color, obviously, but this color is really pretty.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey Chad,” Giselle calls out from across the table. He looks up to see who said his name. “What do you think about Celeste’s hair?”
Chad looks over at me in confusion. “It looks nice,” he says with a shrug.
“What does?” she presses.
“Uh…the length?” he says, but it comes out more like a question. “Did you get it cut or something?”
“Actually, it’s a different color,” Giselle points out—with a big fake smile—before I can answer. It’s no secret my friends aren’t a fan of Chad’s. Olivia is too sweet to say anything mean, but Giselle has no problem calling him out.
“Really?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say, taking a bite of my food.
The rest of the meal is spent with everyone hammering out the details for the party, but my mind can’t get off the fact that Jase and Nick are hanging out again. He’s going to be invited to the party. And he’s going to come to the wedding. I try to think of a reason to get out of going to either one, but I know I can’t do that. Nick has been there for me my entire life. I’m not just going to ditch one of the biggest days of his life because of who will be in attendance. I refuse to be affected by this. Jase will just be another guest attending the wedding. Of course, since I’m in the wedding party as Olivia’s bridesmaid, I’m going to have to walk down the aisle in front of everyone, including Jase. I’ve walked down a million runways at fashion shows—sometimes more than half-naked. I’ve been on dozens of billboards and in more commercials than I can count. Yet, the thought of having to walk down the aisle, knowing Jase will be there—most likely with a date—has me feeling sick to my stomach. He shouldn’t make me feel like this. Not after all this time. Not after the way things ended.
When the bill is paid, everyone makes their way outside to say their goodbyes. Chad’s driver comes around and we slide into the back of his town car. Since it’s Saturday night, I’d usually go back to his place, but tonight I tell him I’m going home instead. He simply nods, not even questioning why I’m canceling our evening plans. He doesn’t ask if anything is wrong. The entire drive he’s on his phone. His arm never snakes around my shoulders like Nick’s did to Olivia. His hand never touches mine like Olivia’s did to Nick. And when his driver drops me off in front of my building, he doesn’t kiss me the way Killian kissed Giselle.
After showering and changing into silky pajamas, I pour myself a glass of white wine to help calm my nerves before bed. Usually, this is when I go through my emails. I confirm my meetings and engagements with Margie, my assistant, for the upcoming week, since she doesn’t work Sundays. I check my company’s financials to make sure we’re where we need to be. But tonight, I do none of that. Instead, I head outside onto my balcony, which overlooks Central Park. With my condo being on the tenth floor, I’m able to just barely make out the people bustling about. Some are walking their dogs, others are strolling hand-in-hand. It’s dark out, just after ten o’clock, but this is the city that never sleeps.
I take in a deep breath, then bring my lips up to my glass, swallowing a taste of the fruity wine. This is what I wanted. A sky-rise condo in Lennox Hills overlooking Central Park. And I finally got it. The day I signed the papers on this condo, I felt like I’d finally made it. I purchased it on my own, with my own credit and my own money. Yet, as I look out at the luscious trees that fill the park, it feels like every goal and dream I’ve ever made wasn’t enough. I should feel complete, fulfilled. I should feel accomplished. But I don’t. I feel empty.
After I finish my wine, I rinse the glass out then climb into bed. I lay here for several minutes, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. I barely even touched my cell phone tonight. That’s because you were too busy watching the sickeningly-sweet couples at the table. Usually I don’t pay attention to how the couples around me act with each other. I don’t care whether Chad pays attention to me, or if he kisses me goodbye.
I snuggle into my blankets, trying my hardest not to remember a time when I wanted nothing more than to be one-half to a sickeningly-sweet couple. When my world, for just a brief moment, was filled with hand-holding and kissing and sweet words whispered to one another. I close my eyes, refusing to let the tears come, only my heart—and tear ducts—seem to have a mind of their own, and when the memories of him surface, the tears fall of their own accord.
Two
Celeste
The Past
“Tell me everything!” I bounce up and down on Nick’s bed in his old room in his parents’ house. He’s home for my graduation, and I’m beyond excited to have my best friend back—even if it’s only for a short time. He may only live a hundred miles away, and in the same state, but without me having my own vehicle, it might as well be a million miles away. This past year without Nick has been excruciatingly difficult. I’ve lost my best friend, the person I talk to and hang out with. He’s now an uber-famous professional football player, and I’m just a high school senior.
“You know everything.” He laughs. “We talk every day.” He strips out of his sweatpants and shirt he wore for his drive over and into a pair of distressed jeans and a collared shirt.
“It’s not the same,” I whine. “You’re living this amazing life, and I’m stuck here in Piermont without you.” I pout. Up until this last year, Nick and I have always lived close enough that I could take the bus, or bum a ride from someone, to visit him. He even went to college locally at North Carolina University. Now, though, things have changed.
“I need details,” I beg. “Tell me about the traveling, the money, the fame. I saw you on TMZ at a charity function in New York with Alessandra Starr!” I sigh. Alessandra Starr is an up-and-coming model. She was a lot like me—a nobody from a small town—trying to make a name for herself. She was at the right place at the right time, and boom! Now she’s the face of several different companies, including MAC and Lancôme.
“She’s not really my type,” Nick admits, as if I care about who his type is. I want to know what it’s like, not who he’s in love with this week.
“Nicholas Shaw!” I shriek. “I don’t care who you like or don’t like. I want to know about New York… about the event! Did you meet a lot of famous people? When you travel, do you get to order room service? Did you go to any popular clubs? What’s it like to see your name and picture plastered all over the magazines?”
Nick rolls his eyes and sits next to me on his bed. “You know I don’t care about any of that. I’m doing what I love. Playing ball.” It’s my turn to roll my eyes. I shouldn’t have expected Nick to understand. He was raised with money. To him, this is all just another day in the life of Nicholas Shaw. He might be my best friend—and our moms might be best friends—and we might’ve grown up only a few miles apart—on opposite sides of the train tracks—but we might as well be from two different planets.
“I have a surprise for you.” He grins wide and stands, then walks over to his luggage. He pulls an envelope from it and hands it to me. Just as my fingers are about to grasp the paper, he pulls it back and laughs.
