Maybe I Do

You

Maybe I Do

by

Allie Fisher

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Maybe I Do

COPYRIGHT © 2016 by Allie Fisher

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

Publishing History

First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2016

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0770-1

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0771-8

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

As with every book there are people who, without them, this would have been impossible. I want you to know how much you mean to me in every way, every tantrum, every time I quit, which was a lot, every time I cried, got angry, and even withdrew, you were there to encourage and push me to step out of my comfort zone and release the crazy characters trapped in my head and heart. I couldn’t have taken a step without each of you.

To my husband, who always tells me go for it.

My amazing sisters, Bennia and Pam, who have read this book more than I probably have.

My rat pack—Nikki, Karina, Laurie and Adrienne.

Wine really does help everything. Thanks for always knowing when to kick my ass.

My editor at TWRP, Sharon Pickrel, for giving me a shot.

Last but never least, my mini me, partner in crime, late night ‘get er done,’ and the best friend and future daughter-in-law I could ever have, Julia. I’m sorry for all the sex scenes you had to go through when helping me proof read. I promise I’ll pay for the therapy. You are amazing, and I love you to the ends of the earth.

Thanks Mom, for teaching me to never give up and that I can accomplish anything.

PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

Allie Fisher

MAYBE I DO

Loved reading Allie Fisher’s Maybe I Do. What a wonderful story—sassy, full of Southern charm and lots of hot, sexy romance. Any woman would love to have Aiden Spencer in her life. Five stars!

~Nadine Monaco, author of Blue Angel

Chapter One

I don’t have to do this. I say, lying in bed with my eyes still closed; my alarm is chiming an annoying, ethereal tone. I debate whether I should raise my shades and let the coming doom envelope me or shut the stupid alarm off, yank the covers over my head, and escape into the dark abyss of sleep.

Why had I let my niece, Stephanie, talk me into throwing her a wedding back home in Georgia? I should have insisted on the Aruba destination wedding.

I have been dreading this since I agreed to the wedding taking place back home. The time has arrived to leave, and quite frankly, I’d rather have my appendix rupture. Thank God, for my work keeping me too preoccupied to think about it.

I had managed fine by staying across the country from the demons in my past. Having to leave California is the last thing I want right now. There is no avoiding it now, I never go back on my word, and I promised Stephanie. I have to get up and get in the shower, or I’m going to miss my flight. It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen… No! I have to go for Stephanie’s sake.

I engage the evil button raising the blinds, allowing the happy Northern California sunshine in.

Grudgingly, I stalk off to the shower mumbling complaints to myself along the way. I stay in long enough to have a hot shower turn cold. Throwing on my robe, I head back to my room, plopping onto the small chaise lounge near the large floor-to-ceiling window. This is normally my place of sanctuary, but staring at me like a death sentence is the first example of the many horrible moments ahead. My stupid yearbook from high school, taunting me.

I twist my hairbrush in my hand, gripping it until my knuckles go white. It’s a book made of paper and ink; what could be so horrible? I glared at it with distain and horror as I would a test tube of the Ebola virus. Flipping the towel off my head, I brush my hair as I contemplate opening it.

Until a few days ago, this book rested fifteen hundred miles away, tucked neatly in my hope chest, back home. But thanks to my dear, sweet momma who had it shipped to me so I could, and I quote, familiarize myself with my old friend’s faces. Of course, there’s no reason to; their faces were permanently burned into my memory.

I didn’t need to see the pictures in it; it’s been twenty-two years since prom, so why would I waste my time? But still…this is stupid.

Oh, screw it. I drop the brush and grab the damn book. I draw in a deep breath and blow it out. My therapist would say this is progress.

Gripping the book tightly in my hands. I flip through the pages, laughing at myself for even pretending to think I wasn’t looking for a specific picture. I know damn well which picture I’m searching for, and it makes me irritated at myself for wanting to see it so badly.

I stop, pausing at a picture of JD and I on the hood of his car at the football field. It was right before prom, and God, he was gorgeous. Did I honestly think, by some miracle, he wouldn’t still be gorgeous? JD and I, even his name in my head makes me uneasy. JD, my first of many things, first best friend, first boyfriend, first love, first mistake… The epitome of good ole boy meets jock. Blue jeans hugging all the right places and a white undershirt worn a tad too tight, showing off his muscular shoulders and arms. His tawny hair cut short, those handsome dimples, and his ass, that amazing ass.

Stop! I yell at my digression; my mouth is suddenly dry as a desert because it’s slightly open. So pathetic, Kit. I close my mouth and swallow and shake my head and continue to examine the picture. In it, he’s holding me to his chest, and my head is leaning back against him. It’s as if I can still smell the clean scent of his pine soap mixed with his earthy cologne.

I flop back on the bed, holding the yearbook to my chest, closing my eyes so I can better remember the moment. The night after this picture, is the night I lost my virginity to JD, and my naivety. It never occurred to me that someone you love so much could betray you so easily.

Still grasping the book to my chest, I snap out of the daze I’m in.

Tears stream down my face from reliving the pain and rejection all over. I hold the book open and stare at it, while a picture of JD and Evelyn at the prom together, labeled as most unlikely couple, smile back at me. I slam the book closed and throw it across the room. Is my momma trying to kill me?

I glance at the time. Shit, shit, shit! I will never make my flight; I still have to get ready.

I scramble to dry my now mostly air-dried hair. I flip it up and try to do my best to put my makeup on.

I hear a loud knock. It must be Scott, my driver. I panic, running downstairs dragging my carry-on. This is not me; I’m not this frazzled crazy person. I’m a controlled organized person.

Not today, I’m not. I blow out a breath and make sure my hair is in place as I answer the door.

Hello Scott, my bags are right here. He stands, staring at me with his chocolate-brown eyes, and dark, Greek-god hair and complexion. I point out which suitcases to take and tell him I’ll be out momentarily.

Is everything okay, Miss Boon?

He’s been my driver for three years now and apparently, is very observant.

Don’t I look okay?

You’re beautiful as ever, Miss Boon, you appear a bit stressed is all. He smiles at me and takes my bags.

I don’t have the luxury of time to properly assess his concern. He’s merely eye candy for the ride to and from work. I don’t date hot guys; they’re trouble. I chuckle to myself. Who am I kidding? I don’t date at all.

I stifle my anxiety as I quickly assess the house to make sure I remember everything. I grab my purse and keys and close the door to my sanity behind me.

I’m doing a check of my list of things to remember when I receive a call from my assistant Casey.

Yes? My tone is clipped, but I can’t help it; she is a replacement for Nina, my competent assistant, who left for an early maternity leave unexpectedly and cannot return soon enough. She hired Casey from a temp agency for me, and I swear the girl will be the death of me.

Miss Boon, er, sorry to bother you. It’s the Turner papers you left for Mr. Beecham to sign, well, I sort of can’t find them. They’re kind of missing, and—

What do you mean, missing? Are they or aren’t they? It’s a simple answer I’m looking for Casey. I left them on my desk with a large, yellow sticky that said Mr. Beecham and sign here. So, how can they be missing?

This is why I don’t take time off from my law firm. When you are a full partner in a law firm you created with your own blood, sweat, and tears, it is impossible. Did you possibly send it to the mail room, along with the envelope next to it that said please mail, by any chance? There is a pause.

Um, er, it’s a possibility Miss Boon. Should I call the mail room?

I pursed my lips to refrain from swearing.

Yes Casey. Yes, you should call the mail room, and then run down there to get the damn thing before Mr. Beecham arrives, so he won’t be kept waiting. I waited for a response. Nothing, Casey? I hear the phone drop and scuttle across the desk.

Miss Boon, I am so sorry. I—

Is that all, Casey?

Yes Miss Boon, Thank you, Miss Boon.

Text me after Mr. Beecham has signed those papers, please.

Yes, Mis—

I disconnect the call and lay my head back. Until the driver locks up the breaks almost throwing me into the floorboard.

Is everything all right, Scott? I attempt to right myself in my seat.

Yes, traffic is a bit heavy, sorry. I’ll have us out of it soon. We shouldn’t be too delayed.

Stephanie is right. I should have gotten a massage this morning. I retrieve my phone from the floor of the car and continue to get some loose ends tied up.

The airport is a zoo as always, Scott jockeys us a great spot right up front, double parking, and it’s why I paid him so much. He’s an amazing driver. He helps me with my luggage and into the airport. I check the ticket I printed out last night and head for my gate. The heavy traffic has made us arrive later than expected, but I should still be to my gate in plenty of time.

I jump when my phone rings and quickly answer it as I speed walk through the airport.

Hello, Katherine Boon.

I hear sniffling and breathing.

Aunt Kit? My niece Stephanie sniffles again.

What’s wrong? My heart sinks because she never cries, she is annoyingly positive all the time.

It’s awful, so awful. More sniffles and the sound of her blowing her nose.

What’s awful, honey? You have to tell me, or I can’t help you. I’ll be boarding the plane soon. I tell myself I can handle the horrific thing whatever that maybe.

It’s. My. Period. Sobs now followed by the sound of her blowing her nose, again.

What about your period? Did you miss it? I hear a chuckle on the other end and then heaving of breath.

No, but that would be horrible. I, I’m-I’m going to be on it for my wedding. I didn’t even think about it until one of the girls at lunch asked when I’d have it. It never occurred to me. What am I going to do?

Stephanie is brilliant, she is my prodigy. She stayed with me right out of high school, because my sister worried about her not having any direction, and she never returned home. I hired her at the firm as an assistant, my assistant. The best one I’ve ever had, besides Adam, but he’s another story. I put her through law school, and she’s worked at my firm ever since. She met her fiancé, Kyle Lebeau, there. He’s a great guy, good looking, has a fabulous job at the firm, and loves her, no, adores her completely. His family is from the Midwest, but they were transferred to California for work. They are your run-of-the-mill normal family, golden retriever, and all. She’s lucky to have him.

Okay, have you called your GYN? She might be able to give you something to slow down or speed up your start date. There’s a pause and a sigh of what sounds like relief.

No, but it’s a great idea. I didn’t think of that. Sorry for freaking out on you. Probably only wedding jitters. Have a safe flight, and I’ll see you in a few days.

No problem, and do me a favor? Check on Casey, please, and make sure she found the Turner papers for Mr. Beecham to sign. She laughed, a stuffed up chuckle, not even questioning why; it is Casey after all.

Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. Love you.

I smile. Her youthful voice is bright again.

Love you too kiddo.

I’m finally at the gate and so relieved I made it as they are announcing the boarding.

Flight 406 for Honolulu, Hawaii, is now boarding. My mouth falls open, and I chuckle because I think I hear her say flight 406 for Hawaii. I’m on flight 321 for Savannah, Georgia. Her happy voice repeats the offending words Hawaii and depart. Shit again! I’m at the wrong gate; they must have switched them around since I printed my ticket. I run up to the young man at the desk and ask where I need to go.

He looks at me after checking his computer, shaking his head. Sorry miss, but your gate is on the other side of the airport, and they are boarding now.

I nod as he points to the direction where I need to go. I hoof it through the airport, as I curse at myself for wearing heels. Terrible shoe choice, Kit. I rip them off and run as fast as I can, slowing down when I pass a security guard which is every twenty feet. I’ve said excuse me and pardon me more times than I care to count. As I approach the gate, the petite flight attendant is closing the doors.

Wait, please.

She stops, and for a moment, I consider knocking her over and running down the tarmac past her.

Boarding pass, miss?

I hand it to her as I slip my heels back on.

Just made it. Miss, follow me, please. She speaks into an ear piece she is wearing as we walk.

I’m a wreck. My hair slips from its tight chignon, and my suit is mussed and now sweaty from running. Great, this is awesome. Exactly how you want to appear going back home.

I examine myself and realize I probably should have worn a different outfit anyway. My mission is to fly below the radar not straight into oncoming traffic. A deep breath, just take a deep breath. It’s not unfixable. I can change into something less California and more laid back once I get into Georgia. The air I’m breathing in is not making it to my lungs, and I’m on the verge of a panic attack. Okay, this is crazy. Kit, you have to pull it together. The plane hasn’t even left California yet.

I close my eyes, trying to reclaim my normally calm demeanor. I’m happy to be on the plane and to have stopped running, I’m happy, yah, really happy. I shake my head at my sarcasm.

Thank God for first class because with my luck I would have ended up with Sid, the guy who thinks he weighs less than 240 pounds sitting on top of me. I relax back into my chair, tucking my blouse back in and straightening myself a bit.

I had gone over the entire itinerary for the next few weeks in the car ride here and had Casey forward all the important contracts and financial agreements to the wedding planner, Aiden Spencer. He is the founder of ASE, Aiden Spencer Events.

When I found out the company was booked for the October date Stephanie had her heart set on, some of my better negotiation talents were called on. Although he doesn’t manage events anymore, Mr. Spencer himself agreed to take on Stephanie’s wedding. After some very impressive negotiation tactics of his own, he basically took me to the cleaners financially.

ASE is the number-one rated event planning business on the east and west coast, his expert services are in high demand. I found out about him from one of my high profile clients, who I had gotten out of a sticky situation. I have an endless supply of those clients.

Mr. Spencer has been a lifesaver and worth every penny. I simply send a picture attached to a text or email, and the next thing I know, I get a response saying no problem or it’s been taken care of.

I have to admit I am more than a little intimidated to meet him after groveling so shamelessly to obtain his expertise, but I have learned in life to never take no for an answer.

Although I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him in person, we have communicated almost daily for the last 6 months. I am told he’s very good looking but never had the chance to see him in person or photograph. I would have normally done a background check and sought to put a face to the man I employ, but the case I’d just finished kicked my ass, and I haven’t had a moment to pursue it. It is a daunting task to plan a wedding of this caliber in only seven months. Knowing he is taking care of the details for us helps tremendously.

Everything has been so up in the air since I volunteered to oversee and fund Stephanie’s wedding. I don’t mind. I mean it’s not like I can’t afford it, but the anticipation is killing me. This is worse than getting a deposition ready for a guilty axe murderer caught with the weapon and pleading innocent. I am aware I have some control issues, but I have tried to maintain a healthy, calm go with it attitude. I have even been doing yoga to relax.

A great deal of the stress comes from leaving my job. This is the longest I have taken off from work in the past ten years, and it’s strange to me. Another control issue my therapist would say I need to work on. I can do this. I have to go at it like a case, dissect it, root out the problems and go for the kill. Yeah, I got this, I run a multi-million-dollar law firm. I got this, no problem. I start to feel it, the good chi, positive energy, and what not. Chanting my mantra in my head, my cell phone buzzes making me jump, spilling my complimentary glass of champagne the attendant had poured for me all over my new heels.

This better be good news. I say as I slip my soaked feet out of my heels and pat them with a cocktail napkin.

Yes Miss Boon, sorry to disturb you, but there is a call from Mr. Spencer, and I…

There is a ten-second pause that fuels my already edgy state. Nina had to go on maternity two weeks early. None of this would be an issue if she were there.

At any minute now, this plane is going to take off, and I will not be able to speak with you, so, for God’s sake, spit it out. Biting my lip this time because pursing them isn’t going to be affective enough.

Mr. Spencer’s flight is delayed. He’s waiting on another flight out of New York. He will have to reschedule the meeting tomorrow at the venue a bit.

Okay, fine. Did you confirm the out-of-town guest rooms like I asked?

Yes, Miss Boon, but Mr. Lebeau— I hear a click and then a dead line.

Casey, Casey are you there?

Please turn off all electronic devices, and return all trays and seats to their upright position. Passengers, please remain in your seats until after the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign. The sweet yet annoying voice of our flight attendant pipes in as my phone drops the call from my assistant. Now, I will have to wait without knowing what has happened to Kyle’s family’s reservations. Nightmare I whispered to myself.

I retrieve my wireless head phones from my purse, and find Nina Simone on my phone playlist, slipping my sunglasses on. I wave to the stewardess to fetch me a stronger beverage. Three weeks, I’ll be home in three weeks. I got this, I got this.

I wake up to the flight attendant offering me a hot towel. As I sit up, I realize I have slept for almost five hours. I accept the hot towel from the tall, leggy blonde and check my texts and emails. I have three missed calls from Casey and two emails from Aiden Spencer. I quickly open the first email from him.

From: Aiden Spencer[mailto:aiden_spencer@aseenterprisesplc.com]

To: kboon@Boonkisteackerlaw.com

Subject: Harris/Lebeau Wedding

Miss Boon,

I apologize for my delay arriving in Isle of Hope. I have changed our meeting time for the tour at the Murphy Plantation to Wed. Oct. 5th @ 3:30pm. I hope this won’t interfere with any other plans you have made. Please let me know if this will be a problem.

I also took the liberty of resolving the issue with Mr. Lebeau’s family’s accommodations, and everything is back on track. Casey contacted me when she couldn’t speak with you, for some advice. I hope you don’t mind. She’s rather despondent about the whole ordeal.

Relax, you’re in good hands. I promise this will be everything Stephanie has dreamed of. I look forward to meeting you in person. If you need anything, please feel free to contact me.

Thank you,

Aiden Spencer

CEO, ASE Enterprises PLC

I let out a deep sigh of relief. This man is worth every freaking penny he costs me. I can’t imagine what the issue had been, and quite frankly I don’t want to know, as long as it is resolved. I quickly email him back to thank him.

From: Katherine P. Boon "mailto: [kboonkisteackerlaw.com]

To: aiden_spencer@aseenterprisesplc.com

Subject: Tardiness forgiven

Mr. Spencer,

First, let me start by thanking you for putting out said fire: AKA: Lebeau family accommodations. I apologize for you having to deal with the issue, but I am glad someone competent is available to do so. The time you rescheduled the tour will be fine. After checking with the itinerary, I realize you have saved me from having to endure libations with my family.

I am also looking forward to putting a face with the voice I have been communicating with for the last few months.

Have a safe flight, and thank you for your reassurances. I know you will do a lovely job for Stephanie and Kyle.

Sincerely,

Katherine P. Boon

Boon, Kiste & Acker Attorneys & Counselors at Law

I get my purse and head for the bathroom to check myself in the mirror before we land. I can see the dark circles slowly appearing under my eyes even after five hours of sleep. I know, all too well, where the darkness stems from; it’s the past week of no sleep I’m deprived of. I apply makeup concealer and some powder until I am satisfied I have covered them. I return to my seat as they announce our approach to Savannah airport.

What is that damn mantra again?

I locate my welcoming party without trouble. I am relieved it’s my dad and youngest brother, Tyler. I smile and pick up my stride to meet them.

Kit Kat. My dad is first to hug me, followed by my brother’s brief hug before my dad sends him to fetch my bags. Tyler is sixteen years younger than I, and I hate that we aren’t very close. When I left home, he was still very young. We love each other, and he has even come out to California a few times to visit, but as my daddy says, you two are oil and water, ya just don’t mix well. I love my dad. He is one of the only reasons I like visiting the small town where I grew up. Isle of Hope, Georgia, it is a beautiful, sleepy, quaint, island town outside Savannah. It’s a great place to grow up, and if you are so inclined, a great place to get married and raise a family. I am not so inclined, and I am glad I live as far away from Georgia as possible, much to my mother’s dislike. Going to UC Berkley for law is the best thing I’ve ever done and have never looked back, at least not until now.

Don’t you seem all grown up? Let me inspect you for a second. He grasps my arms and makes me twirl. I giggle at his treatment.

I’m thirty-nine-years old. I am all grown up.

He shakes his head and scratches it.

Well, not grown enough to know how to eat. Your mamma’s gonna have a fit when she sees how skinny you are. Don’t you make enough to pay for food out there in California?

Yes, I do, but there’s no time to eat. Besides, I needed to drop my baby fat. I pat my stomach and he laughs at me.

Still can’t get used to that Yankee accent you picked up. You know you can let your hair down, you’re home. We walk side-by-side to meet Tyler.

I haven’t lived in Georgia in twenty-one years. I have lived in California longer than I did in Georgia, as it happens.

He insists I am purposely talking like a Northerner. I am a Northerner.

Well, give Daisy and your momma a few days, and you’ll be right as rain.

That’s what I’m afraid of, I’ll weigh a ton when they get done.

It’s like a hornet’s nest at the house between your aunts, your sister, Mammaw, and your momma. Well, let’s just say, Tyler and I have been keeping pretty busy outside. Poor Daisy is running around like a chicken with her head cut off.

Oh, I miss Daisy. She’d been our nanny growing up, and now she is momma’s cook, cleaning lady, and best friend. She has lived with us my whole life. She forfeited having her own family, and devoted herself to helping raise our family. As excited as I am to see her, I still feel the knee jerk reaction to run, but I repeat my mantra in my head over and over as we go to the car.

I take a deep breath as I stand outside my childhood home on Bluff Drive.

Although my parents have done a great deal of remodeling to the large, craftsman-style home, it is still home. Two years ago, a storm ripped through, damaging a lot of the homes here. I contracted a company to come out and do some repairs for them. This home has been in my mother’s family for three generations, and it is her pride and joy. I didn’t realize having a contractor at her beck call would create the redecorating monster it did. They now have a new master suite, gourmet kitchen, bathroom, and family room with an all-seasons room. She also added a suite above the family room with a separate entrance for me when I come to visit, which I rarely do. I think it’s her attempt to lure me back home. I flew out once they completed the work to check it out. That’s the one and only time I had slept in my so-called room.

I exhale slowly, trying to remove