My Kinda Night (Summer Sisters Book 2) Read online

  “Oh God, Payton! I could never do that,” she replies, shock mixed with her laughter.

  “No, I bet you wouldn’t, but Lexi would. Too bad she’s stuck with Chris the Dud.” I gape at my sister, shocked that those words actually came out of my mouth. I’ve thought Chris was all wrong for my sister, basically as long as I’ve known him, but I’ve never actually said it out loud.

  “It’s okay,” Jaime whispers, glancing over at Lexi. “She didn’t hear you.”

  I sigh in relief. Even if I’m not a Chris fan, he’s still my sister’s husband. He tries really hard to provide for her financially, but not on a personal level the way you’d expect a spouse to. Case in point, the one thing she wants in this world is a baby. She went last month for testing at a big hospital and her results came back clear. There seems to be no problems with her ovulation or her parts. Chris, on the other hand, won’t go get tested. He keeps putting her off, saying it’ll happen naturally if it’s meant to be.

  Shouldn’t a husband want to go get tested to find out if there’s something that can be done to help the process along? Especially because that’s what she wants most in this world?

  Something nags at the back of my head. Why wouldn’t he get checked out? Does he not want a child as desperately as his wife? Maybe he’s embarrassed. I’ve read articles where the man feels inadequate when found to have a problem with his sperm count. I mean, aren’t all men supposed to be able to produce an heir? Therefore when unable to get the job done, they feel less manly. Or some shit like that.

  Whatever.

  All I know is that my sister wants a baby, but for some reason, he’s either not ready or willing to make that happen.

  And that really pisses me off.

  I glance over at Lex, not surprised to see the seat beside her occupied by someone other than her husband. In fact, Chris is absent more than he is in attendance when it comes to family functions. It doesn’t matter if it’s a night or weekend, either. He’s always working, wining and dining prospective clients or his existing clients, trying to get more business from them. As a young financial advisor at Edward Jones, he’s always looking for ways to get his foot in the door before those of the two senior advisors in the office.

  “You okay, sweetie?” I’m startled from my own thoughts by my dad, Brian, who bends down and places a kiss on my cheek.

  “I’m good, Dad. How are you?”

  “Can’t complain,” he answers and takes the final open seat next to Josh. They immediately begin talking.

  My dad seems to be smiling a little more than in the past. Losing my mom to ovarian cancer when I was seventeen left a big hole in our family, including my dad. He devoted his entire life to raising his six girls, but even then, it was tough. He had to work full-time to be able to support us, and thankfully, my grandparents were around to help out. Otherwise, I’m sure it would have fallen heavily on my shoulders.

  In the fifteen years since Mom passed, I’ve never seen him so much as look at another woman, let alone take one out to dinner. I’m sure he’s lonely; hell, how could he not be? But he never lets on that his life is anything less than full. At least on the outside. But deep down, I see his sadness. I couldn’t imagine losing the love of my life at such a young age. The thought alone leaves me sweaty in the pit area.

  “Payters, I think you should sign up for online dating,” Grandma says after our orders are taken. Everyone stops and stares at me. Again.

  “What is this, pick on Payton day?”

  “Never. I think it would be a great way to meet men your own age.”

  Fidgeting uncomfortably in my seat, I say, “I don’t need to meet men. I meet plenty of men all the time.”

  “I’m not talking about the ones coming in to buy flowers. I’m talking about the available ones that are looking to play hide the salami with my gorgeous granddaughter.”

  “Could you not talk about the salami and my daughter in the same sentence, Emma?” Dad chastises before chugging his tea.

  “Fine. Payton, what you need is a good ol’ fashioned round of bumping uglies,” Grandma rephrases happily.

  The entire table groans.

  When the silence descends on the table, Abby speaks up quietly. “I’ve thought about online dating.”

  Her confession catches me, along with the rest of my sisters off guard. “Really?” I ask, trying to mask my surprise.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s hard for me to get out and meet people when you’re trapped in front of your computer screen fourteen hours a day with work. I thought I’d see what it was all about, you know?” She wrings her hands together and worries her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “I don’t really like the idea,” Dad says. “There are all kinds of weirdos out there, Abby.”

  “It’s just something I’ve been considering lately. I don’t know why I said it out loud. It’s not like I’ve decided anything,” she adds, turning her attention to a cracker packet from the basket on the table. The way she stares at it you’d think it was the most fascinating cracker packet in the entire world.

  “Well, if that’s what you want, we support you,” Meghan chimes in. “Just promise us you’ll be careful.”

  The rest of lunch progresses with minimal talk of online dating, fertility pillows, and sex. Even though they’re completely inappropriate most of the time, I can’t help but adore the way Grandpa rubs the top of Grandma’s hand. They’re totally touchy feely, often bordering on that fine line between loving and PDA. Oh, who am I kidding? They usually jump straight over that line and dive headfirst into groping.

  What would it be like to love someone so completely that you’d risk public indecency on a regular basis because you just can’t help yourself? To find that one person who makes you laugh and causes your body to sing at the same time? Someone who’ll never make you cry?

  Long ago, I thought maybe I had found that someone. Not all frogs transform into a prince. Some are just frogs through and through. And not every love is a great romance.

  My mind instantly bypasses Cole and jumps straight to the man who triggers many dirty thoughts. He might have left his shirt behind after our first night together, but he took something when he left. In just a few encounters, he bulldozed through the reinforced walls I built surrounding my heart to protect it from getting hurt by those who claim to love you. He unknowingly broke through my tough exterior and started to make me like him.

  Bastard.

  Chapter Four

  Dean

  “Dean, we have you all set up to leave on Tuesday evening. The conference begins at eight A.M. sharp Wednesday, and with the time it would take to travel to Richmond, we’ve decided to include an extra night at the hotel so you can arrive the night before.”

  My heart skitters in my chest. Shit, now I have to leave even earlier. “Thank you, sir. I’ll have to make sure my mom is available to help with my daughter for the extra night. If it doesn’t work, I’ll leave early enough the morning of to arrive in plenty of time for the first conference on Wednesday.”

  Mr. Corbin looks annoyed at my response. He’s definitely more accustomed to a “yes, sir” answer when he gives an order. “Well, keep me posted.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  We finish up our brief meeting. Most of my clients I rescheduled or will be taking care of their needs prior to leaving on this three–now four–day adventure, but there are a few that Mr. Corbin will have to be ready to assist if the need should arise. It never fails that while you’re gone, someone forgets to pay their quarterly business taxes or submit for an extension by the mandated deadline. No matter how much planning you do, financial emergencies always arise.

  Our receptionist, Cora, delivers a sandwich from the corner deli when she returns from her lunch break. The new year brings the busy season for anyone in accounting, which is why I’m surprised Mr. Corbin is sending me to this conference. Reviewing updated tax laws can wait until summer when things aren’t so hectic that I have to eat a lunch meat sandw
ich at my desk an hour after I was supposed to.

  Grabbing my phone, I dial Mom’s cell. I’m not sure how busy she’ll be, but I’m prepared to leave a message. Wouldn’t be the first time she’s unavailable to take a personal call in the middle of the workday. So I’m pleasantly surprised when she answers on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”

  “Oh, not too bad. Just finishing up a late lunch,” she answers. I can hear a bag crinkling through the phone.

  “Me too. Listen, there’s a slight change in plans. The conference starts at eight sharp Wednesday, which means they want to send me the night before.”

  “Probably a good idea. I don’t mind coming over Tuesday after work. I can help get dinner started so you can eat with Bri before you head out.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “No worries, son. That’s what I’m here for. I’ve already talked to Angel and she’s flexible with my hours during that time. She knows that I’m playing Daddy for the week.”

  I recall all those years my mom was Mom and Dad to me. And now here I am, playing a dual role for my own daughter. This is definitely not how I saw my life turning out.

  “You’re still picking her up from Nancy’s today, right?”

  “Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss my standing Wednesday afternoons with my granddaughter.”

  We talk for another few minutes before signing off. Mom works in a small family-owned jewelry store for a third generation jeweler. Angel Anthony has been in charge of the company her grandfather started back in nineteen sixty-five for fifteen years already, and the business is flourishing. She’s compassionate and fair as an employer, and Mom loves her.

  Since Mom gets off early on Wednesdays, which just happens to be my late night at work, she picks up my daughter and takes her back to my place, where they cook dinner together. By the time I get home, dinner smells delicious, and they got to spend a little time together. It works for us, but I’m not oblivious to the fact that my mom is a huge help when it comes to raising my daughter.

  The afternoon progresses slowly in a flurry of numbers and reports. My days are filled with client appointments, preparing income taxes for individuals and businesses alike. The basic taxes are few and far between. Most of those standard, easy taxes go to quick service agencies like Hewett Jackson or H&R Block. The ones that come to an accountant’s office are businesses or those individuals with lots of deductions and filing long form.

  That’s where we come in.

  There are four of us at this agency, and since there’s limited accountants in town, we’re busting-ass busy. There’s another smaller firm of two CPAs, as well as an older woman who’s been at it for almost forty years. At thirty-one, I’m the youngest at Corbin and Denton, but not new to the business. Back home in Ridgewood, I was young, hungry, and eager to play with numbers all day, and happily started at the bottom. Right out of college, I worked for the man who mentored me. Since Ridgewood is a small town of about six thousand, I knew the Brady family growing up. I interned there during the summers, making copies and doing just about everything I could to learn the ins and outs of the business.

  That’s also how I met Brooke.

  Even though I will never regret my relationship with her, after all she gave me my daughter, but she’s a subtle reminder of why you don’t date your clients.

  As I glance down at my next few appointments, I see the one name I’ve come to crave. It’s not an appointment, per se, but a scheduling note that her fourth quarter income and employment taxes are due in my office. That means that after she closes up shop, she’ll be stopping by my office–and on my late night, too. My day suddenly just got a whole lot better.

  I get to see the woman who invades my dream, my shower fantasies, and those rare daydreams where I get a few moments of peace.

  I get to see Payton Summer.

  Chapter Five

  Payton

  I’m losing my mind. I’ve been running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the last two days, and today isn’t any better. As enthralled as I am that my business took off, it’s days like these that I wonder if I’ll ever be able to catch up and breathe.

  The shop is a mess, the workstation’s covered in greenery, and the display case empty. All a good sign, right?

  Right.

  Rachel has been busy, working more than her normal hours. She’s been taking orders and helping the walk-in customers, while I make the arrangements and deliver them, if required. I wish I could say it’s just the peak busy season, but it’s mid-January, so that’s not it. Maybe my business is finally taking off, full steam ahead.

  It’s quite possibly time for me to look into hiring more help. My first order of business will be to find out if Rachel is interested in working full-time. If she is, then I could probably get away with hiring another part-time employee to help with deliveries and extra floor coverage. If she’s not interested, then I’m looking for a full-time employee.

  Either way, the extra help is necessary for my business, and my sanity.

  Believe it or not, Grandma has been coming in and helping lately. When she gets bored watching General Hospital on the Soap Opera Network, she meanders on up to Blossoms and Blooms and helps out. Mostly she just talks to the customers and gets in the way. She can’t use the cash register, can’t make arrangements, and is a little crazy behind the wheel. So really she’s just there to take orders and gossip with my customers. (Like she is now.) But for some crazy reason, they all love her, so I don’t complain.

  “Remember that trade show I registered for last year?” I ask when I see the note written on the calendar by the register.

  “That flower show in Richmond? You signed up last fall, right?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s supposed to be in a week and a half. I think I’m going to see if I can get my registration back.”

  Grandma stops in her tracks and stares at me. “Why?”

  I exhale deeply. “Because we’re so busy and it’s not fair to Rachel to have to cover for three days by herself.”

  “I’ll be here to help her,” she says, “We’ll be fine.” She sounds so confident, like it’s a no brainer for me to leave the business I built over the last three years to my part-time employee and my eighty-year-old grandma. No worries at all.

  “It might not be the right time,” I tell her, my words holding no conviction. Honestly, I really want to go to this show, but I just don’t see how when the shop has been as busy as it has been.

  “If not now, then when? This show is every January, right? Well, your next opportunity is next year. Go, Payton. It’s a great opportunity for you to learn new things and incorporate them into your business.” She walks up and stands directly in front of me. “I want you to go. We’ll make sure your business is still standing while you’re gone.”

  Swallowing hard, I look down at the little spitfire woman. “God, I hope so. You really think it would be alright?”

  “I know it will be. Go. You deserve this. You deserve a little time away, even if it is work related.”

  I offer her a watery smile, which she returns with her own wrinkly grin. There are huge advantages in attending this show. I was lucky to even get tickets. Florists from New York and Chicago always attend, display their latest creations, and teach a few tricks during expert how-to sessions. It’s an amazing opportunity to talk shop with fellow florists and pitch new ideas over coffee. Honestly, I can’t wait. “Okay. I’ll go.”

  We silently get back to work, me closing down the shop while Grandma straightens up. “You know what they say about tulips, don’t you, Payters?”

  “What’s that, Grandma?”

  “Two lips. Like the female flower. Or as your Grandpa likes to call it, the vajayjay.”

  “Grandma,” I chastise, thankful that we’re alone at this particular moment. She’s busy sweeping up flower stems and greenery snips, or at least I thought she was.

  “Delicate, soft, and
fragrant as a flower.”

  “Please stop talking,” I beg as I close out the register and the credit card machine.

  “If you don’t want to talk about the female anatomy, then what can I help with, Pay?”

  “Nothing. Thanks for helping me catch up,” I reply, grabbing an empty moneybag and inserting today’s deposit.

  “You’re all done for the night?” she asks, returning the broom to the small closet in the back storage room.

  “I wish,” I snort. “I’ve got about an hour’s worth of work ordering supplies. Then I need to drop off the quarterly income and employment tax documents to Corbin and Denton.” Glancing down at my watch, I realize how late it is. The last customer didn’t leave until five thirty since they were finalizing flowers for a loved one’s funeral. “Shit, I’ll never make it.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “They close at six. I’ll never get over there in time. I’ll have to drop it all off in the morning and pray my accountant has enough time to get it taken care of.”

  “Let me help. I’m heading home now to help Grandpa with a little problem he sent me a text about a few minutes ago.” She looks down and gapes at her phone.

  “Is Grandpa okay?”

  “Oh, he’s fine, dear.” She smirks. “At least he will be when I get home and can give him some tender loving care. It happens every time he takes one of those little blue pills.”

  Please don’t say any more. Please don’t.

  “Can I drop that off before I head home?”

  Glancing down at the folder that needs to be at the accountant’s office by six, I concede to let her help once more today. Even if I leave right now and run over there, I still have to come back and get more work done. If I can stay here and get to it, I might be able to make it home before reruns of Full House start on Nick.

  “Fine. Take this envelope to Corbin and Denton. One of the secretaries or assistants is usually there. Just hand them the envelope.”

  “Who do I leave it for?” she asks, reaching for the packet of papers.