Unwrapped Read online

  Table of Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOKS BY EVELYN SOLA

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  FREE PREVIEW

  ACKOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT EVELYN

  CONNECT WITH EVELYN

  UNWRAPPED

  Evelyn Sola

  Copyright © 2020 by Evelyn Sola

  All rights reserved, No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Resemblance to actual persons and things living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editors – Marla Selkow Esposito of Proofingstyle; Kristen Breanne of Your Editing Lounge

  Cover designer – Lee Ching of Under Cover Designs

  Formatting – Cat Imb of TRC Designs

  Books by Evelyn Sola

  The Clark Family Series

  Crave

  Cherish

  Crash

  CHAPTER 1

  NICK

  The car to my right nearly collides with my Range Rover. Only the blaring sound of my horn causes him to swerve, nearly colliding with the car on the other side of him.

  “Sorry, Ben,” I say into my car. “Go on. Nobody can seem to drive today.” Today’s been a complete cluster, and it’s barely ten a.m. The furniture I bought wasn’t delivered on Saturday like it should have been, which meant two extra nights on an air mattress. Then they show up at nine this morning instead of four p.m. like I requested.

  Now, I’m late for my second day of work, which has left me unbalanced and unhinged. This is not how I expected this day to go, but this is only temporary, I tell myself. This is a favor for my uncle, and I’ll be back to my life soon, whatever the fuck that will look like in a few months.

  The only thing I know for sure is that I’m back in Boston for good. At the very least, it will be my home base while I decide what to do. My time in Chicago is over, but even after leaving the Midwest, the bad memories and my stupid mistake will not let me go. It doesn’t sound like Ben will have good news for me, and the next five minutes of the phone call confirms my suspicions. The shittiest Tuesday in history continues.

  “So, what you’re telling me is that she can fuck around on me behind my back, steal fifty thousand dollars from my business, and with all the proof that I have, she gets no jail time. Is that what I’m hearing, Ben?”

  Ben, a lawyer and my friend since our days at Northwestern, sighs into the phone.

  “It’s not all bad news, Nick.” His voice is low, and I can hear the contrition. It’s all bad fucking news. Of all the women I could fall for, I fall for a thief.

  “Really? I’m not seeing that, though. It sounds like it’s all good news for Paige. What did she do? Flip her blond hair and bat her baby blues at the judge? Did she offer to fuck him too?”

  “Yeah, no jail time is shitty, but consider all the other things. She’s a convicted felon. She’s on probation for the next five years, and she has to make restitution. She can’t so much as leave the state while she’s on probation. Her life is fucked.”

  All I can do is snort at the absurdity of the statement.

  “It’s her first offense, and she’s a nonviolent offender. The state is trying to control its prison population.”

  Exhausted and fed up with the situation, I pull into the office parking lot.

  “It is what it is. I doubt I’ll get anything back. You can’t squeeze blood out of a stone. I’m the victim, but I’m the one who got fucked by our justice system. Next time you talk to the district attorney, tell him I said to go fuck himself.”

  He laughs at my statement, and I can practically see him right now sitting behind his desk with his feet propped on the table. “Thanks for handling this shit show for me, Ben.”

  “Well, I did introduce you two. You’re still coming to the wedding, right? I can’t guarantee she won’t attend. She’s Melissa’s cousin, and there are family obligations, but we will seat the two of you on opposite sides of the room, and if she starts any shit, she’s out. I made this clear to Melissa.” Paige, the cousin of Ben’s fiancée, was desperately in need of a job. Ben knew I was considering hiring someone to handle our accounts payables and receivables. Mary, the sweet woman who had the job, finally decided to retire and move to Florida to be closer to her grandkids, and I was too busy to handle that myself.

  “I’m not worried about it. I’m not worried about her, and I don’t blame you or Melissa.” Paige did more than handle the accounts at my former business; she soon became my live-in girlfriend. I was even foolish enough to consider proposing, but someone you love stealing from you has a way of waking you up.

  “All right, man. I’ll see you back in Chicago next August. You know you have enough time to find a date.”

  If it was anyone else, I’d hang up, but this is my best friend, so I humor him with a fake laugh. “Don’t hold your breath. I think I’ve had my fill of the female population to last me a while.”

  “I have faith in you. Gotta go.” He ends the call just as I pull into the office parking lot and pull into my Uncle Joe’s reserved spot.

  As I step out of the car, I slam the door with more force than necessary, only to reopen the door again and grab my forgotten coffee.

  The coffee slips from my hand and splashes on the sidewalk as I slip on ice. “Fuck!” When I pick the cup up from the ground, some of the spilled liquid drips on my jacket, leaving it stained. “Can this day get any worse?” I ask myself as I throw the cup into the trash. Instead of taking the elevator to the third floor, I take the stairs two at a time to calm myself, but I’m still in a tailspin by the time I arrive on our floor.

  My irritation only increases when I notice the receptionist is missing. I don’t miss the miniature pumpkins lined up against the wall. The fact that it’s already ten in the morning on a Tuesday, and there isn’t a living soul in the office only fuels my displeasure.

  I count twelve skeletons, four ghosts, and a set of three coffins in a makeshift cemetery on the short walk to my office. There are cobwebs everywhere, and I know my first order of business will be to yank it all from the ceiling. There will be a strongly worded email about how unprofessional this place looks.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me?” The minute I step into my office, I yank the damn cobwebs hanging above my desk, and take the posters on my windows down. I even take it one step further and rip them all in half before throwing them in the trash. When I notice a skeleton in the corner of my office, with a rage I haven’t felt since I realized Paige’s deception
, I yank the damn thing from its spot and break it in half against my knee. I shove it in the trash headfirst, the feet sticking straight up in the air.

  If this is how Uncle Joe does business, these people in the office are in for a rude awakening.

  I’ve been here for three minutes and have not seen another person. Needing more coffee, I stomp out of my office and head for the kitchen. It’s still a ghost town, but I finally hear voices as I approach the kitchen.

  “Glen would be perfect for your daughter, Mona. He’s finishing up at Dartmouth and he’s waiting to hear from several medical schools. Oh, his father is Jamaican, so that should make Nigel happy.” I recognize that voice. It’s the receptionist, Sherry.

  I’ve talked to Mona on the phone several times and we’ve exchanged emails, but we have not met yet. I have no interest in hearing about her daughter’s love life or lack thereof. If the poor thing needs her mother to help find her a date, I can only imagine what she looks like.

  Everyone is congregated in the small kitchen, dressed inappropriately for the office. Sherry sees me first, and she smiles, but I can’t find it in me to smile back. She’s a tall woman with thick glasses and a pronounced overbite. I cringe when I notice the much too tight nurse’s outfit. The dress rides up her large thighs as she walks over and offers me her hand, welcoming me.

  “It’s our annual ugly Halloween office costume party and cookie contest.” I look around the room and notice all kinds of pastries. “But over the years, we’ve branched out from just cookies. The only rule is that it must be homemade. Did you bring anything? I sent you an email.”

  Two deep breaths and counting to ten twice does nothing to calm down the storm brewing inside of me. Then I count to ten again. Instead of telling this woman I have more important things to worry about than baking artery clogging food—things such as dealing with my thieving ex, selling my house back in Chicago, and trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with the rest of my life when this job ends—I take another deep breath and walk away. I see the smile leave her face as I walk to the coffee machine.

  I pay no attention to the whispers behind me. I don’t even have time to feel bad about my rudeness because all I can focus on is that damn coffee machine that I can’t get to work.

  The whispering ends, but what happens next is worse. The music starts to play, and if not for my need for coffee, I’d run screaming out of here. Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” How original.

  “Is anyone planning on doing any work today, or is that too much to ask?” You could hear a pin drop after my question.

  “Joe never had a problem with us having a little fun in the office.” I’m not sure who said that because my back is turned, but whoever it is does not do a good job of hiding their annoyance. The last thing I fucking need today is an employee with an attitude.

  “Does anyone see Joe here?” I ask. The peanut gallery is silent, which only makes the music louder. In three seconds, I imagine a million different ways I can smash the offending iPod against the wall.

  “Does anyone know how to use this damn thing?” I ask, frustrated at every aspect of my life. I finally turn around to face the room, uncaring about the hateful glares aimed at me. That’s one of the perks of being the boss.

  A woman dressed as Mrs. Claus walks over to me. She’s a black woman, probably in her early fifties. She’s short and on the plump side, but not plump enough to make a believable Mrs. Claus. She gets an A for effort if the white wig and round glasses are any indication of her dedication to this costume. She even put rouge on her cheeks.

  “I’m confused. Is this Halloween or Christmas?” I ask as I look around the room.

  “I’m Mona Moore,” she says, offering me her hand. I give it a firm shake before dropping it. “I was out yesterday, but we’ve spoken on the phone a few times.” She smiles, but I remain stoic. She’s a pretty woman with big brown eyes and smooth brown skin.

  “Yes, my uncle talked to me about you.” Her smile widens at the mention of Uncle Joe. She opens her mouth to say something, but I talk over her. “You’re the one who makes his coffee.” The smile disappears from her lips immediately and she pulls her head back as she narrows her eyes at me.

  “I do a lot more than make coffee, Mr. Bain.”

  “Right. You handle the books. Make calls. Pays bills. Chases down clients who are late on payments. The jack of all trades at the office.” I don’t know why I’m being such an ass to this woman. Uncle Joe speaks so highly of her, you’d think she was his family. When I warned him about trusting someone so deeply, he brushed me off and said he was a much better judge of character than me.

  “Yes. I do whatever needs to be done around here. Mr. Bain has always appreciated that about me.” She narrows her eyes at me and looks me up and down, clearly displeased by my lack of Halloween costume.

  “Great. Can you make me some coffee?”

  The room goes silent again, and for a second, I think Mona is going to slam my head against the coffee machine, but she takes a deep breath, stiffens her spine, and makes the coffee. I might not be the best judge of character, but I’m certain of one thing. I’ve made an enemy in the office today.

  Everyone stands behind us, awkwardly watching the scene unfold. Soon enough, the coffee fills a mug, and I pick it up. Feeling like a stranger in my own family business, I look around the room again.

  “Who are all of these people?”

  “They work in the building. We’ve been doing the Halloween breakfast for the past ten years. All the offices in the building come together for a few minutes. Joe loves it. In fact, we do this for practically every holiday.” She looks at me directly in the eye when she mentions my uncle. “We really miss him around here. I speak for everyone else when I say we can’t wait for him to return where he belongs. There really is no substitute for Joseph Bain.”

  Message received.

  “Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water. If you can manage to pull yourself away from this fun party, I’ll need to see you in my office in ten minutes.” I walk out of the kitchen without giving her a chance to reply, but I can feel her eyes shooting daggers at me the entire time.

  CHAPTER 2

  MIRANDA

  5 weeks later

  “I’m so glad my daughter loves me enough to save me the humiliation of going to this Christmas party alone. It’s not as if my husband doesn’t know about it. It’s on the first Saturday of December every single year. There used to be a time when he put forth an effort, but not anymore. This is what happens after you’re married for too many years.”

  I tune my mother out as I flip over the most perfectly seared piece of chicken breast. I add my roasted vegetables to the plate, topped with a scoop of my homemade guacamole because guacamole makes everything taste better.

  My father tries his best to ignore her too, but he can’t escape. She sits next to him and just as his fork makes it halfway to his mouth, she snatches it from his hand. He simply reaches for her fork, and this time when she tries to snatch it, he knows to dodge her.

  “Woman!” he says, deliberately exaggerating his Jamaican accent, making the word sound more like oohmon. He calls my mother one of three things, woman, being the most common. To piss her off even more, he starts to laugh right there at the kitchen table. The angrier she gets, the more his body shakes with laughter.

  “You see how he treats me, Miranda?” she asks. “Find yourself a man who treats you better than this one treats me.” She jerks her thumb in his direction, turns back to me, and scowls. “Don’t be like me. And find one soon, baby girl, because I want grandchildren.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Mom. You don’t paint a good picture of marriage. Why would I want to get on that train?” I look up and smile at her, happy at my clever retort, but she frowns at me. I look at my dad, expecting him to wink in approval of my comeback, but he only purses his lips and creases his forehead. I shake my head and wave them off as I remind myself never to joke about not giving my pa
rents grandchildren. If there is one thing they agree on, it’s their need for grandchildren. Well, they agree on a lot more than that, but that’s the one they are most united on lately.

  “I treat you just fine,” my dad says, thankfully ignoring me. “I just had surgery, and I’m not up to it this year. Have fun with Miranda.” He leans over and kisses my cheek. Then he looks at me and says, “I want grandchildren, too. Listen to your mother.” I roll my eyes at him, but he finally winks. Nigel and Mona Moore may be opposites. They might bicker daily, but they make it a point to mention their desire for grandchildren at every opportunity.

  “This is the same man who begged me to go out with him thirty-one years ago,” my mother continues. Dad twists his mouth, but he decides not to argue with her. “Begged me,” she says again. “He’d bring me flowers, and we’d dance to Luther Vandross. He even took me to a concert once. Now, what do I get? He sits around in his robe and underwear all weekend watching ESPN. And he lies. You had your gallbladder removed six months ago. There is no reason why you can’t take me to this party.”

  “And please make use of that robe I got you for your birthday, Daddy.”

  “I already have you, woman,” my dad says, ignoring my comment about the robe. “What the hell do I need to do all that stuff for? Why pay for flowers when I plant you a garden every spring. I cook dinner for you every night. Stop complaining because we all know you ain’t going nowhere. If I want to relax on the weekend, it’s my right. I go to work every damn day, don’t I?”

  Mom shakes her head at him, but Daddy blows her a kiss before turning back to his food. I’d kill for some of the red beans and rice both of my parents are eating, but unlike my brother, I wasn’t blessed with our dad’s ability to eat anything and not gain weight. I’m built more like Mom, short, and able to gain weight quickly if I give in to every eating whim.

  “I should just find me a new man tomorrow night. You know I work with nothing but hunky construction workers, right, Nigel?” He rolls his eyes, and this time it’s me who bursts out laughing.