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PROLOGUE
JAY
Iwas ten the first time I saw two people fucking. They were in my father’s office. Hishomeoffice.
I was excited to tell him about the A I’d gotten on my science fair project. He and I had worked on it together, focusing on whiskey and the fermentation process. That was also the year I fell in love with my father’s business.
It was also when I learned that a person can only trust two things in life: themselves and alcohol.
We don’t screw ourselves over, and we all know what to expect when it comes to alcohol. Raging headaches when we drink too much.
But it wasn’t my father I found in his office that day. It was my mother.
And the man she was fucking wasn’t just anyone; he was my father’s enemy.
Though I didn’t know that at the time.
And because my father’s enemies are my enemies, I came up with a brilliant plan to make the man pay. And today I put that plan in motion.
1
MARRY ME BY TRAIN
CAT
September 2009
Deep breaths. I can do this. I’m Catherine Freaking Bouvier. I can make a freaking cup of coffee.
“Any minute now, princess.” The man on the other side of the counter scowls.
I bite my tongue, but the death stare I shoot in his direction has him shutting his mouth. As I was saying, Icando this. I just have to figure out how to turn these beans into coffee.
I scratch my head and regard them. Mrs. Kearns always made this look so easy. Isn’t there a smusher or something? I search the counters for a device that might do just that. God, I really am a fucking princess.
“Seriously, lady, what’s taking so long?” the guy asks, annoyance returning to his features. I don’t blame him.
“Um.” I scan the coffee shop. It’s late afternoon. Does this guy reallyneedcoffee?
I came in to fill out an application and somehow found myself covering for my friend Mia with no training and no idea what the hell to do. She swore she’d only be gone fifteen minutes, and that if anyone did come in—which she swore was doubtful—they’d want a bottle of water, an iced coffee—premade, thank God—or a freaking scone.
Not hot coffee.Nota freaking macchiato double spun with an espresso shot and caramel flavor that I can’t locate anywhere in this place.
A line four people deep has formed, and Mia has been gone far longer than fifteen minutes.
I stare at the machine again, taunted by the damn shiny buttons. I lift one of the knobs and go up on my toes so I can peer inside to see if the motion did anything. The machine makes a whooshing noise, and for a second, my heart soars. But as quickly as it started, it stops again.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself.
“Are you new?” A girl with long brown hair steps up next to the annoyed man. She taps one perfectly manicured nail against the counter impatiently.
“It’s just…” I start, watching the door.
Where is Mia?
I take in the line again, catching sight of a man at the back. He smirks when he notices my attention, his blond hair falling forward into his eyes. Eyes that melt as soon as they meet mine. They’re a glacier blue and impossible to look away from. He glances away first, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on it quickly without looking back up.
“Hello, if you don’t know how to make coffee, maybe you should have put the closed sign up,” the girl suggests, her attention darting back to the mystery man behind her. As soon as she sees him, her entire demeanor shifts. “But I’d be happy to help you,” she offers.
