Beth Michele: Scarred Beautiful

“Lisa was supposed to be the one coming on the trip,” she begins, “but the VP called me shortly after I left you at the airport. Apparently she woke up with a wicked stomach bug this morning, so the boss lady asked me if I’d take her place.” She huffs out a sigh, and I know there’s something else she’s not telling me. “Plus, I didn’t say anything earlier, but my mom came to visit me in the office yesterday. She never comes by there, but I guess she came to gloat about my sister. Apparently, she’s been made Vice President of the hedge fund she’s working for, so they’re having a big party tonight to celebrate.” The wide smile she had when she entered has all but disappeared. “You know, when she was in my office, she walked around and eyed all of my drawings and not once did she say they were good. Not once has she ever given me one compliment about the work I’ve done.” Her eyes cloud with emotion and it’s the first time I’ve seen her like this. “And they’re good , Fran. They’re really good.”

I suddenly feel the urge to comfort her. We typically don’t have that type of relationship, but she seems to need it now and I want to be there for her. I lean in and fold my arms around her. “They’re exceptional, Peyton. You’re incredibly talented and I’m sorry your mom doesn’t realize it.”

She relaxes a bit before pulling back, resigned. “Anyway, the moment I got the call, I decided I was catching the first flight to LA, fuck my sister’s party. She doesn’t really care if I’m there anyway.”

A twinge of guilt washes over me at her confession. I immediately feel like I need to tell her one of my secrets, but I just can’t. I’m trying to lock them away, not release them so they can stifle the air around me.

She quickly recovers, sitting up on the bed with a new resolve. “I just want to forget about all that. My room is just down the hall so I’m going to go freshen up. Put something sexy on, we’re heading to the bar, sister. It’s time for some sin.”

After Peyton leaves, I sort through the dresses I brought with me and finally decide on a green, knee-length satin number that squishes my boobs together, saying yes to cleavage, before sliding on my black heels. I freshen up my makeup in the bathroom, adding some under-eye concealer, a hint of blush to my cheeks, and a subtle shade of pink for my lips. With one last pucker, I glance approvingly at myself in the mirror and make my way out to wait for Peyton.

I open the door just as she’s about to knock, and the dazzling grin on her face gives me a boost of confidence.

“Wow!” she says excitedly, eyeing me from top to bottom and nodding in approval.

“Thanks. You look hot, too.” I giggle as we link arms, a genuine smile encompassing my face. I feel like the old Fran, and it feels good.

As I jerk my wallet from the back pocket of my jeans, I hear laughter in the distance. It momentarily distracts me, but I resume my focus on the bar and try to get the bartender’s attention. It’s hard to admit that Caleb’s right, but I’m a bit wound up and definitely need to relax. I thought that selling the company a few years ago would ease some of the tension I feel. Instead, it’s done nothing but increase it.

I already know the exact moment the switch flipped, the final straw that had me deciding to sell the firm and slow my life down—right after Brad got beaten up and I came pretty close to losing him, too.

He was on his way to Gabby’s apartment after leaving the gourmet coffee shop he owns in Manhattan when he was jumped from behind, sustaining a serious head injury that left him unconscious for several days. At the time, the doctors were unsure whether he would pull through. I remember the crushing feeling that overwhelmed me, the desperate prayers and pleas as I bargained with the universe for his life. It had been hard watching Mom and Clara battle breast cancer, but the aftermath of Brad’s assault almost put me over the edge. My chest floods with relief and gratitude that he survived…even though he’s the only one who did.

I shake it off and hope I can drown my sorrows for just a little while. “Hey, Caleb, what do you want to drink? Your usual?” I ask, and when I don’t get a response, I flick his shoulder. “What do you want to drink?”

“Huh?” he replies, as if in a trance, his eyes focused on something or someone at the end of the bar.

I step around him to see what’s caught his eye and notice two women deep in conversation and laughter. “Do you know them or some—” Just as I’m about to finish my sentence, the one with long, dark hair throws her head back on a laugh and I’m frozen in time. I know that face. “Holy shit,” I mutter, not realizing I said it a little stronger than I’d intended. I squint, trying to get a better look to make sure I’m not seeing things. I’m definitely not seeing things. “Holy shit!” I say again, but this time much louder, before I start walking in their direction.

Caleb’s voice calls out from behind me but I keep walking. I shove one hand in my pocket, running the other one through my hair a couple of times as I get closer. Once those emerald eyes come into focus, I immediately know there’s no mistaking her. How could there be? She’s fucking gorgeous.

I clear my throat to get her attention just before I speak her name. “Fran?”

She looks over at me and her eyes widen in disbelief, while a slow smile creeps across her lips. “Matt?”

“The one and only,” I reply, grinning, unsure as to why I’m suddenly so excited. Women don’t typically have that effect on me.

“Holy shit,” she says, mimicking my reaction, laughter bubbling up from her throat as she drops her head, her dark hair a curtain around her face. But she doesn’t stop laughing and it’s kind of ticking me off, my jaw working its way back and forth. I can’t figure out what’s so funny. Maybe she’s drunk. I’m about to say something when I hear Caleb’s voice and turn around just as he clasps my shoulder.

His brow furrows as he looks from me to Fran and back again. “What’s going on? You guys know each other?”

Fran continues to laugh which causes her friend to start laughing too, leaving me completely at a loss and Caleb very much in the dark.

“Okay, is someone gonna tell me what the hell’s going on?” he asks, while eying Fran’s friend who is without a doubt very attractive as well, with her caramel-colored waves and her cleavage peeking through the top of her black dress.

Fran finally manages to get a hold of herself, clutching her belly to try to suppress the laughter. She waves her hand in my direction. “Peyton Vinsant, meet Matt Dixon, Brad’s brother. Matt, this is Peyton, my roommate and really good friend.”

Peyton’s eyes pop open as she slowly appraises me, starting from the bottom and working her way up. “Brad’s brother ?” she asks, arching one of her brows and licking her lips like a cat on the prowl.

“Yes,” I reply, unable to take my eyes off of Fran. She’s just as stunning as I remember, even though I only saw her for a short time while Brad was in the hospital. I’ve been back to New York several times since then, but somehow never ran into her. She’s unforgettable, though: the yellow flecks against the bright green backdrop of her eyes, her hair like black silk, not to mention the woman has curves. Jesus does she ever.

Caleb coughs loudly and I realize he’s waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, sorry. Caleb, this is Fran Heller, Brad’s fiancée Gabby’s best friend, and Peyton of course. Ladies, this is Caleb Brody.” I smack him on the chest. “My oldest friend.”