Chapter Two
“John!” Whitney launched herself at her friend of more than fifteen years, unable to stop her exuberance from showing. Even though she built up quite a bit of momentum, what with her body mass and the acceleration of excitement that propelled her across the parking lot, he caught her easily. “I’m so glad you’re finally here.”
He held her for a moment, smelling of laundry soap and mint, before placing his hands on either shoulder and forcing her to take a step back. With a crinkle in his eyes, he took her in, indulging himself for a full minute before nodding with satisfaction.
At over six feet tall and with a robust, bearded physique perfected over time and a love of pastries, John was a comfort to be around. He was slightly older than her—not that he would ever admit to it—and his role as snuggly paternal figure was more than complete.
“You look well,” he said in his clipped voice. He might look like a behemoth, but he spoke like the polished boarding-school baby he really was. “However, our office does not. I’ve seen prisons more welcoming than this. I thought they were supposed to start this week?”
Whitney turned to survey the exterior of their soon-to-be medical spa and rejuvenation clinic, New Leaf. In the chill of March, with nothing but dead grass and gray skies to set it off, it did look rather like a concrete block beloved by criminals and avoided by upstanding citizens of the world.
“Why do you think it came so cheap?” Linking arms with her friend, she added, “It’s not so bad inside—it’s older than dirt and they say we’re going to have to gut the plumbing, but just think of it in terms of potential. Sweet, beautiful, money-making potential. And we can plant chrysanthemums or something for the outside. People love flowers.”
“Only the elderly love chrysanthemums.”
“That’s half our target demographic right there.” Whitney pulled out her key ring—with all the keys to the office and her new condo, she felt like a jingling janitor—and unlocked the door. “Welcome to your new home.”
She gave him a minute to adjust. The former dental office, located just outside the center of town, stood a testament to 1980s architecture everywhere. Not for them the quaint, historic brick that dated to the country’s earliest settlement period or the turn-of-the-century Victorians that lined up like gingerbread houses along the north of the borough. No. They got dated carpeting and vertical blinds.
So maybe the office wasn’t exactly the way they’d pictured it, but leasing this heap of rubble was a heck of a lot cheaper than building their facility from scratch, and had the added bonus of making them saviors to the community. The building was an eyesore, a scab. They were going to transform it into beauty, all upscale and sleek.
That was the whole point, actually. Pleasant Park was chock-full of people flush with disposable income and desperate for all things upscale and sleek, unwavering in their desire to be urban but surrounded by the bucolic Pennsylvania countryside that was anything but.
“Well, it is roomy,” John eventually said, nodding once to confirm his approval. “You’re sure they said three months?”
Whitney hoisted herself up on one of the laminate counters, feeling inordinately pleased with herself for navigating the tricky maneuver in her tight pencil skirt and dangerously high-heeled boots.
“I’ve seen the plans myself. I believe I’m sitting in the surgery suite right now.”
“How charming,” John murmured. “I can practically see the love handles melting away.”
“I don’t have love handles!” Whitney protested, sitting up straighter. “I’m a strictly junk-in-the-trunk miss. Now you, on the other hand...”
“I’m not going anywhere near you and your scalpel of fury, so don’t even try.” John laughed, his love handles jiggling delightfully in the process. “Besides, for someone who advocates artificial beauty so much, I don’t see a whole lot of discreet scars on your body.”
“I’ve had at least half a dozen moles removed, and you know as well as I do this isn’t my real nose. And I thought about getting a breast enlargement to balance my upper and lower halves.” Whitney stuck her arms straight out in front of her, her B cups smooshing together in the process. “But those babies would get in the way of my technique something fierce. Can you imagine stitching sutures with a couple of double Ds in the way? It’d be like you trying to perform a Shiatsu with a couple of cantaloupes taped to your chest. Alas, I’m destined for average beauty and ninja surgical skills. We all have sacrifices to make.”
John leveled her with one of his signature looks—bushy eyebrow raised in an exact emulation of a young Sean Connery. “I have not now, or ever, accused you of being average. I wouldn’t dare.”
Before she could plant the kiss on his lips he so clearly deserved, the front door swung open with a crash. Kendra, bedraggled in the sparkly shirt from the night before, her heels in one hand and eye makeup smudged halfway down her tiny, heart-shaped face, took one look at John and let out a squeal. Like Whitney, she launched herself into their friend’s arms, though she became almost engulfed by the breadth of them.
Whitney laughed as they said their hellos. Kendra effused an aura of stale perfume, stale beer and fresh coffee—the unmistakable scent of the Walk of Shame—and John was doing his fastidious best not to notice.
“I texted you to let you know that you didn’t need to come in today.” Whitney nodded toward her purse. “Did your little orange friend turn out to be not much in the way of a good host?”
Kendra stuck out her tongue, flashing the silver piercing in the center. It wasn’t the only piercing she had—but with the exception of a tiny diamond stud in her nose, it was the only other one visible to the public. “Judge not, Whitney dear. You’re looking none too pure of heart yourself this morning.”
“When have I ever been pure of anything?”
Kendra laughed, and even though she’d probably just rolled out of bed and stumbled here by foot, Whitney felt a surge of pride and admiration for her friend. There weren’t a whole lot of judgment-free women out there in the world who looked and acted as fabulous as Kendra. Indian by birth, educated at Brown and possessed of a wicked skill at threading a pair of eyebrows into submission, Kendra was the main reason they were actually going through with opening the spa. Her MBA lent them all authenticity, and her esthetician training rounded out an already impressive line of services.
“Did you at least have a good night?” Whitney asked.
“It was...interesting,” Kendra hedged.
“Oooh, interesting.” John leaned on one elbow, propped on the counter near Whitney. “I like the sound of that.”
“Let me guess,” Whitney said, pretending to be thoughtful. “He also spray-tanned his dick, didn’t he?”
John let out a crack of laughter and even Kendra gave in to a soft snort. “A lady never tells.”
“Well—what is it, then?” Whitney prodded when Kendra didn’t offer more. Her friend had never been very good at hiding her worries. Stress always made her quiet.
Kendra shook her head, her chin-length hair—now bereft of the pink wig—swishing around her with razor-like precision. “It’s just that I passed four people I recognized on the walk over here this morning. Three frowned at me.”
“Screw it. Let them frown.” If there was one thing Whitney hated more than critical townspeople, it was critical townspeople who dared to judge her friend. “You’re fantastic.”
Kendra tapped a finger on her lips in a gesture of thoughtfulness. “Don’t think I don’t know that. I just wonder if we overestimated...”
“What, sweetie?” John raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “I officially terminated employment at the sports clinic as of yesterday—there’s no backing out now.”
“We’re not backing out of anything.” Whitney was no quitter. She’d make this business work if she had to run through the town center with her scalpel in hand, threatening the masses. “This is our dream, remember? Everything we ever wanted? The reason we’ve slaved away for years? Any of this ringing a bell? I have fond memories of us sitting in the student lounge writing out a business plan on the cafeteria napkins—I think my parents might even still have a few of them. My mom will probably make us a scrapbook.”
John’s look was just enigmatic enough to cause her pulse to leap. “How could any of us forget? Jared was just finishing medical school, you started taking all your nursing prerequisites...”
Whitney jumped off the counter and pretended to take a profound interest in counting the dead fly carcasses on the huge window overlooking the parking lot. There was no way to avoid the subject—not when Jared had been such an integral part of their group. The Four Musketeers, they’d called themselves, all of them playing second fiddle to Jared’s inborn God complex, herself included. She’d wanted to be his goddamn nurse, for crying out loud. His helpmeet.
She was no man’s helpmeet.
And even though she knew John and Kendra were on her side, it still sometimes felt like they blamed her for Jared’s absence in their medical spa dream-come-true.
He’s the one who cheated, she wanted to scream. He’s the one who ruined the fantasy. The one who ruined me.
If there was one thing Whitney had learned from her life experiences, it was that she didn’t need Jared Fine to make her life complete. She didn’t need anyone for that. Yes, they were a few years behind schedule, what with Whitney’s determination to return to school and become a surgeon herself. And yes, a fourth partner would have considerably reduced the amount of loans they’d had to take out to make this happen.
But they’d persevered. They’d made it. And they’d done it all without him.
She turned, a fake smile plastered to her face so tight it burned. “I, for one, am having no doubts whatsoever. I love this town.”
“I take it that means your evening with Matt went well?” Kendra accepted Whitney’s change of subject without batting a false eyelash.
“There’s a Matt already?” John asked. He, too, was a master at reading Whitney’s not-so-subtle cues. “You girls certainly have been busy.”
“Who? That guy at the bar last night?” Whitney pretended to think about it. “Nah. I was a perfectly good girl last night.”
Under normal circumstances, she wasn’t a very good liar—she had far too much directness to be able to pull duplicity off with any real measure of success. But in the full light of day, it was easy to pretend that she had not attempted to corrupt a kindergarten teacher, and that she had not, much to her dismay, failed in said attempt.
And he’d been such a good kisser too. Surprised, and then...not surprised. Not surprised had been quite the experience.
She decided to change the subject. “I came home alone and at a perfectly respectable hour. Are you going to see what’s-his-orange-face again?”
Kendra pursed her lips. “Probably not. But I mean it, Whitney—I think we may have underestimated just how conservative this place is.”
Whitney shuddered. Conservative was one of her least favorite words. Sweater sets and respectable investment portfolios were other things that made her itch, right up there with commitment. “What are you saying?”
“Just that we might need to tread a little lighter. We’ll be fine—I’m probably overreacting. These people might be a little bit more old-fashioned than we’d like, but they have money. They know other people with money. And they have an inborn need to compete with the Joneses. Let’s focus on fitting in with that.”
“I’m not wearing pastels,” Whitney warned. “Or pearls.”
John grinned. “Maybe we could start small. Drink less, perhaps?”
Kendra shook off the last of her doldrums and began to walk through the front office, pointing out the future waxing room and massage facilities to John.
Whitney adjusted her skirt and followed her friends through the empty corridor with its boring white walls and cheap gray carpet, thinking of the grave look on Matt’s face when he’d offered her a handshake in place of more intimate relations. Hmm. Maybe drinking less was a good idea. They could at least adhere to a strict intoxication-on-the-weekends-only rule.
“The time to ingratiate ourselves here is now, while we have a little time on our hands,” Kendra said, nodding firmly. Then she winced and held a hand to her head. “Or maybe tomorrow, once I’ve had a nap.”
John put an arm around Kendra’s shoulder and steered her in the direction of the front door. “I’m going to take this one home and pump her full of fluids and aspirin. You okay to hand off the keys when the contractors get here?”
Whitney nodded. “I’ll even fight the urge to flirt outrageously with the cute ones. See how respectable I’m becoming already?”
“Don’t listen to her.” Kendra allowed John to lead her away. “She’s got her sights set on the local schoolteacher. She’ll be the ruin of us all.”
“I do not have my sights on him!” Whitney called back, making her voice purposefully loud. “I barely even remember his name.”
Lies. Every last one of them.