Rash Decisions Read online

  Rash Decisions

  Copyright © 2017 by Alex Rosa

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away. Any reproduction of this ebook is illegal.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle Edition

  Edited by Geoffrey Gonzalez

  Cover Design & Formatting: Wednesday Designs

  Cover Photo: Toa Heftiba | unsplash.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  To all the online readers out there:

  Thank you for keeping this book alive

  “Julia, what are you thinking?

  My therapists ringing tone has me wanting to roll my eyes, and I can’t help think that getting away from her will be a plus when it comes to leaving the state.

  “Shoes,” I hum, hiding my smirk.

  I eye my shiny, brand new Louboutins that I purchased only yesterday.

  “Shoes?” she questions, and I can tell she isn’t getting it.

  “Yes. Shoes.” My eyes rise from the patent black heel, with its rounded toe, and the mesmerizing red that peeks from the sole. “Aren’t they wonderful?” My tone is wistful, only because these shoes are the key to my newfound determination.

  I wiggle my feet. My therapist peers over her trendy, black-rimmed glasses down at my impulsive buy.

  She goes wide-eyed in what I can only guess is a mixture of appreciation and shock. I mean, she can’t be more than five years older than me; she has to understand their beauty.

  “Julia, did you just buy those?"

  It’s obvious disapproval.

  I let out an unladylike grunt as I fall back into her plush leather sofa, folding my arms over my (also) newly purchased white ruffle blouse from Bloomingdale’s. I hesitate rolling my eyes again, because I know she isn’t going to like what I have to say, and I also know I shouldn’t mention how much I forked over for them either. So worth it.

  “Yes. I wanted to finally do something for myself. I’ve always wanted a pair.” I chew my lip, getting anxious. “I bought them after I dumped my boyfriend and placed a call to my uncle in New York.” I may not like the woman, but I can’t look her in the eye. Her audible gasp has my stomach plummeting. I’m tempted to get defensive and call her unprofessional. Deep breaths.

  “Julia, I thought we talked about this. You said you were going to work through these issues.”

  I gulp, reinvigorating the worry and guilt I had felt after dumping Tyler. Doesn’t she understand that I had to do it? I had to set myself free.

  “I know.”

  “We talked about making rash decisions.”

  My eyes shut at hearing her words, their sounds burning through my body like poison. I scratch at my arms, feeling uneasy. Why does everyone think they get a say in my life?

  Slowly I open my eyes, locking onto her sympathetic, yet judgmental blue orbs, and I cannot help my pleading tone. “I’ve never made a rash decision in my life!” I worry I’m trying to convince myself rather than the woman I’m paying an obscene amount of money by the hour.

  “I thought we decided to take this one step at a time, though? Isn’t that what you and your father discussed? What made you change your mind since our last session?”

  Her eerie calm makes me more anxious. I bite back my quivering lip. I know she won’t understand. No one will. No one does. Especially my father. He’s the reason I’m here. Why would he consider understanding this?

  “I couldn’t take it.”

  “What do you mean?” Her tone feels patronizing. My eyes fall back to my sexy black heels, and the sight of them lifts my spirit, however slight.

  “When Tyler said ‘I love you’, I knew it wasn’t fair anymore.”

  My therapist releases a long, drawn out breath. “Now what about New York?”

  I offer a lazy shrug. “The job is there waiting for me.”

  “This is what you want?”

  I fidget in my seat as I speak. “Undoubtedly. I need to live my life, and these shoes are just the beginning.”

  She hums her lack of understanding, and in that moment I realize I don’t care what anyone thinks. She won’t understand, and no one has to.

  “So, all in one day you dump your boyfriend, decide to skip to a different state, and rationalize the whole thing by your shoes?”

  My eyes light up as I finally reveal an honest, gleeful grin, be it a crazy one.

  “Exactly.”

  I peer out my window, scrutinizing the thick layer of snow that’s appeared over New York City. My stare drops to my feet, admiring my beautiful Louboutins that brought me to this side of the States, and I debate on whether I can actually manage walking in the snow in high heels.

  I huff in the silence of my one bedroom apartment. “So much for that,” I whisper, knowing very well that there’s no way I could do it when I don’t know how to deal with snow in the first place.

  My shoulders droop with the realization that what I thought would be my perfect first-day-of-work-shoes aren’t going to work at all. I walk the short distance to my bedroom and search through my unpacked box of shoes. I get a hold of my black ballerina flats. Holding them in my hand I’m already unsatisfied, and not to mention that flats, be it safe, still aren’t the smartest plan. I’ll be freezing!

  I’ve been in New York City less than one week and I’m already in over my head with the first snowfall. I heave in a deep breath.

  Then it hits me. I take off my heels and slip them into my purse, forcing them inside. I grab for my Ugg boots, giggling at the fact that this boot will actually serve its purpose in the cold, rather than being a cute add-on to my Southern Californian outfits.

  I feel like a genius, fist pumping the air, but the moment I slip the boots on I realize how ridiculous I look when matched with my black pencil skirt and emerald blouse.

  I roll my eyes. I will have to be clever about this.

  “How the hell do the glamorous women of this city do it?” I huff, peering up at the time, realizing I need to catch the subway. I’m still early, but it seems I’ll have to do a bit of a wardrobe change before my first day. I grab for my black pea coat, and make my way downstairs. I scurry down the steps, and as I hit the last platform something catches my eye.

  A woman. My ja
w drops, fueled by my instant jealousy. She’s just entered the building from the bitter, morning cold, and she still manages to look refreshed … and beautiful. Her blond pixie cut compliments her petite face and bright red lips, and her navy blue coat matches beautifully with her blue-suede high-heels.

  I’m frozen to the spot, filled with curiosity. I watch her check her mailbox and note that she must live in my building. Maybe she could be my first friend. I’m tempted to ask her how she does it. Looking so flawless with such severe weather. Seeing this woman I realize the difference between the East and West Coast style, and gosh darn-it, I’m envious. Teach me your ways …

  The woman, as if realizing she’s being watched, turns around while holding a handful of mail. Her eyes are a deep hazel color, and though I would assume she might be a bit shocked at my obvious gawking, she raises her eyebrow instead, as if to challenge me.

  I don’t understand it. It feels like a form of culture shock. My manners want to kick in, and I’m on the brink of an apology, but her intense stare has me thinking that isn’t such a good idea. I close my mouth, offer a tight smile, and rush out the door. I feel her eyes pinned on me until I make it outside and the door slams shut behind me.

  Well, that was a bit painful.

  Today is starting to feel more like my first day of school rather than my first day of work. I button up my coat and head to the subway entrance only a few blocks away. I take a few steps and wonder if I’ll make it the distance with the frigid wind, and also if I’ll ever get used to this.

  I will. I must.

  I’m in a mad scramble as I decide on a whim to get coffee before meeting with my boss. I figure I’ll need it. Paul Ferris is not a man I want to trifle with, but with the shit he’s pulled lately, it makes me want to hate him.

  In my seven years of working for him I figured that I’d be a shoo-in for partner. Hell, the guy’s getting old. Yet, all of a sudden I’m compelled to worry about what I thought was an inevitable promotion.

  Paul has decided to bring in a, how did he put it? A fresh outlook to the team, when in actuality he means his niece, and into a nearly identical level as my position, no doubt.

  But why? My only guess is to keep the business in the family. However, I’m here to show him that I’ve earned the right to being partner at the architectural firm known as S.F. Design, and I will start off by grabbing him a latte.

  I can’t remember doing things like this since interning out of college, but sometimes you have to play the political game. Although, my work should speak for itself at this point in my career, dammit.

  Luckily, the coffee shop is right across the street from our building. I grit my teeth as I enter from the frosty morning, noting the long line. I glance over the counter to see Allison, the pretty strawberry blonde who gives me freebies on occasion.

  I lean over the counter as she places two completed beverages, shouting out a woman’s name before noticing me.

  “Troy, you do realize we’re busy this morning?” Her tone hints at annoyance, but her wink after tells me differently.

  “Hey Ally, can I ask a huge favor?” I offer her my most charming smile as I eye the clock hanging on the wall behind her, hoping I can make this quick.

  Absentmindedly, she places another drink on the counter, yelling out another name, then flashes me her own pretty smile. Why don’t I call her more often?

  “Favor? What do I get out of it?” she asks.

  I laugh. “Anything you want.”

  “Take me out this Friday.”

  My guts tumble inside me, thinking I’ll have to make it up to Elizabeth this weekend. She’ll understand. Maybe I need a night out and to blow off some steam. Ally is an easy remedy to stress and she seems willing to help relieve some tension.

  “Sure. You have something in mind?”

  A disgruntled gentleman shoves me to the left. “Excuse me, but you’re in my way.”

  I shoot him a glare as he grabs for his coffee, then turn my attention back to Allison. She wryly licks over her bottom lip before answering, “Just you.”

  Another laugh escapes me at her flirty audacity, but I’m game. “Perfect.”

  She gives me an accomplished grin, placing another finished drink on the counter. “What will it be?”

  “Two large vanilla lattes, please. You’re a life saver, Allison.” I eye the clock one more time. I’m cutting it dangerously close.

  She nods, managing my order among others and moments later she places my drinks on the counter before pointing a brightly painted nail at me. “Friday. I want dinner, too. You owe me from last time. Call me.”

  I grab for both drinks, grinning. “You got it.”

  Keeping my baby-blues locked on her as I move a few steps, I’m feeling incredibly accomplished. I managed free drinks and scheduled sex. How about that?

  I turn to head out the door, but as my head catches up with the rest of my body I fumble, slamming into a stranger, dropping one of the drinks all over the person.

  While working through my scattered apology I steal a final glance at the time, realizing I cannot waste another minute here, and have to make it to my meeting now.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “I am SO sorry.”

  My eyes lock onto the large puddle on the floor before slowly dragging my perspective from the black, rounded heels, up long, tan, slender legs, to a petite waist, and to an unfortunately soaked green top. Its sheer material sticks to the woman's skin, defining the outline of her bra underneath. If I were to guess, I’m pretty sure black and lacy is her underwear of choice. I gulp at the view, forcing my stare to finally swing upward into irate, sexy, deep chocolate brown eyes, and her plump pink lips pursed into a grimace.

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry!” Kind of.

  She begins brushing off her shirt, frantically lifting the thin material away from her skin. She mutters to herself, “I cannot believe my morning. What the hell is up with this city?”

  I chuckle. It’s almost cute, and it may even make me feel downright guilty, but I have no more time to waste. With one surviving latte, I grab for a clump of napkins off the counter, handing them off to the beautiful stranger.

  “Usually, I’d buy you a cup of coffee as an apology, and I’m sorry and all —but I seriously have to go.”

  Baffled by the scenario, she barely gets her hands around the stack of napkins I haphazardly toss as I try to make my way out the door, having to scoot past her. She makes it a point to shout, “I wouldn’t want it from you anyway! Jerk.”

  I’m sure the name-calling is not something I’m supposed to hear, but for some reason it ignites rampant laughter as I cross the street. I know I’m an asshole, but I can’t stop.

  After getting ahold of myself the encounter drops from my mind as I enter the elevator, going over what I want to say to Paul, and readying myself to face this new woman threatening my job.

  She won’t know what hit her.

  I peer down at my soaked shirt, not daring to make eye contact with any of the gawking coffee house patrons. I wish a black hole would appear at my feet and swallow me. I hate New York City, today.

  I lift my head to see the time, cursing myself for running to my office to change out of my jacket and into my heels first. I’d much rather have had coffee spilled on my jacket than on my new lucky shirt. Well, it was supposed to be lucky when I bought it as the last wardrobe gift to myself.

  I glance at my blouse a final time, thankful that the dark green isn’t holding the coffee stain, but merely appears damp.

  “Here you go, sweetie. Troy can be a dick sometimes. I’d know.”

  I look up to see the barista handing me a white towel from behind the counter. I force a grin as I take it out of her hand.

  “Thank you. I have no doubt he can be.” I wipe at my shirt, knowing that this is as good as it’s going to get, and thank my lucky stars that New York City is big enough where I won’t be running into that guy any t
ime soon.

  I hand the towel back, shooting her my help me out smirk. “You think it’ll dry during a thirty-four-floor elevator ride?”

  She shrugs, baring bright, white teeth as reassurance. “Maybe.”

  I nod, submitting defeat, and utter more profanity under my breath, knowing that whether I like it or not, I will be late. Just great.

  “Thanks again. Have a good day.”

  Instead of replying, the girl raises a quizzical brow at the kind comment, and goes back to work.

  I head out the door, lifting the thin, wet material from my skin, shaking it as I cross the street to my building thinking, what is it with this city?

  I adjust my tie in the reflection of my office door, and then swiftly grab the coffee as I head in the direction of Paul’s office.

  “Good Morning, Mr. Dillinger.”

  “Mornin’, Claire. How many times do I have to mention that calling me Troy is fine?”

  I flash my assistant a smile, causing a rosy hue to appear on her high cheekbones as she says lightly, “Troy … Um, would you like your phone messages now?”

  I raise my hand, waving it back and forth. “Not right now. I have a meeting with Paul Ferris. He’s expecting me at any moment.”

  “Oh, of course. I knew that.”

  I continue my strides, smirking.

  I walk past Paul Ferris’s assistant who happens to be a striking blonde with a beauty pageant smile. I’m told Mr. Ferris handpicked her at a work function weeks ago.

  Lucky bastard.

  Although, I’d prefer not to want to sleep with my assistants. It would be too distracting. Claire is sweet, but I don’t want to fuck her. It’s a blessing in disguise.

  The blonde’s lush lips curve upward as she takes notice of my entry.

  “Hell-o, Melanie. Stunning, as usual.”

  “Good Morning, Mr. Dillinger, and thank you. Mr. Ferris is expecting you.”

  I clench my jaw into a smile wanting to tell her to call me Troy, too, but I know keeping thing’s platonic and formal between Melanie and me is the best plan of action. My dick and brain battle most days, and being on a first name basis would only be the beginning to a lust fueled disaster.