Page 3 of Never Going to Care

“Fine,” she sighs, but I know there’s more to it. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t share until she’s ready and if she’s not going off on a complaint, I know she’s not ready to share just yet. When she’s ready, she doesn’t hold back. She clears her throat, “The business is good, don’t get me wrong, I’m just having an issue with the landlord.”

My hackles are immediately up. This ass has been giving her problems for a while and I’ve offered, more than once, to get involved. I hate that she won’t let me. She thinks she has to carry the world on her shoulders. I get it because I’m the same way and she was left behind when I went off to serve. She took on my role in our family in so many ways.

Guilt eats at me, as if I made her like this. Did I? She’s stubborn as fuck, but I’m pretty sure that’s all mom’s influence.

I growl, “You want me to have a talk with him?”

She laughs again, but then it slips into a sigh when it’s clear I’m not joking. ‘Talk’ might be closer to me threatening him, which I’m sure she knows, but I just need her to give the word and I’ll make it happen.

“No,” she sighs. “I got this. It’s just annoying, but I’m not going to back down to some asshole in a suit.” I snort out a laugh because, yeah, she won’t. Poor guy. “I just wanted to remind you about family dinner this weekend.”

I close my eyes but force myself to not react verbally. I love my family, but it can be a lot, especially with mom. As long as she doesn’t try and set me up again, I’ll survive.

“I didn’t forget, Bella,” I force my voice to stay neutral.

“Good,” she chirps. “See you then.”

She’s gone before I can say goodbye and I shake my head. When I look at the files again, I know I can’t look at them in this office. I just can’t.

I scoop them up and start to stalk down the hallway to the conference room. Maybe a little more space will be good. I can spread shit out and not feel so damn confined. Maybe then the annoying buzzing feeling right under my skin will go away.

The moment I push the door open with my foot I know I’m fucking wrong. The conference room table, the table where we do very important work involving keeping people safe, is covered in…frilly shit. There are fabric swatches, magazines, a giant binder which might as well be a damn cupcake, and even fucking lace.

Piper is sitting in one of the chairs with a woman I’ve never seen before, pouring over an open magazine between them. Fucking, hell, what is going on?

Before I can stop myself, I growl out, “What the hell are you two doing in here?”

When the woman with Piper looks up at me, her black hair framing her gorgeous features and highlighting the depth of her brown eyes, I know I’m in trouble. Not just for my growled question, but bone deep fucking trouble.

CHAPTER 2

CELESTE

I’ve never been so happy to put my organizational skills to the test as I have been with helping Piper plan her wedding. It’s been great, partially because Piper and I have been friends since we were kids and she’s easy to work with and super organized as well. The other part is that it’s been keeping my mind off my break-up which was rough.

It’s all been heard and experienced before. He was an ass. He didn’t appreciate me. He was a dirty, rotten fucking cheater. Blah, blah, blah. Same old song and dance rolled up in a sob story and I’m over feeling like crap about it.

Being able to throw myself into helping Piper and celebrating love, which is obviously strong and true, has been a lifeline. It’s one I, almost, hate to admit I needed. Not because the people in my life expect me to be strong, which they do, but because I know I shouldn’t even be upset about Stephen.

It’s been months, but I can’t shake it. It’s pissing me off because he was a piece of shit and I’m not sad about it being over. I’m sad about all the little things which went along with having someone in my life. Someone to talk to who was all mine. Someone to sleep next to at night. Someone to eat dinner with.

The last one is a huge thing. I hate eating dinner alone. It’s depressing. I also hate cooking for only one person, but I’m not about to order food all the damn time. It’s just not who I am. I love cooking, but then the leftovers are like abig fuck you, you’re aloneneon sign which I want to smash to bits.

I’ve almost forgotten about Stephen and his big fucking ridiculous self as I’ve been helping Piper and pouring over some magazines, looking at samples and figuring out Piper’s dream color scheme. I’m going to do my best to make this a dream wedding for her and ignore that there is not anywhere close to enough time to plan a wedding. Do you know how long the lists are for venue space in the city? It’s ridiculous, but we’ll figure it out.

Somehow.

The good thing is she doesn’t care about most of it. I mean, she does, but she’s not some bridezilla who needs everything fucking perfect for some fairy tale wedding. Maybe it’s because Landon is the other half of her soul and getting married is just a means to an end, another layer of commitment and love on top of what they already mean to each other.

Must be nice.

I force my eyes to the burnt orange satin she’s picked out as a color since she’s getting married in October and push away my feelings of resentment. She doesn’t deserve them. Stephen does, the cheating asshole, but Piper sure as fuck doesn’t.

Piper points to a dress in the magazine and her mouth opens, but no words come out before a growled question interrupts us, “What the hell are you two doing in here?”

My head whips up so fast I get a kink in my neck, but Piper just waves her hand dismissively as if those words from his, clearly, pissed off self are acceptable. They aren’t. You’d think the table covered in wedding swag would be an indication of exactly what we’re doing in here. And why.

When it’s clear Piper isn’t going to address this big giant man, who is sexy as fuck…nope, not where my thoughts need to go at all. Ahem. When Piper doesn’t put him in his place, I have no other choice. I’m not going to let anyone walk all over her, me, or my best friend’s wedding.

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