One Wrong Choice (A Cruel and Beautiful Book Book 3) Read online

  One Wrong Choice

  A M Hargrove

  Terri E Laine

  Wicked Truth Publishing, LLC

  Contents

  Title

  Description

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Part I

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Part II

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek At Cruel & Beautiful

  Sneak Peek at A Mess Of A Man

  About The Authors

  Stalk Terri

  Stalk Annie

  Published By Wicked Truth Publishing, LLC

  Copyright © 2016 A.M. Hargrove and Terri E. Laine

  All rights reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Cover and Photography by Sara Eirew

  Editing provided by Paige Smith

  You are cordially invited to witness the union of Jenna and Kenneth...

  Isn’t it every woman’s dream to marry the perfect guy?

  Mr. Tall, Dark, Rich, and Handsome, the one who waits for me at the altar, is that man.

  It's what my family wants.

  For a long time, it was what I thought I wanted, too.

  Then I met Brandon, a ruggedly handsome guy with inked up sleeves, who turns my dreams into flames of heat.

  What kind of person am I—an engaged woman constantly fantasizing and lusting over her best friend?

  When Kenneth is away, Brandon fills all my dangerous desires, even though we haven’t so much as kissed.

  I'm torn between doing the right thing and following my heart.

  If I make one wrong choice, I risk losing it all.

  This one is for all of you who took a chance on us and

  read Cruel & Beautiful

  Acknowledgements

  As we close out this series, there are a few things that need to be said. Neither of us ever dreamed we’d end up here … on the third book, closing out a series, AND … it being our seventh book we’ve written together. Oh, by the way, we’ve already started our eighth! The reason for this long explanation is we have you, our readers to thank for it. We would not be writing together, or solo, for that matter, if it weren’t for you. So THANK YOU from the bottoms of our hearts, for taking a chance on us with Cruel & Beautiful, and hanging in there with us for all the other books!

  Here are the lovely people we’d like to say THANK YOU to. Our beta readers: Kristie, Andrea, Nina, Jill, and Heather. You ladies have been with us constantly and are our RIGHT CHOICES because you knock us down when we need us and let us know what works and what doesn’t. Thanks for making our books better and prettier! We don’t know what we’d do without you!

  Thank you Nina Grinstead, and Social Butterfly PR for running your butt off in getting our stuff out there when we are always behind and at the eleventh hour. And then we do that switchy thing on you and we know you want to kill us but we love you!

  And thank you Rick Miles at Redcoat PR for everything, particularly when we change dates at the spur of the moment.

  Thank you Paige Smith, for your diligent editing and always squishing us in. Because, yeah, we’re kind of the un-planners!

  And finally, thank you Sara Eirew for the amazing cover!

  Author’s Note

  A Word From Annie—

  In the early summer of 2015, Terri suggested that I write “my story.” Some of you may already know this and some of you don’t. Anyway, her suggestion simply wasn’t possible. The memories were too painful and I was not going to dig all that up. There was no way in hell was I ever going down that road. She didn’t give up and kept after me like a dog nipping at my heels. Then one day she pitched an idea to me. She proposed we co-write the story and fictionalize it to a degree, making it less difficult for me. She took it a step further, adding an extra oomph to the plot—I’m not going to say what because there may be some of you who haven’t read it. I don’t have to tell you I agreed to do it. That night I sent her the prologue. You can read it if you want—it’s included here in the “Sneak Peeks of Cruel & Beautiful” located at the end of One Wrong Choice.

  A Word From Terri—

  The prologue had me in tears, but it needed one more thing. An additional paragraph at the end, which hopefully left the reader, wondering just what happened. From there we crafted a unique story that can never be replicated. However, our hope was that Ben’s journey in A Mess of A Man and Jenna’s journey in One Wrong Choice have all the feels that Cruel and Beautiful did. Please enjoy.

  Prologue

  Jenna—Present

  The bridesmaids have filed out, one by one, increasing my panic, not incrementally, but in colossal waves. The wedding director smiles her perfect condescending grin, because I know she thinks I am beneath the Balfours. I don’t give a shit. What I do care about is the fact that I’m about to walk down the aisle and marry Kenneth, a man I don’t love.

  Clap, clap, clap. “It’s time, Jenna.” She loves to do that little hand clappy thing. I’d like to clap her upside the head. But I can only imagine her little string of pearls bursting loose and rolling all over the place. With my awful luck, I’d slip on one of the little fuckers and go ass over head and break my leg. So I do the polite thing instead and dip my up-doed, over-styled hair—and great God, I must have one hundred fifty bobby pins stuck in there—and waddle behind her out of the bridal room. It’s about all I can do in this absurd wedding gown I’m wearing. If there were any more layers of tulle, I doubt anyone would even know I was here. And these shoes … I can barely walk in them they’re so high.

  Dad waits for me in the narthex of St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. Who even gets married here? Admittedly, I don’t go to church much. Okay, I’m a heathen. And I should probably do
something about that someday, because I need to. But I had no say in this matter. My wedding, reception, dress, flowers, everything were planned by my mother and Mrs. Balfour. It makes me wonder who’s even getting married today.

  Rubbing my hands together—because I’ve already been instructed not to dare touch my couture designer gown, but how in the hell can I help it? I’d have to hold my arms straight out to avoid that—I wonder again, what the fuck am I doing?

  “Jenna, you look … um, gorgeous,” Dad says. The pause makes me wonder if he really feels that way or if he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. The truth is, I look hideous. Even Cate had a difficult time holding back a laugh when she saw me.

  “Oh, Dad.” I wring my hands, and the pacing begins. Shit! How did I get myself into this mess? I know—Mom. That’s how. I have to do this. I shake myself. Mentally, not physically, because technically it’s not really possible to shake one’s own body. A picture of me wrapping my arms around myself and giving my body a good jiggle comes to mind, and I chuckle. Besides, if I tried to do it now, I’d fall flat on my ass and look like a pile of whipped cream in this epic disaster of a dress.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  I wring my hands again when the wedding director clucks and brings me my bouquet. When my hand closes around it, it nearly throws me to the floor. It must weigh fifty pounds.

  “What’s in this thing? Lead?”

  “Miss Rhoades, if you would look at the arrangement, you would see why it is so heavy.”

  “I don’t think I can carry it.”

  “Well, you must. This is what Mrs. Balfour insisted upon.”

  “So, is this her wedding then?” I ask with a sour note.

  “She is paying for the flowers, is she not?” she snaps.

  “Ladies, hush,” Dad says in his deep, calm voice. “Jenna, I know you have a case of pre-wedding jitters, but honey, that bouquet is, well, it’s really something.”

  “It is indeed.” I resume pacing, letting Ms. Wedding Director hang on to that monstrosity for a moment. Let’s see how she does. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shifting it from one hand to the other, and soon she cradles it like a baby. Why the hell did they get something so ostentatious? Christ, I need a valium or a drink.

  “Dad, do you have any liquor?”

  A deep rumble comes from his chest. Ms. Wedding Director says, “It’s time for you to float down the aisle, Miss Rhoades.” Who the fuck floats? What happened to walking?

  “I can’t do it.”

  “Jenna? Miss Rhoades?” they both speak at once.

  But at that time, Brandon, the biggest reason for my hesitation, my reluctance, my unwillingness to marry Kenneth, bursts through the main church doors. One look at me and he says, “Jenna, you can’t possibly go through with this.” And then he zeroes in on me, his eyes trailing above mine and asks, “What the hell happened to your hair?”

  I’m not sure if I want to scream or laugh.

  “Brandon, I—I”

  “Jenna, we have to go,” Ms. Wedding Director says. The muted tunes of “Pachelbel’s Canon in D” can be heard through the closed doors. Dad’s hand closes on my arm.

  The heat of Brandon rolls off him as he stands before me. “Jenna, you don’t love him. You know you don’t, unless you were lying to me when you told me I held your heart. You can never be happy being married to him, and you know I speak the truth.”

  “Jenna?” Dad’s tone begs for a response—from me.

  “Brandon, there’s more to it than that.” A sigh of frustration escapes from me.

  “Then explain it to me,” Brandon pleads. “Even if I’m not the one for you, he isn’t. You know I’m right.”

  Dad’s confusion is clear. “What do you mean? Explain yourself.”

  “What I mean is, your daughter is marrying the wrong man.” He starts to say something else, but his phone rings, so he digs it out of his pocket. When I think he’s going to ignore it, he answers the call. “What?”

  Then his face morphs into a mask of pain, pale and drawn. Briefly, he glances up at me, and it’s as if he’s not seeing me at all. The expression frightens me as the call must have him.

  “Brandon? What is it?”

  He backs away, mouth open, looking dazed, leaving me mystified.

  “Brandon,” I call out again.

  “I… I gotta… I gotta go,” he stutters.

  He disappears through the doors he appeared through moments before. His footsteps so fast, I thought he might trip trying to get away from me. Desperately, I want to follow him and make sure he’s okay. However, Dad stops me with a hand on my arm. I turn to face him.

  “Jenna, it’s time,” Dad says.

  In his eyes, I see the fate that I’d been dealt. I’d made this decision not lightly. Kenneth is a good man. Even though I’m not in love with him, the love I do have will have to be enough.

  Part I

  Past

  One

  Jenna

  When my best friend, Cate, lost her husband—who was also my brother’s best friend—we all went into a massive state of shock. The guy was unstoppable, unbeatable, and undefeatable in everything he did, except for this. Even after his funeral, a part of me expected him to pop out and say something like, “Just kidding.” Only he never did. It’s still hard to take, still after all this time.

  Everyone loved him because he was easy to love. Considerate, caring, not to mention beautiful inside and out, the mold was broken when he was created. Cate and Ben are still grieving, leaning on each other. But me, I’m finding it more than difficult to cope not having anyone to lean on, because they both need me. I have to be strong for them. But—as stupid as it sounds—he was my friend, too, almost like a brother to me, and sometimes, I need a shoulder to cry on from time to time.

  Cate has gone from the bright and vivacious person I know to dull and emotionless. It’s like someone set a bomb off inside of her and exploded all the fire away. And Ben … there’s no other way to put it than he’s a mess. My brother has turned into nothing short of a manwhore. Scotch and vodka are his best friends now and he’s drinking it up, staying out late, or not coming home at all. It’s as though he’s gone over to the dark side. It’s surprising that he’s able to function at work, but he does. And the one thing I can say is, he’s always there for Cate—day or night.

  Me … I’m frustrated as hell. I’m the coil that’s been wound too tight, ready to spring. There’s no one to talk to anymore. I loved the guy, too. Maybe I wasn’t as close to him as Ben, and certainly not Cate, but I’d known him all my life, and when you remove someone as large as him, it’s impossible to fill that hole. With both Cate and Ben up to their eyeballs in their own troubles, they don’t have time to think about me. I don’t blame them. It’s just there’s not a single person I can talk to about it that would understand. The world has taken a shit, and I’m the outhouse.

  Living in this situation where I’m continually acting the happy camper sucks. My happy face is beginning to resemble The Joker’s. My hope is for Cate to engage in life again, but I’m not sure if that’s going to happen anytime soon.

  As I’m driving to work, thick traffic fueling my inner rant, I run over something in the middle of the lane. It’s impossible to avoid, but soon after I hit it, my car makes a clanking sound. Great, just what I need. Now I’ll be late to work, and my boss is a real jerk. Better give him a call because I need to take this in to get checked out.

  After commanding my car’s smart link to call him, he answers right away.

  “Jenna? Are you calling to say you won’t be making it in today?”

  “I’m on the way in, but I just ran over something and my car is acting up. I need to take it in to get it checked out real quick.”

  There is a long, awkward pause, but I don’t kill it with my voice. I let him do that.

  “Hmm. Okay. Get here as fast as you can. And don’t stop anywhere after you get it checked out.”

  Really? What
am I going to do? Go shopping or something?

  “I will.” I head for my dealer, but traffic is at a crawl, and on the way I see an import repair shop with plenty of cars out front. I swing in knowing I need to get back to work ASAP, by the way my boss sounded. As I pull in, the noise has grown worse.

  A woman with dark hair and makeup, not to mention ink and piercings, greets me. “Can I help you?”

  “Uh, yeah. My car. I, uh, I hit something.”

  I’ve never had a meltdown or anxiety attack before, so I can’t explain it. All I know is that in that moment, everything closes in on me and the room starts to shrink. The door behind the counter opens, and a tall guy with jet-black hair and lots of colorful tattoos down both arms walks next to the woman and smiles at me.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Shaking my head, it must look nutty as hell.

  “You okay?”

  I clutch at my neck when my lungs suddenly constrict. I wheeze, “Can’t breathe.” What the hell is going on?

  The guy runs around the counter and asks me if I have any allergies.

  “No.” My face and hands feel like pins and needles are pricking them, so I tell him that.

  “Dana,” he says, “grab a paper bag from under there.”

  Then he tells me to hold it to my mouth and breathe in. His arm is around me as he explains I’m having a panic attack and I need to take in carbon dioxide. How does he know this? It’s worth a try, because if I don’t, I’ll die, I’m sure. Less than a minute later, I’m already feeling better. But he makes me continue to breathe this way until I’m completely relaxed. Then he takes it away. He crumples up the bag, and the sound it makes alerts me to my surrounding.