Woke

  Woke

  Peggy Jaeger

  Copyright © 2020 by Margaret-Mary Jaeger.

  All rights reserved. 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 publisher, 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

  Peggyjaeger.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design: ©2020 Just.Write.Creations J.M. Walker

  Woke/ Peggy Jaeger. -- 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-7340841-1-5

  To my forever friends who always have my back…. Jill, Sue, Lauri and Cheryl

  Waking up each day is a gift.

  ―Aurora Brightwell

  Other books by Peggy Jaeger

  The MacQuire Women Series

  Skater’s Waltz

  There’s No Place Like Home

  First Impressions

  The Voices of Angels

  Passion’s Palette

  The San Valentino Family

  3 Wishes (A Candy Hearts Romance)

  A Kiss Under the Christmas Lights

  Christmas & Cannolis

  A Match Made in Heaven

  Dearly Beloved

  Today, Tomorrow, Always

  Baked with Love (coming 2020)

  A Pride of Brothers

  Rick book 1

  Hope’s Dream (a Deerbourne Inn Novella)

  A Holiday Promise (Holiday Anthology)

  Falling for You (Chapter Anthology)

  Be My Hero (Candy Hearts Anthology)

  Vanilla with a Twist (One Scoop or Two )

  The Will Cook for Love Series

  Cooking with Kandy

  A Shot at Love

  Can’t Stand the Heat

  Dirty Damsels ( DotComGirls Series)

  It’s A Trust Thing ( DotComGirls Series)

  Chapter One

  Fifteen years ago, NYC

  “Do you think the Valentino gold would look better, Maeve, or the Versace green?”

  I stepped from my room-length closet holding each of the dresses up on their hangers for her opinion. “I like the gold because it’s so bright and the club will be dark, but there’s something about the green that just speaks to me, you know?”

  Maeve lips twitched as she tilted her head at me.

  “What it speaks to, young lady, is your coloring, and know it well, you do.” Ireland whispered in her words as she fisted her tiny hands on her uniformed hips. “A green as deep and rich as that”—she thrust her heart shaped chin at the Versace—“brings out the crystal blue in your eyes and plays off those blond highlights you had put in your hair. Although why any girl would want to change the color of a red so beautiful and vibrant, I certainly don’t know.”

  I laughed. “Vanity, thy name is…me. Plus, the press keeps referring to me as ‘Russet Rory,’ so I knew it was time to change things up a bit.”

  I tossed the gold dress onto the bed, held the green one up to myself and inspected how it looked in my full length tri-mirror, which – once upon a time – had been my grandmother’s. That same recently highlighted hair was twined into a topknot, tiny, errant curls dangling down my back and whisking across my cheeks. I did a quick twirl to the left to see how the dress looked from that angle, then the right.

  Decision made. “The green it is.”

  “You’ll be wanting the bronze sling backs.” Maeve disappeared into the closet, returning with the shoes. “And the little clutch that goes with them, too, yes?” She laid both on the bed then put the discarded Valentino back in the closet, while I sat at my vanity.

  “What were you thinking for sparkles, then?”

  I grinned at the way she always described my jewelry. “The necklace from mom and dad for sure, since it was my birthday present. The diamond earrings from Aunt Greta and the bracelet I got in St. Bart’s that matches it. I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

  While she went to the closet safe, I began applying my makeup. I could have hired a glam squad for the night, but kept forgetting to book them. In one hour I was due to meet one hundred of my closest friends at the trendiest new nightclub in Tribeca, the Poison Pit, to celebrate my twenty-first birthday. I’d hired party planner extraordinaire Killian Beggs to put the event together and he’d assured me my birthday bash would be a night no one would soon forget. My father had given me carte blanche to make it a party befitting his only daughter and in Killian’s able hands, I knew the party was going to be a blast. In fact, I’d bet cash money that Page 6 and a few of the other city gossip rags would be reporting on the party of the season.

  I could practically see the headlines now: Russet Rory finally legal! Or Daddy’s little princess comes of age and into billions.

  Vultures, every last one of them. Unfortunately, the Brightwell name sold papers and when said Brightwell was the heiress to a multi-billion dollar fortune, well, money makes for good copy.

  “Miss Doubletree’s on her way up,” Maeve said when she came back into the room. It was impossible to miss the censure in her tone, try though I knew she did to hide it.

  “I know you disapprove of Phil, Maeve, but she’s my oldest friend. I wouldn’t have survived those horrible years at the Thornton School if it weren’t for her.”

  “It’s not that I disapprove of her. It’s more that she’s a bit uppity for my taste and…rude. All that family money has spoiled her. She’s never had to work a day in her life for anything.”

  “You could say the same for me, you know. I was born with a proverbial silver spoon in my greedy little hands, too.”

  “But you don’t rub it in anyone’s noses. Phillipa Doubletree does. Always looking down her own nose at people; talking in that affected tone like she was the Queen of England when she was born right here in the US of A. Besides, once you graduate from college you’ve got a plan that involves something other than marrying a future president and having little ones to carry on the family name. You’re going to do great things with your life. I know it.”

  I laughed again, stood, and hugged the diminutive woman who’d been a fixture in my life since the day I’d been born.

  “Always my champion, aren’t you Maeve? What do you always say? ‘From your lips to God’s ears?’”

  Maeve returned the hug with a few pats on my back.

  “I’ve been with you since the day your parents brought you home and have watched you grow into a wonderful, beautiful, and smart young woman,” Maeve said. “T’is easy to be a champion when given a charge such as that. And don’t be denying the listening power of God. A good prayer goes a long way.”

  With another chuckle, I settled back down at the vanity and pulled my mass of hair from its knot. After giving it a good shake, the tresses tumbled down almost to my waist, curls corkscrewing about my shoulders and back.

  “Are you going to wear it down tonight, then?”

  “I think so. It’ll be easier when I’m dancing- which I plan to do all night - if I don’t have to worry about it falling down from some elaborate twist.”

  “Plus you know it looks fabulous down and all the hot men will be drawn to you like bankers to money,” Phillipa Doubletree said, her tone as dry as dust, as she strode into my bedroom.

  “There’s that,” I said. “You look pret
ty.”

  A black slip dress ended mid-thigh making Phillipa’s naked legs look yards long. Her recent trip to San Tropez was evident in the sun-kissed bronze shading her naturally pale skin. Four-inch midnight colored sandals shod her feet making her a good foot taller than Maeve.

  “I love those shoes,” I said, sweeping blush over my cheeks. “I have the same ones in white and pink.”

  “You can never have too many Manolo’s,” Phillipa stated, plopping down on the brocade chaise across from the bed. “Here, I brought this to get us started.” She held up a bottle of Cristal. “Capshaw, be a dear and uncork this.”

  My maid’s lips were pressed so tight together as she took the bottle, it was a marvel they didn’t blanch.

  “Shall I bring up glasses, Miss?” she addressed me.

  “Please, and thank you.”

  The hard blue-eyed glare she’d given Phillipa softened when she looked my way.

  As soon as she quit the room, I turned to my best friend. “You could be nicer to her, you know.”

  Phillipa waved a hand dismissively. “She doesn’t like me so it doesn’t matter how I treat her. I can be sweet and darling and she’d still look down her nose at me.”

  “Funny, but she said the same thing about you right before you got here.”

  Phillipa did what she always did when she didn’t want to discuss something: she waved her hand in the air as if swatting an annoying insect.

  “The car’s downstairs for whenever you’re ready to leave,” she said. “I told Murphy we were planning on it being a late night.” She pulled her phone from her tiny Chanel bag and began scrolling through her messages. When she stopped a tiny line popped up on her forehead between her perfectly arched eyebrows.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just Trey being his regular ass-self.”

  “What’s he done this time?”

  She lifted a shoulder and then crossed her arms over her chest. “The usual crap. Ignoring my texts until he wants to answer them. He bailed on meeting up last night. Said he had something else to do and then I saw a pic of him at a party downtown. He looked wasted.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I swear, you two have the most toxic relationship. I don’t know why you just don’t break up. You fight more than you don’t.”

  Phillipa dragged a hand through her long blonde tresses. She bit down on the corner of her mouth and confessed, “I met someone.”

  “You did? Where?”

  She shrugged. “Just around. We’ve been seeing each other a few weeks. Just casual.”

  “Does Trey know?”

  Phillipa snorted. “I doubt it.”

  She twisted a lock of her hair between her fingers. “I, uh, I invited him to come tonight. I don’t know if he can, but he said he’d try.”

  Turning from the mirror, I regarded my oldest friend with a raised eyebrow. “You invited a guy to my birthday party when you knew Trey was going to be there?”

  Phillipa nodded.

  “Okay, so what about that situation doesn’t scream potential disaster to you? You invite a new guy someplace where you know your jealous boyfriend is gonna be. I mean, did you even consider something bad could happen?”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Phil, maybe a fight breaking out?”

  Phillipa’s blank stare confirmed the fact my sarcasm, as always, was lost on her.

  “You seriously never thought something bad could happen if your new mystery man meets the guy you’ve been seeing since you were twelve? Knowing how hot headed Trey is and how possessive he can be?”

  Phillipa stayed silent.

  “Or was that your plan all along?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I slid out of my robe and stood in nothing but my lace thong. I’d known Phil since the cradle and we’d roomed together all through boarding school. She was as used to seeing me in the buff as I was her.

  I pulled the green dress from the bed and stepped into it, saying, “I think you want Trey to see you with this guy. To shove it in his face and make him jealous. Pay him back for ignoring you.”

  From the way she squirmed on the chaise and the fact she couldn’t look me in the eye, I knew I was right. Phillipa had always been spoiled and self centered – Maeve hadn’t been wrong about that. But I couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen how this could potentially spoil my evening, not to mention lead to something physical going down.

  Trey Bookman wasn’t known for his sense of control, especially when it concerned Phillipa. Disaster was written all over this and my concern was valid.

  Maeve came back carrying a silver tray with the uncorked champagne bottle and two flutes.

  “Just leave it, Maeve,” I said.

  My maid’s gaze bounced between us, suspicion clouding her eyes. I sent up a silent prayer she wouldn’t comment on the tension floating about the room.

  “Thanks.”

  With a head bob and her back as straight as an arrow, she left us alone.

  Phillipa rose and filled each of the flutes. “Look, Rory,” she handed me a glass, “I promise nothing will happen tonight. It’s your day, your party, and I want it to be wonderful. Besides, he probably won’t even show. He told me he’s working late.”

  “Working? Since when do you date a guy with a job? Who is he, Phil?”

  With another impatient wave, Phillipa said, “You don’t know him, but don’t worry. Now,” she clinked her glass with mine. “Happy birthday to my best friend. I hope you get everything you wished for and more.”

  When she downed the liquid in one long chug, I wondered why my best friend’s words sounded ominous.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “This shrimp pate is off the charts,” I told Killian Beggs a few hours later.

  “I’m glad you like it,” the party planner said, a pleased smile gracing his angular face. “Are you enjoying your party?”

  “Totes.” I popped another appetizer into my mouth and couldn’t stop a groan from pushing through my lips. “Oh, God, these are too good. I need to stop or the zipper on my dress is gonna pop.”

  I downed the remaining champagne in my flute, slammed the empty glass down on the table and, after bussing Killian’s cheek, made my way back out to the jammed dance floor.

  The DJ had played non-stop since Phil and I made our entrance and I’d taken every opportunity to dance off the delicious food and bubbly Killian had ordered. One hundred invitations had been sent out but the club, which Killian had rented for the event, held at least twice that. Everyone appeared to be having a great time.

  All but my best friend, that is.

  Phillipa was drinking more and more, not eating, and kept throwing furtive glances at the man who’d stayed glued to her side since the moment she’d walked into the club.

  James Bookman the Third, better known to all of his friends and family as Trey, wasn’t letting his girlfriend out of his sight. Every move she made, whether to dance or speak with some of the other guests, he was right there, one arm possessively tossed over her thin shoulders or else holding on to her elbow or hand. He’d planted a quick kiss to my cheek with a “Happy Birthday, babe,” tossed in before he’d grabbed Phillipa and maneuvered her onto the dance floor.

  Since then she hadn’t been alone once.

  The nerves vibrating from her were palpable. I’d tried to pull her away from Trey for a few moments, only to have him follow us to the ladies room where he waited outside the door.

  “What’s going on with him?” I asked. “He’s acting worse than usual.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He hasn’t left your side for a second.”

  Phillip nodded.

  “He looks a little hyper, too. His hands are going non-stop when he talks and he keeps looking around, like his eyes can’t settle on the person he’s talking to.”

  “I think he’s looking for someone.”

  “Your mystery man, maybe?”

  Phillipa lifted a shoulder. “I do
n’t know. They don’t know about the other.”

  “And he hasn’t shown?”

  “No.” She pulled her phone out of her bag. “Nothing,” she said after checking her messages. “Maybe he’s on his way and got stuck in traffic.”

  “Or he’s planning a no-show,” I said, “which would be better for everyone.”

  Phillipa nodded.

  “We can’t stay in here forever, Phil. I want to enjoy my party.”

  “Go. Go have fun. I’m gonna just…fix my face, wait another minute before I go back out.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Your face is as beautiful as it always is.”

  She waved her hands at me in a get-going gesture.

  True to form, Trey was leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest.

  “She okay?” he asked.

  “She just needs a minute.” When I tried to walk by him he reached out and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me to a stop.

  The sudden and unexpected movement sent my spidey-senses flaring. At the best of times I don’t like to be manhandled. Trey acting so bizarre only made me more so.

  “Hey.” I yanked back my arm and tried to step back. He held on. “Let go of me, Trey. Now.”

  Even though I couldn’t see him very well in the dimly lit corridor, I could tell his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

  “Sorry.” He dropped his hand then immediately shot it through the hair at his temple. “I just…”

  “What is wrong with you tonight?” I asked. “This is my birthday party, you know. Everyone is supposed to be having fun but you look like you just found out your dog died. What gives?”

  He wouldn’t look me in the eye, simply shook his head and stared down at the floor.