Any Way You Slice It: An Upper Crust Novella (Upper Crust Series Book 1) Read online

  Any Way You Slice It, An Upper Crust Novella

  Copyright Monique McDonell

  Published by Redfish Publishing

  Cover design by Erin Cawood

  Interior layout: www.formatting4U.com

  All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author at [email protected] This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Chapter 1

  “It’ll be just like in Grease,” my friend Cherie said. “You’re Sandy, Piper and Aaron’s s Danny.”

  “Does your cousin look like John Travolta? Please tell me he’s not a Scientologist.”

  “No and no.”

  “Phew.”

  “Maybe it’s more like that movie with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. You know, The Proposal.”

  “Does he look like Ryan Reynolds?” It would be nice, but since I didn’t look anything like Sandra Bullock unless her hairdresser gave her curly red hair and freckles, that wouldn’t be fair to poor Ryan.

  She shook her head. “No, but more like him than Travolta. Aaron’s tall, with olive skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. You’ll like him.”

  “If I’m going to marry him, I sure hope so.” I took a sip of my martini. What the hell was I thinking? Why was I even contemplating arranging a marriage so I wouldn’t get deported and sent back to Australia?

  “Just meet Aaron,” Cherie said.

  “I don’t understand why your cousin would willingly marry me for no reason. He doesn’t know me—he does know this is a sexless marriage, right?”

  “Look, he’s a nice guy, Piper and he has his reasons. So he said he’d meet you and see where it went.”

  We were sitting in a booth in the corner of my regular hangout, O’Shaunnesy’s. It was a cold Friday night and there’s a ballgame on the many TV screens suspended from the ceiling above the bar. Most of the crowd was male. It’s usually like this. So you’d think if my usual hangout was a bar full of men I wouldn’t find it so hard to find one to marry, right?

  Wrong. Most of these guys who drink there are either married, think of me as their little sister, or are total losers. And many of them tick more than one box in those categories. I like this bar because they play rugby on the television sometimes and it helps with my homesickness. If I shout a round of drinks, a term I’ve taught the locals means to buy a round, they’ve even been known to let me watch a few minutes of cricket over the years.

  I like it here in America, but I still miss home. Still I needed to stay. Cherie came up with the hare-brained scheme that I should marry for a visa. I’m not entirely convinced it’s a good idea. Besides being illegal and could get me in a lot of trouble, I can’t imagine marrying a stranger. Or, for that matter, one wanting to marry me. Then again, I know no one who’d love me enough to want to marry me either.

  I checked my watch. It was bang on seven.

  A shadow fell over the booth and I looked up to see a tall man about thirty leaning over the booth.

  “Hey, Cherie.”

  She jumped up to hug him. She’s right that he doesn’t look un-like Ryan Reynolds as he is tall, dark and not unattractive. He smiled at me and held out his hand.

  “You must be Piper.”

  Must I? Why must I be Piper? Why can’t I be someone who can find a nice boyfriend and keep him?

  “I am. It’s nice to meet you, Aaron.”

  I signaled Jimmy behind the bar who brought us a round of beers and some fries while Aaron slid into the booth next to Cherie.

  “Well, this is awkward,” I say, redoing my ponytail, one of my many nervous habits.

  Then I drain my martini. Another one. I probably should have gone with that one first since it’s much more rewarding than the ponytail thing.

  “I’d say weird more than awkward.” He grins.

  Jimmy places the beers in front of us.

  “A toast,” says Cherie. “To the bride and groom.”

  Oh brother, what am I doing?

  “So Aaron, tell me a bit about yourself.” I take a sip of my beer because I need some serious fortification.

  “I’m a lawyer. Born and bred here. Only child. I like baseball and Jimmy Buffet.”

  “You’re a lawyer?” Why would a lawyer do this I wanted to ask?

  “Yep. I work at a large firm. I’m on partner track.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “They think partners should have wives.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Cherie tells me you’re a successful business woman and you’re about to take it to the next level. That’s the sort of thing lawyers-on-partner-track are supposed to find sexy. That or a wife who does nothing but cater to his every whim, but I think I’ll go with option A.”

  “Well, yes, my business is expanding, and it’s very time-consuming, but in a really good way.”

  “Like my job,” he said. “So basically, we’re two workaholics who’ve been unlucky in love until now.” He winked.

  “Ah yes, until now.”

  I had to admit I kind of liked him. Not in a zing!-boom!-bam! I’m-in-love kind of way but in a-hey-dude-you-want-to-watch-a-ball-game-and-grab-a-beer kind of way. He was cute. He scrubbed up okay. He was intelligent.

  “See?” Cherie interjected. “I knew this would work. I knew it.” She stood. I felt panic stricken. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a real date. I’ll let you two bond.”

  Then she was gone and there I was alone with my soon-to-be possible husband.

  This was a doozy of a Friday night.

  “So tell me how you came to be living in Boston, Piper.”

  “It’s a classic tale. Girl meets boy, boy invites her to move overseas with him, boy dumps girl, and girl stays until her visa is about to run out.”

  He smiled. “Ah yes. A true classic.”

  Time for putting the cards on the table. “I’ve been here four years now and my visa is expiring. My business is going well and I don’t want to leave. I started my own food truck selling Aussie meat pies, and now I have a small fleet of them. Four to be exact. We’re called Pied Piper’s Pies, and I’m looking to expand. In fact, I have a large multi-national looking to buy my model and franchise me. It’s a very bad time for me to leave.”

  “So how do you see this playing out?”

  That’s a good question. I haven’t exactly ironed out the details since Cherie and I came up with this hare-brained scheme earlier in the week.

  “I’m open to suggestions. Obviously, we’d need a wedding. We can go to the courthouse or we could go to Vegas. And then we’d need to move in together.”

  “Your place or mine?” he as
ked.

  “Where do you live? I live over on Delancey, but it’s above my commercial kitchen so I don’t think it would be your idea of heaven. Although it is very convenient as I get up to bake at 2 a.m.”

  “Wow, that’s early.” He shook his head and took a swig of beer.

  “Yes, but there’s no traffic at that time so I could move to your place if you prefer. I don’t know that lawyers on the partner track live over kitchens.”

  “Are your pies good?” he asked as he ran his finger slowly along the rim of his glass.

  “My pies are freaking amazing.”

  “I’m marrying a woman who makes awesome pies. Cool.” He chugged some beer. Maybe he was nervous, too. “What else should I know about you? When was your last relationship?”

  “It ended three years ago. I followed him here to the States and it didn’t work. Kind of messy. You?”

  “I’m actually kind of seeing someone…”

  “And you’re going to get married?” Talk about a recipe for disaster. “She may not be too thrilled.”

  “She’s already married.”

  Okay, that was kind of scuzzy. Sleeping with someone else’s wife is really uncool. I scrunched up my nose at him and he dropped his head, returning his eyes to his beer glass.

  “Hey, don’t judge me. Anyway, I’ll break it off once we’re married.”

  “Do you work with her?”

  “Yep.”

  “Will that be awkward?” How it could not be?

  “Probably but it’s dead in the water end and time to end it, considering--as any fool knows—I never should have started it. Not my finest moment, I’ll concede. Whenever I break it off, it’s going to be awkward. My wedding will be a good excuse.”

  “Maybe our dating will be excuse enough.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. If the woman in question didn’t respect her own vows, would she respect ours? Then again this arrangement we were entering into wasn’t entirely above board either so maybe it wasn’t my place to judge.

  “You didn’t tell me where you live.” I said.

  He gave me his address. It was a very swanky neighborhood that didn’t allow pie trucks and was way more up-market than anything I was used to.

  “In the interests of full disclosure I should tell you my place is too big for me anyway, so having you there will be nice.”

  Nice. Was being married to Aaron going to be nice? God, what was I doing?

  “So you work from 2 or 3 in the morning until when?”

  “Maybe five. Then I usually get a burger or a beer or whatever, and I’m in bed by eight. Except Friday and Saturday nights when I usually work later.”

  “You have a grueling schedule.” He’d moved down the booth and was sitting with his legs dangling off the edge of the vinyl bench.

  I did the same. “I know. I have potential buyers looking at my business, I’m hoping in another twelve months I can step back and reap the rewards.”

  “And I work eight until about seven or eight. I play ball on Saturdays, but it’s hit-or-miss. Most Sundays I have a family thing, like a christening, or wedding, or birthday. I do try to get out of them but usually end up going to maybe one a month.”

  “So we’ll be ships passing.” That could actually be what will make this work. “I don’t work Sundays but I’m not big on family things.”

  “You’ll have to do a few. For appearances. Cherie’s usually there.” He shrugged. “How’d you meet her anyway?”

  “She rented me my kitchen. I think that girl can make friends with anyone.”

  “True. What about you? Have you got loads of friends?”

  I had to think about that. I’d been here four years and had gotten to know a few people. I had eight employees, some were friends, and I knew my neighbors but I all I seemed to do was work and come to O’Shaunnessy’s.

  “Not that many. Too busy working. You?”

  “Yeah, hometown boy. It’s part and parcel. They’ll like you, my friends.”

  That was something I hadn’t considered. His friends and his family, and how they felt about me. Mine were too far away to question me and, frankly, I didn’t think they cared much who I married or what I did. Oh, my dad was hoping my business would sell and I’d be loaded, but that was about money and not about me or my happiness.

  “So, Aaron, do you want to take a beat and think about this?”

  “How about this? I‘ll meet you wherever you’re working tomorrow night for a pie and then I’ll take you to a party I need to attend. Let’s see if we can pull off a date before we try marriage.”

  “I’m not great at parties.” I always felt self-conscious and awkward.

  “You’ll be fine. It’s not very fancy. The dress code is semi-formal meets smart casual I’m told...”

  My experience of corporate events is somewhat limited. “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “Ask Cherie. She’ll know.”

  “Okay.” I needed to make this arrangement very clear to him. “Cards on the table. This is purely a business arrangement. We wait a couple of years and divorce. This is not a friends-with-benefits situation, Aaron.”

  “I’m flattered you think of me that way so soon,” he teased. “Don’t worry, I was well briefed. Purely business, I agree. Although if we’re living together, I sure hope we can at least be friends without benefits."

  “Me, too.”

  Chapter 2

  I was extra busy all day and manned the pie truck at some outdoor markets in the evening. The night was cool which made the pies were very popular. Around nine, I saw Aaron leaning against a tree, drinking a beer and watching me. I waved and got back to business.

  After a few minutes, the crowd thinned and he approached the truck.

  “Busy night?”

  “Sure is. Can I get you a pie?”

  “What’s the special?”

  “We do all sorts of gourmet ones, like curried chicken, or Mexican, or beef and mushroom, but I think you should start off with a traditional Aussie meat pie.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  I handed him a pie and advised him to load it with ketchup or, as we call it back home in Australia, tomato sauce.

  “I’m closing at nine-thirty. Not long to go. We’re almost sold out anyway.”

  He moved aside and I served a few more customers. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him savoring the deliciousness of the meat pie. He certainly looked like he was enjoying it, thank God. If he didn’t like my pies, the marriage was definitely off. It might be a business arrangement, but he needed to at least like my business for this to work.

  At nine twenty-five, I pulled down the shutter. Stan had agreed to do the clean-up and drive the truck back. That left me free to glam up for our date.

  I stuck my head out the back of the truck and called to Aaron. “Give me ten.”

  Have you ever gotten ready for a date in the back of a truck? Stan stepped out for a cigarette so I gave myself a wipe with some body towelettes. I layered on the deodorant and perfume and hook down my ponytail. I put on some very tight black pants, a backless silver top, and silver heels. I added a pair of hoop earrings, a denim jacket, and make-up. I don’t wear it often, but I applied powder, mascara, black eyeliner, and some gloss.

  “That’s the best I can do,” I said to myself as I grabbed my bag and headed out to meet Aaron.

  “Wow. You look…amazing,” he said as I emerged from the back of the pie truck.

  “No need to sound so shocked, you know.” Sure, to this point he’d only seen me in jeans and a sweatshirt as well as my work uniform of catering whites, but still, surely I had the potential to scrub up all right.

  “Sorry, it’s just that, well, you’re really beautiful.”

  I felt a blush rise up my face. “No worries and, thanks, I think. How was the pie?”

  “Amazing. She’s beautiful and she cooks; this could be a marriage made in heaven.”

  He put his hand in the small of my back and it me
t skin. His hand was warm and I got goose bumps all over. He lifted up the back of my jacket to determine what I had going on under there. I guess he was surprised that his hand sound flesh. “That is a very sexy top.”

  He returned his hand to the small of my back and guided me along towards the edge of the park.

  “Where’s the party?”

  He pointed up to the top of a tall apartment block. “Penthouse.”

  “So my people hang in the park and your people hang in the penthouse.”

  “Our people. They’re our people now, Piper.” He grinned at me.

  “Okay. And whose party is it?”

  “Remember that girl I said I was seeing?” His voice trailed away and a sheepish expression crept across his face.

  “Are you shitting me?” I asked.

  “I shit you not.” The sheepish expression was replaced by a grin.

  “Our first date is to your girlfriend’s place? Seriously?”

  “Well, I think it will make it obvious to her that I’m seeing someone else. Then when we get married my work people will already have met you and it will be less weird.”

  “But weirder for tonight, though.”

  “I guess so.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And in the interests of full disclosure, her husband is one of the partners and our host.”

  “Fantastic.” I sighed. I was already tired and a little bit anxious but these complications had my body prickling with sweat. “Okay, so can we stop? Can we take a moment to get our story straight here?”

  We agreed that we’d known each other a month. We met via Cherie. So far it was pretty casual. It was our third date.

  “You added that because of the third date rule.”

  “What third date rule?” He feigned ignorance.

  “You know the one that says you have to put out on the third date. You did that to make your girlfriend jealous, didn’t you?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he protested.

  “Not anymore she’s not.” I looped my arm through his in a show of possessiveness.

  Her name was Ophelia. Poor girl. What a terrible affliction for a kid to be named after a tragic Shakespearean character. Still, she was statuesque, blonde, and freckle-free. The antithesis to little old red-headed me.