Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) Read online

  “Head forward,” Candy screamed.

  The sound of the groaning engine suddenly stopped and everything went deathly quiet. Taylor’s body felt weightless, like they’d been sucked into outer space.

  Panting hard, Taylor closed her eyes and gripped the armrests for dear life. They were falling out of the sky, and the only thing she could hear was Bennett’s voice in the background, yelling at someone to have their crews ready. Taylor braced for what was to come, but nothing could prepare her for the horrific, deafening sound of the plane’s hull slamming into the ground.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Taylor? Can you hear me?” Taylor felt a warm, rough hand stroking her cheek. “I need you to tell me if you feel any pain.”

  She knew she was in a state of shock, but more than anything she felt too terrified to open her eyes and see the damage. Not to the plane, but to the people on board and to her own body. The plane had slammed belly first into the ground, the crushing metal groaning and screeching as they came to a grinding halt.

  Still strapped into her seat, she carefully began flexing her limbs, fingers, and toes. She didn’t feel any discomfort.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes and glanced over at Candy, whose red hair was a tangled mess.

  “Taylor? Can you hear me?” Bennett bent down in front of her, those startling blue eyes intensely focused on her face. Taylor noted a small cut on his forehead and a little blood on his white shirt, but all-in-all he looked pretty damned pristine. Even his thick, brown hair was only mildly ruffled. As for the plane, bits and pieces of the aircraft’s interior covered the floor, but Taylor imagined the exterior resembled a junkyard sculpture.

  “Is everyone okay? Are you okay?” she said, trying to catch her breath.

  “Yes.” Bennett smiled, and it was a full-blown genuine smile. Luscious male lips curling up in the corners, complete with puckering dimples smack dab in the middle of each cheek. And those eyes: they were filled with a devilishly triumphant twinkle.

  It was then that Taylor noticed a small scar right under his lower lip, running diagonally toward the tip of his cleft chin. The stubble of his beard didn’t grow in that spot, so it must’ve been a deep cut. She wondered what story he’d tell about it. Another plane crash, perhaps? Skydiving accident?

  Why the hell am I staring at his chin? I just survived a plane crash. The sound of sirens screamed in the background, growing louder as the vehicles approached.

  “Where are we?” Taylor asked, unbuckling her seatbelt with her shaking hands.

  “Portland Airport. You stay in your seat until the paramedics look you over,” Bennett said. “You might have head trauma or a concussion.”

  Candy was already up and trying to pry open the door of the plane.

  “How come she’s walking around?” Taylor asked.

  “She’s an employee,” he said dismissively.

  Taylor’s jaw dropped.

  “I pay her well,” he added, “and it’s her job to ensure the safety of the passengers first.”

  That didn’t mean she couldn’t be injured or that she wasn’t in shock and deserving of his compassion, too.

  “She almost died because of you,” Taylor snapped.

  “She almost died because the plane’s computer had a glitch, and she lived because I landed the plane safely. Well, Frank and I.”

  “She works for you and almost lost her life on the job,” Taylor ranted. “Doesn’t that matter to you? Or what about you putting me on a plane against my will, and me almost dying because of it? But there you are congratulating yourself like you just won the gold medal in the Olympic daredevil medley. Do you have a heart or a soul anywhere inside there? Anywhere at all?”

  His icy disposition returned, and it seemed he was about to speak—no doubt to dish a heaping helping of ego-infested insults meant to belittle her—but the door pushed open and the emergency personnel poured in past Candy.

  Bennett stepped out of the way, and the paramedics descended upon Taylor. As they flashed lights in her eyes and held fingers in her face, Taylor caught a glimpse of his eyes, their expression somewhere between wounded and irate. Then they whisked Bennett away.

  All of a sudden, Taylor felt like the heartless one. Bennett Wade had saved her life. Why had she yelled at him like that?

  Shock. You’re in shock. And she’d lashed out at the man because of it.

  “Bennett! Wait!”

  But he was gone. And had he stayed, Taylor didn’t know what she would’ve said.

  Maybe…I’m sorry?

  Two Weeks Later

  Taylor pulled into her brother Jack’s driveway and turned off the engine. The two-day drive from Phoenix to Berkeley, California, had given her plenty of quiet time to think—something she’d not had much of since the crash.

  During her brief visit to the hospital that day in Portland, Mr. Wade’s assistant—a reserved, statuesque brunette with warm brown eyes, named Robin—had shown up to ensure Taylor was taken care of, including all of her hospital bills. Miraculously, no one had been hurt in the crash, but the press still mobbed her outside the hospital. Luckily, she’d gotten a call in to her father before he’d even seen the news.

  The scene didn’t look much different when she landed in Phoenix at two in the morning, or when she arrived at her apartment. “What thoughts were going through your mind, Taylor?” “What caused the crash?” “What were those final moments like with Mr. Wade before you hit the ground?” “Are you his lover?” The press lobbed dozens of inane questions at her every time she went outside. How the hell did they think she felt? The crash had scared the ever-loving crap out of her! And no! She wasn’t his lover—how could they even ask that stupid question? And how would she know what caused the crash? All Taylor knew was that they’d all survived with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. A damned miracle.

  After a week, the press finally moved on to chase something shinier, and Taylor began the soul-bruising task of packing up her apartment to move back to California. Everything would go into storage, and she would stay with Jack, the youngest of her three older brothers. Recently divorced with no kids, he had plenty of extra space and insisted Taylor stay as long as she needed.

  That was the second miracle Taylor experienced in recent days: Her family hadn’t said a word about her failed business venture. Nor had her father uttered a peep about how she’d quit her job—something that had been a topic of many heated debates since last February. But this time, not a word.

  They’re probably saving up all the lectures and criticisms for when they see me in person tonight. Like a school of judgment piranhas. It didn’t matter how old she got, the men in her family always treated her like she was a child in need of a “good strong talking-to.” But they liked to do it gang-style.

  Nevertheless, as Taylor stared from her car up at her brother’s two-story home with its dark brown shingles and its orange tree in the front yard, she felt grateful to have somewhere to land. She needed time to digest, to untangle the mess inside her head, and to figure out what to do next. With her debts, getting a job was certainly highest on her priority list, but her heart wasn’t ready to let go of her dream: HumanitE.

  I could reconsider Bennett’s offer, she thought for the five-hundredth time. It certainly would resolve her financial problems and give her the opportunity to pilot her training program. Not to mention having a client like Bennett Wade would make a nice springboard.

  But Bennett Wade? Bennett. Wade. There was simply no way for her to maintain her professional demeanor in his presence. The domineering, tactless, playboy-bully provoked so many emotions—outrage, fascination, disgust, and…well, she didn’t know, but those undecipherable sentiments were the source of many restless nights and cleaning episodes.

  On the other hand, maybe I need to give him a chance? After all, he did track me down in Seattle. Of course, he had probably already been there for some other business and just happened to realize she was in town at the same time.

&
nbsp; Fine. Okay. But he saved my life. He’d also taken care of her before and after the crash.

  The phone on the passenger seat of her car made a little chirp, reminding her that the battery was low again. She still felt a mixture of anxiety and excitement every time she looked at the thing. It was Bennett’s phone. He hadn’t disconnected the device after she’d forgotten about it being inside her pocket, but it also hadn’t rung even once. Odder still was the lack of a passcode.

  Of course, the only thing on the device—yes, she’d snooped, okay? Who wouldn’t?—was a record of that call from his mother plus some apps, including the tracking one, which as far as she could tell had remained active.

  At first, Taylor had thought to mail the thing back, but then two days after the crash, a text came in: I’m sorry. -B

  That’s all it had said.

  And, yes, she believed it had been meant for her. Bennett knew perfectly well she still had the phone. (Tracking app. Phoenix. Who else?)

  That was when Taylor felt an odd sort of closeness or connection or…something—she didn’t really know—with Bennett. He could’ve had Robin ask for it back. He could’ve deactivated it. But he hadn’t. And she knew he could check her location whenever he liked. Was he checking it now and knew she’d left Phoenix?

  Admittedly, it was a bizarrely intimate, private kind of thing, knowing that either of them could break the link at any time, yet neither of them had.

  But what was his excuse? Taylor obviously felt there was some unfinished business, but what about him? Was Bennett waiting for her to reply to the text? Was he waiting for her to apologize for having yelled at him after the crash? She didn’t know.

  Why not ask?

  Taylor thought it over for a moment. A quick conversation would help her settle the question related to accepting his offer. It would also allow her to finally say that she truly felt sorry for having yelled at him—it hadn’t been the time or the place to sermonize and was a complete knee jerk in the heat of the moment. Not my best moment.

  Taylor glanced at her watch. The question would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, Jack had invited over the whole family and her closest friends to welcome her home.

  Home. It really was nice to be back where she had all the support and love she needed to start over. Even if her brothers would give her a hard time for making some bad career choices.

  Taylor got out of the car, stretched her back, and then rang the doorbell. The door flew open and there was Jack, big strong Jack with his shaggy, light brown hair and bright green eyes, wearing a Forty-Niners apron and an oven mitt. His face immediately turned into a giant grin, and he pulled her inside for a rib-crushing hug.

  “Our Little Tiger is back.” Then, without warning, her brother began to cry.

  Taylor was speechless. Where was the customary dude-salute—the punch on the shoulder followed by the “When are we gonna toughen you up?” Or her other inspirational favorite, “What did you do this week to fuck up your life?” Also, he hadn’t called her “Little Tiger” in years. It was a nickname her brothers had given her because they said that she reminded them of a scrappy little tiger runt, all growls and tiny claws. In their minds, it was a term of endearment.

  Jack’s body shook with sobs as he hugged her, and Taylor simply couldn’t understand what was happening. Maybe he’s still not over Doris?

  After several awkward moments, Jack pulled away and stared down at her. “Sorry,” he wiped away his tears. “I guess I’m upset.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were still such a mess over Doris.” Taylor patted his arm.

  “What? No. I’m talking about you!”

  “Me?”

  “When we saw that news footage and you were on the plane…we all thought you were dead until Dad called us and…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes teared up again.

  Oh my God.

  Jack reached for Taylor and hugged her again, holding her tightly, sniffling. “I’m just so happy you’re here, Taylor.”

  Taylor tried to process, but it wasn’t easy. She had no idea he’d taken it so hard. She’d spoken to her father en route to the hospital that day, and while he hadn’t even heard the news himself yet, he had seemed fine. Plane engine trouble. Bumpy landing. Taylor’s safe. No problem. That’s what she remembered from the conversation. Her father had been the one to call everyone, including Sarah and Holly, to let them know she was all right. Of course, Taylor had spoken to her girlfriends about a dozen times since then—the three were already busy making plans for a girls’ night out—but she really hadn’t spoken to any of her brothers. She figured they were busy with their lives and since she was okay, no biggie.

  “I’m fine, Jack.” Taylor patted him on the back, her heart thumping at an uneasy pace. She’d always thought of her brothers as…well, sort of a bunch of tough guys, at least when it came to displays of emotion.

  If I was wrong about my own family, who else have I been wrong about?

  CHAPTER 4

  At eight o’clock the next morning, Taylor sprang from the bed in Jack’s guest room, feeling more energized and hopeful than she had in years. Even her urge to deep clean the house from top to bottom had been absent last night for the first time in months thanks to all the heartfelt hugs, good food, and great wine. No one had brought up the crash or the J.O.B. topic, and a different, more positive vibe had lingered in the air all night. Something about seeing her family’s reaction made her think. Maybe it wasn’t that people couldn’t change; it simply took the right catalyst to get them to open up those hidden, more caring behaviors.

  That was the key—the one thing missing from her training course. The question now was how to unlock the compassion inside all those stiff, cold executives.

  She needed a test case. And Bennett Wade would be perfect.

  Taylor bounced downstairs, knowing that Jack, a plastic surgeon who specialized in reconstructive surgery, had already left for work. She began combing through his cupboards, looking for coffee, but found the kitchen void of any real food.

  Eesh…She opened the refrigerator. Double eesh. Leftovers from last night’s dinner, sour milk, and a loaf of bread.

  Poor Jack. He used to be a major foodie, but that had been before his wife cheated and left him for another woman. A patient of his, no less. The saddest part of all was that he and Doris, his ex-wife, had been best friends since the second grade. Inseparable. Ball games, marathon running, cooking classes—the two had even gone to the same college. Then one day, she sat poor Jack down, told him the news, packed up her car, and left. Jack had been devastated. Honestly, Taylor couldn’t blame him. He’d been the perfect husband and faithful to a T despite the long line of women who’d thrown themselves at him over the years. As far as Taylor knew, Jack never so much as batted one curious eyelash their way. And she’d seen the adoring way he always stared at Doris when he thought no one was looking.

  Now he felt too afraid of getting hurt to even be casual friends with a woman.

  Taylor would definitely have to help Jack get back into the groove. But first, she needed to get her own life on track. Which is why an hour and a half later, she found herself in the heart of San Francisco’s Financial District, standing in the lobby of Wade Enterprises. The sterile but elegant decor—gleaming black marble floors that reflected the recessed lighting from above, dark geometric furniture, and floor-to-ceiling black and white prints of bridges, buildings, and other San Francisco landmarks—made the lobby feel more like a chic hotel than an office building.

  Taylor glanced down at her body feeling incredibly underdressed. She’d worn black flats, her favorite jeans, and a little cream-colored blouse. She’d pulled her long brown hair into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck and hadn’t bothered with any makeup. She didn’t know if Bennett was in town or not, but she planned to stop by and leave a note—yes, an apology for her irrational and rude behavior on the plane plus a request for a formal meeting at his earliest convenience.

 
Bennett’s phone was also inside the envelope. If she ended up working with him (with, not for) then the relationship needed to be one-hundred-percent professional. If she didn’t end up working with him, well, after she left her apology note, there was no reason to hang on to the device.

  “Your name?” asked the handsome Hispanic security guard in the gray uniform, seated behind a long, black granite counter just in front of the elevator bank.

  “Taylor Reed, but I’m just here to drop—”

  “One moment.” The man handed her a small, laminated executive visitor’s badge. “Take the elevator on the right, scan the badge over the security pad, and then proceed to the fortieth floor.”

  “I think you misunderstood. I just need to drop this off.” Taylor held out a manila envelope.

  “Robin requested I send you right up,” he replied.

  That’s odd. Unless…

  A little rush surged through her body. Bennett checked his app and knows I’m already here. Dammit, she really liked him spying on her. It was like their dirty little secret. God, I must be crazy.

  “Are you sure?” Taylor asked. “Because I didn’t tell anyone I was…” The man rattled the badge in front of her. “Thank you.” Taylor snagged it and proceeded to the elevator.

  Now she kicked herself for not having worn her grown-up clothes or some lip gloss, but she really had intended to be in and out and then go for a little walk around the city. Later, she would catch lunch with Sarah, who worked at the courthouse as a judge. That fact was still hard for Taylor to believe; Sarah used to be the biggest delinquent of them all in high school.

  Taylor scanned the badge over the pad inside the elevator, pressed the button for the fortieth floor, and then rode to the top. She exited into a private lobby where she immediately noticed how the large, well-lit space was warm and inviting, despite the masculine decor—dark wood floors, gray walls, and modernist furniture with red accent pillows in the sitting area. The place felt more like a cool bar or the office of a fashion designer than a corporate office.