Chapter 1 • Her Waste of Time

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E M I L E E

Could the clock move any slower?

I glance up—for the hundredth time today—to the grandfather clock in the corner of my office and see four minutes have passed since I last checked. Well, that answered that question. Yes, it apparently can move slower.

I suppose they do say a watched pot never boils—that has definitely been the case today. The clock hands are ticking slower than molasses. It's hard not to watch it though. I'm hearing bells—wedding bells.

I lean down below my desk and pull my purse out from beneath it to retrieve my favorite Erin Condren planner. The teal cover matches the bridesmaid dresses and accent colors I selected for the wedding. Future Mrs. Carlisle is scrolled across the bottom in silver letters, and just looking at it makes me swoon at the thought that in four days, my name will no longer be Sanders, but Emilee Carlisle. Mrs. Cody Carlisle to be exact.

I lick the tip of my middle finger and begin flipping through each page, ensuring that every item of every list has been checked off. I love lists. There's something about them—how they can start off so small and grow to the point where they cause you anxiety, only to feel a little excitement as you slowly and continuously cross things off of it. I think it's the organized office-nerd in me.  I mean shit, finishing a good list is practically orgasmic.

I run my finger down each page, seeing a few things I might be able to accomplish after my workday of being a paralegal at Ruhter & Laughlin Law. I need to finish my vows and pick up some nice stationary to write them on, pick up my veil from the bridal shop, and I could definitely wrap the bridesmaid gifts tonight with this adorable teal and silver wrapping paper I found at Michaels. My night seems to be filling up nicely. It would definitely stop me from watching the clock for a few hours, at least until Cody gets home.

Of course, as I'm about to cross a few things off of my list the phone beside me rings. How dare they assume I'm working at work.

I sigh before picking up. "Ruhter and Laughlin Law, this is Emilee Sanders. How may I help you?"

"You know I can see you with that damn book out, right?"

I shift so I can see Kara through the crack of her open door. "Yeah, so?"

"You're a terrible employee," she chortles as I see her shaking her head at me. She tosses her long black hair over her shoulder and presses the phone between her ear and shoulder as she continues her paperwork.

"Well, you're a terrible boss," I counter with sarcasm. "Possibly the worst."

"Bitch, you lie!" I hear her laugh echo from her office and through the phone. I look back across the hall to watch her open a drawer and pull out a pair of scissors. "Be nice to me. I'll cut off all this hair I've been growing for your wedding."

My mouth falls open. "Don't you dare!"

I have the cutest updos planned for both of my bridesmaids. My hair will be down in loose curls with my mom's veil pinned to the back.

"I hate it, Em. I swear, I may skip the reception to hack it all off!"

"You won't have time. I have every second of your day planned." I flip to the page labeled Maid of Honor just to be sure.  Yep, she's booked. Every single line of the page has been filled for her.

"Fine. The day after, then," she mutters and looks back to me. "I know you aren't getting anything done. Why don't you just leave now and start your vacation early?  You're giving yourself early onset gray hair by worrying about everything you still need to finish."

I clutch a handful of my bangs and hold them out in front of my eyes. "Shut up! I am not!"

The line goes dead, and when I look up, my bestie is already standing in my doorway, looking professional and gorgeous in a slimming burgundy dress with a squared neckline. She always looks amazing. 

"Em, you don't have to make everything perfect. Stop planning. Calm down and enjoy the ride. You're only getting married once."

This—coming from a woman that literally makes her money off of marriages that end—makes me laugh. I'm not worried about mine. Cody and I have both been waiting for this day for a long time.

I do lean back in my seat and sulk a bit, though. I know I'm a bit obsessive when it comes to things like this, and it drives my friends crazy. I try not to live my life so planned out, but it's just the way I function. Spontaneous isn't exactly a word in my vocabulary. Even the thought of spontaneity makes my anxiety rear its ugly head.

"You seriously need a vacation. You need to relax," she concludes and walks back to her office. "Go home!"

Pfft. In seven days, I will be on my honeymoon in Bali. A dream vacation. I can destress at that time. For now, there's so much to do.

I take Kara's advice, packing up my desk accordingly and turning off my computer. As I pack up my purse, I hear the familiar chime of the door. This would be the time when a client walks in. It's been dead quiet all day. I don't even look up as they approach, too consumed in the thought that this is the start of my wedding vacation.

"I'm here to see Kara Laughlin," a male's deep voice sounds above me. "I'm supposed to finalize my divorce papers."

I can't help but to notice the solemn tone in his voice while I'm here practically bouncing in my seat to run off and marry the love of my life.

"Her office is right across the hall, you can go on in." I motion to it as I grab my wedding planner and place it back into my purse.

"Thanks."

I look up as he walks off, seeing the back of his head that is focused on his feet as he walks. His hands are tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans. It's a normal sight to see here—a spouse in ruins. I easily get the impression that the divorce was not his idea.

Kara immediately stands from her desk and engulfs the man into a hug with a few pats on the back. As I walk past her office to leave, I hear her mutter some things about his apparent ex—her loss, I still can't believe it, you could do so much better. It's obvious Kara knows him outside of this office. Kara and I have mostly the same group of friends—besties since I was in third grade, while she was in fifth. I don't believe I've seen him before, but all I'm seeing is a young, muscular, white male with short black hair. Not much to go off of. He likely is a friend of her fiancé, Jake.

I give her a wave, allowing her to see that I'm leaving, and she offers one back still keeping her hug with the man. Well, nothing to put a damper on those wedding vibes like seeing a guy's marriage crumble. That was the price that came with working for divorce lawyers.  Sometimes you saw the spouse that was elated to be free, and sometimes you saw the ones that were heartbroken.

I'm definitely ready to get away from this office that focuses on divorce for the next three weeks. Bring on wedding vacay!

•  •  •

"We just foiled your hair two weeks ago!" Gretchen clutches a chunk of my long, blonde hair and waves it. "Why are we doing it again?"

"Kara made a comment about my hair being gray."

Gretchen's eyes narrow and she lets out a small curse. "Her hair is graying. I have never seen one gray hair on your head.  You're twenty-two, for fuck's sake!"

"Please, Gretch? One last foil before the wedding?" I stick out my bottom lip in a pout. I know I will obsess over this until she fixes it. What if Kara saw one that Gretchen missed? What if it shows up in my pictures?

"Fine!" My pink-haired friend tosses a black cape over me and begins pumping the chair to a higher setting using her foot. "Are we sticking with the same color and length?"

"Of course!" I reply with a smile. I knew I could talk her into this. She loves me.

She walks off with an eye roll to mix her colors. There's no way I would change my color completely. I just want to give some depth to my natural blonde—it makes my greenish-blue eyes pop. Same with the length, it is perfect as it is, falling a few inches below my shoulders—long enough to put up or wear down in a loose curl. Gretchen is the only one I allow to touch my hair. She's been doing it for the last five years, and I consider her one of my closest friends.

"So," Gretchen returns, stirring a cup of pink goop—I never understood how pink could come out blonde. "All done planning? Ready to marry your man this weekend?"

I happily nod yes. "A few more things to check off the list but I'm feeling more ready than ever."

She chuckles and begins grabbing chunks of hair, brushing the pink mixture onto it and folding the foils.

"What's last on it, that virginity of yours?"

When I don't answer her, the foiling stops. I look up and meet her wide eyes in the mirror of her work station. She quickly tosses her bowl and brush to the counter and spins my chair, forcing me to look at her directly.

"You finally did it?" her bright red lips part and hang open, "WHEN?"

My face flushes a hot shade of pink. "Last week," I mutter and can't help but to smile like a giddy teenager on prom night.

It wasn't exactly a secret that Cody and I had decided to wait until marriage. When all of your friends constantly talk about their sex lives and you have nothing to offer to the conversation, it's a bit obvious. We have done other things. We aren't complete prudes. We just held off on the actual intercourse.

"But I thought you were waiting?"

I shrug. "We did. Close enough, anyways. I didn't want the first time to be awkward and painful during our honeymoon. This way we will both be completely relaxed and not have to worry about it."

She spins me around again and continues her foils. "And?" she smirks devilishly.

"It was just that—awkward and painful," I giggle. "But it was amazing. I couldn't imagine doing this with anyone but him. He was the perfect gentleman. He cooked dinner, lit candles, laid rose petals, all of it."

Her head shakes with a smile. "You're a lucky girl, Em. That man is too good to be true."

She's right; he's the best. I'm still not sure how I was lucky enough to snag him. We've been dating since sophomore year of high school. He's always been the sweetest guy ever. He waited a long time for me to say I was ready to be with him in that way. We came close many times, but he never argued when I said I wasn't ready. I think waiting this long is what made last week extra special. Losing it to each other was one more bond we shared, and the wait was worth it.

As Gretchen finishes my foiling, this is practically all we discuss. She always was the sexual one of our little group. I swear, everything I know about sex I have learned from her. She always makes it interesting with her tales of being with men and women—sometimes both at the same time. We love her for it and she definitely keeps our conversations vivid. I seem to be the uptight friend, with Gretchen as our the child and Kara being the levelheaded one. How the three of us have been best friends all these years with being so different is beyond me.

As I leave Gretchen's salon, I give her a small wave and remind her that her pink hair needs to disappear before Saturday. She rolls her eyes, but I take it as a yes. I just pray I can get her to tame her makeup before then. I can handle the winged liner; it's the rainbow-glitter eyeshadow that needs to go. If that's what she wants on me when she gets hitched, I'll do it for her. So, she better stick with subtle for me.

• • •

Even with the rush hour Minneapolis traffic, I make it back to our apartment building two hours earlier than usual with takeout in hand. I thought I would surprise Cody with some dinner before he gets home (since I'm not much of a chef—usually burning anything I make). Maybe we could fool around again tonight. We've only done the deed twice, but I think tonight it won't be so awkward. My nerves won't be so on edge while I wonder if I'm doing it right. It makes me feel better that it won't be sudden. I've had the last few hours to mentally prepare myself that I want to do it again tonight.

I lock my car with the key fob and then begin digging for the mailbox key. They keep the boxes right inside the door of the apartment building. I stick the key into box 102 and pull a handful of envelopes from it. Various colors and sizes of wedding cards are in my grasp, making me smile at the sight of familiar names of our loved ones in the corners. I love reading everyone's words of wisdom and their congratulations to us. I've been hanging them all on the fridge, but I'm already running out of room. It's such a good problem to have.

With my hands and arms now full of mail, my purse, Chinese food, and my dry cleaning, I once again fumble with my keys until I find the apartment key. It's the bulkiest one on my hot air balloon keychain—the one I got the day Cody proposed while we took a ride on one.

When I open the door to the apartment I stumble over something on the way in, looking down to my fiancé's dirty work boots. I hate when he leaves them here, mud from construction sites always dries and flakes off of them, leaving a trail for me to clean.

"Fuck," I mutter a few more curses as I rub my pained ankle. That's just what I need - a sprain before walking down the aisle in front of two hundred people. Here comes the bride, with a limping stride...

I wasn't expecting him to be home already; I wanted to freshen up a little bit before do the deed.

"Babe? You home?" I call out as I pull off my black heels. I toss them to the small rug I keep by the door - the one actually intended for our dirty shoes, when I notice another pair of heels. These are bright red and about and inch and a half higher than I would ever wear. My eyes are fixed on them as my breathing becomes intensified.

Whose heels are those?

The only thing that draws my attention away from them is sound of scurrying from the bedroom.

Bile rises in my throat as I drop everything I'm holding to the floor beside Cody's dirty boots. I will myself to take the steps needed to put me directly in front of our bedroom door and clutch the knob. The tears sting my eyes the moment I hear another female's panicked voice coming from our bedroom.

When I do finally gain my courage and toss the door open, a pair of very familiar eyes meet mine as he attempts to pull on his jeans over his boxers. His brown hair is a sexed up mess on top of his head and his breathing is still labored from strenuous activity. Cody halts and swallows hard, both of us ignoring the unfamiliar brunette that slides herself past me and out the bedroom door with her clothes clutched in her arms.

"You're early," he finally speaks, giving up on attempting to button his pants and allowing his shoulders to droop.

The knot in my throat barely allows me to form audible words and they burn from the bile as I say them aloud. "It appears I'm right on time."

What the fuck just happened?

It's wedding week...

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