The Perfect Life
© 2016 Erin Noelle
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, is entirely coincidental.
All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.
Cover Design by
Hang Le
Editing by
Kayla Robichaux
Proofing by
Jennifer Van Wyk & Jill Sava
Interior Design and Formatting by
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
The Perfect Life
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Erin Noelle
Acknowledgements
For those who think it’s greener on the other side . . . it’s really just a field full of pretty weeds growing out of cow shit.
THE YOUNG MAN instructed the taxi driver to pull over at the curb near the intersection of Beacon and Charles, a popular tourist area that encompassed Boston Common, Public Garden, the bar where Cheers had been filmed, and a handful of other attractions all within a fifteen minute walk of each other. After paying for the ride, he exited the yellow four-door sedan into the frigid New England night, pulling his dark hoodie over his head to block the wind and any possible lingering glances from passersby.
Slinking away from the busy street and into the shadows of the sidewalk, he hoisted the strap of a small charcoal bag up high onto his shoulder while moving swiftly, north on Charles St. and away from the crowds of sightseers. Despite the fact it was almost midnight on a Sunday, people were still out and about at the pubs and bars celebrating the New England Patriots’ win in the AFC Championship game that evening. The man, however, had no interest in post-game festivities. Completely focused on his mission, if he proved successful and the opportunity turned out to be what was promised, he’d not only be collecting a substantial sum of cash, but, most likely, it’d be the opening he needed to do bigger and better things in his career. And for that reason alone, he vowed not to fail.
With long strides in his faded black jeans that matched the rest of his night-camouflaged outfit, he quickly approached Chestnut St., where his assignment was located. Again falling back out of sight, he scanned the area a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees—twice—before silently declaring the perimeter safe. He made a sharp right turn behind the eight-foot hedges that followed along the back property line of the row of upscale townhomes and then crouched down, advancing with ninja-like stealth against the hard, icy branches and foliage.
Approximately eighty yards deep, he slowed his movements and began searching for the cut-out he was ensured would be there by the anonymous tip he’d received. Fortunately, within a matter of seconds, he found the small, round hole in the bushes that was specifically positioned low to the ground, where most people would never notice it. He pulled a camera body and a Nikon midrange lens out of the bag and fused them together with lightning-fast speed, an action so natural to him he could do it with his eyes closed.
He dropped to his stomach and army-crawled forward through the wet snow as he brought the viewfinder up to his eye. Pointing the expensive lens through the opening in the shrubbery, he twisted the focusing ring back and forth until he could see clearly through the glass French patio doors and into the softly-lit living room of the house.
Timing was always key when he worked; encapsulating transient moments into a single frame in a way that told a thousand-word story was a true art. But this time, it was even more imperative than normal. Not only could he not get caught, but there was no guarantee the subjects would be engaging in the manner that he needed. The old adage ‘You can lead a horse to water, but can’t make them drink’ had never been truer, and it was by sheer luck the image that greeted him was exactly what he’d hoped for. The money shot.
A wicked smile spread across his face as he pressed and held the shutter button, capturing a multitude of photographs one right after another. A familiar, beautiful blonde woman. A rugged, dark-haired man with a grizzly beard. Kissing passionately. Touching sensually. Losing their clothes. Tangling in each other. The scene played out in front of the camera like one of those flip-books coming to life. This one published by Penthouse. Even with his unwavering concentration on the job at hand, the man found the carnal acts between the woman he photographed on a regular basis and her unknown partner highly arousing, and he planned to save the pictures for his personal use later.
The high-pitched yap of a dog broke through the silence of the night, and the man cursed under his breath as the zealous couple abruptly stopped their erotic exchange and turned their attention to the small backyard. Fucking mutt. He snapped several more rapid shots without even looking through the viewfinder before he inched away from the hole. Then, swiftly shoving the camera and lens back into the bag, he fled the scene without being detected.
Catching a cab back to his apartment, the man wasted no time uploading the memory card to his laptop and shuffling through the images until he found the most incriminating ones, including a perfectly-in-focus shot of their faces, proving their identity. Maybe I should’ve been thanking that dog instead of wishing it dead, he thought. He did some minor touch-ups to the photos, fixing the clarity and adjusting the intensity of the shadows, and once he was satisfied, he emailed the pictures off with a smug grin.
Lives would be destroyed.
Relationships broken.
And he didn’t care one bit, as long as he reaped the rewards.
“The purpose of
life is not to
just be happy.
The purpose of life,
my love,
is to feel.
You must understand
that your pain,
is essential.”
–Christopher Poindexter
Five months earlier
Monroe
“REMIND ME AGAIN why we’re doing this.” I sucked in my abdomen and rolled my shoulders b
ack as Colin tugged the zipper of the pale blue designer evening gown over my hips and halfway up my spine to where the silky fabric ended.
My husband chuckled and bent down to brush his lips over the delicate skin just below my ear, our matching emerald gazes locking in the full-length mirror that hung in my spacious walk-in closet. “For the kids, Roe.” His proud smile spread so wide that his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You do it, because you love the kids more than anything else.”
I blew the held breath out through my painted red lips and leaned my head back to rest on his tuxedo-clad chest. “You’re so right.”
My mouth curled up at the edges in a playful grin as I twirled around to face the real him instead of his reflection. Raising up on my tiptoes, I straightened his bowtie then affectionately tapped my finger on the tip of his nose. Even when I was wearing heels, Colin towered over me with his substantial six-foot-six stature. Although he often appeared thin when compared to the colossal offensive linemen who protected him on the football field, his shoulders were quite broad, and when I stood next to him he made me feel petite and very feminine.
“I do love those little monsters like nobody’s business,” I admitted with a snicker, “but I just wish we could’ve had a casual afternoon barbeque to gain sponsorship for the house, rather than a fancy-shmancy, high-society gala. I’m sure most of the guys aren’t too thrilled to be spending a Saturday night in an uncomfortable tux, making small talk with uptight Boston socialites while having a string quartet for a soundtrack.”
“They don’t mind at all,” he assured me, his expression one-hundred-percent sincere. “Especially since everyone’s in a good mood, now that we wrapped up our preseason Thursday night with another win. Plus, I’m not sure a midday picnic at the Common would’ve brought in the same kind of money that a black-tie affair at The State Room will.”
I sighed and looked away, still tense about the evening to come.
“Stop worrying so much, sweetie,” he reassured me. “This money is all going toward the kids. Every single penny. Tonight is about you, your dream, and bringing a Mending Hearts house to Boston. My old town. Your new town. Now our hometown. We wanted to make a difference, and this is our chance.”
Colin gently held my arms just above my elbows and leaned down to stare at me straight in the eyes, his brows lifted high into his forehead as he continued talking. “I know these things aren’t easy for you, but this isn’t about meaningless movie premieres and red-carpet-rich-people rendezvous. This is real. These kids need people to fight for them . . .” He trailed off and skimmed both of his hands across my bare shoulders and up the sides of my neck until he cradled my jaw. I heard the unspoken words “just like you needed someone, but didn’t have” plain as day, but his tender lips would’ve never been so harsh when speaking to me. “And we’re those people, Roe. You and me. We’re a team. To the very end.”
“To the very end,” I repeated the four words we’d both concluded our handwritten wedding vows with. It had been our mantra ever since. The words that our entire relationship was built around.
His boyish smile returned as he pressed his lips to the top of my head. “The car will be here in ten minutes. I’m gonna make a quick phone call in my office, and then I’ll meet you downstairs. I promise I won’t leave your side all night, gorgeous. Not even when everyone tries to steal you away from me.”
He gave me a final chaste kiss on the cheek before striding out of my closet. Watching him with an overwhelming sense of appreciation and affection, I said a quick thank you up to the heavens above for blessing me with such an incredibly understanding man in my life, then pushed back my own personal anxieties and fears to focus my thoughts and energy on the important aspect of the evening. The kids. If everything went well, the money that was raised could provide the rest of the funding we needed to get the children’s home up and running. I’d been working for over a year to make this dream a reality, and I was eager to finally be able to see it all come to fruition.
And once that happened, every single second in the too-tight strapless bra and toe-pinching stilettos would be worth it. Boring music and all.
The limo door opened and we were immediately greeted by an onslaught of flashes from the multitude of cameras lining the roped-off, red-carpeted walkway. Colin grabbed my hand and helped me gracefully exit the backseat of the car as paparazzi called out our names so we’d pose for their shot. We both smiled and waved, genuine in our regard for those who’d come out to give our important event some runtime in the press. I greeted several of the familiar local photographers and columnists as we stopped to take a few pictures, and I loved how their eyes would light up when I remembered their names. Making other people feel special always made me feel good.
Before I knew it, we were ushered inside the downtown Boston skyscraper and whisked up the elevator to the top floor of the Sixty State Street building, where the First Annual New England Mending Hearts Gala was in full swing. All of the men were dressed similarly to Colin—in black and white tuxes—though none looked quite as dapper as my unbelievably handsome husband, while the women sparkled and glittered in their formal attire, the elegant dresses spanning the entire color spectrum from snowy white to onyx black and every shade in between.
Classical music floated lightly through the air as I scanned the massive, contemporary space, which was tastefully decorated in an array of blues—the color used worldwide to represent child abuse awareness, hence the reason for my own gown’s hue. Guests mixed and mingled with easy conversation and sincere smiles. Some chose to find comfort at the tables and chairs expertly positioned around the room, while others opted to stay on their feet, most of them flocking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a panoramic view of the skyline and harbor. I couldn’t blame them much, though. The spectacular backdrop was the main reason I’d selected this venue over the others I’d toured. It was absolutely awe-inspiring.
“Ma’am, can I interest you in a grilled scallop wrapped in prosciutto?” I hadn’t even noticed anyone approach while completing my thorough inspection, but the deep voice jolted me from my thoughts as he extended the silver tray filled with delicious-looking hors d’oeuvres.
I replied with a friendly nod and a “Yes, thank you,” as he handed me one of the finger foods on a small napkin, and then watched as he repeated the action with Colin. Before I even had a chance to swallow down the savory treat, a cocktail waitress appeared to offer us both a glass of wine, which I gladly accepted, but as usual, Colin declined. In the seven years we’d known each other, the only time I ever saw him drink alcohol was at our wedding reception, and even then, it was only a single glass of champagne during the toasts. My man treated his body and mind like a temple, and with his openness about his spirituality, he never wanted to be seen indulging in any activity that could be construed as damaging or immoral.
“It looks amazing, Roe,” Colin murmured in my ear as he laced the fingers of his right hand through my free one, slowly guiding us away from the entrance and toward the heart of the party. “I knew you’d put together something great, but this . . . wow, you’ve completely outdone yourself.”
“Thank you.” I beamed up at him, my cheeks lifting so high I could see them in the lower portion of my line of sight. “I’ve been obsessing about it so long, I was starting to wonder if perhaps I’d overthought the whole thing. But now that I see it all come together . . . I’m really glad we didn’t do that picnic.”
Laughter rumbled so deep in his chest that the vibrations resonated through our interlocked hands and warmth bloomed inside me. There was nothing better than the sound of Colin Cassidy’s unbridled mirth, especially when something I did or said was what caused it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to try and make him do it again before we were noticed by a small group of partygoers and were swallowed up by enthusiastic greetings and introductions for the next half-hour.
After making our way through the first throng of gracious guests, I finally spotted All
ison Northcutt, the one woman I’d been searching for since we arrived, talking to several people close to the area roped off for the silent auction. She was my closest female friend, my life mentor, and my soon-to-be new boss. And other than Colin, she was the person I trusted most in the entire world.
My entire body relaxed the moment her gaze found mine and she smiled brightly, lifting her arm in the air to beckon us over. Squeezing Colin’s hand, I tugged him in her direction and made a beeline to where she stood.
“Monroe, love, you’re absolutely gorgeous!” she exclaimed as I unwound my fingers from my husband’s grip and received her in a tight embrace. After releasing me, she moved her warm, inviting arms to Colin’s neck, having to nearly jump up to hug him. “And you, young man, grow more handsome each time I see you. It appears life in Boston is treating you both well.”
“It truly is. We love it here. And speaking of gorgeous . . .” I paused to blatantly allow my eyes to drift up and down her classy sapphire gown. “Look at you! That dress is stunning, and you chopped off all your hair since I was in Detroit a couple of months ago. It frames your face perfectly.”
I reached up and smoothed my hand over her brunette bob, admiring the sophisticated cut. Allison may have been twenty years my senior, but ever since I met her my freshman year of college, she’d always seemed so youthful and energetic—both in appearance and spirit—that I never thought of her as being that much older than me. From the moment I first walked into the original Mending Hearts house in Detroit that Thanksgiving Day almost seven years ago, introducing myself and expressing my desire to volunteer, she and I had hit it off immediately. Our relationship had always been a well-balanced combination of professional and personal respect.
“Thank you, my dear, but enough about me.” She waved her hand in front of her face, humbly passing off my compliment. “Tonight is your night, and I’ve got some people I’d like you to meet. I know you’re familiar with all of the members of the Board of Directors from your undergrad days with me in Michigan, but I don’t believe you’ve met any of the staff from the Chicago house yet since it kicked off right about the time you guys moved here. Have you?”