Love Me Like You Mean It: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Me Romcom Series Book 2) Read online

  Love Me Like You Mean It

  Laura Burton

  Burton & Burchell Ltd

  The characters and storylines are fictitious, and any resemblance to real-life people and events are purely coincidental. The author retains all of the rights to this work which may not be copied and distributed online or elsewhere without the written permission of the owner of the rights.

  All rights reserved by Laura Burton 2020.

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  First Edition

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  Published by: Burton & Burchell Ltd

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  Please contact the rights holder for translation and audio rights to this book at [email protected]

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  This book is written in U.S. English

  Edited by: Tochi Biko

  Cover Design: Haley James PA

  Love Me Like You Mean It

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  By Laura Burton

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Billionaires

  Romantic Comedies

  Chapter 1

  “We are pleased to hear from our newest designer, Emma King, who will present to us a fresh concept shoe.”

  The boardroom smells like feet, but I try to ignore it. I slide my chair back and strut to the head of the table with no mishaps. So far, so good.

  This is it. The opportunity I’ve been working for my entire career. Finally, after years and years of nagging and networking, grabbing lattes and coffees for every powerhouse name in the office - and sucking up to my boss - I’m here. I’m about to show my design to the board of directors at L. P Marlowe; the number one shoe designer in Manhattan.

  I try not to focus on any one person, and the sea of faces blur in front of me. Someone coughs in the back, and my hands grow clammy as I fumble with the clicker.

  Relax, Emma. You’ve got this.

  I arrived at the office early so I could check and triple check that everything was in order.

  Snazzy high-tech slideshow––courtesy of techy neighbor AKA friend for life. Check.

  The blinds are lowered halfway. Just enough to allow some natural light in and keep the room from resembling a dungeon, but also enough to keep sunlight from distorting my flawless presentation.

  Cup of decaf coffee sitting far enough away from any electrical devices but still within reach. Check.

  Nothing can go wrong.

  I smooth out my Jigsaw skirt, praying the price tag doesn’t fall out during the presentation, and flick my hair back with a deep breath. It’s show time.

  “Thank you for the introduction, Stewart. Thank you all for giving me your time today. I am excited to present to you a design you will have never seen before.” I press the clicker and beam at the board of directors sitting round the conference table. “These are what I call, Schnooze shoes.”

  I pause, a confident smile still on show, scanning all the faces for any sign of life. My ears wait for a unified gasp of shock and awe, but I’m met with vacant stares. Just crickets.

  Okay, Emma. You’ve prepared for this. Time for the speech.

  “In a recent poll, our market researchers discovered that a whopping ninety-seven percent of New Yorkers can’t wait to kick off their shoes after a long day at work. I mean, hands up if you look forward to that?”

  A few shaky hands rise in the air and my spirits lift.

  “Right. We also found that at least seventy-two percent of New Yorkers have hard floors in their home. And everybody hates cold feet.” I wink at poor Jonesy. He invited the whole office to his wedding last year but his fiancée never showed. “Maybe if Megan had a pair of Schnooze, she wouldn’t have left you at the altar. Am I right?” I laugh at my own wit with a snort, but the stares turn cold. Panic stations. I’m losing them. I need to think of something, quick. Who knows when I’ll get another opportunity like this again?

  “Schnooze shoes are the perfect shoe for professionals. They’re fluffy on the inside but look like a normal shoe on the outside. Now, busy New Yorkers can take the comfort of their own home with them to work. So, they can schmooze at the Christmas party, and let their feet snooze at the same time.”

  A few people mumble, and the energy in the room shifts. I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or not but I take it as an opportunity to carry on.

  “We had a focus group trial these shoes for two weeks and report back. As you can see on the graph here - wait sorry, not that slide - how do I go back again?”

  I manically press the clicker, flipping through my slideshow, and ignore the sea of eyes recording my distress.

  “This one,” I say triumphantly, as the graph shows up on the screen. I wipe the sweat from my upper lip with my sleeve and do my best to carry on with my dignity intact. “As you can see here, most of our focus group reported that they enjoyed wearing the Schnooze shoes and a whopping sixty-six percent of participants would recommend them to a friend.”

  A hand rises in the air, and I jump at the opportunity to answer a question.

  “That number at the bottom… fourteen. Is that the sample size?” The question hangs and tightens round my neck like a noose. Drops of sweat cling to my temples and I fan myself with my cue cards. Did someone turn up the heat?

  “Yes. Well, it was tricky to find enough people with the time restraints…” I trail off and wipe my upper lip again with my sleeve. To my horror, a smudge of orange makeup stains it and now I have visions of myself talking to these heavy hitters with a milk moustache.

  “Emma. Don’t you mean Snooze Shoes? You know they’ve been on the market for years.” The directors talk to each other now, ignoring my presence, and my ears ring. This ship is heading for destruction, the cold look from my boss is my iceberg. But I’m not giving up.

  “No, no, no. You see, these are different because Snooze shoes are just slippers. These are slippers disguised as work shoes.” I have to raise my voice over the chatter now. Chairs scrape across the floor and people leave the room, shaking their heads and muttering to each other as they go.

  “No, don’t go. These shoes are the future. Soon, everyone in Manhattan will be wearing them, you’ll see. They’re going to be huge!” I can no longer hide the desperation in my voice as the last of the directors file out of the room. Then I fall quiet and stare in disbelief as the room empties and the only people left are me and my boss.

  “In my office. Now,” he says, his face turning gray. My stomach tightens and I think a bit of vomit just rose to my mouth. Five minutes. All those years, all those hours, all that hard work, for five measly minutes. And just like that, it’s all over. My entire career is down the drain. I follow my boss with a heavy sigh and hatch a plan for the rest of the day. There’s only one thing to do when your hopes and dreams get squished like a bug. Only one activity that might offer a glimmer of hope that your future won’t suck as much as the present. Yes. It’s time to try on wedding dresses.

  Chapter 2

/>   “Katie, have I ever told you that you are the best friend anyone could have?” I ask, looking at my roommate with stars in my eyes. The right corner of her mouth lifts, but she’s too modest to reply. Instead, she tucks blonde hair behind an ear and disappears behind me, tugging on the dress to work the zipper.

  Not just any dress. My dress. At least, it will be mine when Mr. Right shows up on my door on bended knee brandishing a diamond ring. Sure, I’d have to sell my apartment - and probably a kidney - to pay for it, but Vera Wang is worth it.

  “So, I take it the presentation didn’t go as you planned?” Katie asks, her fingernails graze the back of my neck as she works the loops. I laugh derisively at the question.

  “Oh, it went to plan. I mean, apart from a little technical hiccup, I did everything just like we rehearsed.”

  “Then I don’t get it. Is this a celebratory fitting?” Katie reappears and eyes me with suspicion.

  She manages the most expensive bridal store on Fifth Avenue. Noelle’s. One perk of being her best friend is that I get to come in and try on dresses whenever I want. Besides, people see me trying on these outrageously expensive gowns through the window, which is good advertising, right? I swear, trying on a designer wedding dress works better than Xanax. It’s arguably just as addictive, though.

  There’s something about standing on the cushioned stool, surrounded by floor mirrors and dazzling lights, swishing the big skirt side to side, that just makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

  I am Emma King.

  Talented designer, delightful conversationalist and drop-dead gorgeous female any man would be lucky to have.

  At least, that’s who I am when I’m in this dress.

  It fits snug on my waist and forces me into the perfect posture. I feel regal, poised, elegant. It gives me the courage to tell the truth.

  “They hated my design,” I blurt, my brain settling back on the very reason I’m here. My eyes dart to the box in the corner of the room, the entire contents of my desk sitting inside. “Then my boss fired me.”

  The words sting. They slide off my tongue like I’m spitting blades and it makes my eyes water. Katie gasps, her slender hand flies to her open mouth and her wide eyes turn glassy.

  “The Schnooze shoes? I think they’re genius. Look, I’m wearing them now.” She turns and bends a knee, lifting her right foot in the air with grace.

  “So, that’s where my prototypes disappeared to.”

  Katie lowers her foot again and her face turns crimson.

  “I can’t believe they fired you because they didn’t like your design,” she said, folding her arms and looking up at me like she doesn’t believe me.

  But why would I lie about this?

  “Steven didn’t fire me because he didn’t like the design,” I explain. “He fired me because he stuck his neck on the line to give me that pitch. In his words, I was an ‘embarrassment to the company.’ To be fair to him, I told him to fire me if the pitch didn’t go well.”

  Katie gawps at me like a fish, her eyes bulging as she gasps.

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shrug haphazardly, and almost wobble off the stool, my sophistication is dropping by the second.

  “I was so confident the board would love my design, I placed a bet with Steven.”

  Katie throws her head in her hands with a groan. I need not say any more. This is not the first time a bet has got me into trouble. In fact, if I’m going to place a wager, I should bet on myself losing the bet. If I’d done that on all the bets I’ve ever placed, I’d be a millionaire by now.

  Slight exaggeration, maybe. But I’d be filthy rich.

  The china bell hanging over the door rings and we stop our conversation to look up.

  I have one of those delayed reactions as my brain recognizes one of the women who has just entered the boutique among an entourage of ladies. Problem is, I can’t place her.

  My boss' ex-girlfriend Hannah? No, she didn’t have blonde hair. Miss yoga pants from apartment 50a? No, she’s too tall. I suck in the air around me and hold my breath as my brain scans through hundreds of headshots and memories. Then the dots add up and the picture becomes all-too clear, setting my blood into an ice-freeze.

  “Oh, please, no,” I whisper.

  I need to get out of here. Pronto.

  The skinny blonde has had her lips done, giving her a permanent pout. I don’t think she’s seen me yet. At least, her glittering eyes do not fly in my direction. If I can just dash into one of the changing rooms without being seen…

  “Emma?”

  I’ve bunched up the skirt of my dress so high I can no longer see anything. A twitter of hushed voices surrounds me and my heart sinks. They found me.

  Well, it’s not very hard. I’m standing dead center in the middle of a bridal boutique, wearing the biggest dress in the world.

  “Emma King, is that you?”

  I lower the skirts in defeat and put on my best smile.

  “Shelly Bones! Fancy seeing you here,” I say, my New Yorker accent fading and sounding oddly posh. British, perhaps?

  Shelly is my high school frenemy. We were friends - kinda. We always ended up liking the same guys, and the run up to prom escalated to a full-blown war as we both wanted to be prom queen. Neither of us got it, of course. Who could compete with Harper Fox, the six-foot blonde with the supermodel mom?

  “It is you!” Shelly cries, her voice far too high to sound convincingly delighted. She’s just a mortified as I am. I can see it in her eyes. “How long has it been?”

  Since the last time we were in the same room?

  Not long enough.

  Last time we spoke, it was graduation. I threw my shoe at her head when I found her kissing my boyfriend under the bleachers.

  “So, you’re getting married! Congratulations. Do I know the lucky guy?” she asks. Her posse leans in and eyeballs me as if they’re a rally of reporters and I’m at a press conference. Katie stands to the side, staring at us all like she’s watching a talk show. Give us five minutes and she’ll be screaming, “Hit her with the chair!”

  Or not. Katie is too sweet for that.

  “The guy?” I say, biting my tongue as I step down.

  “Your fiancé, silly,” Shelly says with a giggle that sends a chill down my spine.

  “Oh. No, no,” I say, playing it cool. “You know; I feel like even I don’t know who he is.”

  Nervous laughter fills the room as Katie catches onto the situation, and finally jumps into action.

  “Can I get you ladies a drink?”

  She disappears out back while I hover on the spot, wondering whether to make a break for the exit, or run for the changing room and lock myself in until they leave. I picture myself running around central New York in a huge wedding dress like a fairy tale character.

  “Well, Frederick and I met in Africa,” Shelly says, clearly undeterred by my inner turmoil. “He was building new schoolhouses, while I was running the vaccination program.”

  I am impressed with my restraint. My eyes remain on Shelly instead of rising to the ceiling. I fix a smile on my face too.

  “Africa? Wow.”

  Shelly thrusts a phone into my face and her claw-like nail swipes through endless photos. Frederick is not at all like the picture I had constructed in my mind. He’s tall and athletic. Tanned. He’s kissing Shelly in almost every photograph. I try not to heave.

  “We’ve been together for five years now,” Shelly continues, her sickly-sweet voice making my stomach churn with each syllable. “Last year, he took me to Venice and popped the question during a gondola ride at sunset.”

  Shelly and her girls break out in one collective sigh.

  “How romantic,” I say through gritted teeth. Thankfully, the shuffling noise behind me announces Katie’s return. She appears with stemmed glasses on a silver platter and I manage to stop myself from snatching one.

  “So, come on. I’m dying to know about you. Where did you meet this mystery man? Hav
e you booked a venue yet?”

  I gulp my drink to build courage and buy some time. I need to just come out with it and tell the truth. There is no guy. There never was a guy. I have spent the last decade fighting my way up the career ladder only to get fired at the end of it.

  So now I’m guy-less and jobless.

  But this is Shelly, who’s been doing humanitarian work in Africa. She probably joined the Peace Corps too. Not only that, she’s engaged to some equally charitable and sexy bachelor who wants to sweep her off her feet in every European country there is.

  I take another swig and make the decision to tell the lies of all lies. Just this once.

  “We’re having a small ceremony at the Plaza hotel.”

  A sea of wide eyes stare back at me - Katie’s the widest of all. It only spurs me on. “He’s quite the romantic, actually. We’ve got a string quartet and a harpist for the wedding march. Perrier Francé is catering.”

  “Perrier. The Perrier Francé?” Shelly says in a revered tone. I had read an article about his restaurant in the city earning 5 Michelin stars. Who knows if he even caters for weddings? But creating this elaborate lie is the most fun I’ve had in months.

  I ramble on about caviar and that instead of wedding gifts, we’re asking for donations for a charity for the Children’s Hospital.

  Shelly asks about my fictional fiancé again and this time I don’t hold back, my imagination doing overtime.

  He’s the sexiest bachelor in Manhattan. So stinking rich, he focuses his energy on helping people, and he’s totally devoted to me. We met in London on a rainy day. He offered me his umbrella to keep me from getting soaked and it was definitely love at first sight.