Happy New You Read online

  Happy New You

  Brenda St John Brown

  Cassie-Ann L Miller

  Ceri Grenelle

  Elizabeth Lynx

  Jami Albright

  Julia Wolf

  Laura Lee

  Marika Ray

  Mya Martin

  Nikky Kaye

  Sylvie Stewart

  Copyright © 2019 by Brenda St John Brown, Cassie-Ann L. Miller, Ceri Grenelle, Elizabeth Lynx, Jami Albright, Julia Wolf, Laura Lee, Marika Ray, Mya Martin, Nikky Kaye, Sylvie Stewart

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: January 8, 2019

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Happy New You by Brenda St John Brown, Cassie-Ann L. Miller, Ceri Grenelle, Elizabeth Lynx, Jami Albright, Julia Wolf, Laura Lee, Marika Ray, Mya Martin, Nikky Kaye, Sylvie Stewart

  1. Fiction 2. Romance 3. Contemporary

  Summary: A woman vows to change her life on New Year’s Eve with the help of her childhood friend.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Copy Editing by Ashley Martin, Twin Tweaks Editing

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Allison

  2. Mateo

  3. Allison

  4. Mateo

  5. Allison

  6. Mateo

  7. Allison

  8. Allison

  9. Mateo

  10. Allison

  11. Mateo

  12. Allison

  13. Mateo

  14. Allison

  15. Mateo

  16. Allison

  17. Allison

  18. Mateo

  19. Allison

  20. Mateo

  21. Allison

  22. Allison

  23. Mateo

  24. Allison

  25. Mateo

  26. Mateo

  27. Allison

  28. Mateo

  29. Allison

  30. Allison

  31. Mateo

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About Sylvie Stewart

  About Nikky Kaye

  About Mya Martin

  About Marika Ray

  About Laura Lee

  About Julia Wolf

  About Jami Albright

  About Elizabeth Lynx

  About Ceri Grenelle

  About Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  About Brenda St John Brown

  1

  Allison

  New Year’s Eve

  Sparkly dresses and champagne glasses filled with bubbly make the modern New York City brownstone look like the inside of a disco ball. Cheerful voices announce toasts, promising success in the new year. Partygoers cheer and laugh, and I think I’m the only person in the sea of smiles who just can’t get into it.

  It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m in my finest red, slinky-yet-not-slutty, floor-length dress. My makeup is on point, my nails have been buffed and manicured to perfection. There are coworkers and business associates every five feet or so. It’s practically a smorgasbord of good-looking, happy and successful people. Hell, I fit into some of those categories.

  And yet I don’t hear the music, I don’t listen to the toasts and gossip.

  All I hear is Mom’s voice in my head, her words torturing me.

  I keep waiting for you to settle down, Allison, but I can see you’re never going to stop making me worry about you. You’re turning thirty, and all you’ve got to show for it is your job. Are you even happy?

  The words circle in my mind like a possessed merry-go-round. Round and round since the last night of Hanukkah. Mom, my sister, Miriam, and her fresh-faced husband, Stephen, sharing in the joy of their news. Miriam is having a baby and with that announcement, has cemented herself in the place of favorite child for all of eternity.

  Oh, my first grandchild, and before your older sister!

  Right, rub it in, Mom. I’m the older sibling and I’m single with no babies in sight. The ultimate crime.

  “Two hours till the new year!” a voice cries out over the music. Cheers and whoops echo across the posh West Village home. I raise my glass half-heartedly and then take a deep sip.

  The look on my mother’s face after I told her I’m more focused on work than relationships was akin to a death knell tolling.

  She narrowed her eyes at me and took aim. Words of guilt handed down by a Jewish mother, one wielding the sharpest of weapons: good intentions. Mom always has good intentions, but when it comes to rating the offspring of my family, I’m consistently found lacking.

  “Miriam is having a baby; are you ever going to lean into your responsibility?” she asked me at the end of the night, after Miriam and Stephen had left.

  “Responsibility to do what?”

  “To provide me with grandchildren I can dote on. I don’t think you understand. Now that you’re a self-sufficient adult, that’s your main purpose in life.” She was kidding. At least I hope she was kidding. I honestly never know with Mom; she likes to keep me on my toes.

  “It’s not to provide you with love and a source of comfort in your old age?” I tried not to be too sarcastic but couldn’t help myself.

  “Watch it, missy.”

  Mom has a good sense of humor, so I know it’s okay to tease. But after years of questioning my choices and comparing me to Miriam—the perfect child—it’s starting to weigh me down.

  In fact, it’s driving me crazy.

  I’ll always be second-best now, which is really fucking annoying, to be honest.

  I graduated from a top law school. I’ve worked my ass off the past five years at my firm, starting as an intern and working my way up the ladder. I have placed myself in a position as someone necessary, someone the partners can depend on. I own an apartment in New York City at the age of twenty-nine, for Christ’s sake.

  Now I’m in the running to be a junior partner of the firm at the end of next year, and there’s no way in hell I won’t get this promotion.

  What else do I need to do to impress my mother?

  “Hey, girl, what’s with the face?”

  My coworker Daniella, the host of tonight’s fabulous festivities, approaches my moping corner. That’s what I’ve dubbed the little window nook I’ve planted myself in with an oversized glass of champagne I’m chugging as I mull over Mom’s words.

  Make her worry about me. I’m not making her do anything.

  “Hey, Dani.”

  As she reaches me, her short silver dress swishes around her long legs in time to her own kick-ass theme music. Dani stretches her glass toward mine, and we clink in a toast.

  “What are you doing all the way over here? You look…sad. I’ve never seen you look sad. In fact, the only emotions I’ve seen you display are confidence and drive. What gives?”

  The junior litigator leans against the wall as she cross-examines me with her eyes, her sharpened gaze missing nothing.

  Dani is a frenemy, and we share a healthy sense of competition. We went to the same law school, were hired into the firm together, and have been vying for the same promotions since our first day. She’s an amazing woman, sharp as shit—but there won’t ever be a close relationship between us. There can’t be. Su
ch is the nature of two people seeking the same job.

  Which is why I want to kick myself when I start spilling my inner turmoil.

  “Oh, you know, my sister is having a baby and my mom thinks I’m a failure because I haven’t dated anyone in a year.” I take a deep breath, owning the truth. “Or maybe it was the year before.” I hiccup. “Or before? I can’t remember. And does it really matter? I’m good at my job. Love my job. That’s what I want to spend my time and focus on.”

  Not marriage and baby-making and a hot man who’ll dote on me because I’m the love of his life like Stephen dotes on Miriam.

  Who would want that?

  “Whoa.” Dani nods, commiserating. “That explains a lot.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way… Actually, take it however you want.” She braces one of my shoulders. “You are a workaholic.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t sell me that bullshit. You worked eighty-hour weeks during the Prescott suit.”

  “A suit we got the better deal on, thanks to my research.”

  Dani rolls her eyes. “You’ve never come out to a happy hour with the other associates.”

  Didn’t we just cover this?

  “I was working. I like working. It helps us win, which makes the firm more money and keeps our clients happy.”

  She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at me, thinking she has me. “You stayed in the office until midnight on Christmas Eve this year.”

  “I’m Jewish.”

  Seriously, though, why do other people think my life is so abnormal? I’m just a person who prioritizes work over other things. This is New York City; isn’t that how everyone operates in the concrete jungle?

  “You turned down that visiting associate from the Chicago office when he asked you out for a drink because you wanted to finish writing a brief that wasn’t even due until the following week.”

  I wave my hand, stopping her tirade on the mundanity of my life. “No. Wait, how did you hear about that?”

  “He told us at happy hour. You broke his wittle heart,” she annoyingly says with childish inflection.

  “You talked about me at happy hour?”

  Dani sighs, then pushes me over on the bench, taking over the space with her body as much as her personality. “I’m going to tell you some harsh truths right now.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “We, the other associates, talk about you. Often.”

  I keep my expression straight, trying not to let the hurt show. “How often?”

  “Maybe whenever you’re not at happy hour.”

  “That’s all the fucking time.”

  “I know, I know. But, girl, you are sad. Your life is kind of sad.” She gestures to me, as though my appearance is evidence to her claim.

  “My life is not sad.” I attempt to defend myself, putting on a chipper tone. “I’m not sad. I’m so totally happy. Look at my dress. It’s red and sparkly. Only happy people wear red sparkly dresses and go to lavish New Year’s Eve parties.”

  She snorts into her hand, and I’m reminded why our rivalry never crept into full-on antagonism. Dani might be blunt, but she’s kind of fun too.

  Not like me. Miss Mopey McMoperface, corporate attorney. Top of my class. Always on time. Always prepared. Dotting my i’s and crossing my t’s as if my life depended on it.

  “Allison, what are you living for if you’re always working? That’s not living. That’s putting on a suit and doing the same thing, over and over, every day. Aren’t you bored? Don’t you want something more for yourself?”

  I want to argue, I want to defend my way of life, the one I’ve grown so comfortable in and accustomed to.

  But I can’t. I see myself doing exactly as she says. I get up, go through my routine, go the extra mile, and I ignore the world. My tunnel vision used to be a strength, and what is it now?

  Dani places a caring hand on mine and squeezes gently. It’s clear she sees through my poker face to the inner doubt stomping on my conscious mind like a marauding army.

  “Do me a favor?” Dani asks quietly, leaning in toward me.

  “Does it involve drinking heavily and making out with a stranger at midnight?”

  She nudges me playfully. “I want you to be selfish tonight. In fact, I want you to really think about what you want.”

  “I want—”

  “And it can’t involve work. What do you want for yourself in life? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

  “Is this an interview?”

  “I’m serious. You’re an amazing attorney, but it’s all gonna mean shit in the end if you’re miserable.”

  She walks away before I can yell at her and proclaim that I’m not miserable.

  “I’m not miserable!” I scream inwardly, shaking an invisible fist. You know, to prove my point. Outwardly, I scowl and nab another glass of bubbly off a passing bar cart.

  I'm not miserable.

  I decide to mingle. Happy people mingle. Happy people talk to their coworkers. I spot my boss, Mark Benson, one of the founding partners, speaking to a client we recently wrapped up a suit for. Of course Dani invited our boss, as if she’d pass up an opportunity to shine. Well, I can use that to my advantage as well. This is the perfect moment to insert myself and remind them of the amazing work I do for the firm, how many clients have been made wealthier by my work alone.

  The crowd is dense on this side of the room, but before I reach them, I hear their voices filtering over the music.

  “That was a tough case, but I knew we’d get you what you wanted in the end.”

  “True, and I never would have seen a penny of restitution if it weren’t for your associate working through the holidays to research the other company. Those bastards tried to swindle us.”

  “She’s a hard worker. It’s too bad she won’t make junior partner.”

  My gut drops out of my ass, the room turns upside down, and I freeze. He couldn’t have said that. No way am I not getting the promotion. It’s not possible.

  The client raises his eyebrows. “Wait. You’re not going to promote Ms. Gottlieb?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a great research assistant. But the partners don’t think she has what it takes to be a junior partner. Not at our firm, at least.”

  My mind drowns in disbelief. Getting exactly what your clients want doesn’t qualify as having what it takes? Being a near-perfect employee means not having what it takes?

  What the actual fuck?

  “What would it take?” the client asks, sounding more intrigued than appalled.

  Why isn’t he as disgusted as I am? I take a long swig of champagne, finishing off the glass and grabbing another one off a nearby tray.

  “I don’t know, charisma? A personality?” Benson leans closer to the client and does that loud, stage whisper type of thing. “The other associates call her a dead fish. She’s got no life in her. She may get the job done, but we need more than a workhorse representing our clients. We need someone with imagination, with life. Allison hasn’t got any personality.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  It takes me a second, in my alcohol-muddled haze, to realize everyone is looking at me. And the music volume has lowered. And the room is quiet. And my boss is turning in my direction with a frighteningly defined and arched eyebrow.

  I catch Dani’s eye across the room. She’s also staring at me, but in this bemused and smiling kind of way.

  “Did I say that out loud?” I mouth at her. The slow, wide-eyed nod I receive in response is more than enough confirmation.

  I just cursed in front of my boss, during a lull in the music at a party, and everybody heard.

  Am I the definition of a cliché or is this just the perfect end to a perfect December?

  I take a fortifying swallow and start laughing. Loudly. Like, obnoxiously so.

  What else can I do? I’m mortified and half freaking out that I�
��m about to lose my job. I can feel the panic rising. All my years of debate and argument training fly out the window as I make an awkward attempt to pass off my outburst as a joke.

  I might literally die of embarrassment. Right here, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday. Here lies Allison. She was a dead fish in life, and now she’s just dead.

  “Allison,” Dani says, appearing magically and putting an arm around my shoulders, “you causing a stir, you crazy party animal?” It actually looks like she’s in pain from being so obvious, but damn, am I grateful.

  I nod like a cat following a laser beam. Up, down. Up, down. Keep smiling, keep laughing.

  “Yup. You know me. Crazy, crazy party animal.” I take another sip to prove what a partier I am.

  Kill me now.

  “Right, see you later, Mr. Benson,” Dani says with a chipper wink. “Make sure you try the mini lobster rolls. My wife picked them out and they’re the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

  “I will. Thank you, Daniella.” He turns back to the client, cautiously keeping an eye on us as we back away.

  “You doing okay, hun?” Dani steers me away from my boss.

  The reality of what I just did, and even worse, what I overheard, comes crashing down on me. No promotion. Dead fish. Workhorse. How is this my life?

  “Oh, I’m so good. So, so good. I mean, I’m employed at a firm that values popularity over work ethic. What could be better than that?”

  “Well, I’m glad you see it that way—”