Happy-Go-Lucky

  Happy-Go-Lucky

  A Novel

  By L.H. Cosway

  Copyright © 2019 L.H. Cosway.

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.lhcoswayauthor.com

  Playlist

  Click here to listen to the author’s playlist for Happy-Go-Lucky.

  Contents

  Playlist

  PART ONE

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  PART TWO

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books by L.H. Cosway

  “It was only a sunny smile, and little it cost in the giving, but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living.”

  ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night.

  PART ONE

  Once Upon an Office Party…

  One

  The Party

  December 14th

  When I was little, my parents nicknamed me Happy-Go-Lucky.

  They said it was due to my perpetually sunny disposition. I also had a natural inclination to be extra nice to everyone I met. On the surface that might seem like a good thing, but deep down, I knew it was a flaw. I couldn’t handle the idea of anyone thinking badly of me. I also tended to be a bit of a pushover. When someone asked me to do something, I usually said yes, even if I didn’t particularly want to do it.

  Hence why I was currently running late for the annual office Christmas party. As I was coming home from work, I witnessed my next-door neighbour Doreen trip and fall while carrying in her groceries. I hurried to assist her and when it became apparent she’d hurt her ankle and needed to ice it, she asked if I’d put her purchases away. Me being me, I said yes. When her ankle continued to swell, she asked if I’d drive her to the hospital so she could have it looked at by a doctor. And again, I nodded my head.

  So now I was going to be over an hour late for the party.

  I reminded myself that most people tended to show up late to these things, but I’d promised Nadia, our receptionist, that I’d try to get there early to help set out the finger foods.

  Oh, well.

  After dropping Doreen home, I dashed inside my cosy two-bedroom house and quickly spruced myself up. I chose a sparkly purple skater dress that I considered delightfully festive and did some quick work with my curling iron. A little touch up on my makeup and I was ready to go. I sent my co-worker and office BFF, Lilah, a text to let her know I was running late. She didn’t reply, so I guessed she was either enjoying herself too much to check her phone, or she was pissed at me.

  I hoped for the former.

  Every year I looked forward to this party, mostly because I told myself this would be my year to shine. I’d charm all of my co-workers and suddenly become popular. I’d no longer be Maisie Wilkins, the friendly but generally uninteresting researcher who was always willing to take on extra work. I’d be funny, interesting, popular Maisie, a firm office favourite.

  Unfortunately, being funny and interesting generally required alcohol, and two drinks was my limit. My conservative side feared losing control. What if I said something rude to a co-worker, or decided to jump up on the bar and do a Coyote Ugly style dance?

  Another part of me yearned to let loose, go with the flow and see where the night took me. Perhaps I should up my limit to three drinks. Okay, four tops.

  I was full of nervous energy when I arrived at the party, which was being held at a local bar just down the street from our office. I inhaled a deep breath, plastered on a bright smile, then headed inside. “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” was playing, and I recognised a bunch of my fellow workers by the bar and another few over on the dance floor. Lilah was among them; tall and pretty, with short dark hair, ice-blue eyes and catlike features. She was also an amazing dancer, which was probably why one or two of our colleagues were currently eyeing her enviously.

  Yes, like many other workplaces, James & Peterson Investigations had its fair share of petty jealousies and bickering. We were a medium-sized private investigation firm in the seaside town of Torquay. I was the firm’s primary researcher, which meant my work mostly involved a desk, a computer, and a telephone. Sometimes I went to the library to look at microfiche, you know, when I wanted to mix things up a little.

  I considered joining Lilah over on the dance floor, but I wasn’t brave enough just yet. Glancing at the bar, I decided a drink might bolster my confidence.

  I was just about to turn around when she spotted me and called out, “Maisie! There you are!”

  “Hey. Sorry I’m late. I got held up. Did you see my text?”

  “Your what?” Lilah shimmied her way over, straining to hear what I said above the music.

  “Never mind. Go dance. I’m just going to grab a drink.”

  She nodded and smiled. “See you in a bit.”

  On my way to the bar, I spotted Nadia, our office receptionist. She gave me a bit of a frosty look over the fact I hadn’t come early to help her with the nibbles. I sent her an apologetic look in return, my stomach twisting that she was annoyed with me. I made a mental note to buy her coffee on Monday morning to make up for it.

  I couldn’t have a co-worker being annoyed with me. No, that just wouldn’t do. The bickering I mentioned? Well, let’s just say I avoided it like the plague.

  I joined Miles and Jenny, two of our investigators, and Kieran, an administrator. They all stood together, chatting about a case the firm was currently working on.

  “Hi everyone,” I greeted, smiling. Miles gave me a brief nod while the others continued their conversation, barely noticing I was there.

  “His wife is definitely cheating on him,” Jenny said. “He thinks his housekeeper stole his credit card, but I’m telling you, it was the wife. She’s using it to check into hotels with her fancy man.”

  “Willoughby does strike me as a bit of a cuckold,” Kieran agreed.

  “Actually, his wife isn’t having an affair,” I interjected. “We’ve already completed an in-depth background check, and all of her free time is accounted for.”

  When none of them acknowledged what I’d said, I swallowed back a lump in my throat. This sort of thing happened a lot. Maybe I should practice speaking louder. Or maybe I just wasn’t interesting enough to bother listening to.

  As I scanned the party, I blinked and did a double take. On the other side of the bar sat Cameron Grant, who was our head investigator and a very intimidating individual. He was looking right at me. Had he witnessed my failed attempt to join the conversation? God, I hoped not. The only thing worse than being ignored was having someone else see it happening.

  I looked away and tried to get the bartender’s attention, but I could still feel Cameron’s intent observation.

  Every office had that one person you didn’t mess with. The one who glared at you with the disapproval of a thousand fiery suns when you so much as made a typo on a research document. At James & Peterson, Cameron was that person. He was grumpy, anti-social, and just slightly terrifying.

  He was also darkly handsome and, well, quite sexy. It was seriously unfair for someone so cranky to be that gorgeous. Dark brown hair,
greenish hazel eyes, a strong jaw, and thick, dark eyebrows.

  Yep, Cameron Grant was quite the looker. It was a pity his attitude made me break out in hives. I rarely had the courage to broach a conversation with him for fear of his disdain. He didn’t do pleasantries, and he certainly wasn’t shy in letting you know when you were bothering him. I honestly didn’t get how someone could care so little about what others thought. And okay, perhaps a small part of me was impressed, because I was the opposite: I cared too much what people thought.

  The bartender, who was wearing a bright-red reindeer jumper, finally gave me his attention, and I asked for a gin and tonic. Glancing at Cameron again, I was relieved to find he wasn’t watching me anymore. He was sitting alone, not talking to anyone. That wasn’t out of the ordinary. He never really made small talk.

  What was out of the ordinary was the fact he was here at all. In the five years I’d worked at the firm, I’d never seen him attend the Christmas party. He didn’t partake in the yearly Secret Santa either, or accept the glass of mulled wine our accountant Terry shared with everyone on Christmas Eve. Basically, when it came to all things festive, Cameron was a Scrooge. Strike that. When it came to most things, festive or not, he was a Scrooge.

  That hadn’t stopped me from having one or two (or several) sexy dreams about him over the years. I was thirty years old, single, and allergic to the idea of “putting myself out there.” In other words, I’d much rather stay home with a bottle of wine and a good book than re-enter the murky waters of modern dating.

  So yes, Cameron Grant was perfect fantastic fodder for the likes of me, even if he did have a difficult personality. I’d witnessed a few women at the office, both clients and co-workers, try to flirt with him and get shot down. Even if he wasn’t such a curmudgeon, there was no way in hell I’d ever put myself in the firing line.

  I was about to go join Lilah when the better angel of my nature took over. In that moment, I felt bad for Cameron sitting there all by himself. After all, I knew what it was like to be ignored. Maybe he’d decided to make an effort and attend the party, but no one was brave enough to talk to him. Squaring my shoulders, I approached and took the stool next to his.

  “Hello, Mr. Grant. How are you?” Most people at the office addressed one another by their first names, but we all referred to Cameron as “Mr. Grant”. That was the extent to which people both feared and respected him.

  He cast me a sideways glance. “I’m fine, thank you, Miss Wilkins. May I ask why you’re sitting there?”

  I swallowed. “Just thought I’d c-come say hello. Are you waiting for anyone?”

  He shook his head, eyeing me like a fly that just landed on his whiskey glass.

  I endeavoured to keep my cool under his stern gaze. “Well then, you won’t mind if I sit with you awhile.”

  “What if I do mind?”

  I rested an elbow on the bar, feeling flustered. “Do you?”

  He blew out an irritated breath. “Yes.”

  It appeared it was true that no good deed goes unpunished. Here I was trying to be nice, and he was outright rejecting me. What a miserable bastard. I wanted to leave and pretend this awkward interaction had never started, but instead I soldiered on, laughing awkwardly and tucking some hair behind my ear. It was something I did when I felt self-conscious or uncomfortable. Why was I putting myself through this? Oh, right, because kindness was a virtue.

  “So, you came to a party to sit by yourself and not talk to anyone? That sounds like a hoot,” I said with humour.

  “No,” Cameron replied. “I came to a party because my boss said she’d make me take the new Glen Waters case if I didn’t. Blackmail is a favourite of Georgia Peterson.”

  Hearing that, I couldn’t help a small grin. Our boss was an awesome lady. She was confident, worldly, and clever. She also had a work wardrobe that the cast of Suits would envy. She was one of the few people at the office who wasn’t intimidated by Cameron, which was why I got a chuckle out of her blackmailing him into coming to this party.

  Glen Waters was a regular client of ours. The man had an inordinate amount of people in his life he wanted investigated. His paranoia was unmatched, and he was, well, I hated to admit it, but he wasn’t a very likeable person. I certainly understood why Cameron didn’t want to be assigned his case.

  He noticed my grin. “Find blackmail funny, do you?”

  I shrugged. “Georgia clearly wants you to get to know your co-workers better. Just putting this out there, but we’re not all completely awful.”

  He appeared unconvinced. “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.”

  “So those imbeciles who just completely ignored you when you tried to enlighten them about their incorrect assumptions, you believe those are good people?”

  “I speak too quietly sometimes. They didn’t hear me,” I said. My leg started to bounce restlessly.

  “I heard you and I was sitting on the opposite side of the bar.”

  I winced, because there was no arguing with that. “Okay, so maybe not everyone at the firm is particularly pleasant, but some of us are worth getting to know.”

  Cameron considered me a moment. “I find the need to develop personal relationships here superfluous. We’re all work colleagues, not family or friends.”

  His statement bothered me. “Ironically though, we probably spend more time together than we do with our own friends and family, so why not get to know the humans behind the job titles?”

  “I already know everything I need to,” he grumped and took a sip of his whiskey.

  I turned my body to face him. This might be the most we’d ever spoken outside of work, and he made me feel oddly combative.

  “Such as?” I prompted.

  He eyed me a moment. A little tingle touched the back of my neck when he seemed to take all of me in.

  “Take you, for example,” he said.

  I tensed. I might’ve been curious to know what he thought of our co-workers, but I wasn’t so keen to hear his opinion on me personally.

  “Okay,” I said, wary.

  “You want everyone to like you. Sometimes to your detriment. You go out of your way to do favours for people who will probably never return them, people who aren’t worth your time. You laugh in between sentences when nothing funny has been said, and you agree with people when you know what they’re saying is incorrect. Also, you smile way too much. It’s off-putting.”

  I blinked, my stomach twisting at the sheer onslaught of truth he’d just spilled. He’d hit a nerve—no, a major artery—and I was metaphorically bleeding out. These were things I already knew about myself, but I didn’t like thinking Cameron Grant could see those traits so clearly that he’d noticed all of this when I wasn’t even aware of being observed. I guess he was our head investigator for a reason.

  I rubbed at my collarbone, both unnerved and offended. “How can a smile be off-putting?”

  Cameron’s look said, Seriously? That’s what you’ve chosen to focus on? “Smiles should be reserved for rare occasions of happiness. They shouldn’t be worn constantly. It makes one wonder what you’ve got to be so happy about. It can also come across a little desperate.”

  Desperate, wow. Way to make a girl feel good about herself.

  “I smile all the time because I’m a happy person,” I said defensively. “You should try it. Maybe it would make people like you more.”

  He levelled me with an amused look. “Oh, so people don’t like me?”

  “Do you see our colleagues flocking to sit next to you here at the bar? No. Only me. And we’ve already established that I’m desperate so that doesn’t bode very well.” I lifted my glass and took a long sip, feeling uncharacteristically salty.

  Cameron eyed me like I’d surprised him, or perhaps I wasn’t what he expected. He stared for a little too long, and I suppressed the urge to look away. “Do you like me, Miss Wilkins?”

  Well. That was a difficult question t
o answer. I mean, I liked how he looked, but his personality? I wasn’t so sure. “I don’t dislike you.”

  He lifted his whiskey again, smirking. “It’s a good thing being liked is low on my list of priorities.”

  I narrowed my gaze, frustrated. It wasn’t often that people riled me, but it seemed this man had a knack for it. From his negative attitude to the fact he thought he knew all there was to know about me already… he’d lodged a bundle of irritation in the pit of my stomach. Before I knew it, I’d finished my entire gin and tonic in record time. He’d driven me to drink.

  The DJ played Bon Jovi’s “Bed of Roses”, and I was about to get up and leave when Cameron commented wryly, “Now that just sounds painful.”

  I frowned at him. Then realising he was referring to the song lyrics, I laughed. He’d just made a joke! The unexpectedness of it burst the bubble of annoyance that had been growing inside me.

  Cameron’s lips twitched. A moment of silence fell between us as he held my gaze. “I apologise if I caused offence.”

  “Apology accepted,” I said, mostly because I couldn’t stand the thought of there being a tension between us at work on Monday. Besides, what he said about me was mostly true, it just wasn’t pleasant when people held that particular mirror in my face. I stood from my stool. “I’ll leave you to your whiskey. Have a good night, Mr. Grant.”

  “Wait,” he said and I paused to glance at him quizzically. There was a tiny yet startling hint of vulnerability in him now, startling because I never thought I’d use the term “vulnerable” to describe Cameron Grant. It knocked me sideways. “I’d actually appreciate it if you kept me company until Mrs. Peterson arrives and notes my attendance.”

  It looked like it took a lot for him to say that and I eyed him in amusement, feeling like I had the upper hand all of a sudden. “Why would you want me to keep you company, what with my off-putting smiles and all?”

  He glanced around the room, wincing at the antics of some of our co-workers. Miles, Jenny, and company were boisterously doing a round of shots, egging each other on.