The One You Can't Have

By Ana James

Lonely and creative outcast Charlotte Winters perfected the art of being invisible in high school. To escape her everyday torment, she created James, the perfect, handsome, and loving imaginary boyfriend to soothe her soul from her past.

But when she discovers hottie billionaire Jake Lipton, the spitting image of imaginary James, Charlotte’s world is thrown into question. Kind, grounded, and delicious Jake is everything Charlotte craves in a partner.

But their connection seems too good to be true. Fighting to keep herself and Jake safe, Charlotte must confront her past if she is to have any hope at a future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Feb 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781094415864

Ana James

Ana James is a UK-born, NYC-based writer who decided to make a dramatic exit from the make-believe world of advertising so that she could make an equally as dramatic entrance into the world of romance writing. She’s passionate about creating universes that readers can get comfortably, deliciously lost in. Her characters are like the people in her own life: brilliant, loving weirdos and the people who love(?) them. When she’s not writing, she’s pretending to do keto, watching Bob’s Burgers marathons with her daughter, or trying to win 100-yard-dash races in Prospect Park against that same daughter.

Book preview

Chapter One

So what! I am a rockstar!

Charlotte double-stepped to the sweet sounds of Pink as she bopped her way up the subway steps. She stopped at a bodega right outside of the station to pick up a bottle of Mexican Coke, sticking her iPod in her mouth as she placed the Coke on the deli counter and pulled a gold-colored water bottle out of her knapsack. She poured the Coke into the water bottle and handed the empty bottle back to the clerk, who nodded at her and threw it out. This was their daily routine.

She pretended it was water in case anyone asked; no one ever did. That daily Coke with its strong jolt of caffeine was the only way she could make it through the day at the posh Brooklyn Heights private school she’d been attending since she was four. On the very worst of days, she put a little vodka in the bottom of the water bottle. But that was only for really bad days.

Daily life at Brooklyn’s highly esteemed Rivermore School usually filled Charlotte with a low-grade dread that constantly and relentlessly itched and hummed beneath the surface of her skin like a chronic case of mild eczema. It’s not that anyone was out-of-control mean to her. Yes, she’d been passive-aggressively bullied by a strangely persistent mean girl throughout her entire 14 years at the school. That was annoying. But she also couldn’t shake the feeling that, besides her bully, no one else even saw her. It was like she was invisible. Like those times when you’re in a dream and everyone and everything seems to be going on in spite of you, like you weren’t even there. Like that. She’d sometimes wave her hands in front of other students’ faces to make sure they could see her. They’d responded, of course, by looking at her like she was crazy. That was okay, though. She was okay with being the school weirdo. She didn’t fit in anyway.

Today, however, was different. She was going to Comic-Con! She couldn’t afford the tickets, so she’d simply dressed up and packed her camera, hoping to get a few good shots of her favorite cartoon and comic book creators. Word on all the nerd blogs was that the Javits Center where the convention was being held was the only place to be in NYC that day and through the weekend. Charlotte was sneaking out of the building just before lunch and hopping the subway to 34th Street and the Javits Center. She’d be joining geeks from around the world as they celebrated all things comics and were actually the cool kids for ONE DAY ONLY! Well, four days. It was a full weekend thing.

The sun was shining, and it was a gorgeous, fall morning, full of the kind of glow that made even the shittiest NYC buildings and garbage-strewn streets look magical, shimmery, and golden. Charlotte was so excited that she actually waved at the drivers honking at her for walking too slowly through the crosswalk instead of throwing up double middle fingers as she usually did. She smiled and assumed that the glowy feeling flooding her body from head to toe was happiness. It’d been so freaking long, she’d forgotten what it felt like. She could make it through the morning.

She skipped up the steps to the school and danced through the doors with the other stragglers.

Oh my God, look!

Peals of laughter followed Charlotte as she made her way down the school’s main hallway. She still had her music on, but the cackles managed to pierce through her ear buds anyway. She knew that that laughter was meant for her. A little embarrassed, she cursed as she felt herself start to stumble but was able to catch herself, slightly twisting her foot in the process. It was painful, and the pain made her want to kick off her shoe and smash it into her tormentor’s face, but of course, she didn’t. She continued to make her way down the hallway towards the locker area, repeatedly mumbling to herself, Violence is never the answer, violence is never the answer, violence is never the answer.

She didn’t even have to turn her head to know that the jeers came from her long-time, fucking tormentor, Jill Peabody. The mean girl’s classically beautiful face was frozen in disdain as she looked Charlotte up and down. Jill was flanked by her ever-present gaggle of friends who were, as usual, laughing, sneering and cawing like Levi’s 501-wearing magpies. Charlotte called those girls the Jills, like the Heathers. Jill had always been, for lack of a better word, obsessed with Charlotte. If that obsession hadn’t always been clearly illustrated by Jill’s very own brand of passive aggressive, arsenic-laced sweet toxicity, Charlotte would’ve thought Jill was in love with her.

Charlotte turned her music up louder; Feel Good Inc by Gorillaz now blasted into her ears. The mockery and laughter now fully blocked, she felt strong enough to turn and stare at her tormentor. Jill looked back at her and snorted, making Charlotte nearly burst out laughing. Sometimes Jill was a perfect caricature of a Lifetime movie villainess. She was mouthing something at Charlotte, her garish lips twisting and turning as they silently spit out the words. Charlotte sighed and removed her earbuds.

I’m sorry, what? she asked, wincing as she tried to acclimate her ears to the sudden yet familiar droning buzz of the passing kids screaming and yelling to each other through the hallway.

"I saiiid, Jill replied loudly in the overly simple, drawn-out tone that she reserved for people she didn’t think were as smart as her, what is going on with your outfit?"

Charlotte looked down at her clothes, her face turning beet red. She was dressed like Buttercup from The Powerpuff Girls. She’d thrown together a costume made out of her late mother’s old stage clothes, including a black bob wig, a green dress with a black belt, and black Mary Jane sneakers that looked just like Powerpuff Girls’ feet.

I’m going to Comic-Con, Charlotte replied, a tired expression on her face. It was too early in the day for this. She really didn’t want to have to get into it with someone who couldn’t care less.

What’s that? Jill’s mouth, petty and small, turned up slightly at the corners.

Charlotte stared back at her with hate. Jill knew what Comic-Con was. Everyone did. People who weren’t part of it assumed people who went to Comic-Con were geeks. And, well, they were right, thought Charlotte. But it was one of the few events people like her went to where they didn’t give a shit what anyone else thought about it. It was an un-dissable event.

"You know, said Lil, one of the Jills. It’s a Star Trek convention for comic book nerds."

"Oh, wow. Sounds awesome. Jill nodded with a bright, polite look. If anyone had been watching the exchange, they would’ve assumed that Jill was just being nice. If they’d looked closer, they would’ve noticed the slight twitching at the corners of her mouth or the blank stare with the laughter behind the eyes. Who are you supposed to be?"

Buttercup, Charlotte replied. She’s one of the characters in….

Aaaaand, Jill wasn’t listening. Her head was already turned as she focused on something down the hallway near the principal’s office. Principal Skinner was signaling for Jill to come to him.

Guys! I’m being summoned! Jill tossed her long, blonde hair over her shoulders, lightly licked her lips and took off down the hall towards the office, snapping her fingers for her crew to follow her, like Rizzo in Grease.

Charlotte stared after them in amusement. Please let them have been caught selling X, she prayed. Maybe they’ll get expelled! But she knew that would never happen. Jill’s dad contributed waaay too much money to the school for her to get in trouble for anything. She’d have to murder someone to get even a warning. Principal Skinner (whose actual name was Richard Bukowski, but was called Skinner by the students because he was a fawning fool and tool for and towards the student body’s ultra-rich parents) was probably naming a row of lockers after her.

Charlotte trudged towards her own locker, looking down and stealing glances at her outfit as she passed the other students high-fiving each other and chatting as they rushed to classes. She knew she looked perfectly fine. She was mad at herself for even responding to Jill. She’d long ago learned not to engage when Jill made fun of her. It wasn’t worth it. It’d been the same dynamic between them since they were in pre-K.

The Rivermore School was one of the most selective and expensive schools in New York City, located in the heart of Brooklyn Heights; and, thanks to its liberal-leaning curriculum, a favorite of rock and film stars, rich creatives, and hipster trust fund babies. At Rivermore, students went from custom-made diapers to the Ivy Leagues, and the student body lived in a diamond-sealed, artistically graffiti-etched bubble that oozed a cliquish vibe that screamed to everyone not in the circle, You don’t belong here! The only reason Charlotte’s family could even afford to send her there was because her grandmother insisted that the insurance money she’d received from her husband’s death— but had never spent— be used for her granddaughter’s education.

Her dad had been over the moon that she got in, but Charlotte, even at four years old, had hated the place from the minute they’d walked through the massive, wooden doors. Even at that young age, she could see she was just so different from everyone else. Their lives had a refined smoothness her own messy, middle class existence couldn’t even come close to. They had special people called nannies who dropped them off at school, and they spent Christmases skiing or swimming in faraway lands.

Jill Peabody had been a tiny, four-year-old human calculator made out of fluffy blonde hair and judgemental parts. She instinctively recognized what set Charlotte apart from all of the rich kids at the school, and she went out of her way to make sure everyone else recognized it, too. On the very first day of school, Jill had laughed at the J.C. Penney’s denim pinafore dress and rainbow leggings that Charlotte and her dad had carefully chosen as her debut outfit. She’d instantly made fun of Charlotte’s hair, mocking the long, thick, brunette curls that were tied up in a fuschia bow and came courtesy of her Spanish-Jewish ancestors and were just this side of an Afro. Charlotte couldn’t have known that her gentle nature, her gorgeous tumbling hair, her giant black eyes and her olive-toned, Mediterranean skin set off alarm bells in Jill.

That very first day, Jill, her eyes wild, had walked up to Charlotte and yanked one of her beautiful strands of hair, yelling out to anyone who would listen, "Look! Doody-brown macaroni noodles! Eeww!"

Little Charlotte had stood rooted to the ground in surprise, frantically looking around at the other kids, who simply stared back. A new feeling she’d come to know well— embarrassment— flooded over her in waves, and she’d blinked back tears as she haltingly reached up to touch her curls as if for the first time. She remembered envying Jill’s straight, wispy blonde hair from that point on, her little heart exploding with jealousy for the first time in her life.

For years afterwards, Charlotte hated her hair, loathing the way it cascaded over her head and down her back in plump, thick, waves and curls. Her grandmother Mimi scolded her.

What? she’d said, combing through the beautiful strands as Charlotte cried. You should be in a shampoo commercial, your hair is so gorgeous! She should be so lucky!

It was already too late. Nothing could make Charlotte love her gorgeous locks, even though everyone else seemed positively enchanted by them. Jill had focused her pale blue eyes on Charlotte and made her her Public Enemy Number One from the minute they’d met. Looking back, Charlotte marvelled that a four-year-old could have harbored such hatred for another child she didn’t even know.

But that was then, this was now, Charlotte reminded herself.

It was her last year of high school, and even though she’d somehow completed the amazing, never-before-seen feat of never having had a real friend during her entire time at the school, she was going to make this her best year ever. This was going to happen even if it meant she was going to have to do it alone. She knew that one of the main reasons she felt invisible at the school was because she hadn’t made it easy for people to get to know her. She was that kid in the school… the one you smiled at out of politeness and who you forgot existed until you happened to see them again.

Her loneliness wasn’t by design. Charlotte had so much sudden, tragic loss in her life that she’d grown very, very wary of forming relationships. She had no one else in the world except her grandmother Mimi. So she created a world in her head and on paper, following the instructions her beloved father had given her long ago.

One day while cleaning Charlotte’s room, her dad Stanley had found little pictures that she’d drawn and hidden under her mattress. The drawings were of him, herself, her grandmother Mimi, and her mom Cassandra who’d left the family when Charlotte was a baby so that she could pursue her dream of becoming a famous stage and film star! In Charlotte’s drawings, he, Charlotte, and Mimi would be holding hands, and Cassandra was always drawn as a balloon on a string, ready to be blown away by the wind but gripped tightly by Charlotte. He didn’t know which broke his heart more: the fact that his little six-year-old daughter had drawn the photos or the fact that she had hidden them away.

What’s this, Daddy? Charlotte had asked, watching him set up a drawing area for her in her room, setting up all the supplies neatly. He’d come home with drawing paper, a beautiful wooden easel, watercolor paint, brushes, and colored pencils.

Oh, this? It’s magic paper, Stanley had said, ripping open the pack of drawing paper and leaning it against the easel. Now you can paint your dreams and stories for your life on here! he continued, straightening the paper and making it look neat.

What do you mean? Charlotte had asked, chewing her pinkie nail as she sat cross-legged on her bed.

Well, Stanley continued, picking up the pencils and starting to draw, like, you know how you love the beach?

Yes? Charlotte had immediately thought of summer days, warm sand stuck in between her toes as she built sand castles and devoured bacon and tomato sandwiches and ice-cold Cokes in tall glass bottles.

You can draw pics of yourself going to the beach and enjoying the water, the sun, the sand in your toes, Stanley continued, scrunching his forehead while sketching lightly and quickly on the paper. It could feel like you’re transferring yourself there. So, when you’re feeling bad, create the life you want. Use art to change your world. Your world is literally what you make of it.

Charlotte started drawing that very first day, and she knew just what she was going to do! She created an imaginary best friend for herself called James, named after the adventurous, but incredibly lonely, little boy in her favorite book, Roald Dahl’s James and the Giant Peach.

Charlotte and James had so much fun together! In her stories and paintings, they’d get into all sorts of trouble, sneaking peanut butter cookies from the cookie jar when no one was looking and watching scary movies late at night when her daddy and grandmother were asleep. James was always the same: a beautiful, gentle boy with dark hair and deep blue eyes. They’d celebrate conquering dragons and witches with ice cream sundaes as big as their heads. When Charlotte wasn’t near her paint brushes or colored pencils, she’d daydream about him instead.

She’d always wished she’d had friends who loved her so much they’d call her by a funny nickname, so she pretended she’d been nicknamed ‘Charlie’ in her magic fantasy world. She had a billion friends there, and she and James were the most popular kids in her alternate universe school called Rivermost! Everyone loved her, and, unlike in real life, she was invited to all the very best birthday parties. She had to turn down parties because she was just so freaking popular!

After her parents died the year she turned 16, her stories with James started to take a slightly darker turn. She’d have him do something heroic for her and then he’d die while doing it. It was like she’d learned some unspoken rule: you can have someone who loves you, but they have to die. She couldn’t see herself ever being lucky enough to find someone who could live long enough to love her forever. Joy and love were things to be denied to her because the people she loved the most died. No one was there to tell her otherwise, so it became her religion. Yes, James would die taking care of her as well, but they’d have so much fun before that happened! And she’d always resurrect him by creating a brand new story anyway, so no harm, no foul.

Charlotte’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own whenever she drew James’s eyes, with the final outcome so real that she sometimes sat there waiting for him to start speaking. Understandably, Charlotte got caught up in those eyes and ended up falling in love with him. He quickly went from drawing to friend to my boyfriend.

With his piercing eyes mischievously twinkling back at her from canvas or paper, James ‘listened’ as she’d talk about her day while running her finger along the outline she’d drawn of his face. She’d even learned to kiss by imagining she was kissing James when she snuggled with her pillow. She no longer minded not being invited anywhere because she had James to come home to at the end of every school day. In the deepest, hiddenmost corners of her mind, she knew how crazy the whole thing was, but she didn’t care because no one else knew this world existed.

She just needed it to get her through these last days of high school, and James made that possible. She’d even drawn pics of her and him going to Comic-Con together. He wasn’t, obviously, but that was okay. She was planning on telling him all about it when she got home that night.

Charlotte looked around and realized that there was no one else in the hallway, and she was now late for her morning advisory class. She walked the final few feet to her locker, Earlimart’s somber The World bleating sadly in her ears. I really should be listening to something more upbeat, she thought. She just had to get through the morning, and then she was off to the convention. Batman, here I come! she thought, trying to recharge.

Reviews for The One You Can't Have

[Ashley Weed · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

The main character is self involved, overbearing, and neurotic. She constantly expects the people in her life to support her and deal with her neuroses, all while constantly bemoaning that she’s all alone and no one likes her. The characters act like immature high school kids, even after they “mature” into their 30’s. So many random things happen, just to add drama, that don’t make sense. Naughty, taboo office parties?? Not a real thing. The love interest deciding to marry the arch nemesis?? Why?? It makes no sense. This book is a hard pass.