Love Stuck (Big City Billionaires #2)

by Michele De Winton

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Free excerpt of Valentine’s Vengeance.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Copyright ©2017 Michele de Winton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, transmit in any form or by any means. For information on subsidiary rights contact the author via her website

  www.micheledewinton.com

  Please respect the hard work of the author and don’t share this work or purchase it from pirate sites. Pirates always come to a sticky end in all the books I’ve read. Just saying.

  Books never live in isolation so a huge thank you goes out to all the readers, bloggers, writers, librarians and book lovers across the world. You are what make this job so great. Thanks especially to Talia Hunter for reading this in super quick time and always having my back.

  1.

  “I can't believe she fired you. Are that woman's eyes painted on? You've got to be the best stylist this side of Manhattan.”

  Sass Hunt toyed with the cream organza she’d helped her friend Cara pick out. “Maybe,” she said when she was finally able to get something polite out. “Maybe all those mocha lattes have made her blind.”

  Cara laughed. “That’s more like my girl,” Cara said and put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you there for a while. You don’t need Helen Bernstein babe. You got this.”

  Sass plastered a wide smile on her face and pushed the creeping fear back down her throat. She did have this. One step at a time and she would be okay.

  Losing her job at Helen Bernstein's top end Stylist Consultancy had been a body blow. Even now, a month later, it felt like she'd been punched in the neck, and if she let them, the slimy hands of depression clambered out from wherever she’d last left them, determined to squeeze all the hope out of her heart. But keeping busy helped. Planning Cara’s wedding outfit had been just the distraction she needed.

  Cara gave a twirl, checking herself in the mirror. “I know you didn't think I should have gone with the cream, but I had to do something to appease my mother. I'm telling you, you have the best eye for clothing of anyone I know. Every time I wear one of your outfits all my juniors want to know where it came from. Thank God you moved back into town, just when I needed to stop looking like a lived in a dumpster. You've got a gift, but then you already know that.”

  “Shame my gift doesn't come with a bank account stuffed full of cash.”

  “Sarah Hunt. You stop that right now.”

  Sass froze. Her old school friend never called her by her full name.

  “You're fantastic, and you know it. You're going to get through this rough spot. Jeez, I'd probably be turning up to my wedding in a frothy mess of tulle if it wasn't for you.”

  “You're hardly that style challenged.”

  “Thank you. But remember my mother? She wants me to have the wedding she never had. And that includes me in a meringue dress and sparkly tiara, ideally with a silk scarf tucked somewhere on my outfit. If you hadn't talked her down, I'd be in full sparkle-puff-girl mode right now.”

  Sass laughed, finally. It was true, Cara's mother was a force to be reckoned with and her penchant for wearing a silk scarf with...everything...was legendary. Sass liked her friend's mother, though. The woman was tough as an alligator leather purse, and she'd helped more women in business than Helen Bernstein had consumed caramel mocha lattes. And her old boss drank at least two of the sugary drinks before her first client every day.

  “Honestly, you're going to do great with your own consultancy,” said Cara. “Your new website looks fantastic. Now you just need clients. Where are you at with the guys Joe sent through?”

  Sass smiled. Thank goodness for girlfriends. Especially girlfriends who were about to marry outrageously rich men with stupidly rich friends. Cara's fiancé had sent her through a bunch of names to approach as new clients for Hunters and Collectors, her new consultancy. Cara had convinced Sass that she didn't need Helen Bernstein or anyone, so she was going out on her own. Only trouble was, no one had heard of her. Hardly surprising given she’d only been in New York a year. And if she didn’t get her shit together, and fast, no one ever would cos she’d be heading back home to Mesa, Arizona.

  “One of them came back and asked for a consultation. Kirk Anderson, have you met him? He seems... “Sass dropped her voice. “Rather conventional.”

  Cara's screwed up face told her all she needed to know.

  “That bad?”

  “He's lovely, deep down. He and Joe have known each other for years. But I wouldn't have picked him for your first client. Guy's face is so clean shaven I figure he ducks out at lunch to make sure his chin is silky smooth and I don't think I've ever seen him wear anything other than a grey suit with a pale blue tie.”

  “Being clean cut isn't a bad thing. Smooth skin on a guy is great.”

  “To kiss, sure,” Cara gave her a wink. “I love Joe's sexy stubble, but I love to kiss him straight after he's had a shave. When his face is all soft and warm and...”

  “Enough, thanks.” Sass held up a hand. It was good to see her friend happy, but it only brought home how crappy her own life was looking in comparison. For a second the hands of darkness started to cloud her vision and pick apart the color in front of her. No, wait. She was not her mother. She was not going to wallow in this. Sass glanced down at her wrists, where her twin tattoos were a permanent reminder of how far she'd come to get here, and how easy it would be to slip back into depression. The black circle tattoo on her left arm was the hole she'd fallen into two years ago. It was a full stop to remind her how close she’d come to letting the darkness take over. But the brightly inked butterfly on her right arm, its body made up of a semi-colon, always cheered her up. It was her talisman; proof that she chose to keep going. She chose the light. And it reminded her of the way she'd felt when she'd come out of an almost deadly spiral into dark depression: free, like flying.

  She was going to move onwards and upwards. Starting with Kirk Anderson. “He's going to make the perfect first client,” she said. “A clean-cut blank canvas for me to work magic on. No one can be as uptight as he sounds on his registration and own Anderson’s Finance. He must have some charm to keep such a big conglomerate like that running.”

  “Either that or he just makes his shareholders and staff a shit-ton of money,” Cara said.

  “So, he's good at his job. Good for him. I'm great at mine too,” she said so forcefully even she believed it.

  Later that night, in her apartment, she opened Kirk Anderson's registration and pulled a notebook toward her to take notes as she went through the boxes on the form.

  How would you describe your personal style?

  Smart, simple and classic.

  That was good, wasn't it? A true blank canvas to start from? Classic was something she tried to avoid. To many people, all it really meant was that they wanted to be safe. But she’d reserve judgement until she met him. That was only fair.

  What would you consider the perfect night out?

  A reservation for one at Molly’s.

  No mention of being with anyone special. No mention of exactly what he'd like to eat. And no mention of what he'd do with the rest of the night after he'd finished his meal. Sass looked
up Molly's. It was an exclusive Italian place. Reservations booked out months in advance. Sure, it was pricey, scanning the menu it looked like a glass of wine was more than a week’s rent, but for a man of his resources, it was a modest concept of perfection.

  She made a note, Quiet but perhaps not reserved.

  Did he lack ambition or was he scared of what might be lurking outside his apparently small world? “He can't lack ambition,” Sass muttered to himself. “He makes enough to bankroll a small country.” She scrolled to the next question.

  What are the three words that your colleagues would use to describe you?

  Efficient. Intelligent. Focused.

  That was pretty much what she'd been expecting. So, he was ambitious if he thought people saw him as focused. Maybe he just preferred his own company. Sass doodled at the edge of her book, then chewed on the end of a pen. She'd doodled a hawk. It was perched all alone on a fence post looking down over a town. Maybe he was a hawk. A lonesome creature that mated for life. Only he hadn’t taken time off from hunting for long enough to find himself a partner. “Don't be crazy. You haven't even met him. Like you know what he's really like yet.”

  But she’d discovered that wanting to find out was what made her good and bad at being a stylist. Sass had a knack for asking the right questions to find out what really made people tick. When she knew that, she could find the clothes that brought their personality to life. And because her clients saw themselves reflected as they had always thought themselves to be, they were usually delighted. Trouble was when they weren't quite ready to hear who their true selves were.

  Helen Bernstein's clients had mostly been women who wanted to make sure they were “on trend.” Knowing their inner-self really wanted to wear a hot pink slip-dress instead of a beige pantsuit had ruffled a few feathers and Helen had asked Sass to leave.

  What is your favorite piece of clothing?

  A two-piece suit.

  Oh dear. Not, my two-piece suit. But just a two-piece suit. She was going to have her work cut out for her with this one.

  What are you looking to get out of this consultation?

  Mr Anderson always wears a suit, but our recent polling data indicates that key influencers dress more casually. Anderson’s is launching a new software package that will receive significant media attention. He will be leading the press conference and wants a relaxed yet powerful image for this event.

  Wait. What? Sass re-read all the questions and realized Kirk Anderson probably hadn’t even seen this form. “He got his assistant to do it.” That changed everything. It was one thing that his assistant thought he was focused and wanted a quiet evening out alone at a fancy restaurant after a long day, quite another if he thought the same.

  “Damn.” She was going to have to work this one out on the fly. “Jerk move, Anderson, jerk move.”

  Finally, she clicked the link where he'd uploaded a photograph. For the owner and chairman of a major company, there were hardly any images of him online. The ones she'd seen were either too small, bad quality, or he'd been a face in a lineup, and she couldn't really make out what lay behind his eyes. When the photo loaded though...man...those eyes were something.

  In the photograph, Kirk Anderson stared, almost aggressively, at the camera. As if daring it to capture his essence in any way he hadn't authorized. This was a man used to being in charge. A man who didn't much care what people thought of his personality if they did what he wanted them to. But in his bright blue eyes, Sass thought she saw something else too. A flicker of hurt. As if the stiff demeanor was armor to make sure no one could get in.

  “Are you a hawk, Kirk Anderson, or are you more of a lone shark on a kill or be killed mission?” she said to the screen. She didn't have long to get as much background as she could, her meeting with him was the next afternoon. “And all I need to do, is not screw it up.” Sass made a bunch of notes on what she would take with her. She had all his sizes, and although Helen had fired her, she still had great relationships with the stores she'd used to style clients since she'd arrived in New York at the start of the year.

  Keep your cool girl. Yep, she just needed to charm him into wearing something so fantastic that his clients and the industry stakeholders, whoever they were, all took notice. It was go big or go home time. If she went big and he loved it, she'd be golden. She was sick of playing it safe, that's why she was starting her own business. Time to believe in herself.

  2.

  “What are the three words you'd used to describe me, Mrs Horan?” Kirk Anderson asked his secretary.

  Mrs Horan cleared her throat and looked him in the eye. “Do you want my real answer or the one I wrote down on the form?” It was one of the things he liked about her; she was never afraid to speak her mind. She'd been with him for twelve years, and he trusted her more than he trusted the CEO of his biggest company. A small smile twitched at his lips.

  “I'd be interested to hear both.”

  She gave him a nod, her eyes sparkling. “Of course you would. But you can't have your cake and eat it, at least not with cream. Choose.”

  The smile crept past the edges of his mouth till he felt it in his cheeks before letting it slip quietly away. “Your real answer then.”

  “Driven, reclusive, and,” she paused and looked at him again to check his face. “Kind.”

  He didn't let his face react. He'd made a skill out of keeping his features passive whenever he needed to. “Interesting.”

  She laughed, and he was startled by the noise.

  “One day you're going to have to let down your guard, Mr Anderson, and then heaven help whoever gets in the way.”

  “I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

  “I mean,” she said with a grin that made her look a good five years younger, “that you hold yourself damn tight to your chest. But I know that there's a gentleness under those layers that would surprise even you, if you let it out.”

  “I respect your opinion, Mrs Horan.”

  “But you don't believe me,” she laughed again. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.” Then she snapped back into efficient mode and outlined his schedule for the day. “If you've got it in you, be gentle with this next one. I think she's a bit nervous.”

  “I don't have time for nerves today, Mrs Horan.”

  She gave him a look, and he sighed. “Show her in in five.”

  Kirk let his secretary's speculations about his innate kindness leave with her when she walked out the door. Anderson’s was on the brink of reaching one of his bucket list targets. Hitting the Forbes Top Ten Most Influential Brands had been on his agenda ever since he’d seen the list in a magazine at his first finance job straight out of university. The company had been close, but never this close, and if this software launch for Anderson’s Investment Wealth went as he planned, there was every indication they’d make the list. He rubbed his hands together. Their stock price would hit the roof when that happened.

  “And so here we are,” he said as he flicked through the personal details form Mrs Horan had filled out for him. Making sure the software launch went perfectly was occupying his every waking minute right now. He wouldn’t usually bother with some of the details crossing his desk, but this one was too important, and surprisingly he was enjoying getting his hands dirty with the minutiae of it instead of the broad picture work that usually filled his days.

  Still, he couldn't quite believe he'd let Joe Diaz talk him into a consultation with a stylist of all things. But his CEO of Anderson’s Investment Wealth, Mike Brand, had brought him the data about casual appearance being important to key brand influencers, so here he was, having a consultation with...he looked down at his calendar...Sarah Hunt.

  The door opened, and Mrs Horan showed her in. “Put those clothes on the sofa for now, dear.”

  At least she was on time, and she was prepared. But then Kirk looked up and, “Is this someone's idea of a joke?”

  The woman in front of him wore a bright red leather jacket, blue pants an
d her long dark hair was shaved completely at both sides. If he wasn't mistaken, it looked like a brushed-out Mohawk. He accepted he didn't get out much, but he couldn't have missed the life memo that said it was appropriate to wear a Mohawk to a corporate meeting.

  “I'm sorry. Have I come at a bad time?”

  Kirk stopped. Her voice was nothing like what he'd expected. Dark and deep and sultry, it reminded him of the cigars his grandpa used to smoke. There was something smoky in it, something dirty and rough and...she looked him dead in the eye. Bam. Her eyes were like dark pools of chocolate. Who the hell let the woman in?

  “I'm sorry. There must have been some mistake. I'm expecting a top end stylist. Friend of Joe Diaz.”

  She beamed, and in her blood-heating voice said, “No mistake. I'm Sarah Hunt, from Hunters and Collectors. But you can call me Sass, everyone does.”

  “Well, Ms Hunt,” said Kirk, sliding a smooth, cool tone back into his voice. “I have to say you are not what I expected.”

  She tipped her head to the side and looked him up and down. “I guess that puts me at an advantage. I've read the answers on your profile form and seen your profile photo, so you're just what I expected. Shall we get to work? I’d like to go through the questions with you personally, rather than your assistant, if you don’t mind.”

  Okay. She was efficient. He could work with that. Maybe the brushed-out Mohawk was the result of a visit to a bad hairdresser. Or maybe she'd had an illness. “You have twelve minutes. Proceed.”

  “Can you tell me what your perfect night out would look like?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I thought my assistant answered that for you. A booking at Molly’s, a large glass of Merlot and a chance to go through a few reports in peace.”

  She jotted something down in her notebook.

  “That is what my assistant wrote down, isn’t it? She books me in every week.”