by Megan Bryce
He wrapped his arms around her waist and tipped his lips to hers.
But she paused, just out of reach.
“I can’t just say ‘Yes, Mac, I’d love to have your penguins.’”
She could. He’d be fine with that.
“I need a grand gesture too,” she said, and he suddenly realized he’d seriously misstepped with his grand gesture.
Gia would take any idea he had and, well, speed right past sixty.
“I know exactly what to do,” she said and he might have groaned.
She waited a beat before whispering, “Should I surprise you?”
“…no. Okay, tell me.”
“I’ll paint one of my walls for you. And instead of a rainbow sample, it’ll be—drumroll, please—white.”
He laughed, saying, “Very nice,” and she grinned at him.
“I’ll take down all my collections, except for these two little penguins, and you can go in there and stare at it when my family gets to be too much. Because they will.”
She kissed him then, a soft meeting of lips that made all the grand gestures irrelevant.
When he pulled back, she was smiling and he said honestly, “It sounds lovely.”
“Just on one wall now. Don’t get excited.”
And Mac kissed her again, a smile on his lips.
* * *
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Sample from Boring Is The New Black (The Fashionista and The Geek)
Famous name? Check.
Famous face? Double check.
A life locked up tight? Lock and key.
The daughter of a famed supermodel, Nicole Bissette has lived her entire life unwillingly in the spotlight. And she’s learned that to keep unwanted attention from herself, it’s best if she never smiles, never laughs. Never lets anyone close.
Especially her employees. Especially that one employee who lives to make her laugh, who loves to see her smile, and who doesn’t seem to realize that he works for a fashion designer. Does he not know? Can he not see? Is that really what he’s wearing?
This fashionista is about to discover that love really is blind…
Megan BryceBoring Is The New Black
One
There was no busier week for a fashion designer than the second week in February.
Designers, models, celebrities, and industry professionals of every variety swarmed New York, and it was no time for Nicole Bissette to be dawdling in a coffeehouse, sitting down even, when there were outfits to final check, lighting and music to run through. Problems to fix, fires to put out.
Except even during the busiest week of the year, there was time for very good friends. Best friends who’d dropped everything to come and lend moral support.
But only five minutes.
Gia unwound the pink, orange, and brown scarf from around her neck and said, “You only scheduled in five minutes for us to talk you off the ledge?”
She licked the whipped cream from off the top of her hot cocoa, and Nicole hadn’t even known they served whipped cream. In New York. During fashion week.
“I can maybe push it to ten.”
Victoria crossed her high-heeled black boots, smoothed her black ankle-length pencil skirt, blew on her extra-hot black coffee, and said, “We can do it in five.”
“Thank you. Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“What else are we going to do when our friend puts on her very first runway?” Gia squealed under her breath, her excitement uncontainable. “The friend who got us front-row seats for tomorrow!”
Nicole thought of everyone who was going to be sitting front row tomorrow. Critiquing her creations, comparing her to those who came before her that week.
Last year.
Twenty years ago.
She said, “I think I’m going to vomit.”
“No, you’re not.” Victoria assessed the green pallor of her friend’s skin. “Well, maybe you are. But then you are going to brush your teeth and redo your makeup, and have the best show New York has ever seen.”
“It won’t matter. How good it is. They’ll say it’s just because of her. And then if it’s not good, it will be all my fault.”
Gia puckered her eyebrows. “No one will say that.”
Victoria nodded. “Yes, they will. So, what?”
Gia glared. “Victoria!”
“They will say it. And they will think it. And there’s nothing she can do about that except give up.”
Nicole put her head in her hands.
Gia rustled around in her large handbag. “Who cares if her mother is Nikita! She’s her own person.”
Nicole had never been her own person. She’d always been the daughter of. Always been the lesser of.
Her mother had been the trailblazer. Coming to America and first rocking the modeling world and then transitioning into a fierce fashion designer.
She’d fought her way to the top, tooth and nail. She’d worked for everything she had.
Nicole had never had the opportunity.
Doors opened without her having to even knock. Room was found without her having to even ask.
She was the daughter of fame. She was the daughter of money and power.
Everything had been handed to her since the day of her birth, and she couldn’t undo her connections.
Victoria understood. Victoria Edwards knew what it meant to be the daughter of someone. Knew how to live in the shadows of the mighty. Knew how to fight for her own sun.
Gia finally found what she was looking for, pulling out a little bag of brightly colored candy and popping it open loudly before pushing it over.
“Take two handfuls and call me in the morning.”
Nicole lifted her head to stare incredulously at her friend. “You have candy in your bag?”
“Of course I do. Candy makes everything better. Or to be more specific, sugar. Sugar makes everything better.”
Victoria drawled, “We wouldn’t know. Sugar is not something we’re overly familiar with.”
Gia eyed Victoria’s coffee and her size two skirt. “I know. I’m so sorry.”
Nicole pushed the candy away and sipped her small non-fat sugar-free vanilla extra foam cappuccino.
“Why did I become a designer? I’ll always be her daughter, I’ll always be competing against her. I should have gone into banking.”
Victoria choked back her laughter. “You know this is your world. You’re just afraid you will come up short. And you will. Accept it, embrace it. And look forward to that day when you won’t. Now that will be an accomplishment.”
Gia glared again. “Has anyone ever told you, Victoria, that you could use a little sugar?”
“Has anyone ever told you, Gia, that you could use a little less?”
This fight was as old as they were, though the sugar description was new. Since Giada Abelli had entered their exclusive boarding school on a scholarship, Victoria had been trying to get her to toughen up.
And Gia had been trying to get Victoria to soften up.
Gia picked up the bag of candy and waved it at Victoria.
“There are two kinds of people in this world: gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids. I think we know which of us is which. And I think we know which one is liked better.”
She popped a gummy bear into her mouth and chewed ecstatically.
Victoria was unimpressed. “Who cares about being liked?”
“I do. And Nicole does.”
Victoria made a face. “No, she cares about being respected. There’s a difference.”
Nicole watched the little bag of candy swing in her friend’s hand. “If Gia’s a gummy bear and Victoria’s a Sour Patch Kid, what am I?”
Gia swallowed. “You’re a Sour Patch Kid.”
Victoria sipped. “You’re a gummy bear.”
Gia guffaw
ed at Victoria. “She never smiles! How is that a gummy bear?”
Nicole never smiled because when she did she looked like her mother twenty years ago and no one let her forget it.
Straight brown hair that was somehow exotic on her mother and plain on Nicole.
Brown eyes that laughed and jabbed on her mother and were guarded on Nicole.
Full lips that were welcoming and sensual on both of them. When they smiled.
“That’s just my thing,” Nicole said.
Gia popped another gummy bear into her mouth. “You’re proving my point.”
Victoria said, “I don’t know what smiling has to do with it. I smile.”
Victoria smiled then– a large beauty queen smile. Her straight white teeth gleaming, her brown eyes sparkling. Her long brown hair full and sexy.
And if anybody was stupid enough to fall for that smile, they would realize their mistake fairly quickly.
Gia nodded. “Okay. You’re right. You smile an awful lot and no one would confuse you with a gummy bear.”
“Thank you,” Victoria said and meant it.
Gia rolled her eyes. “But Nicole is still not a gummy bear.”
Nicole didn’t want to be a gummy bear. But she didn’t want to be a Sour Patch Kid, either.
Because no matter how much she looked like her mother, and no matter that she’d modeled like her mother, and now designed like her mother, Nicole wasn’t her.
Wasn’t like her mother at all.
Or much at all.
Her mother was a Sour Patch Kid and proud of it, just like Victoria.
Or something even more pucker-worthy than that.
Maybe a Hot Tamale or an Atomic Fireball, except that implied a sweetness under the spicy and right about there the whole candy reference fell apart.
Her mother was a firework. Pretty to look at, hot to the touch, just waiting to blow your arm off.
Nicole had been happy to get away from her to go to boarding school. Had been relieved to be on her own, even if it was amidst a pack of teenage girls.
Teenage girls were nothing compared to her mother.
Nicole had even been surprised to find a friend in Victoria.
Another refugee from a gilded, war-torn life and they’d joked about what a vacation school was from real life.
But not everyone had been prepared for the claws. Not everyone had been hardened in the crucible of drugs, sex, and money.
Some girls came from happy homes, with loving mothers and fathers. Family dinners.
Some girls were too nice for an all-girls boarding school.
One girl had been unprepared for a pack of hyenas to circle around, laughing and pulling at her too-frizzy hair, poking at the baby fat spilling over her skirt.
Gia had sucked in her stomach and patted her thick, brown hair, and said like she was repeating what some kindhearted grandmother had told her years ago, “A bird loves her nest.”
The blond hair, blue-eyed ringleader had chirped a laugh. “Nest is right. Let’s get some eggs, girls!”
Victoria, never afraid, had stepped inside the circle, pushing girls away left and right and smiling that smile. “Back off, Barbie.”
Nicole had watched, nervous and wide-eyed.
Was she supposed to follow her friend? Into the middle of that circle?
But with someone fierce beside her, Gia had stuck her hands in her hair, shaking it wildly and saying, “Every bird must hatch its own eggs!”
The blond barbie had backed away, tossing her hair and smiling-slash-sneering, and when everyone was gone except the three of them, Victoria had turned to Gia.
“That made no sense.”
“That was my plan.”
And that had been it. It had been the three of them through three years of boarding school and then four more years of college.
Gia, her hair still corkscrew curly, wild and untamed, studied a bear between her fingers.
“Maybe there are three kinds of people: gummy bears, Sour Patch Kids, and Sour Patch Kids who think they’re gummy bears.” She waved the bear around. “Maybe even more than that. Gummy bears who wish they were Sour Patch Kids, Sour Patch Kids who wish they were gummy bear, Sour Patch Kids who love being a Sour Patch Kid, and Sour Patch Kids who don’t know they’re Sour Patch Kids, gummy bears who–”
Victoria closed her eyes. “Please, stop.”
Nicole eyed the bag. “Maybe sugar does make everything better. Gia is pretty happy.”
Really, she was the only one. Victoria was too intense to endure a mild feeling like happiness and Nicole was…just not.
Maybe it was the lack of sugar.
Victoria stood abruptly, ripping the bag from Gia’s fingers and marching over to the nearest garbage can.
Gia cried out, “Hey,” as Victoria threw it in and then marched back to the table.
“Nicole is already stressed and exhausted. She doesn’t need to start eating candy on top of it and have to add more hours in at the gym.”
Nicole nodded gratefully. “You’re right. And it’s already been eleven minutes. I have to get back anyway.”
Gia shook her head. “Something is wrong with you two. Seriously.”
Victoria checked her phone, eleven minutes as long as she could be away from her business as well.
“It’s nothing a great runway won’t fix.”
Nicole stood, gathering her coat and shrugging into it. “We’ll see. Anything better than ‘It made me want to slit my throat’ and I suppose I’ll survive.”
Gia said, like she wished she could believe it, “Your mother wouldn’t say that about your runway.”
Nicole and Victoria just looked at her and then at each other.
Victoria drawled, “It must be nice to grow up with loving family members who insist on not preparing you for real life.”
Nicole nodded. “Must be. Now, was I talked off the ledge? I can’t tell.”
Gia stood, hugging her hard. “Enjoy your show. This first time will only come once.”
Victoria shook her head in disgust. “Enjoy the memories. Now, go back to work and get it done.”
There was so much work to be done and Nicole waved as she headed to the door, pausing before opening it to the cold and the wind, and then hurrying out before she could change her mind.
Through the glass window, Gia was waving at her enthusiastically and Victoria was smiling her beauty queen smile.
They’d be front and center tomorrow, along with half of New York.
And the other half would read about it the next day.
Nicole hugged her coffee cup to her chest, happy to be invisible right now in the crush of the crowded sidewalk.
Wishing she could be invisible tomorrow, too, and wondering what madness had come over her to think she could do a runway when her last name was Bissette.
Sample from To Catch A Spinster (The Reluctant Bride Collection)
Olivia Blakesley, self-proclaimed spinster extraordinaire, is quite happy with her life. She has her studies and her duties, what need does she have of a husband? With five sisters married she knows the reality does not live up to the promise, and does not need to personally experiment with the state to know she would be ill-suited to it. However, she finds herself envious of at least one aspect of marriage. But to experience the physical side of marriage, one doesn’t need a husband, all one needs is the right man. . .
Nathaniel Jenkins knows his duty. Marry a young girl from a respectable family and father an heir, no matter how cold the endless parade of suitable girls leaves him. But a shocking proposal from a scholarly spinster leaves him wondering if unsuitable is just what he’s looking for. Can he convince his spinster that marriage is the greatest experiment of all?
Prologue
Miss Olivia Blakesley watched as her youngest sister was married and thought, “That does it, old girl. You are officially on the shelf.”
Truthfully, she wasn’t quite yet. But at the ripe old age of seven and twenty, with two olde
r sisters and three younger sisters all married, she was close enough. What man would want the sister who had been left behind? More importantly, why would she want the man who would want her?
She wouldn’t. So it was a good thing she had her studies and responsibilities. She was fairly certain she would have gone stark raving mad these last eight years waiting for a suitor who would never come if she hadn’t started studying the stars or helping her father with the accounts. Not exactly respectable activities for a gentle young woman, but she enjoyed them.
Her mother blamed those activities for her current matrimonial-less state. What woman would rather sneak outside to paint stars than flirt with a beau? What woman who was at least pretending she wanted to get married would wear those high-necked, front-buttoned, somber-colored old maid rags?
Olivia handed her mother, who sat sniffling in the pew beside her, a clean handkerchief.
“Thank you, Olivia. I can always count on your handkerchief to be dry at weddings, can’t I? I don’t understand how you can be so emotionless.”
“I’m not emotionless, and you should be grateful as you now have two handkerchiefs to drench.”
Olivia’s father winked at her as he patted his wife’s hand. “It’s not as if this wedding was a surprise, my dear.”
No, Eugenia had been promising that she would be snatched up the quickest since Prudence had taken nearly two years in the marriage mart. Eugenia had lasted a mere two months. The Blakesley sisters were nothing if not goal-oriented.
Olivia had her own goals and, unfortunately for her mother, they did not include catching a husband. Even so, she did not want to die inexperienced in love, estranged from her sisters because they knew something she didn’t.
Lust.
She did not want to die a virgin spinster aunt, caring for her aging parents.
It would be much better if she could die an experienced spinster aunt, caring for her aging parents.
She glanced at the cross hanging above the vicar’s head. Dear Lord, what was she considering? Was she really thinking of. . .
