by K E Osborn
HOTSHOT DECEIVER
A Cocky Hero Club Creation
K E Osborn
Copyright 2020 K E Osborn
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Note: Savage Lies is used with permission from Kathleen Kelly. If you would like more information about Kathleen Kelly please visit her website by clicking here.
Editing by Kay at Swish Design & Editing
Editing by Lauren at Creating Ink
Proofreading by Nicki at Swish Design & Editing
Book Design by Swish Design & Editing
Cover Design by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design
Photography by RplusMPhoto
Model by Michael Scanlon
Cover Image Copyright 2020
All Rights Reserved
Hotshot Deceiver is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Cocky Bastard. It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times bestselling series.
We all have secrets.
Like the fact that I portray myself as a simple florist, living a mundane life.
Which is a far stretch from reality.
My family is rock god royalty. My father, an 80’s icon, and my siblings all celebrities in their own right. Then there’s me, Lyric Griffin, hiding in plain sight, trying to be everything I’m not.
Along comes Eddie, someone I find myself completely attracted to. I’m simply Lyric to him, not a princess of rock. He’s gorgeous, a little cocky, and knows what he wants—me.
But I made a mistake.
I trusted him, and he betrayed me.
Is Eddie nothing but a hotshot deceiver?
The thing about secrets, they always come out in the end.
From international bestselling author K E Osborn comes Hotshot Deceiver – a novel, based on Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Cocky Bastard. Featuring Eddie, with guest appearances from Pixy, Chance, and Aubrey the characters you all know and love.
To Eddie.
You are neither a hotshot nor a deceiver.
You are one of the most brave, strong, and beautiful humans on this earth.
You are the knight to a gorgeous princess, and I am in awe of the fairy tale your love is creating.
You both inspire me.
Eddie, I know the fight is tough, but you are one of the most resilient, courageous people I know.
Never change.
I hope you know how much I admire you.
“Our ability to handle life's challenges is a measure of our strength of character.” – Les Brown.
Blurb
Dedication
Table of Contents
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
PART TWO
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
More Books To Check Out
Acknowledgments
Connect With Me Online
About the Author – K E Osborn
Chapter One
VALENTINE’S DAY
Lyric
My tires squeal as I grind to a sudden stop, slamming on the brakes with such force I jar my damn chest and ribs against the seatbelt. The force is so brutal that I slide forward in my seat, causing my body to jolt with the strength of the movement.
“Good one, Lyri,” I murmur to myself as I turn off the ignition to my red 2017 Chevrolet Colorado pickup, wincing from the pain shooting through my torso.
This morning has not been good.
It’s Valentine’s Day.
I should be back at the shop preparing for the onslaught of customers and loved-up men with flower fetishes. But my business partner, who also happens to be my best friend since grade school, royally screwed us. So, I’m here, forty minutes away in Hermosa Beach, purchasing flowers. I had to acquire them from the only supplier in the area who I know has an excess stock—thank goodness—on the busiest day of the damn year for florists.
I mean, what reputable florist understocks on Valentine’s Day?
Apparently, we do.
Our shop, Love and Lavender, obviously doesn’t conform to necessities like being prepared for Valentine’s Day.
Serves me right. If you want something done properly, you’ve got to do it yourself.
Letting out a deep cleansing breath, I open my truck door, then hop out to find Gino waiting for me with a cheery expression on his round face. He’s so short, and with his beret on, he reminds me of Mario from the famous video game. It’s actually quite comical. He wears blue coveralls and everything.
“Bella! It’s good to see you again,” he calls.
Stepping out into the pitch black of the very early morning, I slam my door shut, then walk around to the back, opening the tailgate, the overhead streetlamp the only thing illuminating my surroundings. “Gino, I swear to God you’re an angel. A freaking heaven-sent, halo-wearing, feather-winged angel.”
He lets out his boisterous belly laugh, which finally sends my body into a more relaxed state. His men place bucket upon bucket filled to the brim with flowers onto the tray bed. Knowing we have these flowers to help us through the rush of the day back in Culver City eases my anxiety somewhat.
“Oh, bella, you know I’d do anything for you, my sweet. We have plenty of spare flowers. So, any time you need a refill, my door is always open for you.” Gino wraps his arm around my shoulders as he leads me toward the small coffee shop attached to his supply warehouse. I turn my head and watch his workers loading up my truck. With a sigh, I completely relax knowing Gino has singlehandedly saved my ass after Paisley’s epic mistake. I love Paisley, she’s a fabulous worker, but sometimes she’s off with the fairies. Love the girl, I wouldn’t ever fire her, not for something like this. I know it’s a blunder—yeah, a big one—but for all her misgivings, she does a lot of good for the shop. So, I have to let this slide. No matter how dire this situation might be right now.
Gino and I walk into the coffee shop. He takes me to the bakery section as the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wafts through the air. “You want anything to eat? My treat.”
My stomach growls as I take in all the tasty delicacies in the glass-fronted cabinet, but I shake my head knowing time is a wasting. “No. I
better pay my way and get these back. Plus, my ass is big enough without needing a croissant to add to the spread.” Gino pulls his lips into a thin line. He knows by now I tend to just say whatever I’m thinking. I have no damn filter. “But thank you for saving me yet again.”
I hand him a wad of cash.
He dips his head, taking it from me. “Always a pleasure to see your beautiful face, Lyri. You come back any time, you hear?”
My lips turn up, and I’m finally feeling like I can get on with the busy-as-hell day back at the shop. Spinning on my heels, I head for my pickup. My feet crunch on the pebbled path as I rush. Once I reach the back of my truck, I quickly do a double-check and notice one overturned flower bucket. So, I yank it back up without giving it a second thought, then slam the tailgate shut in a mad dash.
Running around, I jump into my truck to return to Culver City—back to Love and Lavender—to start Valentine’s Day off hopefully with a bang.
***
The entire ride back, I can’t help but think about how grateful I am for the life I’m living. Business is booming. I have the most fabulous, best friend in the world—when she isn’t annoying me by not doing her job properly. I have a great home and a wonderful family, even though I hardly see them.
Too bad today’s the loneliest day of the year.
When I think about my life, all I do is work then go home to my double yellow-headed Amazon parrot named Polly Parton. When he was little, I thought he was a she, hence the female name, but alas, when I took him to the vet later in life, I found out that Polly was in fact a Peter. Go figure. Though by then, he was used to his name, so it stuck. He’s great company and all, but he’s also a reminder of my absent-for-most-of-my-life dad—whose attempts to be in my life in the past have failed miserably, especially when he bought me Polly for my twenty-fifth birthday, then took off yet again.
That was three years ago.
Three long years of no interaction, no nothing.
Thing is, I love my dad—no, I adore him, actually. I’m a self-proclaimed Daddy’s girl. When he’s around, he is the best father in the world. I know he loves me—there’s never been any doubt about that. It’s just he’s hardly there for any of us, and that made it extra tough growing up, especially when I am the eldest of three siblings, which include my brother, Clef, and sister, Aria. Back then it was the three of us against the world.
Being the eldest meant I had to step up. I was their caregiver. Their proxy mom. Their proxy dad. Their cook. Their cleaner. The one who would put Band-Aids on their boo-boos. I was there for it all, while my parents were way too busy touring the world to worry about their children.
My father is Stylo Griffin, lead singer of Savage Lies, the world-famous 80’s rock group who is still performing, amazingly still together, and incredibly still going strong. Some say they’re in the same league as Kiss or Bon Jovi.
They grow old but never get old.
They just keep on going.
Mom? She’s the band’s manager, so while the rest of the band’s families grew up with their mothers around, our mom was away on tour with Dad’s band. We are the only Savage Lies’ kids who’ve had to fend for ourselves. Sure, we had nannies and help along the way, but eventually, they all quit, so I took on more of the roles and responsibilities. I’m not angry or bitter—it’s just how it was. I missed out on a normal childhood, a normal life.
I guess it’s why I’m where I am—a florist.
Life for me now is completely away from the industry because I’ve seen what the music business can do to families, and I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted any of it for me.
Can I sing? Yeah, sure.
But that life—the fame game—I’m just not interested unlike my siblings, who are in their own bands and totally taking after my father.
My family is all famous in their own right.
Then there’s me—Lyric Griffin, a florist living in Culver City while keeping a low profile.
Just as it should be.
Pulling up at Love and Lavender, I hop out of the truck quickly, while letting out a long exhale to calm my racing thoughts.
Valentine’s Day—it messes with me.
It’s a day of love, and yet, I have no one in my life to celebrate with.
Not anymore.
I cringe thinking about Corey, my ex, while a shudder runs right through me. Shaking my head from the memory, I think it’s just another good reason to be rid of the music industry.
Corey Ross.
Lead singer of Hazardous.
Breaker of hearts.
Manipulator of women.
Asshole of the universe.
Yeah, come to think of it, I hate Valentine’s Day and what it represents.
Who needs a man anyway?
I unlock the tailgate of my pickup, and the rear falls down with a crash.
Holy hell! I can’t help but take in the disarray that is the rear of my truck. There are buckets turned over, flowers strewn all over the place, and water running out and over the tailgate onto my shoes. Some of the flowers appear damaged, while others are fine. But the roses? The roses are all ruined.
“What in the fucking fuck?”
How the hell did this happen?
I didn’t drive that crazy, did I? I know my head’s all over the place right now, but seriously?
The sun rises in the distance, but while the sky changes tones in ambers, pinks, and turquoise, a chilly darkness settles over my truck as it sits out the front of the store in the small parking lot. The street is deserted as I glance around trying to figure out why the hell my brand-new flowers are currently butchered when I hear something shift at the back of my truck. The hairs on my arms raise instantly, forcing me to stop dead and listen, all my senses on high alert.
Suddenly, a goat sticks its head around one of the buckets while casually munching on a David Austin rose like nobody’s business.
Oh, holy heck!
I jump back from the shock with a gasp and grab at my chest. “What in Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…” I mumble to myself as I study the full-size goat devouring my flowers, those same flowers which are supposed to save my business from an embarrassing shortfall.
Little shit.
Now the shock has worn off a little, annoyance starts creeping in. So, in a loud, shrill voice, I assert myself. “Hey! Drop that David Austin rose right now, billy, or I swear to God—”
The goat’s eyes bug out of its face so much I think its head is going to explode.
Its legs stiffen.
It topples over.
Then plonks as stiff as a board onto the truck tray.
My heart leaps into my throat as I stare at it. My hand flies to my mouth while I hold my breath waiting for it to take a fucking breath.
Nothing.
“Oh God, I’ve killed it! I killed a goat on Valentine’s Day…” I pace at the back of the truck. “Maybe the gods will think of it as a sacrifice?” I groan, looking back at it. “Don’t be stupid!”
Damn, it’s cute with spots like a cow. It really is adorable. “Oh man. I can’t let it die...” Taking in its lifeless body once more, panic ripples through me as I decide what I need to do. I quickly tie back my wavy blonde hair taking in a deep breath. “I got you, little guy. I’m coming. Hold on!”
I pull myself up and into the back of the truck, kicking the half-eaten flowers out of the way.
I have to do something.
So, I prepare to perform some sort of goat CPR.
I have no freaking clue what the hell I’m doing.
Pulling in a deep breath, I smell the foul odor emanating from its mouth. Nope, doesn’t matter. I purse my lips, ready to press them to the goat’s. I close my eyes, lean down, and I am about to blow into its mouth to give it some air when suddenly, a wet sandpaper tongue slides up the side of my face. Slobber and the foulest-smelling I-have-no-idea-what smacks me right in the face. I pull back so dramatically, I fall flat on my ass. My eyes shoot wide open, the goat
now awake and staring at me like it’s smiling. Its big doe eyes glisten like this is the happiest it has ever been.
“What the fuck, billy?” I groan as it continues to smile. “You fucker! You scared the shit out of me.”
Baa, it replies, like nothing’s happened.
I move my hand out cautiously, gradually, and gently petting its head. It nuzzles into me like it’s enjoying my touch. Got to admit, I love the playful attitude this little thing has. I have no idea if the little shit was messing with me, or if it has some kind of medical issue. So, I look it over. Around its neck I notice a collar and a name tag. Grabbing at the piece of metal, I read the inscription. “Pixy… ha. You’re a girl, huh, girl? Well, you’re obviously someone’s pet. Guessing you hopped into the back of my truck at Gino’s. Better give him a call to check you’re not his goat first, right?”
Baa.
“That’s what I thought,” I reply as I pull out my cell to dial Gino.
He answers quickly. “Bella, everything all right with your order?”
Baa.
I glance at the goat who’s nuzzling into the side of my head. “Ahh… not exactly.”
Gino’s silent for a moment, but then quickly responds like he’s defending himself, “I gave you only the best quality. I assure you—”
“No, no, Gino, it’s nothing like that. I know you give me the best…” I pause trying to piece together some words. “It’s just, I, ah… I picked up a stowaway when I left.”
He chuckles. “A stowaway? What do you mean?”
“There’s a goat in my truck.”
He lets out a booming laugh, but I don’t say anything as Pixy answers for me. Baa.
“Well, shit! I just heard that. Is it really a goat?”
I try to hide my smirk. “Yeah. And I think she has a heart condition or something. I thought I’d killed her before. She toppled over when I scared her. I tried to give her mouth-to-mouth, but she woke up.”
Gino lets out another chuckle as I sit back, rubbing behind Pixy’s ear.
