Copyright © 2021 KATHRYN HALBERG
Supervising Editor: Stephanie Marrie
Associate Editors: Alexandria Boykin, Jaret Czajkowski, Erika Skorstad, Viviana Moreno
Cover Designer: L. Austen Johnson, www.allaboutbookcovers.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations and other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to publisher at
[email protected].
ISBN (ebook): 978-1-952919-35-0
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-952919-36-7
www.GenZPublishing.org | Aberdeen, NJ
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Look out for Book 2
Thank you for reading
Other GenZ Romances
About the Author
1
“Olive! Put. It. Down!”
Smothering a frustrated grunt, Rachael stalked across the bright bedroom in stealth mode. Easing her outstretched arm toward the miscreant, prepared to lunge, she caught nothing but drifting dust particles as Olive slipped away again at the last second. What had gotten into her?
“I do not have time for this!” she vented, glaring at Olive’s dancing figure.
His eyes tracking their movements, Martini lounged on the bed with the casual grace of a bored aristocrat.
“You’re a good boy, Martini,” Rachael crooned. Swiveling his head, he grinned with pure elation, tiny pink tongue lolling out the corner of his mouth.
Turning back to Olive, she threw her hands in the air and seized the emergency stash from the bookshelf. “Olive. Want a yum yum?”
Interest piqued, Olive froze with her head cocked to the side.
“That’s right,” Rachael purred. “Come get your treatsie.”
The little minx inched closer until she determined it was the real deal. She sat down and whipped her short tail back and forth, finally dropping the shoe. Rachael snagged it and tossed Olive the treat simultaneously, one of the least thrilling ransom swaps of all time.
“Spoiled girl,” she muttered, tossing another treat to Olive’s brother Martini before assessing the leather pump to make sure it wasn’t damaged. Rachael could just imagine attempting a massive pitch while tiny punctured leather bites tickled her heel.
Other people Rachael’s age were getting married and having kids. Yet here she was, squatting in the guest bedroom of her parents’ house—as temporarily as possible—and raising a recently adopted pair of rambunctious furballs. Nary a man in sight, let alone a dream of the pitter-patter of chubby feet. Which was fine. She had other things to focus on.
Like nailing this client.
“Okay you two,” she snapped them to attention. “Out!”
They chased each other through the open door, leaving her remarkably short on time to finish getting ready.
“Rachael!”
Seriously?! What could they possibly be doing already?
Five more minutes. That’s all she needed. Her face was done; she just had to pull out these curlers. Rachael ignored her dad’s increasingly agitated expletives and focused on her hair. Four minutes.
“Rachael Eller!”
Damn. The next curler was tangled in her hair. Cursing as she ripped a few strands clear, she stuck her head out the door. “Yes?” she shouted innocently before racing back to the mirror to assess the damage and pull out the next curler.
“Your dogs!”
Three minutes. Her eyes watered as she yanked out the last two and flipped her head over, spraying and fluffing the golden-blonde tresses. Upright, she reviewed and primped, correcting the flowing fall of curls over her dark fitted jacket. There! And with two minutes to spare.
Pulling the door closed behind her—no sense leaving temptation available to Olive—Rachael stomped down the stairs. “What about them?”
Dad pointed to the kitchen.
Oh.
Milk was puddled on the ceramic tiles, and both dogs lapped at it excitedly. Martini’s head nudged the now-empty cup as he stretched to reach a fresh patch of white.
“How did that happen?”
“They knocked over the side table.”
She ran into the kitchen, shooing them out the door to the fenced yard. At least they could go wreak havoc in peace.
“Who the hell was drinking milk?”
Silence greeted her.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
Dad watched her dab at the mess before shaking his head and reaching into the pantry for the mop. “We’re out of coffee creamer. And now we’re out of milk.” He spritzed some cleaner and removed the last traces of dairy.
Shit. “Thanks,” Rachael mumbled.
As he settled down with his coffee and wall of newspaper, he bent the pages over and eyed her tailored outfit and glossy heels. “You have McAllister today, right?”
Nodding, she washed her hands and tossed away the mess of paper towels. “At nine o’clock.”
“You’ve studied the dossier, the decision-makers?”
“Mhm.”
“Which line are you planning?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “The digital comms package and the content management system.”
He looked through her and she could practically hear the wheels whirling. Their family business had become a billion-dollar global leader in marketing, communications, and innovative technology because of those wheels of his. He was known around the world as “The Great Charles Eller.” But to Rachael, he was just her attentive and inventive dad. Resisting the urge to tap her foot, she waited.
“Focus on their growing overseas markets and how this will help them launch faster and with fewer barriers,” Charles said.
“I will.”
He still didn’t look satisfied. “And don’t forget about the early access to the segmentation platform your sister is building.”
“I won’t. Please stop worrying; I’ve got this.” Rachael smiled at his nervous expression.
“I know you do. You’ll knock ’em dead.”
“You keep cranking out the goods and I’ll get the buyers lined up,” she teased. She checked the time. If she left now, she’d have time to grab some caffeine on the way. “Will you let them in before you leave?”
He eyed the back door with a grimace. “Of course.”
Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, she grabbed her leather shoulder bag with the EHL Global embossed logo and ran out to the car. “See you at dinner!”
Now to deal with Gabe.
* * *
&n
bsp; “Rachael Eller, EHL Global,” she greeted the receptionist. “I have a nine o’clock.”
The young brunette eyed her over the sleek computer screen. “Please have a seat.”
Rachael nodded to the faintly smiling woman, glad to step away from the overly perfumed desk area. Like Charlie Brown and Snoopy’s cartoon friend who was perpetually surrounded by a cloud of dust and dirt, this receptionist wore a swirling, invisible ball of fragrance. Crossing her ankles beneath her seat on the low sofa in the waiting room, Rachael inhaled fresh air and mentally reviewed her presentation.
Calm down, girl. This should be easy. You’ve sold this product line hundreds of times.
But not with him in the room.
She had booked this meeting two weeks ago when everything was still normal. He was just another prospective client, albeit a rather famous headline maker. She was a polite and perfectly persistent rep. No history. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Nothing to wonder about.
“Ms. Eller? Right this way, please.”
Pasting on her sugar-sweet smile, Rachael stepped into the woman’s perfumed wake. Rachael wore four-inch heels, while the receptionist wore kitten heels but still towered over her. Rachael admired tall women who wore heels. She kept telling her sister to give them a whirl, but Carlie only pulled out the pumps when attending unavoidable business functions. What Rachael wouldn’t give to have that height, those forever legs. Instead, she was genetically hand-me-downed Mom’s petite stature. Not that she had anything to complain about, but it sure would be nice to not have to look up at everyone all the time. In the business world, people equated height with power. Sadly, she didn’t have that tool in her arsenal, so she had to rely on her wit, prowess, and charm.
The gatekeeper led her down a blindingly bright hallway, her shoes and Rachael’s echoing on the sterile white tile floor. Click-click, clack-clack, click-click, clack-clack. They passed several occupied offices with frosted glass walls before the receptionist opened a heavy glass door, ushering her in. After the receptionist closed the conference room door, a muffled, solitary set of click-clacks resumed and faded away.
The three men in the room rose to their feet and she marched forward, exchanging a firm handshake with each before urging them to sit. Rachael turned to the other woman in the room and smiled, offering her hand. She shook it as well, watching Rachael with open interest.
The woman was Calista McAllister, sister of Gabe. Both were strikingly tall and frequently graced magazine and tabloid covers, the public never tiring of their long black hair, pale blue eyes, and string of celebrity romances. While Gabe had a reputation to make fathers hide their daughters, Calista was an unknown quotient. The two siblings flanked the other gentlemen, the core of McAllister Corp.
Rachael addressed the CEO, Bruce McAllister, looking straight into his blue eyes, so similar to those of his children. His was the only opinion that would drive this negotiation. “Good morning and thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Ms. Eller, this is purely preliminary,” came a dry voice, raspy with condescension.
Ah, yes. Ivan Stoneworth, Esquire.
He tapped his slightly long, manicured fingernails on the table, one at a time, before leaning forward to scan the other two gentlemen in the room.
“I have yet to see why this meeting is necessary,” he continued, looking down his nose at Gabe.
Smiling pleasantly at the archaic, sour-faced lawyer, Rachael nodded in ready agreement. “I agree, Mr. Stoneworth. This is absolutely just an introduction. I wouldn’t dare come in here and presume to know about your current business models and practices, including your existing outdated model of client and prospect management. Nor would I come prepared with plans to help you double your nineteen percent yield and smooth the way for your tactical forays into Germany and Sweden.”
She caught Gabe’s smirk and Calista coughed lightly into her hand, but Rachael’s gaze remained focused on the lawyer and CEO.
“Let her speak, Ivan,” grumbled Bruce, eyes narrowed as he seized on the audacious projections.
Smothering her smug reaction, Rachael appropriated the floor and settled into executive pitch mode, smiling and cajoling, parrying in time to their questions; two steps forward, then one strategical step backward. She kept the dancing duel moving toward the ultimate goal.
They felt it was their own decision.
They never had a chance.
Leaving a folder with an outline of EHL Global’s services and a customized plan for their corporate implementation and rollout, Rachael smiled warmly at each of them, even the curmudgeon.
“Thank you again for your time today,” she closed. “I look forward to partnering with you on this transition.”
“I’ll escort you out.” Gabe rose, gliding around the table to hold the door open.
“Thank you,” she said calmly while her heartbeat accelerated.
They didn’t speak while traversing the cold white hallway and continuing out the front door. “Which one?” he asked, gesturing to the cars.
She pointed to her black Lexus, and he leaned casually against the driver door.
“You didn’t call,” Gabe stated.
His tall, powerful body lounged deceptively at ease against the car, long muscular arms crossed across his chest. Rachael couldn’t read his guarded expression. His lips were pressed together, his gaze hooded. She knew if she asked, he would stand aside and let her escape. Yet, her curiosity reared its head.
“Were you expecting me to?”
Gabe’s brow furrowed and he dropped his arms, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his Armani pants. “Well, after we . . .”
Swallowing, she waved away his words and shook her head. “Stop. We were both drunk and I sincerely doubt you were looking for a relationship.”
“Maybe I wasn’t expecting to want one.”
Oh, brother.
“You think one fun, messed up romp in the private room of a bar is the start of something? Something the headlines repeatedly scream that you don’t want?”
He shook his head, long black hair sliding off his broad shoulders.
No wonder they call him The Playboy.
Her face heated as she recalled how well he played.
His pale blue eyes traveled over her from head to toe, and he smiled seductively at her marked discomfort. “Have dinner with me.”
It wasn’t even a question. So arrogant.
Stay cool, Rach.
Until the ink was dry on the contract, she couldn’t mess this up.
“When were you thinking?”
Grinning broadly, his perfect white teeth sparkled in the sunlight over the dimple in his chin. “Tonight?”
Rachael made a show of pretending to think it over. “Oh, shoot. I can’t. Have a family thing.”
“Friday?”
“Busy.”
“Saturday,” he deadpanned, sensing the trend.
“Plans with my sister.”
“Tell you what.” He smirked. “You tell me when you’re free.”
“Lunch tomorrow?” Lunch was good; lunch was safe. It rarely involved drinking or inappropriate behavior. Like hooking up with your prospective client. Yeesh.
“Tomorrow then. I’ll pick you up at the EHL entrance.”
Gabe raised to his full height and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Until tomorrow,” he added with a delicious smile before strolling back to the building’s entrance. As much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but stare after him. Lord, she could eat him up. Again.
“You did good in there, Miss Eller,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the steel-and-glass tower.
2
June was Rachael’s favorite time of year in Cincinnati. The trees were full, the grass green, the Reds were hitting homers at Great American, and festivals frequently lined the riverfront. So often, their coastal clients and international bigwigs teased her parents about their choice to remain in Ohio. They didn’t get it. They couldn’t un
derstand. The communities, microbreweries, restaurants, parks, museums, zoo. So much to do. The only thing she wasn’t wild about was sitting in traffic. But she’d still take the traffic here over that of most other cities.
As she idled on the interstate waiting for the cars to start moving again, Rachael considered Gabe. He was unbelievably dazzling, with a strong, chiseled face full of sharp angles, straight black brows, and that decadent silky black hair. And when he looked at you with those all-too-knowing ice-blue eyes . . . She shook the shiver away. Those eyes were what got her in trouble in the first place. They met at a networking event last month and he was receptive to arranging this meeting—a huge get for Rachael. When they bumped into each other a little over a week ago at the bar, he bought her a drink to further discuss things. And that started a crazy evening that she wished she could forget, but still haunted her at night.
Surely another notch in his decorated belt. Ugh.
And now he wanted to wine and dine her? Rachael congratulated herself on coming up with the lunch plan. She simply needed to figure out how to keep things professional. Easy. No problem.
Her phone vibrated and she glanced at the text notification.
Security deposit processed. All the best to you and the dogs, Rachael.
The old landlord. At least he wasn’t penalizing her for unexpectedly bringing dogs into the condo. When she found Martini and Olive in the animal shelter, she fell in love. They were too sweet. Smallish, mixed-breed brother and sister, definitely some terrier and maybe Shih Tzu? Since they were well past their puppy days, everyone doubted they would get adopted together. The thought of them being separated was too depressing to consider. Unfortunately, bringing them home meant her zero-pets-allowed residence was in jeopardy. After two volunteer shifts, she decided they mattered more than a rental. Rachael’s mother thought she was insane. But it didn’t matter. Thankfully, her heretofore empty-nester parents hadn’t commented much on having their adult daughter and mischievous dogs move in. Though they would all breathe easier when she found a new pet-friendly place. Especially after this morning’s fiasco.
Animal Attraction Page 1
