“That’s a good sign, right?”
I’m sure he can’t help but think about Lawrence’s miscarriages. And maybe even my previous one.
I don’t think nausea means everything is okay but it’s not a bad sign. “It’s definitely considered normal.”
He places his head on my stomach. “You’re worried. I see it but let me put your fears to rest. I want this baby. I already love him or her. Don’t worry for a single second that I don’t. You are my heart and now this baby is too. You are my home. Forever.”
“And you are mine.”
The End
I hope you enjoyed Oliver and Adelyn’s story. I would be incredibly grateful if you choose to leave a review.
Now please enjoy this excerpt of Porter and Frankie’s story.
Intern Girl
He won't be able to keep his hands off of his summer intern in this scorching romance from New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal best-selling author Georgia Cates.
My employee’s daughter.
That’s all she was when I let her do odd jobs around the warehouse for a few extra bucks.
And then she went away for college.
This now beautiful, sexy, desirable woman is no longer the tomboy I once called Kiddo.
I want to see how she responds to my kiss.
I want to feel her body tremble as she anticipates my touch.
I want to learn all the places that bring her pleasure.
And I do… in secret.
She is my intern and under me for the summer.
Literally.
This was supposed to be a fling.
A little fun between the sheets without commitment—that’s what we called it.
But we were wrong.
This is more.
Our story is beautiful.
Our love, deep.
Our ending, unescapable… unless she can embrace the past that catches up with me.
PREVIEW INTERN GIRL
Porter Beckman
Fuck, this has been an unproductive day.
Three intern interviews this morning and not a single applicant I’d even consider as a temp while I look for someone to take the full-time graphic design and marketing position. Unless I settle for the guy who called me maaan every time he addressed me, showed up an hour late, and smelled like he had just smoked weed in the car before he came into the brewery.
Liked his designs. Hated the zero-fucks-given attitude.
I look at the résumé of my one o’clock interviewee. “Frances Ameline Dawson. Sounds like someone’s grandmother.”
I scan her résumé and quickly discover that she’s a new graduate. Which means this is another interview that will be a waste of my time. I’m certain that she’ll be looking for a full-time position and not a summer internship.
Bachelor of fine arts from the University of Alabama earned in three years. Driven.
GPA 4.0. Intelligent.
Recipient of the Howard B. Jones graphic design award. Talented.
They don’t give that bastard to someone with mediocre skills. She must be a good artist… no, make that a damn good artist.
Miss Frances Ameline Dawson has captured my attention.
I look up when I hear Lucas knock on my open door. “Hey. I’ve got to make a delivery to BCC. Want to ride out there with me and grab a late lunch afterward?”
“Love to but can’t. Got an interview in ten minutes.”
“Oh yeah. Forgot you had that going on today. Haven’t found anyone yet?”
“Not even close.”
“Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for soon.”
“Hope so.” I’m taking care of all the graphic design and marketing, plus working on the winter seasonal recipe with Oliver. I’m up to my ass in alligators and in desperate need of someone to take up some slack.
Molly—our office manager, head of human resources, and second mom to all of us—leans around the doorway and pokes her head into my office. “Next… applicant… is… here.” Why does she sound like she’s singing a song? Is she that happy it’s the last one for the day?
Frances is early. I like that.
“I can see that you have things to do so I’m outta here,” Lucas says.
Molly slides her arm around him. “Tell Lawrence I said hello and to stop being a stranger. We miss her face around this place.”
“Don’t worry, mama. I’ll tell her.”
“Are you ready for me to send her back?” Molly has this huge grin plastered across her face.
Why is she so giddy? “Send her in.”
I’m taking another glance at Miss Dawson’s application when she taps on the door. “Hey Beck.”
Beck? Well, hell. There goes any hope I had for this one acting more professional than the three I saw ahead of her this morning.
“It’s Beckman.” I lift my eyes to Frances Ameline Dawson at the same time I correct her.
Loose long dark curls. Vivid ocean eyes. Flawless porcelain skin. White teeth behind a lovely smile.
Fuck. Me.
Gorgeous.
“Come in and have a seat.”
She and her four-inch fuck-me pumps cross my office, and she lowers herself into the chair across from me, placing her black portfolio by her feet. “It’s good to see you again. Been a while, right?”
What. The. Hell?
This girl knows me.
And I have no idea who she is.
Have I fucked her? No. I would remember being between that pair of legs. Unless I was shit-faced. But even then, I don’t think I could forget this one.
Her eyes. Something about them seems familiar. But that body… I’ve never seen it before. And I’m certain I’ve never seen it naked. I would remember.
“How long has it been?” Maybe I can put the pieces together if I have some kind of time frame.
“Three years.” She earned her degree in three years. I think this girl is only twenty-one, which means that she’d have been eighteen three years ago. A kid. Barely legal. No way I fucked her… unless I had no idea how young she was.
Dammit. I cannot recollect Frances Ameline Dawson. Not even a little. And I really, really, really want to.
“You don’t recognize me?” Her voice is low. Childlike. Am I imagining a pang of hurt in it?
I wish I could place her. But I won’t pretend I do and risk looking like a fool. “I’m sorry, Frances. I don’t.”
“Frankie. Not Frances.”
Frankie… Frankie… Frankie Dawson? Oh, Scott’s daughter. Kiddo. I’ve known this girl since her father came to work for us when we opened Iron City’s doors five years ago. “Kiddo.”
A broad smile spreads across her face when I call her by the nickname I gave her years ago. “You remember.”
“Took a minute but yeah I do. In my defense, you’ve… changed.” Changed? Huge understatement. Developed. Matured. Bloomed. Blossomed. All of those would be much better word choices.
Short hair. No makeup. Baggy clothes. Straight, gangly body. Those are the things I remember about Frankie as a teenager. But no more. Kiddo is no longer a kid. She is a woman. A beautiful one.
Seems like only yesterday when she was here sweeping the warehouse and doing odd jobs around Molly’s office. Until she’d find her way to the art and marketing department. My territory.
She took an interest in what I was doing. Watched me. Asked questions. Doodled more than she swept. She was quite the little artist even back then.
I once found a crumpled sketch of a beer label in the trash when I was digging for something I had lost. I had no idea who had drawn it until I looked at the name signed in the lower right-hand corner of the page. Frankie Beckman. Not Frankie Dawson.
She was only sixteen, maybe seventeen but was apparently crushing on me since she was toying with the idea of being Mrs. Beckman. Typical behavior for a silly teenage girl. But Frankie was no typical teenage girl. She was a tomboy to the nth degree.
But not anymore.
“It’s okay that you couldn’t place me. I know I don’t look anything like I did the last time you saw me.”
“Not at all.” My eyes are tempted to leave her face and roam her body, but I force them to stay on her eyes… and pouty full pink lips.
Get on with the interview, Beckman. “You graduated from the University of Alabama in three years?”
“I did.”
Damn. That’s an accomplishment. “Impressive but why the rush?”
“The twins graduated from high school this year and they’ll be going to Alabama in the fall. My parents were going to have three kids in college at the same time if I didn’t push to finish early. I couldn’t do that to them because I wanted to take it easy.”
Selflessness. A quality you don’t find in many these days.
“I’m sure Scott and Tara appreciated that.”
“It was brutal at the time but completely worth it. I can say that now that it’s over.”
It took five years for me to graduate but not because I was a slacker. Oliver and I were concentrating on brewing and how we were going to build a company from nothing. Classes took a back seat to that. And I haven’t spent a single day being sorry about it.
“Let’s have a look at your portfolio.” I’m eager as fuck to see the designs of a Howard B. Jones award recipient.
She leans forward to pick up her portfolio, giving me a clear view down her blouse. Damn. She’s wearing a black lace bra. And I can’t help but wonder if the panties beneath her skirt match.
I quickly divert my eyes back to her application and remind myself that this is Frankie. Kiddo. My warehouse manager’s daughter. Having thoughts like that about her makes me a total dick.
One. Hundred. Percent.
She opens her portfolio case on the sofa and bends forward to take out her work, giving me the perfect view of her ass and legs in that skirt. So I do what men do. I look… despite knowing how dead I’d be if Scott saw me checking out his daughter.
Is Kiddo aware of what she’s doing? Or is she still so innocent that she doesn’t realize she’s presenting more than just her designs?
“This was my senior project. I consider it my best work.” I quickly avert my eyes and look back to hers when she turns around to present her work. I hope like hell she didn’t see me ogling her ass.
“My assignment was to build a start-up business from scratch. I chose a hard cider company. My research showed that men and women are drinking cider equally so my design needed to appeal to both sexes. The typical cider drinker is between the ages of twenty-one and forty so I knew I needed to keep it modern and fresh.”
She removes the poster cover and it isn’t possible not to instantly be sucked into her design. The font. The colors. The artwork. They’re… perfection.
“For my advertising posters, I chose a different couple for each cider—each with a sexy, classic pinup-style girl and a devil-like man. The play on design concentrates on fruit from the Garden of Eden, depending upon the flavor of the featured cider. The design is reminiscent of sex and sin.” Her smile deepens. “And who doesn’t love that?”
Fuck. Me.
She goes through her posters, explaining them in great detail and then the product label itself. Everything about her design, her strategy… brilliant. “I would never have thought to take this route. My man brain doesn’t function this way, but every little detail about your campaign works.”
“A sexy woman and a bad boy. No one hates that.”
“These are really great.” I’m pretty sure Lucas and Lawry would pay big bucks to have these images on their cider products.
“Got an A on this project.”
“You should have gotten an A-plus-plus.” Her work is that good.
She returns to her case and takes out several foam-core posters… while bending over in front of me again. “I have lots of other beer label designs if you want to see them.”
“Absolutely.”
Ales. Stouts. Porters. Lagers. Malts. There must be at least twenty-five labels here for all different styles of beer. And not one of them is less than superb. “I’m impressed, Kiddo. Not only with your designs but also the way you grasp the marketing side of this business.”
“That means a lot to me. Thank you.”
“Are you aware that this position is for a summer intern and not full-time employment?”
“I am. I’m moving to Austin in September. There’s no point in finding a job in Birmingham only to turn around and quit three months later. A summer internship is perfect for me. I think the experience I’d gain here would look great on my résumé when I apply for jobs in the fall.”
I need temporary help. Frankie needs experience. I think this could work out perfectly. “How many hours a week could you work?”
“As many as you need.”
Frankie is already Iron City family. And the perfect candidate for this summer job. This is a no-brainer. “It’s your position if you want it.”
“Of course I want it.”
“Can you start Monday if Molly can push the paperwork through in time?”
“I sure can.”
“Stop by and see her on your way out. She’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you for this opportunity. I really appreciate it.”
She gathers her artwork and returns it to her portfolio. One last look at her ass and legs. After this, no more. I swear.
“Dress code around the office?”
She looks sexy as fuck in what she’s wearing. I’d love to see her in more short skirts, blouses with low necklines, and black lace bras, but that ain’t Iron City Brewery style.
“We’re casual around here. Jeans or shorts and a T-shirt are fine unless we have a big client coming in. But you’d never be expected to dress up for them. That would fall on Lucas, Oliver, and me.”
“Okay. Then I guess I’ll see you on Monday at…?”
“I get here around eight.”
“All right. Eight o’clock, Monday. I’ll be here.”
She stops in the doorway and looks back at me. “Working together again will be like old times. I look forward to it.”
“Me too.” I say the words but I already know that nothing about working side by side with Frankie is going to feel like old times. It isn’t possible with this grown-up, hotter-than-fuck version of her.
It’s only for the summer. Twelve weeks.
No big deal. I’ve got this.
Frankie Dawson
“Sorry I’m late, girls.”
“No worries. Both of us were late so we haven’t been waiting long.” I wasn’t worried. And I’m also not surprised. Brooke and Dillyn are habitually tardy.
“Order drinks yet?”
“Yeah. White wine for me. Red for her,” Brooke says.
Wine is their typical drink choice but I’ve never been a fan. Too pungent for my taste. The one and only time I found a vino I enjoyed, my head pounded for two days after drinking it. The pain was different than a hangover, which makes me wonder if I have a wine allergy. I’ve heard that’s a real thing. “You know wine hates me.”
“We know.” Dillyn pushes the drink menu across the table toward me. “Here are the specials if you want to take a look.”
I’m thumbing through my choices when our server returns with their wine. “White for you annnd… red for you. Do you need another minute to look over the menu or are you ready to order?”
At twenty-one, I’m not a seasoned drinker. I usually go for something sweet and fruity but I feel like trying my new employer’s product. My sort-of employer. “I think I’ll have the Iron City seasonal apricot ale.” Fruity. Seems like a good place to start.
“Nice choice.”
Dillyn takes a drink of her wine. “Well, I can’t imagine you ordering an Iron City beer if things didn’t go well at your interview with them today.”
“Couldn’t have gone better. I got the internship.” I may be kidding myself but I don’t think my dad’s em
ployment at Iron City had anything to do with Porter giving me the position. I think he really likes my designs.
Brooke holds up her palm for a high five. “That’s great, Frankie. Congratulations.”
Dillyn lifts her glass. “We have to make a toast.”
I point to the empty space on the table. “No drink yet.”
“We’ll toast to you making the big bucks after your drink arrives.”
I think Brooke is confusing job and internship.
“I’ll be earning a dollar above minimum wage. I’m afraid that doesn’t equate to big bucks.” I’m the summer intern. I’m lucky to be getting paid at all. Minimum wage plus an extra buck an hour… I suspect that part is Porter being generous because I’m his warehouse manager’s daughter.
“How many hours do you think you’ll work every week?” Dillyn asks.
“Porter said to expect forty.”
She nods. “Nice. Forty hours over a twelve-week period will add up. You should have a nice chunk of change by the end of the summer.”
“God knows I’ll need it.” This move to Austin isn’t going to be cheap.
“We’ve already told you to stop worrying about money. Dillyn and I have things covered until you find a job and get on your feet.”
Brooke and Dillyn both come from wealthy families. They had college funds. Luxury cars. Monthly allowances—big ones. I went to Alabama on a scholarship and worked as a waitress to make up for what my parents couldn’t afford.
I couldn’t be more different than Brooke and Dillyn.
I was never that kid who made friends easily. I didn’t click with the girls I went to high school with, but all of that changed when I met Brooke and Dillyn. They were a year ahead—and I’m still not sure what made them take an interest in me—but the three of us became fast friends during my freshman year at Alabama.
I love them like sisters. More than sisters. I’d do anything for those two. That includes moving to Austin, Texas.
Neighbor Girl (Southern Girl Series Book 2) Page 25
