by JC Harroway
His response brought some relief that maybe he didn’t completely hate her, but all she could manage was, “I like the new name.”
Finally, he spoke. “Yeah, I figured my parents hadn’t done anything for me, so why should I do anything for them by keeping the name going?”
The callback to their childhood returned her to the grimy old apartment building and crappy foster parents who didn’t even care enough to buy food for her let alone put it on a table. It was no longer painful for her to think about those days; that work had been done in the years of therapy that followed, but seeing Will reminded her of how far she’d come. Of how far he’d come.
“Understood,” she said, fighting against throwing herself into his arms for the hug she so desperately wanted. To finally confirm that he was her friend, that he didn’t hate her was heady. “I, uh, changed my name too.”
He held her eyes as his hands slid into the pockets of the ripped jeans that still must have cost a fortune. He wasn’t a typical hotelier, more comfortable in leather jackets and jeans than Wall Street suits and the effect wasn’t insignificant. The worn leather conformed to his wide shoulders and made him look a touch dangerous while his ripped black jeans molded to muscular legs probably honed on the back of a motorcycle. He’d always looked like a brawler even as a teenager just trying to get by in their lousy neighborhood, but now the young boy she’d known was a man who was more likely to deliver a single cut to an assailant’s neck than use his fists.
His gaze flicked to Maisey, who seemed to drift away from them, realizing the import of the reunion. She imagined that pointed look of his sent many of his own employees scurrying away, as well. He had a presence.
“You look just the same, Laura,” he finally said.
“But you look different,” Laura smiled, trying to act normal. “You’re all grown up.”
Their eyes held and Laura felt a weird nostalgia for those days even though they’d been her worst ones on record. Will had been her bright light, her only friend for so many awful, harrowing years where the only thing she had to look forward to was turning eighteen and getting out on her own even though that most certainly meant an aimless and harder life on the streets.
“I missed you,” she blurted, saying the stupidest thing possible but unable to regret it. It was the truth. “When I left, that is.”
A corner of his wide mouth kicked up just like it always had when her mouth was faster than her head, which in those days had been often. “You too, Laura. But then I wasn’t the one who left without a word.”
A vise clamped around her heart, just like it had that day and a lot of the days after when she thought of Will. For five years, they’d been the best of friends. Will had gotten her food when she’d been hungry, forged signatures on papers for school when her foster parents had been too drunk or high to do it themselves, stolen her clothes when she’d outgrown the others, kept her safe from the thousands of threats that had visited a child. And she’d left him without so much as a goodbye.
“I wanted to leave you a note, but child protective services came to school to get me. There wasn’t time for anything but grabbing my stuff.” It wasn’t exactly the entire truth, but enough of it.
He nodded like he’d suspected as much. “Yeah, John and Nancy, upstanding citizens that they were, got caught with drugs and were carted off to jail when I got home that day. I figured someone had come to take you back to the center.”
Laura shook her head, skin crawling at the memory of her awful foster parents who vacillated between neglectful and downright mean. That day when child services came to get her hadn’t been easy because it meant abandoning Will, but she’d done the right thing. When she tried to find him at school to say goodbye, he hadn’t been in any of his typical hangouts and when she’d tried to leave a note for him in his room she’d found the window of his bedroom, the way they normally met up with each other, locked. Fast forward to the unanswered emails and returned letters and this was like some kind of fantasy where she got to right her past wrongs and also look at an insanely attractive man as she repented.
Getting herself under control, she explained, “I got placed with a family way out in the suburbs, nearly to Pennsylvania.”
“Ah,” he said, absorbing the information of where she’d been all these years. “Good one?”
“The best,” she confirmed. “I’m heading home tomorrow for the holiday.”
That wry, half smile again. “Good, Laura. You deserved it.”
“You did, too, Will.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but she knew it did and her heart broke all over again for how she’d left him. She had so many questions to ask and while the lobby of his hotel didn’t seem like the right place, she had to know.
“Did you—” she started to ask about what happened to him after she left, but he interrupted her with, “So that’s why you like a whimsical Christmas, huh? Because you got your own Christmas present that year. Out of the shithouse and into a home of your own.” He gestured to the tree. “Does this live up to your fantasies?”
She knew a deflection when she saw one, but allowed it. “Well, since I’m the one who designed it, I should hope so.”
He did a double take then and she had a moment of satisfaction at surprising him. “You’re Dream Designs?”
“That’s me.”
His eyes grazed hers again and she felt that tingle of electricity she’d begun to feel as soon as she hit fourteen. She’d loved him fiercely, like a brother when they’d first met and she’d been twelve but it had changed as she’d gotten older. And now he was looking at her like he knew what she looked like without clothes on and she liked it very much.
“Will,” she started, because she needed to thank him. For so many things really, but mostly for just being her friend and keeping her alive. “I’ve wondered about you all these years. I wish—”
“You did a good job,” he interrupted again, clearly not interested in talking about the past. “Everyone loves the lobby. You’ve given me the most talked about holiday display in the city. Not an easy feat.”
The compliment had her beaming inside, but she didn’t like that he wouldn’t let her talk about the past. More than anything else in her life, she regretted not being able to tell him just how much he’d meant to her. How much he still meant. She had a ton of friends now, but none as important or as good or as dear as he’d been to her.
Her childhood nightmare had ended when she’d been adopted by the family she left him for, but it’d taken her a long time to accept that she was worth their regard, that she was worth loving at all. The vague memory of her real parents had faded by the time she knew Will, but he’d made her feel that way too, safe and loved, and she wanted him to know, hoped that she’d been that for him, as well.
She locked her eyes on his, hoping to telegraph just what she was feeling even though he wouldn’t let her say the words. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Christmas jobs are my favorite and this was a special one for me, so that means a lot.” She wanted to say that she’d created it for him, so in some weird way she could give him the Christmas he deserved.
Will nodded as if his compliment was no big deal, and then he suddenly pulled his phone from his pocket, his face scowling at the screen. Within seconds his scrolling grew choppy and his face agitated, which made her anxious because she was about to miss her chance to reconnect with him.
After several more moments, his eyebrows edged together as regret colored his dark eyes. “I have a thing I need to do right now, but can I take you to dinner later?”
“Of course,” she chirped, sounding like someone who never left the house and was jumping at the chance, but she didn’t care. There was so much she needed him to know.
He gave a quick, decisive nod before sliding his phone back into his pants. “Good, I’ll be in touch with the details.”
And then he was striding off into the crowded lobby of his hotel, leaving her to wonder just how the boy who’d eaten by stealing them food from the corner store was now a billionaire hotelier.
That was one mystery, at least, she hoped to finally solve.
Copyright © 2020 by Terra Rogerson
Bronte Pierce needs a break, and a job at Fast & Fury might be just the thing to reset her life. What she gets is Crow, the stubborn, sexy, hard-headed boss she can’t get out of her head. But when a single murder turns into a conspiracy, it’s Crow who protects her—and puts her at risk of losing her heart.
Read on for a sneak preview of Custom Built by New York Times bestselling author Chantal Fernando.
Custom Built
by Chantal Fernando
CHAPTER ONE
“I’M SORRY, BRONTE,” Nadia says, shoulders hunching. “You know how much the business has been struggling for months, and now it’s barely making enough money for me to cover my own ass, never mind have an employee. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, forcing a smile, even though I feel like crying. I mean, I knew this was coming. I’ve worked as an assistant for Nadia’s private investigator firm for years now, and I know how hard this decision must be for her. We had spoken about it a few months ago, and to be honest I’m surprised she has kept me on for this long.
However, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I need this job, and I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do without it. I don’t have any other qualifications, and I can’t afford to go back to college to finish my teaching degree. And I don’t even want to talk about health insurance. Thank God I had my second surgery several months ago. I can’t even fathom what I will do if the abnormal cells come back.
I know how bad times are for Nadia, though, with us getting less and less work with every passing month. I’d spent this week cleaning and rearranging the office because I didn’t have much else to do.
I see Nadia more like family than my boss, but I know that she has to do what’s best for her. I understand that—it’s just going to be a shit time for me right now.
“I’ll pack up my things,” I say, and swallow hard, looking at my desk. I pick up the picture of me and my dad, both of us smiling, his arms wrapped around me. It was taken last year at Christmas, my red lipstick all over his cheek where I had kissed him. Dad has always been my rock, and I know he’d help me if I need it, but I’m too old to be running to my daddy. I need to sort this all out myself and find a new job as soon as possible, before my savings dry up and put me in deeper shit.
“I’m really sorry,” Nadia repeats, her voice cracking.
I put the photo frame down and turn to give her a hug. “It will be fine, it’s not the end of the world. I’ll find another job, and hopefully business will pick up for you and you can keep this place running.”
This might not be what I need right now, a kick when I’m down, already stressed out over my health issues, but you can’t control what curveballs life decides to throw you.
No matter what happens, I know I’ll be okay. When one door closes, another one opens, right?
I comfort Nadia, I gather my things, and I leave.
I woke up this morning employed and fairly optimistic, and now I’m going home without a job and no idea where my next paycheck is going to come from.
Life can be a bitch sometimes, can’t it?
* * *
Just before Christmas isn’t the best time to try to find employment. Everyone has already been hired for the season, and no one wants to take on someone they would have to train during the busy festive season. Not surprisingly, my resume isn’t remarkable, and my private investigator skills aren’t even going to help me work in a bar or restaurant.
“Have you ever worked in a bar before?” a manager at one of the establishments asks me.
“Well, no, but—”
“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting me off. “We need someone with experience.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
I mean, how hard could it be, right? It’s not like I’m a doctor looking for a new job. I can learn to serve drinks and food and wear a smile while doing it. I’m a hard and efficient worker; I just need someone to give me a chance. I didn’t finish college because the timing wasn’t right for me.
“Come back after the holidays” is all I get in response.
I decide to call up all the private investigator firms in my city, but none of them are hiring either. In the world of easily accessible technology, people are probably handling their own investigating, cutting out the middleman and leaving me jobless. I really hope Nadia will be okay and not have to shut down the firm. The thought saddens me, and I hope there’s a way she can stay open and get more clients in the upcoming weeks. Otherwise she might be here along with me, trying to get any job she can.
My phone rings, “All I Want for Christmas Is You” playing loudly. “Hello?”
“Hey, princess,” my dad says, and I can hear the smile in his tone. “I haven’t heard from you in a week. Is everything okay?”
I haven’t spoken to him since I got fired, because I don’t want to admit that I’m currently failing at life. Asking for help has never been my strong point—I prefer to suffer in silence and try to solve all problems on my own. I know I’m going to have to tell him, though; I’m just going to buy myself a little time.
“Everything is fine, Dad,” I assure him. “How are you?”
My dad lives about an hour away from my apartment, and we catch up for family dinner every week or so. Besides that, we usually text or chat every day or every other day. I love spending time with him, and I look forward to seeing him. Yes, I’m a daddy’s girl.
“I’m good, just busy with work. You know how it is,” he says.
Actually, right now I don’t.
My dad has always worked hard, and that’s where I got my own work ethic from. As soon as I was old enough to get a job, I did. I was never spoiled, and had to work for everything I had. For my first car, he told me he’d match whatever I saved, which taught me how to work for my money, but also allowed him contribute.
Dad now owns a construction business, along with my uncle Neville, who also owns and runs a farm. Dad mainly does the admin side of things, but he started off as a laborer, so he isn’t afraid of hard work.
“I’ve been thinking about you today, so I thought I’d give you a call.”
“When are you free this week?” I ask. Might as well face him, because avoiding him isn’t going to help the situation. I can’t lie to him, though, so I guess I’m just going to have to tell him what happened in person. Or maybe I should try to secure a new job first.
“Always free for you,” he says, voice gentle. “I was actually calling to invite you over on the weekend. I’m having a barbecue, and everyone will be there. Your uncle wants to see you too, so I hope you can make it.”
“Okay, message me the details and I’ll be there,” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it.”
We say our byes and I love yous and hang up. Sighing, I glance down at my handful of resumes and lift my chin. Surely there’s something for me out there. I’m too old to have no job security, and it annoys me that it has come to this. I should have gone back and finished my degree—then I’d have something to fall back on—but there’s no point with the what-ifs now. I just need to find something, anything, and if I don’t like it, I can always just stay in that job until I find something better.
“Who knows? In a few weeks I might have to come apply here,” I mutter to myself as we pass Toxic, a well-known strip club.
If I didn’t think my father would kill me, I might even consider it.
I spend the rest of the day handing out my resume, smiling and trying to act as charming as can be.
Just hoping the next door to open for me will be a good one.
Don’t miss Custom Built by Chantal Fernando, available wherever Carina Press books and ebooks are sold.
www.CarinaPress.com
Copyright © 2020 by Chantal Fernando
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ISBN-13: 9781488062377
Bad Mistake
Copyright © 2020 by JC Harroway
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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