by B. Cranford
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Dedication
Prologue
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
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Office Call: A Declan & Jade Short Story
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Beth Cranford
No part of this work may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Design by Mila Grayson
Copy Editing by Missy Borucki
Proofing by Amber Hodge
Formatting by Jill Sava, Love Affair with Fiction
Manufactured in the United States
Table of Contents
Synopsis
Dedication
Prologue
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
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Office Call: A Declan & Jade Short Story
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The biggest mistake Jade Miller ever made was agreeing to a date with the World’s Biggest Jackass . . .
Stood up, fuming and, frankly, done with men, Jade’s not about to forgive or forget.
Except, with the voices in her head giving her conflicting ideas, and the man himself showing his smart, sexy, swoony side, she’s having a hard time staying away.
The stupidest thing Declan Young ever did was forget to make that phone call . . .
“Hey, I’m running a little late” could have saved him a year of frustration—sexual and otherwise—at the hands of a certain pink-haired spitfire.
All he wants is another chance, another night—the possibility of making it right. Which he’s determined to get.
The craziest thing is they’re crazy about each other.
Jade would rather believe that they’re enemies.
Declan knows they’re something more.
And that makes them both feel a little bit crazy . . .
For Mum.
Because you’ve believed in, supported, and (most importantly) loved me since day one. Is it finally time to clue Lauren and Evan in that I’m the favorite?
For Dad.
See above re: Mum. But also, remember how I told Annabelle not to read the last book? Same applies. Because otherwise, I won’t be able to look you in the eye anymore.
For Lauren and Evan.
I’m sorry you had to find out this way, even though it’s been an open secret for years.
And for Nana and Pa.
For always spoiling me, even though I’m 34 years old and probably shouldn’t be spoiled anymore. That doesn’t mean you should stop though . . .
I love you all. I miss you every day.
I’ll see you at the airport—soon.
One Year Ago
Left. Right.
Repeat.
Left. Right.
Repeat.
Left. Right.
Repeat.
Jade Miller felt like she’d spent the evening watching a tennis match, when in fact, what’d she’d been doing was waiting. And waiting.
Oh, and did she mention waiting?
Her first date with Declan Young—big shot sports agent, best friend of Sebastian Figures, one of her bosses at Figures Accounting, and hottest man she’d ever seen—was coming to a slow, painful end.
Can I call it an end when there was never technically a beginning?
She scanned the large dining area of the fancy-schmancy restaurant he had chosen, looking left, then right and seeing . . . not Declan.
Still.
Over one and a half hours of waiting, and he wasn’t there. Soon, neither would she.
Grabbing the simple black clutch she’d chosen to bring tonight—the classic color a contrast to the rich purple of her dress, something she’d not normally wear, but had picked because she wanted to step outside her “black skirt, bright shoes” box—she pulled a few bills free and dropped them on the linen tablecloth.
It was more than enough to cover the two martinis she’d drunk, and hopefully also enough to make the waitress who’d served her remember her as a big tipper and not the sad, pink-haired, freckle-faced woman who’d been stood up.
Forgotten.
Again.
I should have known better.
“Miss, can I get you anything else?” The waitress was ever polite, and Jade forced a smile. After all, it wasn’t her fault that Declan had invited her to dinner, reserved a table at one of Madison’s most sought after dining places and then, oh, not fucking shown.
“No, thank you,” Jade spoke quietly, and rose from her seat with the fluid movement of someone who spent a lot of time doing yoga. Because she did—giving her a strong, curvy body that looked incredible in the purple dress she’d picked up at a vintage boutique close to her mom’s house.
The house she was about to go back to. Alone.
Weaving her way through the tables that held happily dining couples, suited men and women discussing business, and one lone family of four—the children surprisingly well behaved—Jade was nearly at the door when it was pushed open.
Declan.
Finally here.
Jade straightened her back and raised her chin, looking at her watch pointedly when he made eye contact. She shook her head.
“Freckles,” he began, but Jade decided she had no interest in his excuses. He had her number—after all, he’d called her to confirm their date only a day earlier—and he hadn’t used it to let
her know he’d be late.
She held up a hand, halting him before he could utter another word. “I don’t know why you’re late and, frankly, I don’t want to know. You’re”—she consulted her watch again, not because she hadn’t noted the time the first time she’d looked, but to drive home her point—“nearly two hours late, and you didn’t bother to call. I’m leaving.”
“Shit, Freck—” Declan reached out for her as she brushed past, and she jerked her arm away before he could get a grip on it. “Hey, I’m sorry.”
Jade knew she should have responded, and she acknowledged that she probably should have heard him out, except . . . she didn’t want to. Her history wasn’t exactly stellar, and if he couldn’t even get their first date right, what was the point of trying for a second?
Or would it be another first since this one failed in an epic way?
“Not interested. Next time you come into the office,” she said, referring to Figures Accounting, “don’t look at or speak to me, got it?”
She raised one hand in a loose see you never kind of way, and pushed on the door to exit the restaurant.
There was nothing for it. Declan Young might be the superstar of sports agencies to most people, but to her, he would always be the jackass who left her sitting alone in a crowded place, wearing a dress she’d bought with him in mind.
Ugh. Jackass.
Present Day
Pink was not a color Declan Young particularly enjoyed.
With two exceptions.
The warm, welcoming flesh of a woman, and the bright bubblegum shade of Jade Miller’s hair.
And at that moment, the sight of one of those two things in front of him, soaking wet, was making his mouth water.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Despite the ever-present attraction that coursed through his veins, he couldn't keep the anger out of his voice as he took in the drowned-rat hair, the triple ear piercings, and the tattoos of Jade.
And the freckles. Holy fuck, those freckles.
“Nothing happened to me. It's raining, Jackass.” Typical Jade response, brimming with sass, even when she was sodden and shivering cold.
“Are you bleeding?” Despite the rain now dripping down the collar of his white business shirt, Declan’s exasperation threatened to boil over and burst into flames. He’d seen her sitting on the curb—her pink hair a beacon—and pulled over to check on her, only to find her chilled, wet to the bone and bleeding. Not to mention, dripping sarcasm.
Yeah, the only thing dry about her in that moment was her attitude toward to him.
This woman will be the death of me.
“It's a scrape. Are you going to offer me a ride, or stand there judging me?” She barely glanced down at the knee that was oozing blood, a watery trail leading down to her signature brightly colored heels.
Today they were purple. The color of sexual frustration, something Declan thought was painfully appropriate. Also, he noted, the color she’d worn on their ill-fated date exactly one year ago.
“I'm not judging, I'm just trying to figure out what the hell you've gotten yourself into.” Jade was dressed to kill. Between the purple heels and the tight little black dress, damn if it didn't make him as hard as a rock.
Which was fucking inconvenient since she'd once declared—at a Sunday Brunch with their mutual friends, which no doubt led to some awkward conversations for her later that day—that she wouldn't sleep with him again if he were the last man on earth.
Possibly the fact she was openly, proudly bisexual gave basis to her declaration. After all, she'd always made it clear that she didn't have to have a man to get what she needed. Just as he'd always been clear that he needed a woman who would let him take care of her.
It was obvious that Jade Miller would never, ever let him take care of her. Especially not since he’d bombed out on his one and only chance with her. Even though she’d let him in her panties and her body just a few short weeks later—which he called inevitable and she referred to as a mistake—she still hadn’t forgiven him. More than a year later and she still hadn’t forgiven him.
“I didn't ‘get myself into’ anything,” she stated with no small amount of annoyance, making it clear, not for the first time, that she thought his protective streak was caveman-ish and not favorable, unlike most sane women he met.
Sane was not a word he'd use to describe this one.
“Dressed like that, out this late—”
“You don’t want to finish that sentence. Believe me. How about you quit while you’re not ahead?”
“I’m just saying—” He tried to explain that she looked too good, but again he was interrupted.
“So, anyway”—she tapped one purple heel impatiently—“a ride?”
Declan sighed. He wanted to help her. Actually, he wanted to put her over his knee and spank the sass right out of her, but that option wasn't on the table.
He nodded. “Get in.” Opening the door of his Mustang, he reached over and grabbed an old sweatshirt that he kept on his backseat, just in case.
He never thought just in case would be just in case you drive by Jade Miller cold and bleeding on the side of the road at one-thirty in the morning after a torrential downpour.
But whatever. He laid it on the passenger seat then stood patiently while she climbed in before rounding the front of the vehicle and sliding into the driver’s seat.
“You gonna tell me what the fuck happened?” He didn't figure she would, but the least he could do was ask. She might think him a Neanderthal, but if she was hurt or in trouble he'd help her.
Jade was his buddy Sebastian’s office manager, and Sebastian’s fiancée’s best friend. Brighton was his friend, too. And she cared about Jade so, by extension, Declan did also. Though he suspected, as he took in her shivering form once more, that this girl would have made him care regardless of the friends they had in common.
There was just something about her.
“Well?” He tried again, but the pink-haired spitfire in his passenger seat merely crossed her legs, then her arms and sniffed at him.
Actually sniffed at him.
For fuck’s sake.
“Where to?” If she wasn't going to talk about what happened, she could at least tell him where to go.
Literally. Though he was sure she'd be happy to tell him where to go metaphorically too.
To hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.
“Brighton’s.” She paused, then turned her head to look at him and, as always, when their eyes met, a crackle of awareness shot through him. “Please.”
Of all the gin joints . . . It had to be Declan Young who came to her rescue tonight.
It couldn't have been some cab driver, trawling the Madison streets for a fare, or a group of girlfriends headed home for the night.
Nope, her luck ensured it was Declan.
She sat, soaked to the bone, in the front seat of his Mustang, categorically not looking at the messy blond hair and clean-shaven cheeks of her All-American chauffeur.
And yes, she meant in looks as well as in accomplishments. According to her (not) online stalking, he’d been named All-American in college before he’d gone on to found his multi-million-dollar sports agency.
Jackass.
She sat stock-still, absolutely not breathing deep of his spicy cologne, a scent that didn’t make her want to shiver. That was the cold. Definitely the cold. She was, after all, a drowned rat who recently survived what could only be described as a deluge of rain.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the memories of him pressing up against her in the supply closet at her work, pounding into her so hard and so fast from behind that neither of them had gotten completely naked. His voice whispering in her ear that it didn’t matter if she hated him, because he didn’t hate her.
Did I mention he’s a jackass?
Reluctantly, she uncrossed her arms and her legs, and shifted in her seat to look at him. His profile was strong, his square jaw clenched. He was pissed
off, she could tell.
It seemed to be his default mood around her.
“Thank you for the ride. I know it's out of your way.” And it was. When she'd set out tonight, she had planned to stay close to home—home being her best friend, Brighton’s, gorgeous split-level, at least for the next two weeks. But the crowd she'd been with had decided to venture thirty minutes away to Madison, claiming the night scene was better.
And it was.
More dangerous too.
“It’s about the only thing I can do to ensure you don’t get into more trouble.” His voice still held an edge of anger, but mostly she thought he sounded exasperated.
It was a tone of voice she’d heard a lot from him since their aborted date, so she recognized it well.
Jade sighed, deciding to let the comment pass, and made an attempt at small talk. “Why are you out so late?”
“I could ask the same of you.” Declan’s response was curt, and she knew it pissed him off to no end that she wasn’t apologizing for finding herself on the side of the road after a late night, and that she wasn't a damsel in distress, dropping to her knees to suck his cock in gratitude.
If she was honest, she'd suck his cock because he was the hottest man she'd ever been in the vicinity of. And since she hadn’t done it when she’d had the chance, it seemed to be her default fantasy.
Wanting something you can’t have and all that.
“Sorry, Daddy, did I stay out past my curfew?” Jade didn't fail to notice the slight smirk that appeared around the edges of Declan’s full lips at her use of the word Daddy. Of course, he'd get off on that.
Neanderthal.
“Freckles—”
She gritted her teeth, cutting him off with a growl—an actual growl—because if there was one thing she hated, it was being called Freckles.
Especially when it fell from the stupid, kissable lips of the man in the driver’s seat.
“Don't even start.” She shook her head, knowing his use of her unwanted nickname was designed to rile her up.
Why else would he use it?
