Less Than Three
A Romantic Comedy
Maggie Dallen
Contents
Copyright
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
Epilogue
Love Times Two
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 by Maggie Dallen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Chapter One
IT WAS A butt-dialing disaster of epic proportions.
It happened as Lacey scrambled to gather the last of her belongings from the hotel room. She’d said goodbye to her boss an hour earlier after wrapping up with their Chicago client, and he’d wished her luck, assuring her once again that she was ready to handle a client on her own.
Lacey sucked in a deep breath. Not just any client. Newsom Industries was one of the biggest clients her firm had ever landed. It was only out of sheer luck that all of the other consultants were already booked and the plum job had landed in her lap. “You’re ready for this,” she muttered to herself.
Her boss’s parting words had become a sort of mantra as she threw her belongings into her luggage. “You’re ready for this. You’re ready for this.”
And then it happened.
While leaning over to pick up a pair of undies, she somehow managed to sideswipe her phone. She grabbed it out of her back pocket and stared in horror as the screen lit up with Lawrence Newsom’s name.
Lawrence Newsom III, as in the grandson of Lawrence Newsom, Sr., and the heir apparent to his family’s private jet empire. As in, her next client.
She moved to hit the “end call” button, but she was a second too late. A deep voice on the other end said “Hello?” just before her finger hit its mark and the phone was silenced.
Oh God. She’d hung up on him.
Which was worse, butt dialing your new client or hanging up on him?
Lacey debated calling him to apologize. No, that would make things worse. She’d just forget about it; he would never know it was her. She went to turn off the offensive piece of technology when it happened.
She did it again. One of her fingers barely grazed the screen—the stupid, overly sensitive screen that was now lighting up again. She jabbed the “end call” button.
Why had she let her roommate talk her into buying a new phone? Her old one was a piece of junk, but it never ever became possessed by the devil, unlike this new device.
Tentatively, and with the utmost care, she reached over to turn off the phone and stick it in her bag. For a moment she thought she’d willed the phone to ring. But no, someone was calling her. He was calling.
Maybe he knew it was her. Maybe they’d given him her cell number as well, and he’d programmed it into his phone. Unlikely.
Maybe she should answer—explain the situation. She grimaced at the thought of such a terrible first impression. No, she would just let it go. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
But as the phone’s ringtone pierced the air for a third time, panic set in. One more ring and her voicemail would pick up. He’d hear her chipper message saying, “Hi, you’ve reached Lacey Ames.”
He’d know it was her; she had to pick up. She hit the answer button and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was she going to say?
She drew in a deep breath, but he spoke first.
“Hello? Who is this?”
Lacey’s mouth opened and closed as she struggled to come up with something—anything—to put an end to this call.
He sounded impatient when he spoke again. “I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing.”
Something like a squeak came out of her throat before she fumbled for the off button. She was panting as though she’d run a marathon.
Now is not the time to panic. Think, Lacey.
She would call him. That was the only answer. Even if he didn’t have her number now, he would soon enough. She had to come clean.
She took a deep breath and reached for the phone. She jumped when it let out a dinging noise. It was a text. From him. Her sweaty palms fumbled to find the message.
“Who is this?”
She started to type in an explanation. Then she deleted it. She was on revision number three when the phone dinged again.
“I figure there are three options: #1 You’re a stalker #2 you’re a secret admirer or #3 you got the wrong number.”
Yes, yes, number three! This was her out. She’d tell him it was a wrong number and he’d drop it. This whole ridiculous episode would be over.
She scrambled to type #3 and hit send.
Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. This could not be happening.
She tried to stop the message from sending and moaned in horror when her phone made a swishing noise that signaled the text had been sent.
In her haste, she had mistyped. She’d hit the ‘less than’ symbol just below the pound sign. She watched in horrified fascination as the phone transformed ‘<3’ into a bright red heart emoticon.
This could not be happening.
Lawrence Newsom called again. No doubt to threaten his lunatic admirer with a restraining order. She answered and hung up. Five minutes later as she rushed out of the hotel room, she answered and hung up again.
By the time she arrived at the airport she had hung up on Lawrence Newsom a total of six times and was in a perpetual state of fear that her phone would ring again.
This was ridiculous. She couldn’t keep this up forever. What if he called when she was in the shower or fast asleep? He’d get her voicemail and assume that his new public speaking coach was a full-blown crazyface.
She would disconnect her number. That was it. She would get a new number. But then her family and friends would have no way of reaching her. Her overprotective parents would have the National Guard hunting for her if she fell off the face of the earth.
“Miss, this way please.” The driver who had dropped her off ushered her into a small waiting room in a hangar set apart from the main terminal. A beautiful man was already in there. Beautiful was not often a word she associated with men but in this case, it was fitting. He was long and lean, stretched out in a low-slung chair by the door. He had black hair and dark skin and the sort of features that sculptors loved.
When he glanced up at her, she had to remind herself to breathe. Those eyes. They would have been a lovely shade of green on any face but set against the bronzed skin of a Greek god— they looked unreal.
“Are you Lacey?”
She nodded and let go of the handle of her suitcase. It promptly toppled over. If she was going to keep up this traveling saleswoman routine, she should invest in a good set of luggage.
“Here, let me help you,” the god said.
Beautiful and polite? He had to be gay.
He maneuvered her lopsided suitcase so it was leaning against the wall and gestured toward the seat across from his. “You might as well get comfortable. We may be here for a while. No flights are taking off until the snow lets up.”
“Oh.” She watched him turn his attention to the phone in his hand and wished she could think of anything interesting to say to hold his attention. Not for the first time, she had
to marvel at the bitter irony of being a public speaking coach who was forever at a loss for words.
“So do you, uh…do you work for Newsom Industries?”
That earned her a half-smile and quite possibly the most adorable dimple in the universe. “Yes. I wear various hats there. Today I’ll be the pilot flying you to New York.”
She nodded like an idiot. She assumed he would turn to whatever it was on his phone that was entertaining him but instead he stuck it in his pocket and shifted so he could lean back in his chair.
Lacey fingered her own phone in her hand. Not even the presence of a god could keep her from the persistent fear that Lawrence Newsom would call again and get her voicemail.
“You waiting for a call?” He nodded toward the phone in her hand.
“Um, sort of.”
The sound of the pilot’s phone ringing broke what was about to become an awkward silence.
“Yeah, this is Alex,” the pilot said. Whatever the person on the other end said annoyed him because the Greek god pilot frowned. Was it possible he was even more beautiful when he frowned?
He muttered a curse that made Lacey shift in her seat uncomfortably. “Is everything okay?” she asked once he’d hung up.
He stood and picked up the overnight bag at his feet. “There’s another storm heading our way. We’re not going anywhere tonight.”
He slung his bag over one shoulder, grabbed the handle of her suitcase and started walking out of the office.
“Wait, where are we going?”
He glanced over his shoulder and watched as she chased after him—not an easy feat in three-inch heels. “I’m taking you to the hotel. We should get there before the storm hits.”
They caught the driver in time and hitched a ride to the city. Alex spent most of the car ride on the phone with someone at office headquarters giving details about their predicament.
The pilot seemed severely put out by the change of plans but Lacey could barely conceal her relief. She was excited about the prospect of soloing with her first major client but she was also a ball of nerves. Now she had one more evening of respite before she was thrown to the wolves.
She looked at the phone in her hand, which had been silent since she’d reached the airport. Lawrence Newsom seemed to have given up on his quest to figure out the identity of his stalker and hopefully it would all be forgotten by the time she arrived in New York the next day.
“What do you mean, there’s only one room left?” Lacey was aware that her voice had entered the shrill territory and took a deep breath. The bored looking woman at the front desk looked unfazed by Lacey’s distress.
Lacey pasted on a smile and tried a different tactic. “I stayed here last night. Can’t I have that room? Room 601?”
The woman didn’t even pretend to check the computer. “That room is currently occupied. The only room available is the penthouse suite.”
“We’ll take it.” Alex came up behind her and slapped his company card on the front desk. He looked amused by the look on her face. If everyone found her as funny as this guy did, she would quit her job and become a stand-up comic.
“Relax,” he said. “It’s a suite. I’m sure there are plenty of places to sleep. Besides, I just called around and all the hotels near here are booked solid with stranded passengers in the same boat. We’re lucky to get a room at all.”
Lacey gnawed on her bottom lip. “But a penthouse suite? That’s so expensive…”
“The company is paying for it, remember? And it’s on my expense account, not yours. If anyone gets in trouble, it’ll be me.”
That thought only made her feel worse. Twelve years of Catholic schooling had left her with a decent education and an overly developed guilty conscience.
Apparently Alex misconstrued her concern because he leaned down so he could look her in the eye and gave her a reassuring smile. “Hey, I’m a good guy, I promise. I won’t lay a hand on you tonight.”
Lacey’s cheeks burned as a delicious image of a half-naked Alex flashed through her mind. She thought he must have read her mind because he winked and leaned in closer so the front desk attendant couldn’t hear. “Unless you want me to.”
He was joking. She knew he was joking. But that didn’t stop her stomach from doing a nervous backflip.
She followed him into the elevator and down the hall to the suite, nervous at the thought of sharing a hotel room with a perfect stranger.
The suite was huge. Enormous even. But it only had one bed. An enormous king-size bed, but still just one bed. Lacey stared at it as though hypnotized by the down comforter’s floral pattern.
Alex walked past her, tossed his bag on a leather recliner and flopped onto the bed. He crossed his arms behind his head. “So which side do you want? Left or right?”
His teasing grin was too cute not to laugh. “Very funny.”
He sighed in mock sadness. “Fine. I’ll take the couch.”
Lacey perched on the end of the bed and looked around her. What were they supposed to do now? It was still early to go to sleep. What did two strangers do when they were stuck alone in a hotel room together? Watch TV?
“Want a drink?”
Alex walked over to the mini-bar and held up two tiny bottles of vodka.
Lacey’s nod was so emphatic she nearly slid off the bed. Yes.
The first drink went down quickly and went straight to Lacey’s head. “I think I’m going to head to the restaurant and grab some food. Do you want to come?”
The restaurant was packed. A harried hostess informed them that it would be a twenty-minute wait. “We’ll just wait at the bar,” Alex said.
And that was the end, as far as Lacey was concerned. An hour and two cocktails later, they were still waiting to be seated and she was far more than two sheets to the wind. But she was having fun. Oh, was she having fun.
“So, let me get this straight,” Alex said. “Up until six months ago you were working as a waitress at a bar in San Francisco?”
Lacey slurped up the last sip of her drink and nodded. “That is correct.”
“And now you’re a life coach,” he finished.
Lacey giggled. “I’m not a life coach, just a public speaking coach.” She rolled her eyes. “God, no one in their right mind would want me as their life coach. I can’t even get my own act together, let alone someone else’s.”
Alex seemed to be studying her. “You seem to be doing all right for yourself.”
Lacey leaned in so she could whisper in his ear. “It’s all a ruse.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “What part?”
Lacey opened her arms to signify everything. “All of it. Me. My job. I’m a total fraud.”
“Can I let you in on a secret?” He leaned in and she moved to meet him. He was so close she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “Everybody feels that way.”
Lacey laughed. “I don’t believe it.”
He just shrugged as though it was a given.
“Even you? Do you feel like a fraud?”
He rolled his eyes. “All the time. It’s all about faking it ‘til you make it.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied his face. He couldn’t be much older than her. Maybe mid-twenties. But he talked like he was much older. Like he had life experience.
He popped a peanut into his mouth. “So why did you become a public speaking coach if you don’t like it?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it. I really do like it, oddly enough. I like helping people. It’s just… I fell into it, you know? I graduated from college and had no idea what I wanted to do. I mean, I was a Theater major with a minor in Art History. There isn’t a wealth of opportunities out there for someone with that background.”
Alex nodded and signaled to the bartender for another drink. “So you started waitressing.”
“Yeah. Mainly because that’s all I knew how to do. I waitressed all throughout high school and college and after four years getting a degree, that was my only
marketable skill.”
“But you didn’t like it.”
Lacey scrunched up her face as she pondered that question. “No. It’s not that I didn’t like it. I was good at it. And I worked with friends.” She shrugged. “It was fun.”
Even she could hear how nostalgic she sounded. She didn’t normally get teary eyed over her old job but today that job sounded heavenly. She was so tired of feeling out of her league. Tired of feeling like she was acting all the time. Tired of feigning confidence she didn’t feel. She was tired of feeling like a fraud. At that moment, she would have been relieved to have the comfort of her old bar.
Her phone rang, startling her out of her moping. She fumbled for her phone, which hadn’t left her sight since this morning’s epic disaster. It was her mom. She let it go to voicemail. She’d call her in the morning.
“Who are you avoiding?”
Alex was watching her. Those beautiful green eyes seemed to take everything in. “Come on, Lacey. It’s obvious you’re waiting for someone to call. Is it him?”
He gestured toward her hand and for a moment she looked at it in confusion. The ring. Her grandmother’s antique diamond ring. It was still on her left ring finger. It was a trick one of her bartender friends had taught her when she’d been hit on one too many times to count. It was an easy way to say no without hurting anyone’s feelings.
Lacey was terrible at saying no. And then when she’d joined the consulting firm it had been even more useful. Not only did it keep colleagues and clients from hitting on her; it also gave her some credibility. She was young and she looked it. But being engaged seemed to give her an air of maturity. The lie had spread quickly in the company.
“Oh. Um…” she was about to tell him the truth, that she was single and the ring was just another prop for the charade that was her life. But then her phone rang again. She jumped in her seat and grabbed it. It was just an alert that her mom had left a message.
“Oh come on, it’s killing me not knowing. Who are you hiding out from?”
Less Than Three: A Romantic Comedy Page 1
