Rules of Payne (Cake Love Book 1)

by Elizabeth Lynx

  I can finally get a chance to show my paintings, not just in Chicago but New York, Los Angeles, and perhaps even the world. No more slinging drinks for tips. No more drunk losers groping me, expecting me to smile when they take what I never told them they could have.

  I left my final resting place and moved quickly down the hall. Standing in front of the door to the room that held my savior I paused and removed my puffy black coat. Smoothing my shoulder length hair and rubbing at my good luck charm around my neck—my sister’s old heart pendant necklace—I reached over knocking on the door.

  It opened, and I wondered if all the doors in this place were possessed. In the middle of a square room with a large wooden desk and a few black leather chairs stood Hypno-eyes.

  He waved me inside. “Come in, Aria. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Alexander Hawthorne.”

  Want to read more of One Wild Ride? Just click HERE. Now on Kindle Unlimited.

  SNEAK PEEK: THE SPY RING

  Here is sneak peek of Tiffany Blackburn’s upcoming story and the last book in the Cake Love series, The Spy Ring. Enjoy!

  ***

  Tiffany

  “He’s flipping married?”

  I whisper screamed as I fisted the thick, smooth band of gold.

  It had weight. It’s funny how I noticed that little tidbit instantly but never realized the man I slept with last night was married.

  At least, I think we had sex. My stomach began to churn as I tried to recall anything from the night before. Nothing but throbbing head pain and something about a whiskey sour sucker punched my brain.

  Ugh, I couldn’t even remember the guy’s face.

  Wow, Tiffany, you can’t even do your first one-night stand right.

  I shook my head and glanced around the stranger’s hotel room. It was a much bigger version of my room. The same soothing lavender and gray color scheme but somehow knowing this guy had bank in order to afford this big suite in Las Vegas did nothing to appease my nausea. Or my guilt.

  Was it my imagination or was the ring burning an O into my palm? O for odious because that’s how I felt and, lifting my arm to take a whiff under my pit, that’s definitely how I smelled. Flipping the ring over, the inscription made all thoughts of the big O disappear as my throat tightened. Honor always. Protect fully. Love forever.

  “What a crock of gobbledygook,” I said giving the ring the stink eye.

  The hot hands of remorse spread boney fingers around my neck and across my chest.

  “I’m not the one that cheated,” I said to the ring.

  The burning guilt had to end.

  Stop blaming yourself, Tiffany. He’s the one that cheated, not you. You don’t have a husband anymore, remember?

  I dropped the wedding band and it made a clanking sound, bouncing on the wood of the coffee table. The stabbing behind my right eye grew in strength from the joke he obviously believed his marriage to be. The pun where I played the fool to satisfy his needs.

  A woman placed this beautiful ring on his finger believing him to be her savior, her true love, and the man who would never deceive her. And that meant nothing to him.

  I’m done. Bile inched up my throat, making me desperate to find my clothes so I could get out of this den of sin before the guy got out of the shower. It was nice to feel some relief this morning knowing he was in the bathroom when I woke. I was thankful I never had to put a face to my shame.

  All my friends, except for Evaleen, told me I needed to get laid. Since my husband was gone, I haven’t been able to find the time or the heart, to be with another man.

  It had been too long. That’s why when I came to Las Vegas for the weekend with my friends, I thought it was the perfect time to have a no-strings-attached fling.

  Wrong.

  They were wrong. I was wrong.

  The only thing the night left me with was nausea, terrible remorse, and breath so bad it could be used to bring down a small elephant.

  As much as I needed a drink of water and a hot shower to clean off my regret, I had to find my clothes.

  One of my red leather heels was under the coffee table and after further inspection, I found the other behind the lavender couch. After a few minutes of hunting, I had gathered all my clothes, even my green lace undies that were wrapped around the telephone.

  I dressed quickly—if not clumsily—and thought maybe I should be glad I couldn’t remember anything.

  As I closed the door to his room behind me and stumbled my way toward the elevator, I considered turning back to leave a note. But then I imagined what I would write in my current mental state.

  Hey You,

  Yeah, you know who you are so let’s not play that game where I impress you with my ability to recall your name. I’m the one you had sex with last night. I’d like to say it was great but since I was blackout drunk, I won’t comment on what I don’t know.

  And that brings me to a very important point . . . Why did YOU take advantage of an obviously drunk woman? Were you blackout drunk yourself? I am hoping you were because if you ever see me again, like walking down the street, I wish upon all the wishes in the world that you don’t recognize me. That way last night can turn into a forgotten memory.

  All the Best,

  Tiffany

  P.S. I don’t really want to give you my last name for fear you might look me up. I have a kid, and I don’t want him finding out that his mom had blackout sex with a stranger.

  In the end, I figured the letter wouldn’t make anyone happy. He might have remembered me and been disappointed I didn’t.

  What if he found me in the lobby of the hotel and explained what had gone down? I might not like what I heard or, even more disconcerting and probable, I could throw up on him while screaming about forsaking his vows to his wife.

  Therefore, I felt the note wasn’t necessary but a shower and tooth brushing certainly were.

  Once I went down two floors and made it to my room, I came inside and leaned back on the cool metal door in relief.

  “Oh good, you’re back. Can I borrow a shirt? I threw up on all mine,” Evaleen said as she popped her head around the corner with a queasy smile on her face.

  The lingering stench of vomit in the room had me running to the bathroom before I could answer her question.

  After upchucking liquid orange and wondering what I drank last night, I sat on the cool white tiles of the bathroom.

  “We’re a pair. Maybe we should take a bet and see who can make it through the plane ride back to Chicago without barfing,” Evaleen said as she stood over me in a stained blue T-shirt and sweatpants.

  Her usually perfect blond chignon was disheveled with some strands of hair sticking to her face. She held out her hand to assist me and I took it. I put my other hand on the toilet seat to get up, thinking I was helping but realizing too late it only worsened the situation.

  Having forgotten I lifted the seat to empty my stomach, I shrieked at the cold, clammy toilet rim. My arm flew back from shock and I smacked it on the counter.

  Evaleen almost fell when I pulled too hard on her hand but managed to catch herself by twisting her foot. By the time I finally stood, both of us were out of breath. I was nursing a swollen finger and she was rubbing her pained ankle.

  “I’ll take that bet and add, whoever makes it back puke free and without any broken bones, wins,” I said.

  She laughed. I laughed. We sounded more like geese dying.

  “I need a shower,” I said pulling at my gross dress as it stuck to me.

  I hated feeling sticky.

  “And I need a shirt. It seems you have something to give and I have something to give. Maybe we can work out a deal?” Evaleen smirked and tilted her head toward me.

  “What do you have to give me?”

  “Privacy.”

  I shook my head and walked over to the shower, turning on the hot water.

  “Just take a shirt from my suitcase. I always over pack just for occasions such as this,” I said as I held my
hand under the warming spray.

  “You prepare for a pukepocalypse?”

  Once I assessed the temperature was a soothing, scalding degree, I turned to Evaleen and helped her out the door. “Of course. I’m a mother.” Then I closed the bathroom door behind her.

  Peeling off my disgusting used clothes, I stepped behind the curtain and into a gorgeous hell of skin flaying water.

  This must be what heaven felt like, minus the nausea.

  As I worked the shampoo into my long, chestnut hair, I tried to recollect how last night happened. Morgana, Aria, and I went to the hotel bar last night. The bartender gave me a drink that a man across the bar had bought me.

  But that’s it. I barely remember what the bartender looked like. Was the drink spiked?

  It must have been.

  How stupid could I be? I’m a mother; I shouldn’t have put myself at risk like that. What if I had gone to bed with a man that wanted to kidnap or murder me? Who would take care of David?

  My son was only twelve and with his physical and verbal disabilities, he needed someone to be with him. Someone to make sure he got the treatment and care his body needed, and the love his heart deserved.

  It’s terrible enough that the same thing that took his might, also took his father.

  He’s finally started to gain that strength back and is becoming independent for the first time in his life. I don’t think there’s a parent prouder of their child than I was of my son. And what do I do to show him how pleased I was, putting my own life at risk so that he could grow up without a father and a mother.

  I shut off the water after washing and stepped out of the shower. While drying off, brushing my teeth, and finally putting on a clean gray T-shirt and jeans, I made several decisions.

  My son needed a father. If something happened to me, even beyond my control, I had to know he would be taken care of. I needed a man that could protect my son and make sure he got the care he needed.

  Another decision, there had to be a better way of finding a man—and future father to my son—than a drunken one-night stand.

  The little band of gold that caused all this grief inspired my next decision. I had to, above everything else, make sure the man I chose would honor me. There would be no way I wanted to end up with some fool that would cheat on me like the drunken sleaze I stupidly slept with last night.

  And finally, he must love the both of us. I am a woman, I may crave affection from a man from time to time, but I’m also a mother. If that man couldn’t understand the deep love I had for my son, then he wasn’t the man for my family.

  There was a knock on the door as I finished pulling my hair back into a ponytail.

  “Yes?” I said raising my voice so Evaleen could hear me.

  “You ready to catch a plane back home? Morgana’s here. It’s time to leave,” Evaleen said from the other side.

  I smiled for the first time today. Excited, I was going to see my son in a few hours.

  As I opened the door to the steamy room, I nodded at Evaleen who had miraculously transformed into her perfectly coiffed self with the help of my pink T-shirt.

  “Yes, I’m ready to go home.”

  I felt strong in my decisions, knowing they would be good for my son and me.

  Want to read more of The Spy Ring Just preorder it HERE. Released April 9th, 2018 with a special SALE price of 0.99 cents.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Elizabeth Lynx was a printer. She was also a graphic designer, photographer, actress, comedic improviser, merchandiser, and now adding author to that extensive list of professions.

  She has written an erotic romance called Her Night with Him. Since she spent a lot of time training and moved halfway across the country to pursue comedy (much to her husband’s chagrin) only to change her mind and take up writing, Elizabeth decided to write a romantic comedy series called Cake Love.

  Find out more about Elizabeth on her website: www.elizabeth-lynx.com

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  ELIZABETH LYNX’S BOOKS

  Cake Love Series - standalone

  The Payne in the Blog (FREE)

  Rules of Payne, book 1 (Kindle Unlimited)

  The Attraction File, book 2 (Kindle Unlimited)

  One Wild Ride, book 3 (Kindle Unlimited)

  The Spy Ring, book 4 (Pre-Order Sale Price 0.99 cents)

  Him Her Them Series

  Her Night with Him

  Get latest alerts, releases, sales, and exclusive stories (like the Dirty Hands serial) by signing up for Elizabeth Lynx’s newsletter. READ the inspiration for Dirty Hands that was a finalist in a short story contest INSTANTLY  http://bit.ly/NwsltrDHinspire

  THANK YOU

  I would like to thank my family. My husband inspired me to make the male heroes of my books even better. Not that they could ever be as hot as him.

  My sons inspire me with their love, strength, and open hearts. I don’t know if I ever would have discovered the writer in me if it weren’t for them. They challenge me every day and make me realize that if they can handle what life has thrown at them, I can do this thing called writing.

  Thank you to Silvia. You tell me what I need to hear, even when I stubbornly won’t listen.

  Marla, thank you for your patience and wisdom.

  Melissa, big thanks for always being there for me and listening to my crazy rants.

  To Nikki, Phala, and Tina. Thank you for being there from the beginning. I so appreciate your precious words to me when I needed them most and your love for my characters.

  CC, thank you for not running when I reached out to you and asked for help. You are a wonderful soul.

  To my Swimmers, you all rock! Thank you for getting my sense of humor and wanting to hang with me. I feel blessed every day I have people who want to read about my crazy characters.

  To Debra, Jana, Ella, Heather, Desiree, Harper, LE, CC, and Nicholas. Thank you for taking a risk (I’m thinking you had no idea what you were getting into when you agreed to this) and letting me interview you. You all are wise enough to get what I was doing and cool enough to play along.

  To the readers and bloggers who took the time to read this book. Some of you may like it, others may not, but that’s okay. I feel honored that you spent your hard-earned money and time to take a chance on me and the funny little characters that screamed so loud they got a book about them. I enjoy writing, and after forty-some years of life, I finally found an endeavor that has me fulfilled. And it’s because of you that I can call it a career. Thanks for wanting to read about my characters and the interesting adventures they go on.