Mission Happy
By Rylie Roberts
Mission Happy
Copyright © Rylie Roberts 2016
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Edited by Jae Ashley
Cover art by Reese Dante
http://www.reesedante.com
First Edition September 2016
Published by: Rylie Roberts
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, Rylie Roberts, [email protected]. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from Rylie Roberts. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author's rights and livelihood is appreciated.
Acting Happy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
Dedication
To my little girl.
It’s always about you.
A, I love you my dear sweet friend.
MM, thank you for always being there.
Trademark Acknowledgements:
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Academy Awards: Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences Corporation
Advil: Wyeth, LLC
Bud Light: Anheuser-Busch, Incorporated
Chanel: Chanel, Inc.
Charlie Brown: Peanuts Worldwide, LLC
Christian Louboutin: Louboutin, Christian
DFW International Airport: Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport Board
Dumpster: Toccoa Metal Technologies, Inc.
FaceTime: Apple, Inc.
G.I. Joe: Hasbro, Inc.
Glock: Glock, Inc.
Google: Google, Inc.
Google Hangouts: Google, Inc.
Gucci: Gucci America, Inc.
Heineken: Heineken Brouwerijen B.V.
Holiday Inn: Six Continents Hotels, Inc.
Jack Daniel’s: Jack Daniel’s Properties, Inc.
Jimmy Choo: J. Choo Limited Liability Company
Keurig: Keurig, Inc.
Kool Deck: Mortex Manufacturing Co., Inc.
Little League: Little League Baseball, Inc.
Maxim: Maxim Media, Inc.
People Magazine: Time Inc
Red Sox: Boston Red Sox Baseball Club
Republican National Committee: Republican National Committee
Samsung: Samsung Electronics Co., Ltd.
SIG Sauer: Sig Sauer Inc.
Sizzler: Sizzler USA Franchise, Inc.
Skype: Skype Corporation
Spidey (Spider-Man): Marvel Characters, Inc.
Texas Rangers: Rangers Baseball, LLC
TMZ: Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc.
US Navy and SEALs: The Department of the Navy
Vogue: Advance Magazine Publishers Inc.
Voss: Voss of Norway ASA Corporation
Wranglers: Wrangler Apparel Corp.
Table of Contents
Prologue
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Prologue
Summer 1996
Man, he just wasn’t sure it could be any hotter outside. Connor set the safety, aimed his pistol to the ground, and grabbed a nearby hand towel. In one single action, he shoved his straw cowboy hat back on his head and removed his safety glasses before scrubbing at his face with the terry cloth, wiping at the sweat trickling off his brow. He looked out over the pasture, then up into the sky, gauging the time of day. He and his dad had been out there for a couple of hours, and he’d been praying for dusk every single minute since.
“Boy, we’re losing daylight,” his father called out from the lawn chair he’d been sitting in since they’d started.
When he heard the distinctive sound of a beer can opening, Connor looked over at his pop taking a long drink. Something cold to drink sounded just about right. He carefully laid his pistol down, using the hand towel to wipe at his damp hands as he went for a water bottle inside his dad’s insulated cooler.
When he opened the cooler, all the beer was gone. That meant a complete six-pack, but there were two benefits to that. One, the ice had melted. Connor dipped the towel inside the cold water, wringing it out before rubbing it on his face, then laid it across his neck. Two, his dad wouldn’t stay out there too much longer without a beer. Thirty minutes max, and they’d be heading back inside the air conditioning.
“I need a new target,” Connor said absently.
“Go get it and show me,” his old man said, taking another long drink. Dang, he hadn’t anticipated that. The targets cost money, so his dad hung on to them like they were gold, only giving him one every so often. Crap. That was a hot fifty yards to walk back and forth. “Go on, boy.”
Gripping a water bottle, Connor groaned as he pivoted on his boot heels toward the row of targets. He twisted off the cap, titling the water bottle up to his lips as he heard a vehicle pulling down the trail in the field. He looked back to see Bray’s father’s truck coming down the trail toward them.
“What’re they doing here?” his father called out.
Heck, Connor didn’t care at all. He was saved.
Connor changed his course, running toward the pickup. The cab was full of his buddies with Cole hanging out the back window, whooping and hollering as they came to a stop. “We’re goin’ to town to get a snow cone from the new snow cone joint. Come on.”
Oh man, that sounded just right. He lifted a hand to wave at Ty and Bray. They sat in the front seat next to Jerry Bryant. Reed and Candace sat in the backseat with Cole.
“What’s going’ on?” his dad asked, sauntering closer to the pickup.
Connor turned back to his dad who was shaking hands with Mr. Bryant. “I’m takin’ the boys into town. The new snow cone stand’s opened up today.”
“That right?” his dad asked, anchoring an elbow against the window as he looked back at Connor.
“Yeah. Cole’s been on the phone. The teams are meetin’ up there before ball practice starts tomorrow.”
“That’s right. I forgot about that. Con, you gotta practice if you’re gonna play football,” his father said and turned back to Mr. Bryant. “He’s up for master shooter at the Ruger Semi-finals next weekend. That comes with a big c
ash prize and sponsorships. He’s gotta stay. Sorry you drove all this way.” His father stepped away, patting the hood, like that said it all.
Connor never spoke out of turn or showed disrespect of any kind to his parents, but he really wanted to go with the guys.
“Dad, please. I’ll do extra tomorrow. I promise.”
“No, sir. Go get that target.” He pointed across the field. “Let’s see where you need help. If you’re bent on playing sports, we’ll have to get up before I go to work and get this time in. I’ll have to bring home some extra lighting tomorrow.” His dad lifted a hand toward the truck and turned away, going back to his lawn chair. “Maybe next time. Get moving, Con.”
Connor stood there with his heart in his throat, staring at Cole who was so mad that he’d turned silent. That was sure a rare moment for anyone who knew his buddy well. The other guys waved bye and Mr. Bryant did too as he backed the truck up and turned toward the trail. Connor stared after the truck until he couldn’t see anything but dust, before turning, whipping his cowboy hat off his head, then hitting it against his thigh.
“You can be mad all you want, but God gave you a gift, and I’ll be damned if you’re gonna waste it.”
Connor never said a word as he stalked toward the target.
“And I’m not gonna be disrespected.”
Connor refused to turn back and say “yes, sir” like his dad wanted. He rammed the hat back on his head and stayed absolutely silent. His dad would love any excuse to keep him out of playing football to concentrate fully on his shooting. When he got to the target, he ripped it free with more force than needed. He studied his shots as a frustrated tear trickled down his cheek. He brushed it away with the back of his hand. He was heavy on the trigger finger today—he sure didn’t need to let his father see that. He’d be out here another hour until he corrected his shot.
“You’re slower than molasses. Bring it back here, Connor!”
Dang it, his father used his whole first name. He was getting angry. With his shoulders slumped forward, Connor walked all the way back to his dad, wishing he was on the way to get that snow cone.
Chapter 1
Fall 2016
Honestly, life might not get any better than this.
Happiness filled Julia Holly’s soul as she lifted her very cherry martini and took a long, slow sip from the sugared rim—something the bartender did just for her. She absently crossed one long leg over the other while gently bouncing her foot in time to a soft melody playing quietly in the background, her entire concentration focused on the pages of the latest special edition of Vogue. Slowly, only after making sure she’d seen everything there was to see on those two pages, did she lift a finger to turn the page. The anticipation built until she finally got to the section that revealed this year’s best dressed in the celebrity world. She scanned everything and everyone, leaving nothing left unseen or utterly scrutinized. She took in each dress, pantsuit, shoe, and piece of jewelry on every single page while making mental notes of design ideas for the future. Julia spoke the language of haute couture fluently and loved all the designers featured. Chanel, Gucci, and Christian Louboutin seemed to be all the rage this year. Since they were her personal favorites, she of course saw their draw.
What she couldn’t quite wrap her mind around was the use of the platform, tapered stiletto, high-heeled shoe. She cringed at the idea that those might be making a comeback. Her toes grew sore with just the mere thought of standing in those all night. The new ache in her feet had her lifting the glass to her lips again, taking a much longer drink this time. At five-ten, adding another five- or six-inch heel would have her towering over everyone on the red carpet, and it would be almost impossible to find a date her same height now that Ty Bateman had his Kenzie. Interviews would become ridiculous affairs as she tried to bend down to the microphone while holding the top of her dress in place. Oh lord, she could only imagine what a wardrobe malfunction that might cause.
She mentally crossed her fingers, starting a silent chant: Please let those shoes die an early death before the next round of award shows season.
“Can I get you another?”
Julia looked up to a smiling Tony, her usual waiter. This place was her Cheers: a place where she could comfortably be herself. While at Cache, an exclusive, very private, members only restaurant and club, she could be out among people with all the reassurance that not one photographer would ever be allowed inside. Not even a cell phone picture could be taken without signed permission. To have such a breach was considered a violation of the terms of agreement of the establishment, one that guaranteed automatic suspension—no excuses, no matter who you were. They took their members’ best interests to heart, making the very costly annual fees well worth every dime.
“What time is it?” she asked, and for the first time since opening the magazine, she looked around the restaurant. She was the lone patron in the dining area.
“It’s two forty-five,” he said after moving his wrist to look down at his watch.
“Am I keeping you here this afternoon?”
“No, not at all. I’m on the clock until closing. You’re fine to stay for however long you’d like.”
“Why’s the place so empty?” Usually mid-afternoon had members lingering between the dining room and bar area, but she didn’t see anyone.
“There’s a party on the patio over there,” he said, pointing toward her right where the large balcony wrapped around this floor of the building. “Then the rest are downstairs. It’s nice outside today,” he offered.
She lifted in her seat to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows along the back wall. Most of what she could see was the backdrop of a brilliant, churning Pacific Ocean, but as she lifted a little higher, she could see people outside. Southern California had been blessed with unseasonably warm weather for late October.
“How ’bout that drink?”
“I think I’m good. Maybe a water?” she said, sitting back down in her seat.
“Voss?”
“Whatever. I’m not picky.”
“That’s what I like about you. No one ever says things like that around here,” he said, reaching for the salad plate she’d pushed out of the way of her magazine. “You done with this?”
“Sure,” she said, handing over a napkin just out of his reach. When he moved to gather her silverware, her eyes locked on a lone patron sitting at the bar. She hadn’t noticed him there before. He sat perched on a barstool. His face turned away from her with nothing but his profile showing. When Tony stood, she moved her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. He was big in both height and muscle, and wore a pair of walking shorts, a collared shirt, and some sandals. His leg and arm muscles were intense. At this angle, she got a good view of one bulging bicep, a bit of tattoo along the hem of the sleeve. A Navy ball cap rested on the bar beside his hand. His fingers skimmed up and down the trail of condensation on the outside of the beer bottle in front of him.
When she looked back at her waiter, she saw he was already retreating toward the double swinging doors of the kitchen. “Tony,” she called out, stopping him seconds before he disappeared. “I’ll get the water myself. Can I leave my things here if I sit at the bar for a minute?”
“Of course, not a problem.”
She scooted out of her booth in the far back corner. Once on her feet, she ran each forefinger under her eyes to remove any unwanted smudges. She’d worn very little makeup today, just some eyeliner and mascara, and she had pulled her shoulder-length auburn hair into a high ponytail. More than most people in the public eye, when she wasn’t all glammed up, she was harder to recognize, giving her a little more room to move around freely.
Julia started for the bar, but as she got closer, she slowed and cocked her head to the side taking in a better view of the man on the barstool. If she remembered correctly, his name was Connor, Ty Bateman’s best friend. She could see Ty giving his buddies access to Cache under his membership; they were really as close as brothers
. She’d only seen Connor once in person and a half dozen times in photos from Ty’s phone, but the man had left a lasting impression. He was such a good-looking guy in that rough, hardnosed, mysterious, military kind of way.
Cora, the daytime bartender worked at stocking glasses in the overhead glass racks. Julia saw no conversation between her and the man sitting at the bar. She remembered Connor rarely made much small talk.
After Ty’s first Academy Award win, a group of his best friends had descended on California to celebrate. She remembered each of them very clearly. She had met the brothers, Reed and Braden, before, but that evening, Braden had stolen her date, and another of Ty’s friends, Cole, had flirted with her relentlessly all night long. It was Connor, though, who had caught her eye, and no matter how hard she’d tried to gain his attention, he had remained quiet and to himself.
For her, Connor was everything she found appealing in a man. Between all the muscle and handsome, chiseled facial features, she’d felt like a junior high school girl with a crush. Her attention stayed focused on watching him all night long. Connor’s keen dark eyes seemed to absorb everything going on around him while he remained utterly unengaged and at a distance. The best she could tell, he never gave a second look in her direction no matter how many times she’d casually strolled past him.
“Do you need something?” Cora asked. Julia moved to the edge, placing both arms on top of the bar as she kept her gaze focused on Connor who had turned her way when Cora spoke. Their eyes connected and held for one maybe two seconds before he repeated what he’d done at their last encounter: he turned away. In the brief exchange, she saw no recognition or even a hint of interest on his handsome face. She watched him lift his Bud Light bottle and take a long swig. Just like that first time she’d met him, she continued to stare at him as her body warmed and heart picked up a beat.
Okay, so there was no question, she had the major hots for this guy who had no interest in her.
Mission Happy (A Texas Desires Novel Book 3) Page 1
