Braden had been talking about having kids lately. Kids. Oh wow. I glanced at my completed manuscript lying on my desk. After twenty rejection letters I’d gotten a call from a literary agent who wanted to read the rest of it. I’d just mailed the full manuscript out two days ago. For two years that manuscript had been like a kid to me, and I’d had plenty of freak outs about publishing my parent’s story. Real kids? I’d freaked out when Braden first mentioned it, but he’d just sat there sipping his beer while I silently spiraled out. Ten minutes later he’d looked back at me and said, “Are you done?”
He was used to my freak outs now.
I shot a look at the photograph I had of my parent’s on my desk. Like me and Braden, mom and dad had been passionate about each other, argued a lot, had their issues, but always got through it because of how deeply they felt for one another. They were everything they couldn’t be without the other. Sure it could get rough sometimes, but life wasn’t a Hollywood movie. Shit happened. You fought, you screamed, and somehow you worked like hell to get out the other side still intact.
Just like me and Braden.
I nodded at Ellie and Rhian.
Sometimes the clouds weren’t weightless. Sometimes their bellies got dark and full. It was life. It happened. It didn’t mean it wasn’t scary, or that I wasn’t still afraid, but now I knew that as long as I was standing under it with Braden beside me when those clouds broke, I’d be alright. We’d get rained on together. Knowing Braden he’d have a big ass umbrella to shelter us from the worst of it.
That there was an uncertain future I could handle.
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In my new venture into adult fiction I’d like to thank Ashley McConnell and Alicia Cannon, my amazing editors. You’re wonderful, ladies! Thank you for all your hard work (and comments that made me laugh). Also, a massive thank you to Claudia McKinney (a.k.a. Phatpuppy Art) for your talent, for creating art that speaks to me, and mostly for being an unbelievably lovely person to work with.
I also want to thank a few fantastic book bloggers who have not only been incredibly supportive of On Dublin Street since the moment I announced my plans to publish adult contemporary romance, but have supported me almost from the beginning of my writing career— Shelley Bunnell, Kathryn Grimes, Rachel at the blog Fiktshun, Alba Solorzano, Damaris Cardinali, Ana at the blog Once Upon a Twilight, Janet Wallace, Cait Peterson, and Jena Freeth. You guys always astound me with your unbelievable support, enthusiasm and kind words. You make me smile on a daily basis.
I can’t forget to say a huge thank you to my fellow authors, Shelly Crane, Tammy Blackwell, Michelle Leighton, Quinn Loftis, Amy Bartol, Georgia Cates, Rachel Higginson and Angeline Kace. I cannot tell you how much your friendship these past few months has meant to me, and how wonderful it is to have such awesome, kind ladies to turn to for help, advice, and a giggle. There are no words to describe how brilliant you all are.
A rather HUGE thank you to my readers for taking a chance on me, for encouraging me, and for filling my days with big cheesy grins from reading your emails, Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads comments. You’ve no idea how much I appreciate those :)
And finally, a special thank you to my mum, dad, my brother David, Carol, my closest friends, Ashleen (congratulations Mrs. Walker!), Kate, and Shanine, and all my family and friends for being there and being you. Some elements of On Dublin Street are personal to me, and personal to you. Sometimes it takes a lifetime to learn the important lessons, for us it seems to have come upon us all too quickly.
Grief and loss are probably the most fearful creatures that exist. They can teach us to worry about the future, to question the longevity of contentment, and prove us unable to enjoy happiness when we have it. But loss shouldn’t be a fearful creature. It should be a creature of wisdom. It should teach us not to fear that tomorrow may never come, but live fully, as though the hours are melting away like seconds. Loss should teach us to cherish those we love, to never do anything that will result in regret, and to cheer on tomorrow with all of its promises of greatness.
Sometimes strength and courage aren’t in the big things. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is enjoy what we have and be positive about what makes us lucky. It’s easy and un-extraordinary to be frightened of life. It’s far more difficult to arm yourself with the good stuff despite all the bad and step foot into tomorrow as an everyday warrior.
To my family and friends: you’re the strongest warriors I know.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Samantha Young is a 26 year old Scottish writer who graduated from the University of Edinburgh in 2009. She studied ancient and medieval history, which really just means she likes old stuff. Since February 2011, Samantha has been self-publishing her amazon-bestselling young adult novels. She’s the author of four series—ten novels and one novella.
On Dublin Street is her debut into adult fiction.
For more info on Samantha’s adult fiction visit http://www.ondublinstreet.com.
For info on her young adult fiction visit www.samanthayoungbooks.com.
Don’t miss the exciting brand new standalone contemporary romance from bestselling author Samantha Young! Hero will be available in February 2015 wherever books and e-books are sold. Read on for a special preview.
Ethan led me into Caine’s office the next afternoon and I was surprised to find Caine not behind his desk but standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows staring out over High Street and Atlantic Avenue to the harbor beyond.
With his back to me, I stole that moment to fully appreciate Caine Carraway without him knowing it. So yeah, I couldn’t see his face, which was the best part, but with him standing with his hands in his trouser pockets, legs braced, shoulders relaxed, the view was delicious enough for me. His height, those broad shoulders, and let’s not forget that ass.
That was a mighty fine ass.
When the seconds ticked by without a response from him, I began to feel like a high school nerd waiting for the captain of the football team to pay attention to her.
I didn’t like that nearly as much as the view of his ass.
“You rang?”
Caine turned his head slightly in profile. “I did.”
“And I assume there was a reason?”
He faced me and I felt that flush of attraction as his eyes swept over me. “You would assume right.” He sighed and strolled over to his desk, his gaze raking over me speculatively as he did so. “Do you own a suit, heels?” His scrutiny moved to my face. “Makeup?”
I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing jeans and a sweater, and no, I wasn’t wearing makeup. I had good skin. I’d inherited my olive skin from my mother and despite those darn freckles sprinkled across the crest of my nose, it was blemish free. I rarely wore foundation or blush, and because my eyes were so light and my lashes so dark I only wore mascara when dressing up for an occasion.
I knew I wasn’t glamorous, but I looked like my mom—I had her apple cheekbones, blue-green eyes, and dark hair—and my mom had been very pretty. No one had ever looked me over and considered my lack of makeup with disdain before.
I frowned. “Weird question.”
Caine relaxed against his desk in much the same pose as he had used the last time he pinched his lips at me in his office. And he was pinching his lips and inspecting me. I felt like I was being judged and found wanting, which was insulting normally but somehow even worse coming from a guy who looked as put together as he did.
Sexy jackass.
“I couldn’t change Benito’s mind,” Caine informed me. “That little bastard can hold a grudge.”
If I weren’t so deflated by his news I would have laughed. “Bu—”
“So I thought about it,” he said, cutting me off, “and you can try working for me. You’ll need to invest in some appropriate clothing, however.”
Um . . . what? Did he jus
t . . . ? “I’m sorry, what?”
“Benito informed me that it kills him but he just can’t take you back after your behavior with a client lost him such big accounts. You’re the biggest disappointment of his thirties and before you went insane you were the best PA he ever had. The disappointment of your behavior on, set, and I quote, Broke. His. Heart.”
“Oh yeah, he sounds devastated.”
“Despite his flair for the melodramatic, it seems he has high standards and he has led me to believe that before you acted like an insane person you were intelligent, efficient, and hardworking.”
“Insane person?” That word had been used as an adjective to describe me twice now.
He ignored me. “I need a PA. Ethan is a temp and my previous PA has decided not to return from maternity leave. I have a job opening and I’m offering it to you.”
Dumbfounded.
There was no other word for how I was feeling.
How could this man go from never wanting to see me again to offering me a job that meant I was going to be in his face? A lot.
“But . . . I thought you didn’t want me around.”
Caine narrowed his eyes. “I need a PA who will fulfill all my wishes and demands immediately. That’s not easy to find—most people have social lives. You, however, are desperate and the way I see it, you owe me.”
I sobered at his reminder of the past. “So what . . . you get to act out some kind of vengeance by working me into an early grave?”
“Something like that.” He smirked. “It’ll be a comfortable grave, though.” He told me the salary and I almost passed out.
My mouth parted on a gasp. “For a PA job? Are you serious?”
I’d get to keep my apartment. I’d get to keep my car. Screw that . . . I’d be able to save enough money to afford a deposit on my apartment.
Caine’s eyes glittered triumphantly at my obvious excitement. “As I said, it comes with a price.” His grin was wicked and I suddenly felt a little breathless. “I’m a hard man to please. And I’m also a very busy man. You’ll do what I want when I want and I won’t always be nice about it. In fact, considering what your surname is, you can pretty much guarantee I won’t be nice about it.”
My heart thumped at the warning. “So you’re saying you plan to make my life miserable?”
“If you equate hard work with misery.” He considered me as I considered him, and that damnable little smirk quirked his beautiful mouth again. “So . . . just how desperate are you?”
I stared at him, this man who held up an armored shield so high in the hopes that nothing would penetrate it. But call it intuition or call it wishful thinking, I believed I could see past that shield of his—like I could feel the emotion he fought so hard to hide. And that emotion was anger. He was angry with me, whether because of my father or my sudden intrusion into his life, and this job . . . this job was his way of taking back control, of making me pay for throwing him off balance. If I took it I had no doubt he was going to do his best to test my patience to the limit. I was a pretty patient person normally. No way I could have worked with someone like Benito and not have been. But I didn’t feel like myself around Caine.
Not at all.
I was defensive and scared and vulnerable.
It would be a huge risk putting myself in his control.
However, I knew it was a risk I would take. And not just because he was offering me more money than I would ever make anywhere else, nor because this job would look great on my résumé. I would take this risk because I wanted him to see I wasn’t anything like my dad. I wanted Caine to see that if anything I was like him.
I jutted my chin out defiantly. “I worked for Benito for six years. You don’t scare me.” You terrify me.
Caine slipped on that intimidatingly blank mask of his and pushed up off his desk. I held my breath, my skin prickling as he prowled across the room. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze as he came to a stop inches before me.
He smelled really, really good.
“We’ll see,” he murmured.
I felt that murmur between my legs.
Oh boy.
I stuck out my hand. “I accept the job.”
Caine’s eyes dropped to my hand. I tried not to tremble as I waited for him to decide whether or not he wanted to touch me. Swallowing my misery at his reluctance, I kept my gaze unwavering.
Finally he reached out and slid his large hand into mine.
The friction of the rougher skin of his palm against the soft skin of mine sent sparks shooting up my arm, and arousal tightened my muscles, including those in my fingers.
Surprise flared in both of our eyes.
Quite abruptly, Caine ripped his hand from mine and turned his back on me. “You start Monday,” he said, his words curt as he made his way to his desk. “At six thirty. Ethan will give you the particulars of my morning schedule.”
Still shaken from the sizzle that had just passed between us, I said hoarsely, “Six thirty?”
Caine glanced over his shoulder at me as he shuffled some papers on his desk. “Is that a problem?”
“It’s early.”
“It is.” His tone brooked no denial.
Six thirty it was, then. “I’ll be here.”
“And dress appropriately.” I bristled but nodded at the command. “And do something with your hair.”
I frowned and touched a strand of it. “What do you mean?” I wore my hair long with a slight wave in it. There was nothing wrong with my hair.
Annoyed, Caine turned to face me. “This isn’t a nightclub. I expect your hair and clothes to be stylish but conservative. Image is important, and from now on you represent this company. Slovenly hair and clothes do not reflect the company image.”
Stylish but conservative? Slovenly hair and clothes?
I contemplated him and how pompous he could be. You have quite the stick up your ass, don’t you?
He glowered as if he’d read my mind. “Tomorrow you’ll receive employment contracts. Once you sign those I’m your boss.” When I didn’t answer he said, “That means you act the way I want you to act. That means you shelve the attitude and the twenty questions.”
“Should I shelve those next to ‘personality’?”
Caine did not look amused. In fact, the look in his eyes bordered on predatory. “That would be wise.”
I gulped, suddenly wondering why I’d thought it was smart to poke the tiger. “Noted.” Already I could tell this arrangement between us was not going to be easy, but I just had to remember my end game here. “I guess I’ll see you Monday, Caine.”
He lowered himself into his seat without looking up at me. “Ethan will provide you with all the information you need before you leave.”
“Great.”
“Oh, and, Alexa?”
I froze but my pulse sped up. He’d never said my name before.
It sounded nice on his lips. Very, very nice.
“Yeah?” I whispered.
“From now on you will refer to me as Mr. Carraway and only Mr. Carraway.”
Ouch. Talk about putting me in my place. “Of course.” I took another step toward the door.
“And one other thing.” This time I halted at his dark, dangerous tone. “You never mention your father or my mother, ever again.”
My heart practically clenched at the pain I heard in his voice.
With a careful nod, I slipped out of his office, and despite the way he threw me off balance, I was more determined than ever that this was the right decision. Somehow this was where I was meant to be.
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On Dublin Street (9781101623497) Page 32
