by Misti Murphy
“I’m going to fix it,” I tell her, walking backward to the door and shrugging because there’s nothing that will change what is going to happen. “I’m going to explain why I didn’t just tell her that I was the guy running the show. I’m going to tell her how I feel. I will grovel if I have to. Whatever it takes for her to realize that I am the guy she needs, and she can trust me.”
“My little brother.” Deanna shakes her head, a watery smile breaking across her face, her eyes suspiciously bright. The pride in her voice is unmistakable. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Me neither.” I grin. “Not until I met Evie.”
“When are you going to put this plan in motion?” she asks.
“Now.” I check my watch. She’ll be arriving at Novo Greco any minute to meet Holden and the film crew. They’ll be already in the middle of their date when I show up.
Deanna grabs her purse and pulls on her cashmere coat as she follows me out of the office and into the elevator. “They’re already shooting.”
“I know.” I punch the lobby button. “I wasn’t going to leave you hanging. You’ll have the footage you need. But that’s all. Not a minute more. You’ll lose a segment. The one about what she thinks of the guy she picked, but you’ll—”
“We’ll make it work,” she says.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVIE
Holden Ross is a nice man. A very nice man, who happens to be completely boring. At this point I’m considering going stag to Hannah’s party and taking my chances with Neal and his roving hands. It’s either that or fall asleep.
Okay. He probably isn’t that bad. I might have at one stage even thought he was the kind of guy I should date, but that was before Maxwell Holt.
I don’t know the CEO of Puppy Love though. I don’t know the Forbes list millionaire, or the playboy bachelor who has been the object of crushes worldwide. Only what Google tells me I should know about him. Other than that, I don’t know him at all.
I did know a guy named Max though. A guy who walked dogs that he wasn’t entirely fond of, and loved Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and cared deeply for his sister. I might have even fallen for him, given the chance.
But he was a charmer, and as it turned out, a liar. Was anything he said true? Was anything we did together more than just an opportunity to sleep with me? I suspected it, and practically threw myself at him anyway. It’s not like he had to go so far.
I haven’t seen him since that morning when I found out who he really was. If I never see him again it will be too soon. Unbelievable. He’s not even here and he’s ruining my date with Holden. A lovely date at that. Or it should be.
“So what do you think?”
“Sorry?” I try to tune back into what Holden is saying, leaning closer to him to appear interested. How much longer does this have to go on anyway?
“I was just talking about the cabin I rent every winter for a couple of weeks. Shadow and I like to get away from the city and just enjoy a slower pace. Sometimes we’ll go hunting.”
“Hunting?” My stomach turns.
“Right. Duck season is over this year, so we’ll probably head out soon for some geese. Have you ever been?”
“Sorry. It’s not something I would enjoy.” Abby would have a few large words for this man if she heard him talking about ducks like that. Is it possible I picked the worst of the bunch? Or were they all just awful?
“It is more of a man’s sport. That’s true.”
No, it’s definitely this guy. At least he isn’t making a fool of me like Max did. “Listen, I think...” Something catches my eye across the room. Maxwell Holt. What’s he doing here? I don’t recall his presence being required in the contract. There was no mention of the CEO-slash-dog walker attending the first date.
He holds a sheet of white cardboard in his hands. It’s blank. Still more interesting than Holden though. Unbelievable. I shouldn’t be interested in a single thing Max does. Not anymore. Not after the way he lied to me.
He turns it around and holds it at chest height pointing to the words on it. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.
“Um, I was going to say...”
That piece of cardboard flutters to the ground, revealing a new one. I’m in love with you.
He’s in love with me? Playboy bachelor and liar, Maxwell Holt is in love with me? What does he think? That I’m just going to fall into his arms because he says sorry and spouts a few words about love? I bet he doesn’t even know what the word means. I glare at him, give a shake of my head, and mouth, “So?”
He holds up one finger, signalling me to wait before digging a marker out of his pocket and pulling the lid off with his teeth while he balances the cardboard on his knee. Eventually he holds it up again. So I love you. And I’m pretty sure you’re in love with me. We belong together. You and me.
“You lied to me,” I say. “Worse, I didn’t question it. I knew how this would end and I didn’t stop it.”
“Sorry?” Holden screws up his face in confusion.
“Not you.”
“Not you,” Max says at the same time I do, approaching us. “I did lie to you, Evie. And maybe I shouldn’t have, but the truth is up until recently there’s only been one woman I’ve loved and that’s my sister. Until you I would have done what Dee asked and kept my distance, but you are something else. The moment I met you I was lost. Everything I thought I knew changed almost in the blink of an eye. No one expected that of me.” He takes a chair from a nearby table and plants it beside me, before seating himself and addressing Holden, “Sorry, man, I won’t be long.”
“That’s okay,” Holden responds. It’s clear he has no idea how to react to Max inserting himself into our date.
“Where was I?” Max takes my hand.
For some reason I let him. “No one expected you to change.”
“Right.” He nods. Behind us a couple of voices murmur in agreement. “So, no one believed me. And everyone wanted me to leave you alone. My sister was willing to sue you. I did try, believe it or not. I avoided you that first taping, which is why Kelly has run this entire thing. I went out for coffee, just so I wouldn’t be there when you came out.”
“That’s when I ran into you outside and you told me you were a dog walker, and I believed you because I believed you were honest the night previous when you didn’t hide the fact you played the field. But you’re not honest, are you? Which means there’s nothing about you I can trust.”
“Sure there is,” he says. “But you don’t want to, do you?”
“I knew what I was getting into.” I shake my head. This is how it always goes. You fall for a guy, and he tears your heart up like so much paper, before he moves on to the next girl. And sometimes if you’re really lucky, he lies to you, too. I get out of my seat and collect my coat. “It’s no big deal. We barely know each other. Besides, I don’t have time to date anyone.”
I slip my coat on and walk toward the group that is gathered between me and the entrance to Novo Greco. They start to part as I get close to them.
“Evie,” Max calls out. “Do you know what I think?”
“What?” I exhale. Do I really care to hear what he has to say? It won’t change anything about this situation.
“You’re chicken.”
I turn to face him. “I’m what? Did you just call me a—”
“Chicken,” he says, striding to meet me in the middle of the room. “You’re running scared.”
“Excuse me?”
“You keep telling me you don’t have time to date, but you don’t want to. Someone hurt you deeply, didn’t they? They fooled around behind your back?”
I blanche. He’s right, but we never talked about it. How does he know? How can he tell that I’m doing the best I can to protect myself? “He lied to me too.”
“I get it,” he says, raising his hand as if to touch me then letting it fall to his side. “I mean, I don’t know exactly because this is the first time I’ve been in love, but i
f not being with you hurts like this...” He shakes his head. “All I’m saying is I made a mistake. But it’s one I won’t make again. You already know I’m a one-woman man. Yours. If you’ll risk it.”
“You call me a chicken and then you want me to risk my heart on you?” I stare at him, almost certain he’s right.
“Yes.” He holds his hand out to me. “So how about it, Evie? Want to trust your heart to me? I’ll take very good care of it, I promise.”
“I don’t know.” I smile, so close to tears. My mind is already made up. Maybe I don’t know the man he is on paper, but I do know he’s so much more.
“Come on, Evie,” he pleads.
“Come on, Evie,” several in the group behind me call out.
“Anyone mind if I leave?” Holden asks as he zips up his coat on his way past us.
“Okay.” I slip my hand into Max’s. “Please take care of it.”
He covers my hand with both of his as he pulls me close. His chest rises and falls, and he bites his lip while he stares into my eyes. His smile makes my heart tingly and warm, and he slips one hand around the back of my neck. As he leans in, he says, “I will. Like it’s my very own.”
His mouth finds mine in the gentlest of slow dances. His lips rub against mine, and everyone starts to clap.
***
“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” I tell him. “I mean Hannah will probably kill me, but—”
“We are going,” he says, entering the bathroom behind me and gesturing at his naked pecs and chest. “I didn’t get all dressed up like a damn angel to stay home.”
There’s a thin sheen of gold glitter across his torsos that glints in the light and makes everything just that much more defined. Christ, being that put together just shouldn’t be allowed. My mouth waters and my legs silently complain as they turn to jelly. Maybe if I hadn’t jumped him in the car when we left the last taping for Puppy Love. Or perhaps if he hadn’t had me on my hands and knees on the rug in his apartment hallway when we got back. Or if maybe I hadn’t wanted to find out what such a gorgeous view would be like while getting pounded up against a window. Or if he hadn’t decided he wanted to get intimate with my behind. Point is I couldn’t jump him right now if I tried. I just couldn’t.
“You’re so hot I’ll have to fight women off you all night,” I say, and maybe pout a little. But Max promised to take care of my heart, and I believe him. I fell all the way when he said that. No holding back, no fears.
“What women? I’ve only got eyes for you.” He pulls a bag from behind his back. “Especially with you wearing this. Hell, I’ll be the one death staring and wondering how much damage Cupid’s arrow can do.”
I peek in the bag and pull out the tiny black and red costume. “The burlesque costume? Are you crazy?”
“About you.” He grins. “Trust me. I’ve been dying to see you in it again.”
***
“You’re here.” Hannah throws her arms around me. “And you brought a boy.”
“Boyfriend,” Max corrects, shaking her hand over my shoulder.
“Well, aren’t you a catch,” she studies him as though she can tell who he is from a couple seconds meeting, before turning her attention to me. “And this costume. You’ll catch your death of cold, but you’ll slay many a man in the process. I’m almost certain it will be worth it.”
“Just one man. This is Maxwell Holt, and I’m doing things differently this year.” I sink into Max’s arms. His chest warms my back and keeps the goose bumps away.
“I’ll say.” She sticks out her bottom lip and nods a few times. “Maxwell, it’s lovely to meet you. Keep an eye out for Karen. She loves a good ass grope, and you appear to have quite the ass. Also, Handsy Neal is in the kitchen.”
“We’ll steer clear,” I say, escorting Max past her. “Where’s the bar set up this year?”
“On the patio. We’ve had it enclosed, and there’s a fire. But I should warn you...”
As I reach for the handle, Hannah’s brother walks out of the bathroom carrying an armful of bath-chilled bottles. He’s wearing tight leather pants and devil horns and nothing else. He always was a show off. “Evie?”
“Caden.” This is awkward. Running into the guy who broke your heart a million years ago by cheating on you with nearly every one of your friends, except your bestie because she’s his sister, is weird. Not freezing up while recalling the hundreds of times he lied to my face is different.
“You look great,” he says, his gaze roving every inch of me in an uncomfortably intimate way.
“Doesn’t she? I’m Maxwell Holt.” Max introduces himself. “Her boyfriend.”
He must be able to tell that this is awkward for me. I lean into him, and he holds me protectively, as though I’m the most important thing in the world to him. “Yes, my boyfriend.”
“You look happy,” Caden says. Is that almost a tinge of regret I hear in his voice? Do I want him to regret treating me like he did? In truth, it doesn’t really matter at all.
“Come on, Caden. I need these bottles out on the patio,” Hannah interjects, pushing him in that direction.
“Old boyfriend?” Max asks, pulling me closer. “I’m thinking the one who couldn’t keep his hands to himself, if the way he looked at you was any indication.”
“He’s nothing,” I say, winding my arms around his neck. “And you’re nothing like him. You were right to call me chicken. I was scared that falling for a man who played the field would mean I get hurt like that again.”
“I was waiting for you,” he says. “Biding my time until you took my heart. Now that it belongs to you no one else can get close to it.”
“I’ll keep it forever,” I promise him. It might have only been six weeks, but I know he’s the one. Cupid isn’t stupid. He brought me the perfect guy this Valentine’s Day.
SEXY BAD NEIGHBOR
What happens when your neighbor hires you a stripper?
It starts one hell of a prank war. A war that involves goats, phallic chandeliers, stolen kisses in the rain, strawgasms, and eating out on the kitchen counter.
A war that could damn well involve two hearts and a plan. Her plan doesn’t involve falling in love. His life doesn’t involve plans.
This could be a problem.
Turn the page to read the first chapter.
CHAPTER ONE
CHLOE
What am I doing here? Taco Tuesday? Seriously? Tacos are sloppy and delicious and it’s far too easy to eat too many. I’m not an overindulging kind of person. And I really hate contrived social situations.
But my boss said I need to do something to de-stress because otherwise I’m going to have a heart attack by the time I’m forty, and that isn’t as far away as I’d like it to be. Actually, he suggested I get laid, but I don’t do messy, nor do I do sex with strangers, and who has time to get to know someone? I suppose that’s ironic considering I’m about to walk into a room full of strangers and pretend I want to befriend them.
At least it’s supposed to be exclusively women at this shindig. Women don’t intimidate me, which is the only reason I agreed to James’s ridiculous idea. “Who knows,” he said earlier today as he pushed me out the door, “you might actually make a friend or two.”
“Maybe a new client,” was my response, and he’d rolled his eyes and told me not to return to the office without at least one outrageous story to tell.
I consider not opening the door, not stepping into the sports bar where a group of strangers are likely becoming friends over spilled guacamole and too much tequila. But I will never hear the end of it if I turn around now, and besides, I’m not a quitter, whether the task is climbing the corporate ladder or attending a stupid function I have no interest in.
So I grasp the pilsner glass-shaped door handle and walk into the dark, loud place that smells of nachos and spilled beer. This is not my scene.
Bitch face in place, I pause to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I can feel gazes on me
. Lecherous, sleazebag gazes. Guys with names like Paul and Chad and—the worst of them all—Marcus.
Conveniently, my bitch face is seriously scary, so they all leave me alone as I smooth the front of my silk skirt and straighten my already flagpole-like spine. Sticking my nose in the air, I strut through that bar like I own the place. Actually, one of my clients does, so I know there are a handful of semi-private rooms toward the back, and that’s the most likely location for this silly gathering I’m supposed to attend.
When I reach my destination, I note that semi-private means there’s a party on each side of a smaller bar area, with one bartender tending to both. He’s one of the tall, dark, and handsome types, so the females in one group, which appears to be some sort of birthday party, are all gathered around the wood and laminate boxing him in, trying to garner his attention. Several of them are doing that classic grab-a-guy’s-attention stance, leaning against the bar, resting on their elbows, which are pressed against their sides, so the girls are pushed up and together, no doubt providing the lucky tender plenty of fodder for his fantasies later tonight. Assuming, of course, he goes home alone, which doesn’t seem likely.
The other gathering is a bunch of bored-looking middle-aged women wearing expensive yet understated clothing and each holding a glass of wine in one hand. No margarita in sight, and the taco station is pristine, like everyone is afraid to touch it. I’ve been out of touch with the social scene for far too long if this is what a Taco Tuesday after work party looks like.
A young woman with blue hair and black lipstick separates herself from the birthday party and heads my way. I deliberately make eye contact. “What’s that party over there?” I ask, nodding at the other crowd.
She shrugs. “Some party for old, working women.” After giving me a quick once over, she adds, “No offense.” And then she hurries through the heavy wooden door.
“None taken,” I mutter while narrowing my eyes and watching the group of women who are probably just like me: Career-driven, single-minded, determined to shatter every glass ceiling we encounter. My stomach grumbles at the sight of all those delicious taco toppings, yet I know I will be just like all these other women and snub my nose at a perceived uncouth display.
