Consequence

by Rachel Higginson

  Despite his discouragement and bullish behavior, I’ve set two goals for myself.

  The first? I’m going to fight my way to the top of this male-dominated industry and claim my own award-winning kitchen.

  The second? I’m going to do whatever it takes to ignore Wyatt and his rare smiles and the thickening tension that’s started to simmer between us.

  Wyatt Shaw might be Durham’s new shining star. He might be up for a James Beard Award. He might be my new boss and key to my future success, but he’s also in my way.

  So he can keep his smoldering looks and secret kisses. And he can be the one that figures out how to make it through service without getting distracted by me.

  I’m not the problem.

  The problem is him.

  Acknowledgments

  To my God, my Shepherd , in whom I shall not want for anything. You are the green pastures, the peaceful waters, the restorer of my soul. You are the point and the glory and the reason for all of this. Every book is Your miracle. Every day is Your gift.

  To Zach, this is number 34. Not one of them could have happened without you. Thank you for keeping me on task. Thank you for planning these releases and helping me reach word counts. Thank you for making graphics and teasers and basically babysitting me while I flail and fail and panic my way through this jungle. Thank you for putting up with frozen pizza and unfolded laundry. Thank you for loving me through the insanity. Thank you for cheering me through my insecurity. Thank you for being the best man I have ever known, the man that inspires great love stories and swoon-worthy heroes. You’re my favorite.

  To Stella, Scarlett, Stryker, Solo and Saxon, you are the reason for all of this. For the late nights and the long hours and the fighting off my fears and doubts and deadlines. You are the reason I keep pushing forward, keep trying my hardest, keep deciding not to give up. I love you more than anything in this world. My prayer is that one day you find someone worth writing about and something worth sacrificing everything for.

  To mom, I’m just going to say it one more time for good measure, I hope you didn’t read this book!!! But seriously, thank you for all that you do for us and for me and for my dreams. Thank you for taking my children whenever you can, for being the best Nana this planet has ever seen and thank you sincerely for the endless loads of laundry you washed and folded for me. You are the woman I aspire to be.

  To Holly, my favorite assistant. Thank you for all of your hard work, for your constant checking up on me and for the creative way you spin this small job. You are an asset to my career, to my books and to my life. Thank you for all of your hard work. Thank you for taking this part time job and making a full time difference in my life.

  To Katie, Tiffany and Sarah Jo, I’m sorry I talked bad about Disney. I should have trusted that wherever we are, we’re going to have the best freaking time. Thank you for your support and encouragement. Thank you for putting up with my crazy when I all but lose my mind. And thank you for understanding when I miss meetings and the beach and the important things I should remember. You all are the best friends a girl could ask for. And I am so blessed to know each of you. Next trip, I promise I won’t bring work!

  To Georgia, Shelly, Amy and Samantha, you ladies are the friends I want to pick up and move next door to me. It just doesn’t seem fair that we have to live so far apart. I so appreciate your advice, your support and your sense of humor. Thank you for being a constant source of encouragement and hope in my life. And trust me when I say, I’ll shop real estate in Omaha for you any time, any day.

  To Lenore, my friend, my beta reader, my all-time favorite Canadian. Thank you for just getting me, for knowing that I will never be done when I say I’m going to be done and for reading even when you’re on vacation. Thank you for your wisdom and insight and your love of all my heroes. You are my target audience, friend. And I am so happy I get to know you and walk with you through this crazy life.

  To Amy Donnelly from Alchemy and Words. It needs to be said, you are the freaking grandmaster ninja of editing. Seriously, what would I do without you??? Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for putting up with my relentlessly crazy editing schedules, for taking my date changes and ending changes and frustratingly difficult life in stride. Thank you for encouraging me and listening to me and loving these stories I write. Your opinion and guidance is invaluable to me. Thank you for giving me the gift of working with you.

  To Caedus Design Co, thank you for another gorgeous cover! I trust your taste and design implicitly. Thank you for always ignoring my opinions and doing what you want despite what I say. Thank you for always being on time—one of us has to be… And thank you for working so stinking hard to make my dreams come true.

  To the Rebel Panel, you ladies are the best! Thank you for your endless support and encouragement. Thank you for being available always. And thank you for helping me come up with the name Sayer Wesley. I love you ladies to the moon and back. And one day I’ll bring you all to Omaha and give you the Rachel Higginson Book Tour. It will be epic. But not more so than getting to meet and hang out with each of you!

  To the bloggers and reviewers, specifically, Vilma, Natasha, Maryse, Wit and Wonder and Under the Covers and all of the other hundreds of bloggers and reviewers who have helped make this series and this release a success. Your support means the world to me. Thank you for giving up your time and your thoughts and for falling in love with stories that mean so much to me. Thank you for this series especially and for putting up with that dang cliffhanger and for sticking around to read the second book. You all are the reason this job is so fun. And I count it such a blessing to work with each of you.

  To the reader, you have no idea what your opinion does to me. It keeps me up at night. It gives me ulcers. It gives me an unfair amount of gray hair. It stresses me out…. Because it matters so very much. And I just want to thank you for spending your time with my books and my characters and these words I love so very much. You are the reason I write, the reason I pull my hair out with anxiety, because believe me it’s a good thing! To have you all so invested is one of the biggest blessings in my life. Every day I am reminded how crazy it is to get to have readers. And so for that, I will always be eternally grateful to every single person that picks up one of my books. Thank you, dear reader. And thank you especially to those who take extra time to leave reviews. You’re making a difference in my life and I will never take you for granted.

  About the Author

  Rachel Higginson was born and raised in Nebraska, but spent her college years traveling the world. She fell in love with Eastern Europe, Paris, Indian Food and the beautiful beaches of Sri Lanka, but came back home to marry her high school sweetheart. Now she spends her days raising their growing family. She is obsessed with reruns of The Office and Cherry Coke.

  Look for The Problem with Him coming June 26th, 2018!

  Other Books Out Now by Rachel Higginson:

  Love and Decay, Season One

  Volume One

  Volume Two

  Love and Decay, Season Two

  Volume Three

  Volume Four

  Volume Five

  Love and Decay, Season Three

  Volume Six

  Volume Seven

  Volume Eight

  Love and Decay: Revolution, Season One

  Volume One

  Volume Two

  The Star-Crossed Series

  Reckless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 1)

  Hopeless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 2)

  Fearless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 3)

  Endless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 4)

  The Reluctant King (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 5)

  The Relentless Warrior (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 6)

  Breathless Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 6.5)

  Fateful Magic (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 6.75)

  The Redeemable Prince (The Star-Crossed Series, Book 7)

  The St
arbright Series

  Heir of Skies (The Starbright Series, Book 1)

  Heir of Darkness (The Starbright Series, Book 2)

  Heir of Secrets (The Starbright Series, Book 3)

  The Siren Series

  The Rush (The Siren Series, Book 1)

  The Fall (The Siren Series, Book 2)

  The Heart (The Siren Series, Book 3)

  Bet on Love Series

  Bet on Us

  Bet on Me

  Every Wrong Reason

  The Five Stages of Falling in Love

  Opposites Attract Series

  The Opposite of You

  The Difference Between Us

  The Problem with Him coming June 2017

  The Confidence Game Duet

  Constant

  Consequence

  Connect with Rachel on her blog at:

  http://www.rachelhigginson.com/

  Or on Twitter:

  @mywritesdntbite

  Or on her Facebook page:

  Rachel Higginson

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Rachel’s contemporary romance, Bet on Us.

  Please enjoy a sneak peek at Rachel’s new adult romance, Bet on Us

  Chapter One

  I blamed this on Kelly Clarkson.

  On Kelly-Freaking-Clarkson.

  The angry man standing across the kitchen island looked like he was about to throttle me. I had visions of large hands gripped firmly around my neck shaking me like a rubber chicken. His eyes flashed with frustration and I cursed Kelly Clarkson straight to the grave.

  Things started out so well this morning, so unbelievably, unnaturally well. I should have known better. But at the time, I woke up in my bed to the powerful chords Kelly Clarkson belted through my radio alarm, and laid there for the length of the song just to let her words sink in.

  Stronger.

  In fact, I started to think Kelly Clarkson was a genius. And like maybe we were soul sisters that survived something awful but came out on the other side of it stronger. I started to think maybe she got me.

  Because the bed did feel warmer. And I did dream in color again. I never felt lonely when I was alone anymore and I really was standing taller. Kelly Clarkson had it all figured out.

  Well “was” as in the seriously past tense because with monster-man looming over me, pissed off and yelling about money he wanted that I definitely did not have, I wasn’t standing taller anymore. I was shrinking slowly into what I assumed would soon be the fetal position.

  But this morning, even as the warm sun sifted through my bedroom window and heated my exposed skin, everything seemed possible. I felt strong enough to get out of bed today and conquer the world, or at least the closest Starbucks and my Econ class.

  Which come on, that’s close enough right?

  And even though last week I missed a seriously important pop quiz in my post-break-up-cowering phase and now my grade was in some trouble… and then it started raining and I happened to be wearing a white t-shirt and red bra.

  Who does that by the way? Me apparently, in my Kelly-Clarkson-gave-me-the-strength-to-be-a-skank-mood.

  And then even after I came home to my roommate on her way out, for what she promised was just a bite to eat even though she was two months behind on her share of the rent, I believed today was the start of better things to come.

  All thanks to Kelly Clarkson.

  After setting my purse down on the kitchen counter because the entry hall table that I usually placed it on had been moved, I started to wonder if maybe Kelly Clarkson lied to me.

  Well, okay, that’s not exactly true. First I wondered if I was hallucinating. Then I ran through the possibility of being robbed. But my roommate’s casual departure quickly negated that idea.

  I blinked. And blinked again. And then blinked so hard tears formed in the corners of my eyes and I felt like I was trying to be the second coming of I Dream of Jeannie. If I willed all of my furniture and belongings to reappear, they would.

  But they didn’t.

  And that was just the start of my disappointment.

  Then there was the letter… The one that calmly explained my roommate had a clinically diagnosed gambling addiction and that she was thousands of dollars in debt. She explained that she had to sell the furniture, my furniture, to pay for rehab. Her family insisted on it. She had a real problem. A real problem. And I needed to understand that anything she had done to hurt me was her addiction and not the real her.

  Well her addiction wasn’t going to replace all of my furniture.

  Her addiction wasn’t going to come up with the other half of my rent!

  And her addiction really wasn’t going to explain to the man across the kitchen yelling at me that no matter who he thought I was, I did not owe him seven thousand dollars!!

  I picked up the handwritten letter-of-crazy with a shaky hand and held it out to him.

  “What’s this?” He paused in his tirade to take the half sheet of torn notebook paper. I noticed my Biology notes on the back of it for the first time. Seriously, she couldn’t even use her own paper???

  “Um, see? I’m not the one that owes you money.” I sounded confident, but inside I was a trembling, terrified puddle. And on second thought, maybe I didn’t sound quite so confident…

  “Who’s Tara?” he grunted after skimming the note quickly.

  “My roommate,” I said simply and then thought better of it. “My ex-roommate. She’s moved on to group therapy and the twelve steps, apparently.”

  “And who are you?” he asked carefully. His eyes swept over me in a way that made me feel like he had x-ray vision. Suddenly I felt very vulnerable and very naked.

  Okay, more vulnerable.

  And not really naked.

  But feeling more vulnerable was a hard emotion to feel since he elbowed his way in here not even ten minutes ago and started shouting at me and threatening all kinds of legal action and at times bodily harm.

  “I’m, uh, wait a second! Who are you? You’re in my apartment!” I dug deep for some courage. I slammed my fists on my hips and tilted my chin in my best I-mean-business pose.

  “Don’t get cute with me.” He sneered. I wanted to explain that I wasn’t being cute. I was being tenacious. But I decided to stay silent when his full upper lip curled in frustration and his dark, chocolate brown eyes narrowed. “I’m the guy you owe seven thousand dollars!”

  Ugh, he was still stuck on this! I cleared my throat and tried again, “How could I possibly owe you seven thousand dollars? I’ve never even met you before! I don’t even know your name.”

  “You’re really going to stick with this whole doe-eyed-innocent act?” he scoffed unkindly. He walked forward and placed two meaty hands on the kitchen counter slowly, like he was weighing his strength against a fragile surface. His broad shoulders tensed and stiffened and his entire body went rigid with frustration. I almost felt bad for him.

  Almost.

  But then I remembered I was not that person anymore. No more pity for people that didn’t deserve it. No more sacrificing my time and money and energy for people that would just screw me over when they got what they wanted. This was the new me. The stronger me. The me that was soul sisters with Kelly Clarkson. The I-get-what-I-want-me! And right now, I seriously wanted this guy out of my life, or at the very least, out of my apartment.

  “I’m not innocent,” I spat back with my arms crossed firmly against my chest and my hip jutting out. I realized that maybe that wasn’t my best defense but I pushed forward. “And I’m not doe-eyed!”

  His face suddenly opened up in some shock and his lips twitched like he had to hold back a laugh. “I can’t believe this.” He rubbed two hands over his face in a sign of exhaustion and turned his back on me.

  With his body more relaxed I saw him in a new light. He was less macho-Neanderthal in this posture and more holy-sexy-back-muscles-batman. Obviously the disaster that was my last boyfriend did a number on me if I was checking out the confused hit man paci
ng back and forth in my kitchen.

  I mean, honestly, fantasizing about what his back could potentially look like under his thin t-shirt was seriously clinical, right? Maybe Tara wasn’t the only one that needed medical observation and group therapy.

  “I think there has been some miscommunication,” I ventured, now that he appeared somewhat relaxed. “You think I am someone that owes you money, but I am not. Do I look like a drug addict to you?”

  He swung his head back around to face me. “You think I’m a drug dealer?”

  “Seven thousand dollars is a lot of money,” I sniffed.

  “Yes, it is. And you think the only way to go that much in debt is by drugs?” His eyes widened in disbelief.

  Now that he was even calmer, I noticed his face wasn’t necessarily menacing, but more chiseled and dignified. Actually when his dark eyes weren’t bugging out of his head in rage, he looked more like a Calvin Klein model than Tony Soprano. And his hands weren’t so much meaty as they were just large and connected to very defined arms. And okay, originally I was under the impression that his neck was the size of a redwood, but now that I was really paying attention it was more just a very strong, carved out piece of art, attached to an equally and artfully sculpted body.

  To top it off, he had great hair. I just needed to admit that. He had amazing hair. Hair that I was instantly jealous of! Dark, rich coffee-colored hair that matched his eyes. Short on the sides, and just a little longer on top. It was stylish and trendy, not at all ex-military-renegade-private-security like I originally thought.

  Wait a minute, I didn’t think I liked that he was attractive… more than attractive, hotter-than-hot attractive. When I finally took in the scruffy growth across his jaw that partially hid too-full lips, I wanted to roll my eyes. Who was this guy?