by Elise Sax
Rosalind hands her suitcase over to Rock’s flight attendant. We’re at the local airport, and Rosalind’s taking one of Rock’s planes to L.A., where she’ll change planes to go all the way to Bora Bora.
She hands folders with itineraries, check lists, and a list of plans and back up plans to the Operation Billionaire team.
“We’ll be right behind you,” Cole tells her. “Just as soon as the engagement party is over.”
“It’s going to be like a honeymoon for us,” Beatrice gushes, leaning against Cole.
“Focus!” Rosalind chastises her. “You’ve already had enough sex to last five lifetimes. This is going to be the most difficult mission yet. Jackson Hardy is a hard ass, vicious monster, and to get him, we’ll have to be focused and cunning.”
“He sounds wonderful,” Rock whispers in my ear. “No wonder she wants to marry him.”
“I heard that, Rock,” Rosalind says. “This isn’t about love. This is about strategy.”
“Fair enough,” Rock says, sheepishly.
“Don’t question Rosalind,” Cole tells him. “It never works out well.”
“Don’t forget the reconnaissance bag,” Rosalind tells Bessie. Bessie salutes her in response.
“And I’m bringing in all the converters,” Lillian says. “Did you know that their electricity works differently there?”
“I’ve got a whole new wardrobe so I’ll fit in, and he’ll never know I’m spying on him,” my mother says with glee. “This is going to be so much fun.”
Rosalind rolls her eyes. “There’s no fun in catching billionaires,” she insists. “Just hard work and devotion.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that it’s all about fun and love and happy endings, but I figure that she’ll discover the truth on her own.
Rosalind makes the rounds and hugs us all goodbye. “Here I go,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Tell me that he’s going to drop dead when he sees me.”
“He’s going to drop dead when he sees you,” Beatrice tells her. “You’re absolutely stunning.”
“It’s true,” I say. “He’s going to drop dead.”
We watch Rosalind climb the stairs to the plane. She waves one last time to us before she steps into the plane.
Rock takes a deep breath. “She’s intense,” he tells me.
“She’s the most put together woman I’ve ever known,” I tell him.
“She’s like a superhero,” Beatrice agrees.
“We better get home,” Lillian says. “The caterers need to be bossed around.”
Back at Lillian and Bill’s ranch, the engagement party planning is in full chaos mode. There must be a hundred people working to set up the party. I’ve decided to stay out of it and let Lillian and Bessie handle it all.
Rock has pretty much the same idea, and he and his father take the kids away until the party starts. I spot my mother sitting on a bench, looking out to the mountains, and I decide to join her.
“I’ve found something better to look at than Judge Judy,” she tells me.
“It’s a pretty stunning sight.”
My mother’s eyes tear and she puts her arm around my shoulders. “I’m so happy for you and the children,” she says. “You deserve this happy ending. It’s what I always wished for you. And I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about the love and the security. The beautiful home, the wonderful man and his family. There’s nothing that makes a mother happier than to see her child happy. It’s the greatest gift you could have ever given me.”
“I’m so happy. I never knew I could even be this happy.”
“And it’s the lasting kind of happiness,” my mother says. “Rock is such a good man. Kind. Generous. And that man loves you something awful.”
“I know,” I say. And I do know. I’m sure of his love and sure it will last. Gone are all my fears about losing him. I really do know that it’s my happily ever after.
Bill raises a glass of champagne while standing on the bandstand at one end of the tent. There are about two hundred guests sitting at the tables. Lillian has outdone herself with the decorations and the food.
“To the future bride and groom. We couldn’t be happier with the additions to our family. Come over here and say a word, son.”
I carry Bianca, and Rock carries Ronnie and Keith in his arms. Mick walks behind him, clinging to his pants leg. When we get on stage, Bill holds the microphone for Rock to say a few words.
But he doesn’t have a chance to say a thing.
My mother stands and points at me. “Oh my God! She’s pregnant! The super ovaries have struck again!”
I look down at my stomach. “Am I showing?” I ask Rock, desperately.
“No! We’re not even sure you’re pregnant, yet,” he says, and the microphone picks up his voice throughout the large tent.
There are murmurs among the guests. “We don’t know if she’s pregnant yet,” Rock announces.
“She’s pregnant!” my mother yells. “You did this to her!”
“She’s right,” I tell Rock. “You did this to me. I wasn’t poisoned. I was impregnated.”
“That can make you sick?”
“It was probably just my hormones adjusting. I get a lot of hormones,” I explain.
“I’m going to be a grandma!” Lillian shouts and runs up on stage, where she jumps up and down in glee. “Call me Grandma, everyone!”
“We’re not sure, yet,” Rock insists, but he’s smiling at me, and I’m smiling back at him. For once, I’m thankful for my super ovaries.
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Check out the final story, How to Marry the Last Billionaire on Earth.
Going Down Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
I clutch my lucky silver dollar firmly in my hand. I don’t want to give it up, but this wish is really important, and I can’t leave it up to chance.
I’m down to my last two hundred bucks. I’m a month behind in my rent, and I’m in pain from giving myself my own bikini wax in order to save money. Nothing can get between me and this wish coming true.
The wishing fountain is in the center of town, right next to my apartment. In fact, I can see it from my bedroom window, but this is the first time that I’m trying it out. I’ve been saving up my wish for when I’m desperate. And boy, am I desperate.
It’s the ugliest fountain I’ve ever seen, bone dry with just a few coins, dirt, and a used condom at its bottom. But it’s famous for its wishes. I’m not crazy to believe in it. It has a long history as a wishing fountain. It’s been on the news. Katie Couric. Oprah.
I focus on my wish, pull my arm back, and release the coin.
Please let me get this role.
Please let me ace this audition.
With my wish out into the universe, I shut my eyes and throw the silver dollar into the fountain. It lands on the cracked plaster, making a loud clanking sound in the town square.
A breeze blows, which I take as a good sign. I swear I feel different, like I’m infused with good luck. I sure need some good luck. I open my eyes, half expecting an angel to appear, or at the very least, a leprechaun.
But I’m on my own. The sleepy little town of Esperanza isn’t exactly bustling with people on its busiest day, and today it’s particularly dead.
I step down from the fountain and go on my way. I don’t have to go far. Just across the street to the diner, which is located on the bottom floor of my apartment building.
Built in the 1950’s, the building is no-frills and covered in pink stucco. There are twelve units and four flights. I’m on the top floor, next to the landlord.
This location has its good points and its drawbacks. I get woken up every morning with the smell of fresh coffee brewing from the diner downstairs, which is a good point. However, I’m also tempted to eat a slice of Mack’s homemade cherry pie to go along with it, which is a drawback.
And that’s the other plus and drawback: Mack.
I open the door to the diner, making the bell ring. The diner is enjoying a lull in the day, that time between breakfast and lunch where everyone is busy at work or at home. Mack is wiping off a table but looks up when I enter.
“Sit anywhere,” he says.
I take a seat by the window. Without having to order, Mack fills my mug with coffee. He looks like he does every day. He’s a scruffy, thirty-something guy with perfect bone structure, thick dark hair, and blue eyes that will laser beam right through any woman directly to her uterus.
“I got pie,” he says.
“I don’t want pie. I’m an actress. Actresses don’t eat pie.”
“You’re an actress?”
“You know that I’m an actress. So no more out of you.”
At least I’m trying to be an actress. I’ve never actually gotten a job, but I’ve taken three classes, and a casting agent, who I met while shopping at The Gap, told me at the pocket tee table that I have what it takes to become a star.
“How about a sandwich?” Mack asks.
“I have to be skinny.”
“You are skinny. You’ve got no ass, no boobs, and your collarbones are sticking out.”
“I do too have boobs.” It’s true. I do have boobs. I’m a 36C, which is huge on my small, five-foot-two frame. I don’t know what he’s talking about. Is he blind?
Mack takes a step back and studies me. Most specifically, he studies my chest. He cocks his head to the side and squints, as if he’s having a really hard time finding my cleavage.
It’s not hard to find. I’m wearing a tank top and a push up bra. I’m the queen of cleavage. I’m cleavage and nothing else. I could signal ships at sea with my breasts.
He shrugs. “Yeah, maybe you do have boobs. But last time I looked, you don’t have an ass.”
“What the hell do you know? You don’t understand what Hollywood wants. I need to be skinny.”
“Okay. Okay. How about a salad?”
“No! Salad will bloat me.”
“So, you’ll fart. Problem solved.”
“Mack, you don’t understand. Being an actress is very demanding.”
He plops down on the chair across from me and leans forward. His eyes are big and they suddenly turn dark and focus entirely on me. My heart does a little hiccup, which I try to ignore, but Mack always has this effect on me. If he was on the menu, he would be the house special. Delicious and probably very bad for my health.
“I’m not going to leave here without feeding you,” he says. “I’m sure Meryl Streep eats.”
“Nobody cares about Meryl Streep. They care about Angelina Jolie, and she doesn’t eat.”
At least I don’t think so. I mean, she’s awfully skinny. No bloat there.
“What the hell do you mean nobody cares about Meryl Streep? Deer Hunter? Sophie’s Choice?” he says, counting on his fingers.
“Tomb Raider, Mr. & Mrs. Smith,” I counter, sticking my fingers in his face. Mack shakes his head.
“Even skinny Angelina Jolie eats,” he says, obviously annoyed with me.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“If I have to shove the food down your throat, that’s what I’m going to do.”
“That’s charming, Mack. Violence against women. Not your most attractive quality.”
Mack grins and raises an eyebrow. He drags his chair on the linoleum floor and puts it down next to me. He sits down so close that his knees graze my legs. I clamp my mouth closed, in case he really is going to shove food down my throat. But I’m not exactly scared. First of all, I’m hungry. Hungrier than Angelina Jolie. Second of all, Mack’s chest is stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, making my hormones do the Take Me Mambo.
His hair is so thick and gorgeous. I’m sorely tempted to run my fingers through it, but I hold myself back. I hate that I’m so attracted to him. He’s a gruff, contemptuous man. A confirmed bachelor, who I’m sure doesn’t even like women. I mean, he’s never been nice to me.
However, he smells nice. And even though his wardrobe is stuck in the Grunge period, he definitely takes care of himself, and his jeans fit perfectly in all the right places.
He scoots even closer. His cheek is almost touching mine. There’s a zing of electricity between us, which feels fabulous, and if I’m not mistaken, is coming directly from him.
He touches my forearm, letting his fingers trail up and down in a sensual, seductive way.
“Angelina Jolie has nothing on you, Marion,” he says, his voice low in his throat, deep and gravelly, like he’s choking with desire.
At least, that’s how I want to look at it. He probably just has phlegm.
Meanwhile, my tongue has swollen, and I think I might be having a coronary. “Okay. Pie à la mode. Two scoops of vanilla, and be quick about it,” I hear myself say.
I’m immediately racked with guilt. I’m positive Angelina Jolie doesn’t eat cherry pie and ice cream. But I have no choice. Since I don’t drink or do drugs, pie is my only recourse against an overwhelming desire to jump Mack’s bones.
“That’s my girl.” Mack pats my arm and hops up, dragging his chair back to the other side of the table and tucking it under. He trots to the counter to fetch me my pie. I catch myself staring at his ass as he walks, and I pinch myself. It’s a psychological training technique I picked up when my mother tried to stop smoking. Every time I’m attracted to Mack, I hurt myself.
“I’m not your girl,” I say to his back.
“Oh, yes, you are.”
Grab a copy of Going Down, book 1 of the Five Wishes Series, to see what happens next.
Also by Elise Sax
Matchmaker Mysteries Series
Matchmaking Advice from Your Grandma Zelda
Road to Matchmaker
An Affair to Dismember
Citizen Pain
The Wizards of Saws
Field of Screams
From Fear to Eternity
West Side Gory
Scareplane
It Happened One Fright
The Big Kill
It’s a Wonderful Knife
Ship of Ghouls
Goodnight Mysteries Series
Die Noon
Doom with a View
Jurassic Dark
Coal Miner’s Slaughter
Operation Billionaire Trilogy
How to Marry a Billionaire
How to Marry Another Billionaire
How to Marry the Last Billionaire on Earth
Five Wishes Series
Going Down
Man Candy
Hot Wired
Just Sacked
Wicked Ride
Five Wishes Series
Three More Wishes Series
Blown Away
Inn & Out
Quick Bang
Three More Wishes Series
Standalone Books
Forever Now
Bounty
Switched
About the Author
Elise Sax worked as a journalist for fifteen years, mostly in Paris, France. She took a detour from journalism and became a private investigator before writing her first novel. She lives in Southern California with her two sons.
She loves to hear from her readers. Don’t hesitate to contact her at [email protected], and sign up for her newsletter at http://elisesax.com/mailing-list.php to get notifications of new releases and sales.
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