No Romance Required
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product
of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Cari Quinn. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary
rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at
www.entangledpublishing.com
.
Edited by Heather Howland and Shannon Godwin
Cover design by Heather Howland
Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-796-3
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition August 2013
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners
of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Cristal; Skype; eHarmony.com; Hallmark;
Legends of the Fall
; Rolex; Teflon; Victoria’s Secret; Bikram; Metamucil; Girl Scout; Hello Kitty; Viagra;
Sherlock; Jell-O; Twilight Zone.
To my mom, who enjoyed my jokes before anyone else did.
To Taryn Elliott, for being the best bestie, CP, and cowriter ever.
Chapter One
Cory Santangelo glanced at his watch. Again. He’d forbidden the ever-attentive press
from attending tonight’s gala because he’d obtained an exclusive for coverage elsewhere.
Wrong move, apparently. When a man paid handsomely—and secretly—for a notable photographer
from the state’s largest newspaper to surreptitiously memorialize an event, he expected
said photographer to arrive in a timely fashion. Preferably before the event ended.
Hell, he would have considered allowing the paparazzi to attend if he’d known the
photog he’d secured wasn’t going to show.
Oh, it wasn’t over yet. Though the crowd of guests at Value Hardware’s annual Helping
Hands charity benefit had definitely thinned, a stalwart number of partygoers would
remain until the last drop of Cristal had been consumed. This gala had its roots in
assisting the community, notably the underprivileged and down-on-their-luck, but many
of those who came to their aid preferred to do so in gorgeous surroundings. Hence
the yearly ball and its attendant auction, which always brought in the big bucks to
help the foundation. Particularly this year, when a real-life romance had played out
while the trinkets and baubles were offered up for bid.
His little brother, Dillon, had fallen for one of those down-on-their-luck types.
Alexa Conroy owned a small, struggling flower shop in town and had fought a not-so-evil
empire—which happened to belong to Cory—to save her business. Lex and Dillon had ridden
out of there via motorcycle just a short while ago after putting on a show worthy
of the daily soaps, complete with sweeping kisses and a frantic bidding war over a
painting aptly titled
Love at First Sight
.
Now Dill was probably off biblically romancing his new girlfriend, and Cory couldn’t
have been happier for him.
Especially since he’d hoped to milk the night for every drop of publicity it was worth.
And that had been when he’d believed the only excitement would consist of Dillon’s
large award for his volunteer work with the charity. The lovey-dovey melodrama was
a news-at-eleven bonus, one that virtually assured that the charity and Value Hardware
would get good press for days, despite Dillon the do-gooder’s publicity ban.
Or it would have assured it, had the photographer ever showed.
Cory pulled out his cell to call him. No reception bars. Of course. He needed to change
plans. Or better yet, he needed his assistant to change them for him.
“Cory, wait.” He turned, glimpsing his mother and stepfather rushing toward him. He
didn’t like the inevitable drop in his stomach as his mom gave him a quick hug and
recounted the success of the night. All too often lately their discussions veered
into a place he didn’t want to go, especially with his parents.
“Isn’t it wonderful about Dill and Alexa?” She sighed. “Dad and I were beginning to
think he’d never fall in love.”
Here we go
. “Isn’t that something that happens on its own timetable?”
“Of course, but you can help it along sometimes.” She grinned and pinched his cheek
as if he were eight years old. As heat filtered into his face, he glanced around to
make sure no one had seen her gesture. “It’s all about meeting the right people, sweetie.
Something you don’t do enough of. You need to get out more, experience—”
“I experience plenty. Thanks for the advice, though.” He kissed her forehead and waved
his phone at his stepfather, who stood stoically behind her. “Sorry, business.”
“Speaking of business…” Raymond Santangelo placed an arm around Cory’s shoulder, effectively
halting his escape. He led him and Cory’s mother to a more private corner, where they
stood between a potted ficus tree and a giant cardboard cutout of Dillon with the
words “Volunteer of the Year.”
Dear God.
His mother tilted her head to the side, peering at him closely. “How long has it been
since you’ve been on a date?”
Cory opened his mouth, then shut it. “Excuse me?”
His mother sighed and smoothed a hand over her neat auburn bob. “You remember dating,
don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Dating isn’t part of my lexicon right now.” Cory pointedly glanced at his watch,
furtively searching for an exit. Perhaps if he got out of there in a hurry, he’d head
all of this off at the pass.
Raymond, who seemed completely unaffected by Cory’s attempt at bolting, stroked his
short beard and shook his head. “We’re moving away in four weeks. You and Dillon are
going to be on your own. Not that we won’t be available via phone and e-mail.”
“And Skype,” his mom added brightly.
Yes, Skype. Dillon had taught her how to use that particular piece of technology,
damn him. Cory would make sure to thank his brother later. “I’m not a boy.” Cory met
his stepfather’s gaze. “I think I’ve demonstrated my maturity and my ability to take
care of myself. Of course we’ll miss you both.” He spared his mother a brief glance.
“But this move is the best thing for your health, and Dillon and I are more than capable
of running things.” The rest wasn’t worth discussing.
“You’re not any good to the company if you’re not good to yourself. And news flash,
son, the circles under your eyes and your tendency to snap before your brain engages
aren’t winning you any favors.” When Cory would’ve replied, his stepfather shook his
head and tucked a hand in his pocket. “Look, we all knew this wouldn’t be an easy
conversation. No one wanted you to feel like you were being attacked, but we all have
a vested interest in making sure you’re happy.”
Cory tightened his jaw. “The bottom line.”
“No.” His mom’s face softened, her eyes going damp. “Do you really think that’s all
you are to us?”
Cory turned away from the plea in her voice. He hated hurting her or worrying her
for even a moment, but what did they expect from him? He didn’t have time to date,
not with their looming retirement and the magazine launch. His free moments were chock
full with store minutiae. Where, exactly, was he supposed to fit in this
restorative
dating?
“I have one unscheduled hour a day.” Cory pressed his fingers to his eyes. Waving
his cell phone at his parents again, he added, “Look, can we finish this chat later?
I really have to—”
“Not so fast.”
Should’ve known it wouldn’t be so easy. Wordlessly, he waited
.
Raymond crossed his arms over his chest. Despite his kindly smile and penchant for
friendly chats, the man could summon an iciness that glaciers would envy. “Customers
don’t feel comfortable approaching you in the store. In fact, I got two complaints
this week.”
“About what?” Cory couldn’t stem his outrage.
“About you. You blow people off when they say hello. You don’t think personal relations
have anything to do with crunching numbers, and you’re wrong. In this economy, that
personal touch is what keeps businesses like ours afloat. And if you’re not helping
us, you very well could harm us.” Raymond’s jaw ticked. “Not acceptable, son. You
need to take care of your responsibilities outside of the store, too. And that includes
finding alternate ways of stress relief.”
Cory stared at him, sure he’d heard him wrong. “Sex?”
“We’re not talking about just physical relief.” How his mother could remain so placid
when talking about sex in the presence of her grown son, Cory had no clue. “Who do
you have to turn to when you need to talk?”
“I don’t. Need to talk,” Cory said when they all stared at him. “I have friends, of
course, should the urge arise.”
He glanced away from the pity scrolling across his mom’s face. His stepfather was
slightly more circumspect, but not much. They knew he didn’t have many friends. A
spat with Victoria Townsend, who ran his company’s lifestyle magazine, usually was
the extent of his personal conversations with people outside of his family or work
associates.
“The kind of companionship you find in a relationship extends beyond friendship, son.”
Raymond’s gentle tone didn’t lessen the steely glint in his eyes. He wasn’t backing
down. Well, neither was Cory.
“I’m not a damn virgin. I’m almost thirty years old, for God’s sake, not twelve. I
do know these things.” Cory raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t even dispute
what they were saying for other people. Sharing a meal—or a bed—with someone appealed
to him on some levels, but a relationship usually brought far too many complications.
“You already know so many lovely women, sweetheart.” Cory braced. Whomever his mom
suggested, he would vehemently turn down. To do otherwise would break the unspoken
mother/son covenant about dating advice created hundreds of years ago. “What about
Melinda Townsend? She’d be perfect for you.”
Yeah, so he’d believed the several times he’d tried to set something up between them.
Just to have a social companion, nothing more or less. He’d been resoundingly dismissed
by Victoria’s sister.
Ignoring the question, Cory gave his parents a thin smile. Hopefully it didn’t hold
the hostility he feared it did. “I’ll think over what you’ve said, I promise. And
I do appreciate your concern.”
Or he would, once the sting wore off in a year or two. Did they really think he was
such a loser that he needed his mommy and daddy to fix him up?
“Consider this a directive, rather than advice. I’m not letting the company run my
oldest son into the ground. You’ve been sacrificing love and a family for power tools
and spreadsheets. Well, no more. You have a stake in Value Hardware but I get to choose
the CEO. If I need to replace you in that role in order to protect your physical and
mental health, then I will. Do you understand?”
Cory felt the bile rising in his throat.
Not run Value Hardware? Was his father serious?
“When we speak again, I expect this to no longer be an issue. And trust me, we will
be speaking again, Cory. Soon.” With an air of finality, Raymond shifted toward his
wife and traded his glower for a smile. “Mark Pendergast keeps trying to flag us down.
Shall we go see what he wants?”
Shocked into silence, Cory looked away from his mom’s sympathetic glance as she and
his stepfather headed over to speak to Mark, one of the charity’s biggest benefactors.
Un-freaking-real.
Phone in hand, he marched outside into the balmy late-summer night, determined not
to let lack of cell service, publicity snafus, or familial interference further ruin
his mood. He wasn’t about to lose his temper in public, so it was better that he get
some air.
Lots and lots of air.
His parents were going to drive him mad and he’d just have to accept that fact. With
one son paired off, they would redouble their efforts to matchmake the other.
But to issue a directive? That was crossing the line.
He was successful alone. Content. Why didn’t they get that?
They had no reason to question his methods. Business was good. Profits were up, and
plans for the next two new Value Hardwares slated to open beyond their home base of
Haven, Pennsylvania, by next spring were progressing on schedule.
Simply Home
, the magazine that would further brand his parents’ chain of stores as the full-service
home beautification centers he’d always envisioned, was his brainchild.
His parents’ retirement was looming on the horizon. Soon he would be able to steer
the company he’d been the de facto CEO of for the past few years in the direction
that best fit his vision. Dillon would share in the plans, of course, and his parents
would always keep their fingers in the pot, but once they were shipped off to Arizona,
God bless them, he’d be the captain of his domain.
Finally.
Directive, his ass. No one was keeping that from him.
He checked his phone. Still no bars. He’d have to try calling the photographer from
the road.
Besides, the banquet was basically over. He’d made it this far, why not keep going?
He had plenty of work to do and the only way he could be sure of maintaining his cool
was leaving altogether.
His car was parked on the side street, the perfect spot for his earlier entrance and
now exit. His escape was in sight. If his parents questioned why he’d left so soon,
he’d tell them he’d decided to go home and cozy up with eHarmony.com. Why put off
his chance for true love? Might as well start the search tonight, since he forecast
it would take approximately half a lifetime to find a suitable candidate. Maybe longer.
The chances of him finding someone who could tolerate his insane work schedule were
slim to none. At least, he hadn’t met anyone so far who’d been willing to accommodate
it.
He walked across the concrete portico toward the beckoning darkness of the well-manicured
grounds that surrounded the banquet hall. The last thing he cared to dwell on tonight
was his lack of a love life. If there was anything that would settle his mind—other
than telling off his worthless photographer—it was recounting his successes. There
were many, and there would be more. Dissatisfaction with his life surfaced occasionally.
He was only human. But he didn’t long for anything he couldn’t satisfy within the
columns of a profit-and-loss sheet.
Dillon was different, and he’d found someone to complement him. He and Alexa would
be happy—at least until the inevitable squabbling and monotony of a long-term relationship
set in—and Cory had done his part to help them along, in the form of paying off some
of Alexa’s overdue bills. Money cured most ills, if one knew who to pay and had the
wherewithal to do so. And he did.
Noises carried on the wind, laughter and conversation and the subtle clink of champagne
glasses. The sounds faded the closer he grew to the property’s back exit, his expensive
shoes whispering over grass damp from the sprinkler system. Earthy scents filled the
air. The minty scent of wild bergamot, soil, and green things growing. Things that
Dillon and Alexa would know how to nurture, whereas he only knew how to prolong their
deaths. He’d never figured out to how keep a plant alive for more than a few months.
The only green he knew how to take care of fattened his bank account.
