Nobody's Fool (17 page)

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to Beth Fredstrom for her friendship and for patiently answering all of my fashion design questions, as well as my editor, Noah Chinn, and all the crew at Samhain Publishing.

About the Author

Barbara Meyers is the author of The Braddock Brotherhood series of sweet, spicy, sexy contemporary romances published by Samhain Publishing as well as two other novels. Her short story, “Katy’s Place”, appeared in the 2013 Novelists, Inc. anthology.

Under the pen name AJ Tillock, she ventures into off-the-wall comedic fantasy with
The Forbidden Bean
, the first in the Grinding Reality series.

When not writing fiction, Dr. Seuss-like poetry or song lyrics, Meyers disguises herself behind a green apron and supplies caffeine-laced substances to addicted consumers for a world-wide coffee company.

She is still married to her first husband, has two children and one almost perfect dog. Originally from Southwest Missouri, Meyers currently resides in Central Florida.

Contact her at
[email protected]

Visit her at
www.barbarameyers.com

Follow her infrequent posts on Twitter
@barbmeyers
and
@ajtillock

Like her on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/BarbaraMeyersAuthorPage

Read her blog at
barbmeyers.wordpress.com/blog

Buy links to her books:
www.barbmeyers.com/where/index.html

Look for these titles by Barbara Meyers

Now Available:

The Braddock Brotherhood

A Month From Miami

A Forever Kind of Guy

The First Time Again

There’s no defense when love blindsides your heart.

The First Time Again

© 2013 Barbara Meyers

The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3

Once Trey Christopher was the small-town golden boy. Now he’s just another burned-out, washed-up ex-quarterback with a bum knee, a tarnished reputation, and a simple wish. To be the kind of man he can face in the mirror.

Moving back home is a start, as is hiring a down-on-her-luck local woman to help him out around his grandparents’ old homestead.

The last thing Baylee Westring wants is to clean house for a high school crush who barely remembers her name, but Trey’s money will finally top off her get-out-of-Henderson-forever escape fund.

Before she hits the road, though, Baylee’s got something for the man she still finds wildly attractive: the virginity he almost—but not quite—took during a drunken teenage party.

Neither is prepared for the emotional impact of that encounter. But just when Baylee dares to believe in happy ever after, an old enemy turns up to even the score. And Trey finds his heart left in the red zone, with his last chance for love ticking down to zero.

Warning: Contains an overeducated housekeeper who’s open to receiving a pass or two, and an ex-football player who can’t seem to stop himself from showing her all his moves.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The First Time Again:

Baylee’s grandparents’ best friends, Mike and Josephine Pritchard, had lived on Sycamore Road. During her youth she had occasionally visited the Pritchards with them.

She wouldn’t apologize for being late. Best to let
T. C.
know who was in charge. It had taken her a while, but she was learning. She wasn’t going to be a doormat for anyone. Not anymore. And certainly not for some overbearing guy who sounded like he was used to ruling the world and getting his own way.

The address on Sycamore Road turned out to be the Pritchards’ house. It didn’t look much different than Baylee remembered. Josephine, whom everyone called “J”, had passed within the last year. Baylee wasn’t surprised to see not much about the property had changed. There was a black Porsche Cayenne parked near the back porch. Turbo, she noted as she drove past and parked a few feet away.
Money.

Yippee!
Her heart did a little pitter-pat. She could name her own price.

She’d always liked the Pritchards’ place. It was nestled in the midst of some gently rolling hills with the Blue Ridge range as a backdrop. The house was set far enough back from the road to offer privacy, but not anonymity. The old barn was empty now, as was the feed lot and the chicken coop. A few other outbuildings were ready to tumble down, taking the rusting fences surrounding them along.

Trees dotted the yard and the pastures beyond. Birds chirped and flitted in the branches, and a couple of squirrels gallivanted underneath the big oak closest to the house.

Near the porch were flowerbeds badly in need of weeding. A twining rose climbed up a trellis. The old swing still hung at the end of the porch. Baylee could remember sitting there contentedly, swinging and daydreaming to the rhythmic squeak of the chain against the hooks while the adults gathered around the wicker table to drink glasses of sweet tea and chat amicably.

A pang of longing for those simpler times hit her. She hadn’t known then how many mistakes awaited her, how many difficult lessons she had to learn. But learn from them she would. Her new motto was a slightly amended version of “Been there; done that”. To which she had added “not doing it again”.

She got out, mentally debating about using the front door or the back when she noticed the Cayenne’s Florida vanity license plate.
TC9.
She stared at it while several possibilities she’d chosen to ignore clicked into place.

T. C.
Trey Christopher?
Nine
. His number with the Jacksonville Jacks?

Could it possibly be? Of course it could. The Pritchards were Trey Christopher’s maternal grandparents. In fact, he’d been at their house on a few of those occasions when she’d visited as a child. He always seemed to have a pack of other boys with him, and she’d learned early on to avoid them because they’d do nothing but tease and torment her if she invaded their territory. Which seemed to be everywhere except the back porch where the adults lurked.

She had more memories of him than those from childhood, one in particular which had plagued her all through high school and beyond.

She hesitated a moment longer before she climbed the three stairs to the porch and realized she wasn’t alone. A man seated at one of the four chairs surrounding the table used another chair as a footstool. He had one leg outstretched on it, the other bent at the knee. An ice pack was balanced on the outstretched knee.

His arms crossed his chest, his thumbs tucked underneath his armpits. His head was down. There was a mug on the table. Was he asleep?

He had burnished blond, gold-tipped hair, and from what she could see from his seated position, he was tall and in good shape.

She cleared her throat and took a step toward him. When he didn’t move, she stepped closer and poked his upper arm. Beneath the long-sleeved jersey he wore, her finger met solid muscle. “Excuse—”

His head snapped up and a pair of stunning blue eyes lasered right through her. She sucked in a breath and stumbled back.

Trey Christopher!

She scrambled to get hold of herself. She was an adult woman of almost twenty-nine, not a naïve teenager of fifteen.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He grinned, which turned his already handsome features into to-die-for good looks. She did nothing but stare even though she knew he was making a joke, since she had been the one to startle him.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I did
.
The ghost that’s haunted me for fourteen years.

“Want to do this another time?”

No. Been there. Done that. Not doing it again.

She got hold of herself. Finally. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

He studied her for a few seconds. “I’m Trey, by the way. And you are?”

“Baylee. Baylee Westring.”

He chewed on the inside of his lip as if contemplating something while he continued to peruse her from head to toe. She’d come dressed to work in a faded pink T-shirt, ancient jeans and sneakers. Over which she’d worn a hoodie she’d bought on sale at Walmart for five dollars last spring. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her way. Makeup was nonexistent. She was the cleaning lady. She didn’t have to impress anyone, and she liked to be as comfortable as possible while she worked.

As if remembering his manners, Trey straightened in his chair and pulled his feet off the other one. The right one he helped along with both hands supporting his thigh after setting the ice pack on the table. “Please. Have a seat.” He indicated she was welcome to take any one of the four chairs. She opted for the one opposite him instead of the one next to him where his foot had been.

She sat, and he looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar for some reason.”

Baylee pushed her glasses up on her nose. He was fishing, so she decided to join him. “Maybe from high school.”

“Nope. That’s not it. Seems like somewhere more recent.”

Your grandmother’s funeral last year, maybe?
Not that she had any intention of enlightening him about their past history if he couldn’t remember it. She’d seen him at the funeral, at a distance. They hadn’t spoken or touched. But she’d been haunted by
that
memory for months afterward. What, she’d wondered at the time, was it going to take to get him out of her head for good?

Certainly not this. Why was she still here? Why had she sat down as if she was seriously going to consider coming to work for him?

Apparently he was waiting for an answer, and she finally grasped the thread of the conversation. “I don’t know.”

He shrugged as if it wasn’t important.

“Can you start today?”

“I’m not sure.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Not sure because…?”

“Not sure if I want to work here. For you.”

“Ah, I see. My reputation precedes me. Tell me, other than Ryan Reagle, is there anyone in this county who doesn’t hate my guts?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, no. I get it. I’m the town hero, the golden boy who made it to the big time and threw it all away. I failed the town, I failed my team. I failed everybody, including myself, and now I can’t catch a goddamn break. I get it, okay? I’ll clean my own damn house. Sorry I wasted your time.”

Trey scooted back to brace his hands on the chair arms and shoved himself up to stand. He limped across the porch and opened the screen door and let it slam shut behind him.

Baylee tried to sort out how she felt. She knew there were quite a few locals who didn’t think too highly of him at the moment and would be happy to make sure he knew it. Yes, he’d been a high school hero, a local football legend who’d made it to the pros. He’d had some good seasons with the Jacksonville Jacks. He had at least one Super Bowl ring, possibly two to show for it. She knew he’d been injured and he’d sort of gone downhill afterward, but she hadn’t followed his fall from fame all that closely. She’d had too many of her own problems to worry about at the time. Trey Christopher had been on a far back burner until she’d seen him again last year. But he was so far outside her normal sphere of acquaintances, at the time she doubted she’d ever see him again.

She might hold a grudge against him. She might have some less than stellar memories of their one high school encounter. But he needed someone to clean his house, and she needed the work. Was she going to be stupid and stubborn and walk away from a job because of some ancient history he didn’t even remember?

No. She wasn’t. She’d charge him top dollar, and she’d do her best to keep a reasonable distance from him. But there was no good reason to walk away from this gig.

Irritated, she adjusted the glasses on her nose again. The frames were slightly bent and the prescription was four years old. If she took this job she might be able to afford another supply of contact lenses.

Decision made, she got up and tapped on the screen door’s wood frame. “Hello? Trey?”

Silence greeted her. Carefully she eased the door open and closed it softly behind her. The kitchen hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d set foot in it, except for appliance upgrades. She spotted dirty dishes in the sink and crumbs on the counter.

She crossed the kitchen and listened. From the bathroom near the back bedroom, she could hear a shower running. Fine. She’d start in here, and when Trey came out of the bathroom, they’d settle things between them. Like her hourly rate.

Revenge wasn’t supposed to be this sweet…

If You Want Me

© 2014 Cassi Carver

The Ashford Legacy, Book 2

Sara Castillo has sworn never to get sucked into the world of the rich and famous, not after billionaire Benjamin Swayne broke her heart and left her carrying the burden of their shared secret.

Now Sara has a successful career working with her dear friend, Kyle Ashford, and her life runs like a well-oiled machine—until Kyle chooses Ben as his best man. No way will Sara let the renowned bad boy turn Kyle’s bachelor party into a front-page fiasco. She’s going to plan the party herself…even if she has to blackmail Ben into agreeing.

Ben isn’t thrilled about working with a woman who’d like to shank him and dump his body in a roadside ditch. But he’s willing to let Sara meddle, if only to teach her a lesson. And if the sight and scent of his old flame still makes his head swim…well, tough.

After Kyle’s party is wrapped up, Ben may finally be able to put Sara in the past. That is, if their time together doesn’t convince them they have a future.

Warning: This book contains a woman who likes being in control, a billionaire who likes to make her lose it, and enough sex toys to satisfy an army.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
If You Want Me:

Benjamin Swayne was a disgusting man. How could so many people miss this fact and label him as charming instead? How could they look at the tall, sculpted physique, the sandy-blond hair, the finely tailored tuxedo and not see the worthless human being underneath? Sara had fallen victim to that charm eight long years ago, and her heart still had the scars to prove it.

Never again
. That was her motto when it came to Benjamin Swayne and men like him. Never. Again.

Sara tapped a finger to the screen of her tablet, putting it to sleep and clutching it to her chest so she could better glare out at the dance floor through the strings of twinkly lights. The botanical gardens couldn’t be prettier, and everything was going as planned for the engagement party, but still, she couldn’t peel her gaze from Swayne and the six-foot-tall lingerie model grinding against him.

The six-foot-tall
drunk
lingerie model grinding against him.

And the lingerie model label wasn’t a jealous barb. Sara had seen this woman on the cover of the bra magazine she’d recently gotten in the mail, though she doubted the model still sported the same jewel-encrusted brassiere. No, the silk dress the model wore was so thin and transparent that the rhinestones would have shone through the fabric, but the only things poking through tonight were the woman’s nipples. Disgusting. Yep. She’d called it. They were a perfect pair.

“Hey, Sara. What are you doing over here? Time to join the party.”

The voice from behind her jolted Sara to attention. She turned to see the bride-to-be staring back at her, looking so beautiful in her aqua evening gown and little satin hat. If guests thought it strange that Rayna Sommers wore a hat at night, they no doubt chocked it up to the eccentricity of the filthy rich…or those marrying the filthy rich, as the case was.

Rayna crossed her arms and gave Sara a playfully stern look. Sara knew Rayna pretty well now, seeing as Rayna was marrying Sara’s boss, Kyle Ashford, and she could tell Rayna wasn’t truly annoyed.

Sara smiled. “Of course I will.”

Of course she wouldn’t.

She could mingle when she had to, but these weren’t her people. Rayna’s humble upbringing had been closer to Sara’s, but soon Rayna would be marrying into one of the ten richest families in America, and things would change, as they invariably did with the newly rich and famous. “I was just checking the guest list to see who had RSVP’d but hadn’t show up.”

Rayna cocked her brow. “Uh-huh. You had that list memorized as the cars pulled into the lot, categorized by license plate. No, it looked more to me like you were staring at Benjamin Swayne.”

Sara smoothed a trembling hand down her red satin gown. Kyle had bought the dress for her for the engagement party because he knew she would wear a business suit if she could get away with it. How was it possible to feel naked in a dress that covered her from chest to ankles?

“I was not staring at Benjamin. He’s just…well, he and the Brazilian cover model are making quite a spectacle of themselves out there. If you’d wanted your engagement party at a sleazy club, I could have arranged it at a sleazy club.”

“Hmm…” Rayna narrowed her eyes in speculation.

“
Hmm
what?”

“Kyle told me that you have a problem with Ben. He isn’t sure why, but Ben is his best friend, Sara. And you’re like Kyle’s…little sister. It bothers him that two people he loves can’t get along.”

“Little sister? Kyle Ashford is my boss.”

“And you two grew up under the same roof. Don’t pretend like you aren’t part of the family. He loves telling stories about when you were little.”

She shrugged. “Like cousins, then. Twice removed.”

Rayna chuckled at that. “Fine. But it still makes him sad. He doesn’t have many friends, and Ben is special to him. Matter of fact, Kyle’s chosen him as best man for the wedding.”

Sara’s top lip arched in disgust, like she just sucked on a lemon. A rancid, moldy, fermented one. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Ben’s going to plan the bachelor party and everything.”

At the thought of this impending catastrophe, the blood drained from Sara’s upper half and pooled in her feet. Oh hell no. “That’s a really bad idea. You have to trust me. You don’t know Benjamin Swayne like I do. You couldn’t count on him for a teaspoon of water if you were dying of dehydration.”

“What?” Rayna took a step back. “Why would you say that? What do you know about him that I don’t?”

Plenty.
“Nothing. But I mean, look at him. Everywhere he goes a lingerie model follows. He might as well have her on a gold leash like a show dog.”

Rayna shook her head. “Hey, I’m new to this world, but you grew up around all this money. I’d think you would be used to the glitz and glamor by now. Dating models might mean Benjamin’s shallow, but I’d say we were just as shallow if we judged his date because of her disturbingly perfect…everything.”

Rayna was right. Not about Benjamin, but about his date, at least. “Sorry. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” To Sara’s utter horror, her eyes watered up until the lights of the party made striated stars in her vision.

“Aww…come here.” Rayna pulled her in for a hug. “If there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m here to listen. Okay?”

Sara was a couple of inches taller than Kyle’s fiancée, which might have made for an awkward hug if she wasn’t so familiar with Rayna’s touchy-feely side by now. The Ashfords weren’t big on affection, but Sara was getting used to this new dynamic Rayna brought to the family. Sara quickly dabbed at her eyes when Rayna squeezed and released. She needed to get her act together, and fast. Tonight was
not
about her—no matter what it did to her insides to see that two-faced, two-timing asswipe out on the dance floor.

“You know…” Rayna began, looking thoughtful, “I can’t say I’m not a little worried about the bachelor party now that you brought it up. You tend to have good instincts about these sorts of things, and Kyle’s been getting enough crap from the press for asking me to marry him. I don’t want him embarrassed at the bachelor party by anyone.”

“Don’t give it a second thought.” Sara beamed a smile at Rayna that had been perfected by hours of practice in the mirror—a smile designed to put even billionaire tycoons at ease. It was capable. It was confident. It said
everything is going to be fine
. “This wedding is about you and Kyle, and if it will make Kyle happy to see me bond with his best friend, then that’s what’s going to happen.”

Rayna looked hopeful. “Really?”

Sara nodded. “Absolutely. And I bet Benjamin could use some help planning that party.”

Sara’s gaze traveled the courtyard. The botanical gardens had started off just fine, but Sara had had two hundred and twelve rare orchids and four pallets of fragrant blooms shipped in from around the world. There wasn’t a leaf out of place, not a light that wasn’t polished and shining—all 137,000 of them…approximately. The food was decadent, the guests were content and having a great time, and she had planned it all herself.

Party planning was beyond the scope of Sara’s job as Kyle Ashford’s personal assistant, but she’d volunteered. She took Kyle’s—and now by extension, Rayna’s—happiness very seriously. No man-whore with the initials of B.S.—clearly a bad omen to begin with—was going to muck up Kyle’s engagement with expensive prostitutes or lap dances that ended up as front-page tabloid photos.

“You’re going to…help Ben plan the bachelor party?” Rayna clarified.

Sara clutched the tablet tighter and refocused on Swayne who now had his hand moving over the scantily clad ass of the woman dancing beside him. She would bite the bullet and she would do this. For Kyle. For Rayna. For the good of humanity.

“Yes, I am.” It would take an act of God to stop her now.

Rayna bit her lip and adjusted the tiny, elegant hat covering the back of her head. “And you’re sure he wants your help?”

Well, if he didn’t want her help simply based on the fact that Sara excelled at event planning, she wasn’t ruling out good old-fashioned blackmail. After all, what she had on Benjamin Swayne would certainly buy her a little party tampering.

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”