by Diana Nixon
SET ME FREE
By Diana Nixon
ISBN-13: 978-1518773075
ISBN-10: 1518773079
Copyright © 2015 by Diana Nixon
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Edited by Heather Anne Davis
Cover design by Jennifer Munswami
(J.M. Rising Horse Creations)
SET ME FREE
(Summary)
It was supposed to be just another day at work for a local newspaper reporter, Stella Holt. She had always loved her job, and believed she was good at it. Until one day when she was sent to interview the author of a worldwide bestseller who had made so many women fall in love with him.
James Collins is not just a word-painter. His every work is a masterpiece, a perfect blend of mystery and mind-blowing romance. Only in his own life, there is no place for romance. He knows everything about women, starting from what they like most, and to the ways to seduce them with only a glance. But there’s a secret that has been aggrieving him for years, a secret that has locked his heart forever…
“I thought I would never fall in love with you, Stella. And I didn’t… I drowned in you…”
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
About the author
CHAPTER 1
Stella
My boss was in a crappy mood. I knew it even before the elevator doors opened into the hall leading to his office. I could hear Dillon shouting at someone, and apparently with no word filter. I felt really bad for the poor thing; we all knew that whoever it was, he or she would no longer be working with us, for they were being fired.
“Must be reading another shitty article,” Terry, my photographer, and best friend said, giggling next to me.
“Let’s go and find out,” I said, walking out of the elevator.
Terry and I had been friends since college. He had always wanted to become a journalist, just like me, but unfortunately, his graduation marks and writing skills left much to be desired, and not even small newspapers wanted to see his masterpieces on their pages. That’s why he was now working as my personal photographer, which was the closest he could get to his never to have dream-come-true. He was good at his job, and I really appreciated everything he did for me. He was also one of those rare men who knew about good manners, and how to be the perfect gentleman – the result of his highly moral, old-fashioned upbringing by his grandmother. Too bad his ‘Ma’am, let me help you with your coat’ never helped bring him anywhere closer to whatever was hidden under that coat. For as long as I could remember Terry, he had been ignoring my guide to ‘flirtation 101’ advice. I tried so hard to school him in the subject, but he continued to fail in asking girls out.
“Why should I be listening to you, Stella?” He flared up once I tried to introduce him to another ‘friend of mine’. “No offence, but you are a single love expert. So why don’t you use your own piece of advice and go find yourself someone to practice your theoretical knowledge on? Might as well, it would be good for your health…”
“Shut up, Smarty. I don’t have time for practice. At least not now.”
“Right...” Terry rolled his eyes, and again, our conversation about relationships ended with no progress made on either side.
“Hey, May! What’s up?” Terry asked Dillon’s secretary, approaching her desk. She was almost as much of a lost cause as Terry was, the only difference was that she was not a guy. And every time I found myself in the same room with them, I asked myself one question, and it was always the same – How could I end up with a bunch of weirdos for friends?
“That new girl, Rosie, I guess, she has written one of, if not the worst, article ever. She dared to call Mick Jagger ‘an old fart’.
“She did not…” Terry and I said in unison. We all knew how much our boss loved The Rolling Stones. So, there was no doubt that Rosie was about to be fired, with no compensation and definitely no recommendations.
Still, I felt a little sorry about the girl, so I thought I would try to save her pretty face from more tears that I could see running down her cheeks, leaving dark mascara lines under her eyes.
“Easy there, old man,” I said, entering Dillon’s office and motioning for Rosie to wait outside. As soon as she closed the door behind her, I said, “What the hell happened to you? Haven’t you ever been a newbie yourself?” Despite the age difference, I always treated Dillon as my age mate. Besides, he was my uncle, so I never actually saw him as my boss. He was more like a pain in the ass whose favorite job was cutting me down to size, and giving me more and more work to do.
“She has no damn idea how to write! Who the hell told her she could be a journalist? Do you know what she did?”
“I do,” I said, hardly able to hide my smile. If you could see Dillon now, you wouldn’t be able to not smile either. He looks like a typical editor of a small newspaper, with his messy silver hair falling down around his ears and eyes; with the glasses that are obviously too big for his face, which is why he’s wearing them on his head, and puts them on only when he needs to read something, holding them with one hand so as not to let them slip down his nose. Dillon doesn’t care much about fashion, sometimes I doubt if he even knows the meaning of the word. His dark brown trousers look like he has been sleeping and working in them for no less than a week, and his shirt that I’m sure used to be snow-white, obviously needs a woman’s hand to look like it has at least been ironed.
“Un-fucking-believable…” He sighed, straddling one of the chairs. “I will never be able to make it out of this town, with the dumbest reporters in the world working for me!” He almost shouted the words, apparently hoping ‘the dumbest reporters in the world’ would be able to hear him through the closed door. There were around twenty people working for Dillon, and none of them had ever been able to meet his high expectations, except for me of course. My uncle loved every single word I wrote for his newspaper.
Dillon’s biggest dream as the owner of Black Inks was to make his ‘baby’ one of the most popular papers in the States. Well, not that I doubted his writing and editing talents, but something was telling me his precious brainchild would never be anything but a Penny Dreadful. Not that I was going to say that aloud.
“Hey, what about me?” I asked, as if I were offended to be called a dumb reporter. I knew he would never dare to call me that.
“You are my treasure, Stella, you know that, don’t you?” He said, smiling. “I still can’t believe you moved here from New York and agreed to help me with my paper.”
“Yeah… Sometimes I can’t believe that either.”
There was a time I thought I would never come and stay in Braiwood, Georgia, where my parents and Dillon grew up. But then, something unexpected happened and all my plans for my ideal New York life went down the drain. My parents still live there, but I can’t stand the city anymore. The
mere thought of going back there makes me sick.
“You will leave me one day, I know you will,” my uncle said, looking up at me. “But first, I need you to help me drag this damn paper out of this town’s ass and make it a new Times news sheet. Speaking of which… I have a new task for you.”
“Seriously, Dillon? It’s Friday afternoon. Can’t I have at least one weekend for myself?” Somehow, my beloved ‘king of wishful thinking’ was sure that making me work 24/7 would help his dreams come true.
“I know you don’t have any plans, so I thought you wouldn’t mind working.”
I stared at him with my mouth open in a silent protest.
“What makes you think I don’t have any plans? What if I have a date planned?”
“I doubt that. I know almost every man in this town, and I know, for a fact, that you hate them all. Oh, and I seriously doubt you want to go out with Terry. He would even bore a dead man to his second death.” He laughed at what he thought was a funny thing to say.
I rolled my eyes. “He’s not that bad. But you are right, I wouldn’t like to end up on a date with Terry.” Though considering how uneventful my personal life had been, chances were high that it might just come true.
I must have made a face because Dillon then replied with, “See? I know you too well, Doll.”
I shook my head in disagreement. “You only know that I have standards, and none of the guys in the radius of fifty miles meet them.”
“Anyway, here’s your task,” Dillon said, handing me a folder.
“What’s this?” I asked without the slightest desire to open it, or to work on it over the weekend, my weekend. I’d rather spend it in the company of a gigantic bowl, overfilling with salty, drippy, buttery, popcorn and of course an amazing romantic comedy on Blu-ray. I obviously didn’t have a love story of my own to enjoy. Yep, my life sucked, even more than I ever thought it would.
“That’s James Collins’ short bio. He’ll be here this weekend. He is doing a book signing at Barbara’s and I want you to interview him.”
I gasped. “No freaking way! James Collins himself is coming here – to the ass of the world – just to sign a couple of books?”
“Don’t exaggerate, Stella. Braiwood is a very nice place. Besides, the entire female population here is crazy over his stories.”
“Dirty, old prudes… Who would have thought they were silently reading porn while their husbands work all day. We will call them closet porn enthusiasts.”
“James is a romance author. His books don’t have anything to do with porn.”
“No, shit? And how exactly do you know that? Did you read them?” I asked, laughing under my breath.
“No, I did not. But your grandmother did.”
“Oh… I should probably talk to her about a couple of things, including her choice of literature. So,” I started to say in a mocking tone. “What makes you think that Mr. Popularity will agree to give us an interview?”
“He has already said yes.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“About half an hour ago. And before you ask, no, he didn’t sound like a total jerk. As a matter of fact, he was very polite and kindly agreed to answer a few questions for our newspaper.”
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” I asked, staring at the picture of one of the most desirable men in the world. Well, yeah, James Collins was eye-candy, and not even my biased attitude could change it, unfortunately. “
“What do you mean?” Dillon asked, puzzled.
“Authors like him don’t just come to small towns like ours to have a book signing.”
“Personally, I think it’s very nice of him to come here. Not all famous people are the same.”
True, but I still hated the idea of interviewing Mr. Collins. Something was telling me that my dirty assumptions about him would be confirmed before I would even be able to ask my first question.
“By the way, I offered him a place to stay… with us…”
“You did what?” I shut the folder and put my hands on my hips, hoping Dillon would take his words back. But, of course, he did not.
“You know the only hotel we have in Braiwood is closed for remodeling, so I thought James would feel better staying at our place than at Mrs. Wells’ Bed and Breakfast.”
“And here I thought my company was more than enough for you to enjoy,” I said angrily. I was not thrilled with the idea of sharing breakfast with the man whose every book had at least one kitchen sex scene in it. Man, does he even know that tables are used not just for screwing girls?
“He’ll be here for no more than two days. You won’t see him much. But I still hope that two days will be enough for you to talk to him. We need this interview, Stella. Do you hear me?”
“I’m not deaf, Dillon. I do hear you.”
“Come on, Child, it’s just for two days! Can you imagine how jealous the ladies of this town will be to know that James has stayed with you?”
“Not with me, with us… Maybe I should go stay at Mrs. Wells’ Bed and Breakfast,” I said, hoping my uncle didn’t have any hidden intentions inviting James Collins to spend the weekend with us. Because if he did, I was about to say good-bye to his newspaper, which would surely not be helping him make his big dream come true.
He sighed at my comments. I finally gave in. “Alright, fine. When do you want me to interview him?”
“He’ll be here tomorrow noon. He’ll probably need some time to rest, but then he’ll be all yours.” Dillon smiled at me again. I didn’t like it. At all.
“Fine, I’ll see what I can do.” I turned to the door and was just about to leave, when my boss called me.
“Stella!”
“What?” I asked, holding my hand on the doorknob.
“Try to be nice to him. People like James like… nice company.”
Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me! In Mr. Collins’ case ‘nice company’ meant flirting and sleeping in one bed along the way, and I was so not freaking going to flirt with him, and I wanted to get laid by him even less. I had enough drama in my life, and I sure as hell didn’t need any more of that shit to mess up my already too messed-up existence. In fact, I was going to do my best to ignore James all together, no matter how damn good-looking the man was.
Keep it strictly professional, Stella. You can do this.
“I’ll do my best,” I said to Dillon, keeping my thoughts to myself. I knew how much this interview meant to him, and I was not going to disappoint him. After all, when I needed help and a place to live, my uncle didn’t hesitate even for a second before offering me a job and a roof over my head. Staying at grandma’s was not an option; we couldn’t live a single day without arguing about different things – stupid things mostly – like my inability to wash her dishes properly, or her way of criticizing every person crossing the threshold of her house. Don’t think that I didn’t love Molly, I did, I do love her, a lot. But, especially when we live separately.
As for Uncle Dillon, he’s a good man, maybe even better than most people think he is. He’s like a walking set of everything that a man his age shouldn’t do: he likes smoking, drinking a lot of coffee, working non-stop, and he’s one of the most spadish person I have ever met. He always says what he thinks, and he doesn’t give a damn if someone might not like it.
Dillon has never been married. He used to say that he’s married to his work, but unfortunately it didn’t help him with cooking and housekeeping. That’s why he was so happy to let me stay at his place. And even though I can’t call myself the best cook in the world, I can always make him a plate of pasta or buy pizza on my way home. And all the dishwashing is on me. No need to say that I hate it.
The story about what brought me to Braiwood started about six years ago. I was young, stupid and hopelessly in love with a guy named Roberto. He was half-Spanish and his accent made all the girls of my faculty, including me, drool over his every word. For some weird reason, Roberto had chosen me among dozens of other candidates for his hear
t. Of course, I was flattered. No, scratch that, I felt like I was living on the moon and never wanted to come back to the damn Earth. Back then, I thought I had fallen in love with the best man in the world. But karma is a well-known bitch…
Who would have thought that after four years of a mind-blowing romance my heart would be irreparably broken. I still couldn’t believe that Roberto could do that to me, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw him kissing Kimmy… Kimmy the girl I used to call my best friend, and my heart hurt again, even though I was sure it would never be able to hurt or feel anything, ever again. So much for my hopes…
So here I am, one of the best graduates of my faculty, a talented journalist with boundless opportunities to have a better life, stuck in one of the worst places in the States, trying to prove to everyone and myself that writing for a small paper can be called a dream job. Yeah, not the best way to spend the rest of my life, but still better than staying in the city where every corner, every street, and even every damn tree reminded me about the love that ruined me forever.
My parents and my friends kept telling me that Roberto was not worth leaving New York and giving up on my dreams, but I knew better… I didn’t run away from him, I ran away from myself and my inability to get over his betrayal. I just couldn’t stand the idea of seeing him, even accidentally, ever again. So I thought I would be better off going somewhere not even karma would be able to find me. And Braiwood felt like the right place to heal my wounds.
Chapter 2
Someone was staring at me. Unwillingly, I opened one eye and saw Dillon’s cat sitting on my bed, staring right at me; it felt kind of creepy.
“Shoo, you damn animal!” I slapped the blanket next to where he was sitting, but the cat didn’t move an inch. “What the hell do you want from me? I don’t know where your food is. Get out of my room!” And again, I got no reaction from Mouse. Yeah, that was the cat’s name. Dillon must have been totally smashed when he decided to name the cat after its worst enemy and dinner.