Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  “I outrank your arse in this office.” He’s nearly losing control. In the short time we’ve been together, I know his accent gets heavier when the desire to fight or fuck overtakes him. “Christ, Laken, just turn around before someone comes in.”

  Weeks of missing him and hating myself come crashing down, blinding me to what’s right or wrong. All I can see is what’s in front of me and the sinful way he’s manipulating my body.

  I know it’s only about to get worse.

  Or better.

  Hell, I can’t even think anymore, but I can listen. Turning around, I grip the shelves and spread my legs. Even in the dim light, I see the wicked grin tipping the corners of Niall’s mouth from over my shoulder. After bunching my dress around my waist, he lowers his zipper and then crowds in behind me, his rigid length settling between my ass cheeks.

  “Were you trying to make me jealous today, Laken?”

  My world is spinning as I feel him grab hold of the base of his cock. Moving my panties to the side, he slides it between my slick folds. “No,” I groan, leaning my forehead against the shelf for support.

  He pushes the tip in just enough to drive me insane. “No?”

  “Niall…”

  One hand reaches around me from behind and squeezes my breast, and I push my ass backward in an attempt to force him inside me. I whimper at the loss when he pulls back out.

  “I’ll ask again. Were you trying to make me feckin’ jealous of my own friend today?”

  “Yes! Fine, all right? Is that what you want to hear? You’ve frozen me out for the last three weeks, Niall! I wanted your attention.”

  “Well, you have it now. You want to talk… Let’s talk.” He slams into me, only stilling for a moment before sliding back out and then driving back in.

  I welcome his punishing pace, because at the end of the day, I know I deserve it. It’s what I need to rid myself of this guilt. Maybe this is what will finally allow me to sleep at night.

  One final fuck. The nail in the coffin.

  But one fuck will never be enough with Niall. The heat and sensations between us will only make me crave him more. I know it as sure as I know my own name. Despite the forgiveness I crave, I have to tell him. Even if he tells me to go to hell.

  “Niall, I—” But I’m cut off as he fists the back of my hair and pulls my head against his shoulder, continuing to thrust into me with a furious pace. Stars rain down behind my eyelids as I clench hard around him and spasm, exploding into a chorus of curses and cries of his name.

  With two more punishing drives into my body, he lowers his lips to my ear, groaning in a ragged voice as he comes deep inside me. “Mother, student, nanny, intern…I don’t give a feckin’ hell who you are. No one will ever love you the way I love you. Do you hear me? No one.”

  Niall releases my hair, and with the smell of sex surrounding us, everything becomes deathly silent in the tiny closet. Biting my lip, I think of all the things I should say as he zips up his pants, but before I can get a word out, he punches the shelf and lets out a string of curses before slamming the door on his way out.

  I’m alone in a darkened supply closet with only my shame to keep me company. Only, I have none. That guilt I should feel for screwing a fellow employee at work? Yeah, that piece of conscience is waiting outside with earplugs.

  And that tiny spark of hope? The one that struggled to stay lit when I saw him walk into that meeting? It’s now a burning inferno, and any thoughts I had of walking away from Niall Mackay have been shot to hell with the admission I know he never meant to voice.

  He loves me.

  11

  Niall

  I stare at the text moments after I type it. Seeing her wasn’t on my agenda for the day. Fucking her in a closet definitely wasn’t. But walking out on her afterward was the worst offense of all.

  I’m such a feckin’ idiot.

  She won’t listen, even if I try to explain why I did it. No one in their right mind would.

  I just hope I can make her listen in a language she’ll understand.

  To make this look good, we should get to know each other a little better. What do you say we go out, just the two of us? No kids.

  I press send and hope she’ll show.

  I’ve barely been at the park ten minutes when I see her.

  Showtime.

  Pulling out the iconic diamond pendant with the sapphire stone, I climb on the park bench and pump my fists in the air. “Having my daughter kick the shite out of the boy you were paid to watch, was the best thing that ever happened to me. It brought me to you. No matter what happens, promise me you won’t ever give up on me.”

  “Niall, what are you doing?” Laken asks, her fists clenched by her side.

  “Movie.” I pause mid-theatrics. “I need the name of the movie.”

  “You somewhat quoted Titanic. Again, what the hell are you doing? Get down from there! People are staring.”

  Pulling the poignant teddy bear from the bag I left on the bench, I cross the few remaining steps between us and drop the necklace and the bear in her hand. “This is what I’m doing. All the insignificant things we’ve done together, you think they’re nothing at the time, but when you add all that shite up? They mean we’re supposed to be together. The first time I saw you, touched you, kissed you, fucked you—it was like coming home.”

  A small smile teases the corners of her mouth. “That was almost Sleepless in Seattle.”

  Snapping my fingers, I make the signal, and Laken lets out a blood curdling scream as Vince tosses two buckets of water on us, drenching both of us from head to toe.

  “Niall! What the actual fuck?”

  Grabbing her by the shoulders, I pull her into me. “This is going to be hard as feckin’ hell. I’ll probably screw up most every day, but I’m willing to screw up because I want you. All of you, forever. Every single feckin’ day.”

  Tears run down her face, disappearing into her already drenched shirt. “Oh God, did you just absolutely destroy my favorite quote from The Notebook?” A small laugh escapes as she tries to cover her mouth.

  “Completely.” I’m winning her over, and I haven’t even gotten to my Hail Mary yet.

  “Are you done?” she asks, trying to look serious.

  I give her a wink. “Almost.”

  Backing up, I stand on the bench again and clear my throat, belting out The Way You Look Tonight in the most off-key singing voice ever heard in public. Children stop playing, adults come to a complete stand-still, and everyone stares as I finish the last few lines and take a deep breath. Thunderous applause erupts, and after a few bows to my adoring public, I climb off the bench and wait for a reaction.

  She lets out a long breath, still obviously in shock. “Wow.”

  “I’ve never sung in public before,” I admit.

  “I can see why.”

  Holding her eye, I finish my speech from the nine-hour rom com marathon I watched in preparation for this moment. “Tell me you love me. Say it out loud. Say it right now before it’s too feckin’ late. Because in this park, I’m just a photographer asking an ex-nanny to love me.”

  “You just did a My Best Friend’s Wedding/Notting Hill bastard hybrid.”

  “I’m going for extra credit.”

  “We need to talk.” Sighing, she sits on the bench and fidgets with the ring on her finger. My ring. She’s still wearing it.

  Mainly because I refused her calls when she tried to return it.

  Although I know she’s right, and I’m the one who asked her to meet me here, the phrase “we need to talk” evokes dread inside of me. Nothing good ever comes from those four words.

  I sit down. “I know.”

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.” And I do. I miss her so much I can’t feckin’ sleep at night because I know I’ll dream of her. I have a hard time getting dressed for work in the morning because every time I do, all I remember is the way her knees buckled in the supply closet. But mostly, I can’t
turn on the television because undoubtedly, there’s some feckin’ rom com movie on and all I can think is, I bet Laken has seen this one.

  It’s maddening.

  “The job’s going well?”

  She nods and smiles. “Vince is a little hard to handle.”

  “Vince is a pushover,” I answer. Sighing, I palm the back of my neck in realization that my grand attempt at winning her back failed miserably. “All you need to do is field calls from his conquests who can’t take a hint and you will be in his debt forever. But if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny it.”

  Her fingers play with the fur on the teddy bear. “Duly noted.”

  I can’t stand it anymore. I have to break this monotonous chitchat. “Laken, I’m sorry for walking out of the supply closet. I’m sorry for ignoring your calls after the gala. We have a lot to work on, but I’m willing, if you are. Our story may have begun as a lie, but it doesn’t have to end as one.”

  “Do you forgive me,” she asks tilting her chin as she squints into the sun.

  I don’t even have to think. “There’s nothing to forgive. I overreacted out of shock. I’m Irish. Cut me some slack.”

  Clipping the sapphire necklace around her nape, she glances up with a dramatic sigh. “What are you doing for dinner?”

  “I’m busy,” I say, managing a deadpan stare without an ounce of enthusiasm.

  Laken’s face falls, and she grips the bear closer to her body as she stands. “Oh.”

  Without hesitation, I grab her and crush her against my chest. Pressing our lips together, I deliver a kiss that can make all her rom com movies go feck themselves. “What are you doing for breakfast?”

  Epilogue

  Laken

  Three Years Later

  As the last coat of Blue Mermaid Shimmer #9 dries on Sophie’s fingers, I help her into her silver sequined spaghetti strapped dress and pull her long dark hair into a stylish loose bun on top of her head.

  “This is my favorite color,” she says, holding her hand out and fanning it in the air. “I used to paint my own nails this same shade when I was a little girl.”

  I can’t help but chuckle. “You’re only eleven, Soph. You’re still a little girl.” She looks at our reflections in the mirror and raises an eyebrow at me, the rebellious girl she once was still floating underneath the surface of tulle and lace. “There.” Clipping the last of the crystals in her hair, I stand and hand her a mirror. “All done.”

  Sophie turns around and inspects the back of her hair, nodding in approval. “It’s nice to have someone fix my hair the right way for a change. Dad used to make me look like I needed medication.” Popping up from the chair, she gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Mom.

  It still slams my heart every time she says it.

  Bounding out of the room, she almost makes it to the door when she’s blocked by a six-foot-two powerhouse of a man dressed in a black suit jacket, white dress shirt, and a baby blue tie that matches Sophie’s nails. Anyone glancing at him would mistake him for the corporate executive he’d become.

  Then the image is ruined by his dusty beard and unkempt “don’t care” hair. The strands twist every which way as if he’d run his hands through it and paced the floor in preparation for tonight. But the part that has me almost doubled over in laughter is the Scottish kilt he’s wearing in place of pants.

  Sophie’s eyes widen in horror. “Dad! Oh my God, no! Just no. You cannot wear that thing to the father-daughter dance at my school.”

  Niall feigns ignorance, tilting his head while running a finger down his tie. “And why not? Does something not match?”

  “Yeah, your skirt. Dad, you’re wearing a skirt! Where are your pants?”

  “Soph, it’s called a kilt. It’s Scottish.”

  “You’re Irish.”

  “Aye, but your great-grandmother isn’t. She is full-blooded Scottish, and I thought this would be a great opportunity to show off your heritage to your friends at school.”

  Sophie turns to me in a panic, her arms waving frantically. “Mom! Do something!”

  I shrug. “I kind of like it.” Pinching his side, I whisper, “Leave it on for later.”

  “I love feckin’ with her,” he whispers with a low laugh as he rakes his heated eyes down my body. “Later, huh? You didn’t get enough of it last night?”

  Sophie makes a face and walks away grumbling. “Gross.”

  “Hey, I’m seven months pregnant, buddy.” I gesture to my round frame. “I take easy access where I can get it.”

  “You’re insatiable, Mrs. Mackay.” A concerned look crosses his face as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. “Did you tell Vince you’re quitting at the end of the week?”

  “Um…”

  “Laken…” he groans impatiently. “We talked about this. You need to take some time off before the baby comes. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard since your promotion. Lollie can handle shite until you come back.”

  I know he’s right. In the last year, Vince Tribiotti was promoted to senior account executive, and I’d acquired his job as project manager. In the interim, I’d finagled Lollie an interview as my assistant, and she blew it out of the water. Honestly, she exceeded all my expectations. I had no idea the woman possessed such a killer business instinct. However, with the way she’d trapped Gloria with the security tapes without batting an eye, I shouldn’t have been shocked. Still, even a couple months away from giving birth, I’m hesitant to leave my position, even if it’s just for a few months of maternity leave.

  Niall runs a hand across my stomach. “Have you called Preston to tell him yet?”

  “No, I thought we could do it together when we take the kids ice skating this weekend.”

  “What do you think of your name, Miss Presley Paige Mackay? Think your namesake will share it with you?” Our daughter rewards him with a strong kick against his hand.

  “So, my friends and I want to go to a diner after the dance,” Sophie interrupts, wedging her way between us. “You guys don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

  Niall’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “Sophie, you’re only eleven. This is New York City. You can’t just run around unsupervised.”

  Thinking back to a warm spring day three years ago, I can’t help but grin. “Hmmm, that sounds a little familiar. Do you have that on an index card of go-to comebacks?”

  “Watch it,” he says, jabbing a finger my way before pulling me closer.

  Weaving one hand around his neck, I straighten his already impeccably straight tie with the other. “If she wasn’t unsupervised, we would’ve never met.”

  “Are you trying to say we’re married because of my shite parenting skills?”

  I shrug. “If the father figure fits…”

  Wrapping his hand around me, he pulls me in close and brushes his lips over mine. With a few more insistent yet tasteful kisses, he leans back and stares at me, the corners of his eyes lighting up as he brushes his thumbs across my cheeks.

  “Gross,” Sophie repeats, tapping her brand-new heels while standing by the door.

  Giving her a side-eye glance, Niall laughs and returns his smile toward me, brushing a finger against the tip of my nose. “I guess I finally made an honest woman out of you.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him and wait for the punchline.

  Running a hand over my swollen belly again, he whispers in my ear. “I made you a mom after all.”

  “No,” I say, stealing a look at my impatient, beautiful daughter as Niall reaches for his camera to immortalize the moment. “You made me a family.”

  “If you two are finished kissing, can we go to my dance, please?” Opening the door to our new apartment, Sophie stands in the hallway as Niall kisses me one last time before reaching behind the cushion of the couch and pulling out a canvas bag full of old DVDs.

  Curious, I dive through the contents. “Pretty in Pink? 27 Dresses, How to Lose A Guy In Ten Days? What
is this, some kind of trick?”

  Niall’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Woman, what kind of rom com enthusiast are you? They’re all the movies on your must-see list. Since Soph and I are leaving you alone for the night, I thought you could pick two or three, and I promise to watch them without argument.” With a grin, my husband turns and escorts his daughter to her first dance.

  As the door closes behind, I flip through the movies one more time, then dump the entire contents in the trashcan and close the lid.

  I heard that gasp.

  Here’s the thing about rom coms—they’re the adult version of fairy tales, feeding the ideal that we all have that one soulmate out there. Even though they all take on different versions, the ugly truth is that we buy into it. We watch them, even though there’s that little piece inside of us that knows there’s little to no chance of ever finding a love like the ones we see in the movies. What guy in their right mind would be willing to wait years for us like Noah in The Notebook? So why even try? What makes us continue to believe that men like that really exist?

  I’ll tell you why.

  Because they do.

  I found my Noah. And my Jack. And my Edward. And my Michael. And my William. And even my creepy Mr. Coulson. He kissed me in the rain. He went down with the ship for me. He got me the job and the apartment. He sang to me. He asked me to love him. And he forgave me for pretending to be someone I wasn’t.

  Rom coms are a dime a dozen. Two hours of your life, and they’re over. But Niall Mackay? He’s one in a million.

  And my story? It’s not a fairy tale.

  It’s forever.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  K.A., there aren’t enough thank yous for your help in writing this book. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be perched up on that ledge, teetering over the edge.

  Crystal, thank you for your endless support for the Irish, Scottish, Australian—and that one time I made him slightly Canadian—Niall. Your encouragement is everything, and I simply couldn’t function without you.