Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  “Linda called. She wanted to know if you got down all right. She told me all about what happened. Baby, I’m so sorry. What can I do—”

  “Pack,” I said abruptly, staring at the wet wood while the shower rained over my scalp.

  “Pack?”

  I finished rinsing, then yanked the curtain aside enough to see her. “You’re going to have to go stay at Barb’s for at least a few days, Mama, unless you’d like to have about twenty cameramen chasing you all over the property. And I have to get out of here.”

  Her tired face screwed up with confusion. “But I—”

  “You saw the news?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  I yanked the curtain back into place, not wanting to see the pity already blooming on her face. It was the same way the Forsters had all looked when I’d turned around in their kitchen. Poor Maggie. Poor sad, pathetic, duped Maggie.

  “So you know, then,” I said a little too sharply as I grabbed the soap and a loofa. “We called Calliope on the way here. She says the news broke early this morning. Everyone knows. The inn was absolutely swarmed with paparazzi and reporters, who will probably be here any minute. So we need to get off the property until things die down a little. Or at least until I can get out of town and make sure they’ll leave you alone.”

  I shook my head. The idea of leaving all over again was terrifying. I really didn’t know what I was going to do.

  “All right,” Mama was saying quietly. “All—all right. I’ll go put some things in a suitcase.”

  “Mama?”

  “Yes?”

  “Lock the door and draw the shades. If they come…don’t let them see you.”

  There was a long pause as I supposed what was happening really started to sink in.

  “All right,” she said again. “I’ll wait for you up there.”

  Her footsteps faded into the rain, and I turned my face up to it, listening instead to the sound of it falling harder onto the lake water, cold water that complemented the hot cascading over my aching limbs.

  I love you, he’d said to me earlier that morning. Let’s put the cards on the table.

  “Fucking joke!” I shouted, suddenly hurling the soap against the opposite wood shower wall with a terrific thwack. “Aaaaahhh!” I screamed again, letting the noise echo off the boulders and trees that shaded the property.

  The sound was quickly swallowed by the downpour. It was the Fourth of July, one of the busiest days of the year, when families and weekenders basically took over the lake with speed boats and jet skis. Later on, when the storm passed and the sun was back, they would be out, and so I was betting, would the press. Who would also quickly realize it might be easier to approach this property from the water than by land.

  But for now, Mother Nature was buying me some time. And I was grateful.

  A massive clap of thunder sounded over the water. It was a little early in the season for a storm like this but they weren’t unheard of in July. The combination of the hot air greeting the cold in the center of the sky. A violent meeting of opposites. The sky opened, and water flooded through the clouds, pounding through the trees, onto the lake, dock, and pine-soaked earth with the fury I felt inside.

  Boom! The thunder sounded again, and in the distance, a cord of lightning lit up the sky. The wind was picking up now. The storm would blow through harsh and heavy, would be over in a matter of minutes, and then the skies would turn blue again. But the rage would be left behind, always threatening just below the idyllic surface.

  That rage was just what I wanted.

  I stayed like that for another full five minutes, letting the brief bout of thunder and lightning clap through me until even I felt foolish standing outside in the shower while an all-out storm howled around me. I grabbed the now soaked towel off the hook and wrapped it around my body before shutting off the shower and scampering across the lawn to the shack.

  I stumbled into the hundred-and-fifty-square-foot space I currently called home, my footsteps squelching into the carpet as I moved around trying to find something to wear. I tossed half my wardrobe onto the threadbare carpet before finally settling on a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top. Everything else seemed suffocating. Like I could barely breathe.

  Because it wasn’t just learning that the person I’d trusted with my whole self, the person I’d given my heart to, had turned out to be a complete and total liar. It was also that just moments before, I could have sworn I’d seen the other man I’d once given myself to that way. The man who had taken everything from me that a man could take, including my body, against my will. The man who had made me a shadow of myself for years, whom my lawyer and I had finally vanquished to jail for his crimes. And though I hadn’t seen him since, I could have sworn his face had been in the crowd of people waiting at the finish line. Angry. Vengeful. Theo.

  Another clap of thunder sounded, and at the same time, there was a loud, thundering bang at the front door. I jumped about three feet, suddenly wishing I had just stayed in the main house with my mother and borrowed some of her clothes instead of coming out here. I wasn’t safe here.

  I grabbed a pillow and held it to my chest reflexively. There was another loud bang on the door.

  “Lily!”

  I froze. His deep voice practically blended with the thunder, but there was only one person in the world who called me that. And the last time I’d seen him, he’d been hightailing it through the woods as far away from me as he could get.

  He’d promised not to run anymore. But then again, who was he to promise anything when he had done nothing but lie to me for weeks? When he had never even told me who he was in the first place?

  This time, the flimsy door shook with each loud bang.

  “Lily, I know you’re in there! Open the goddamn door before I break it down!”

  I swallowed heavily. I knew him. He would do it. I chucked the pillow onto the bed, crossed the room, and flung the door open.

  Will stood in the rain, palms braced heavily on either side of the doorframe while water streamed down his face in twisting torrents. He still wore the same set of running clothes from before. Shorts, t-shirt, sneakers, plus a baseball cap over the mass of blond knotted at the base of his neck. All of it soaked through. Yet another clap of thunder sounded, and behind him, lightning flashed through the sky, but he didn’t move, didn’t even blink through the merciless pellets of rain. His green eyes drilled into me while he gasped through the water.

  “Did you know?” he shouted through the storm, his voice hoarse, yet still demanding. He sounded like he’d run a marathon himself.

  “What?” I shouted back. “Did I know what?”

  “Did. You. Know?!” he cried out. “Who I was! Tell me, Maggie, I have a right to know. I have a right to know if the one person in this fucked-up, piece-of-shit, godforsaken world I finally learned to trust again sold me out to those vultures! Was it you who told them where I was? Who I am? Did. You. Know?!”

  He was practically shrieking at this point, his face reddened and eyes bulging. He looked like a man straddling the line of sanity, like with one small push, he might topple to the other side, and there was no telling what he might do then.

  But I couldn’t focus on that. All I could feel was the pain punching holes through my poor, cut-up heart. The revelations of the morning had shoved the knife in deep, so deep I couldn’t breathe. But this new accusation twisted it further. And oh, but I hated him for it.

  “No!” I finally replied, having to shout myself to be heard over the rattle of raindrops pelting the roof. Another clap of thunder sounded, and the sky flashed white before turning a deep, nasty gray. “No, I didn’t know!”

  He relaxed, but only slightly. The hands on the doorframe still gripped it so tightly his knuckles were white.

  “But, Will?”

  Like we were in the middle of one of the cheesy movies he must have starred in at some point in his stupid career, the thunder quieted, and the rain lightened a bit. Not comp
letely, but just enough for Will to raise his head, his green eyes searching. Enough where we could speak without shouting.

  Suddenly even the lowest whisper seemed like it might be too loud. I felt like one word from him could knock me over.

  How could one person feel so many warring things at once? I wanted to pull him to me, assure myself he was real. I wanted to shove him away and slap him across the face. I wanted to know the last four weeks weren’t a dream. I wanted to know that he wasn’t a dream a dream.

  “What?” Will asked, his broken voice cutting through my confusion. He sounded wary. Unsure.

  Well. At least we still had that in common.

  “I didn’t know,” I repeated, keeping my warbling voice louder than necessary, surer than I felt. “But you did—Will. You did. And you never said a goddamn thing.”

  And then, before he could answer, I slammed the door shut on Will Baker. Because, in all truth, that man never existed.

  All that was left was some stranger named Fitz, and I didn’t want to know him at all.

  To Be Continued…in Hollywood Chase.

  Read Hollywood Chase now: www.nicolefrenchromance.com/hollywoodchase

  Be sure to sign up for Nicole’s mailing list to receive a FREE book and get first alerts about Nicole’s upcoming work: www.nicolefrenchromance.com

  Acknowledgments

  First up: To my family. My husband, who lets me call him The Dude even though he kind of hates it. Our kids, all three, who understand when I’m too lost in my world to answer their questions with less than a five-second delay. My aunt, Trish, who is in no way like her namesake in Discreet. My mom, who cheerleads me every step of the way. Family is everything, and I’m so grateful for mine.

  Secondly, to my incredible editorial support team. My amazing alpha readers, Patricia and Danielle, who fell in love with Will immediately and urged me to meet my deadlines, reading as I wrote, chapter by chapter. You ladies are amazing. This book is for you. Also, to Shauna and Erika, who offered lovely beta notes on the finished manuscript, thank you. And, of course, to my editor, the ever-diligent Emily Hainsworth, whose eagle-eye and flexibility with my shifty schedule are both indispensable. Last (but not least), to Judy Zweifel, who catches ALL the tiny things that no one else notices.

  Thirdly, to the author support network that convinces me daily that this grind is worth it. We all love to write. It’s the selling of books that is hard. I would absolutely despise social media if it weren’t for Jane Anthony, Harloe Rae, Ava Alise, Kim Loraine, Maya Hughes, Jessica Wayne, and CL Stacey, among many others. You guys are always willing to let me complain, ask advice, send weird photos, and basically just demand your attention at all hours of the night. Thank you ALWAYS.

  Last but not least, to my other ARC reviewers, reader group members, newsletter subscribers, and basically every reader who has been asking for this story since I dropped the first “Goldilocks” tidbit: Thank you. You are the lifeline to my work, it’s absolutely reason for being. Your excitement to read feeds my desire to write more stories for you. I would not be able to do this at all if it were not for you.

  Also by Nicole French

  The Rose Gold Series

  Months. I had been looking for Nina Astor for months.

  Ever since she gave me one red-hot night and disappeared into the city.

  The woman was a phantom, and I was obsessed.

  Now she's back in my life, as real as ever.

  And completely unattainable.

  Because Nina Astor is beyond off-limits.

  Daughter of a dynasty.

  Cousin of New York’s most notorious billionaire.

  Married to the scum of the earth—the subject of my next investigation.

  As a criminal prosecutor, I’m supposed to be on the right side of the law.

  But when it comes to Nina Astor,

  I’m a very bad man.

  I’ll do anything to claim this woman as my own.

  And to save her from this monster, I’d sell my soul to the devil himself.

  Truth be told…

  Maybe I already have.

  Start FREE: www.nicolefrenchromance.com/theotherman

  The Spitfire Series

  I had a plan.

  Finish law school. Start a job. Stay away from men like Brandon Sterling. Cocky, overbearing, and richer than the earth, he thinks the world belongs to him, and that includes me.

  Yeah, no. Think again.

  It doesn’t matter that his blue eyes look straight into my soul, or that his touch melts my icy reserve. It doesn’t even matter that past all that swagger, there’s a beautiful, damaged man who has so much to offer beyond private planes and jewelry boxes.

  But I had a plan: no falling in love.

  I just have to convince myself.

  Start FREE: www.nicolefrenchromance.com/legallyyours

  The Quicksilver Series

  Eric de Vries.

  Looks like millions.

  Worth billions.

  A body like the David with a mind to match.

  Unfortunately for this wayward heir, to keep his money, he needs a wife. And of all the women in the world, he chooses me.

  Too bad I’ve hated him for five years, since he took all my tears and tossed me away.

  The guy slept his way through half of New England and discarded women like hotel toiletries. Been there. Done that.

  Still...what would you do for twenty million dollars? Would you wear the dress? Fake a smile for the man who broke your heart? Or would you run far, far away?

  Yeah, that’s what I thought.

  I’ll see you at the church.

  Read The Hate Vow here: www.nicolefrenchromance.com/thehatevow

  The Bad Idea series

  Repeat after me: stay away from the hot girl. The beautiful girl. The f**king ray of sunshine in the middle of your delivery route.

  Layla Barros is everything I never knew I wanted. Everything I'll never have.

  She's an innocent young student.

  I'm a convicted felon.

  She's rich girl from a nice family.

  I've got nothing but a broken home.

  But if I'm an addict, she's my drug. I can't stay away, even though I know I'll ruin her in the end.

  She might be the girl of my dreams, but I was always a bad idea.

  Read Bad Idea here: www.nicolefrenchromance.com/bad-idea

  Prologue

  Nine years ago…Highschool—AKA Hell

  “I don’t want to go,” I whine for the hundredth time tonight.

  “Get out of the car.” Lauren stands on the driver’s side of my dad’s beat up Wrangler that he gave me last week for my sixteenth birthday.

  I push up my glasses. “It’s a senior party. I’ll let you pick the movie if we can please go back to my house. I’ll even let you sneak into my dad’s liquor cabinet.”

  Since this is my dad’s weekend, I get a tad more freedom with the newfound single life he’s embracing. It’s meant either late night or early morning arrivals back home depending on how easy the women are.

  Lauren grabs my hand, yanking me out of the truck. “I’m not sitting around watching some dumbass romantic comedy again.”

  I stumble out, my feet landing right in a puddle. My white trainers are now caked with brown mud. “Great. My mom’s going to kill me.”

  “It’s fine.” Lauren looks cool as usual. Lucky for her, the style of baggy pants and t-shirts are in, although she’s sported the same look since we were in kindergarten. Tonight, when her mom dropped her off, I knew there was trouble on the agenda when I noticed she had on a sheer layer of lip gloss.

  “Says you, who won’t be spending the next couple hours with her soaked socks squishing in her shoes.”

  She rolls her eyes. “If you would have let me dress you,” she singsongs.

  “Yeah, well my stomach doesn’t look like that in a tight t-shirt.” I point to her lean waist. “My back fat would be squeezing out the sides.”

&nb
sp; Lauren and I have been friends forever, but we’re completely different. After school, Lauren’s day is filled with soccer, softball or volleyball depending on the season. Mine is spent at home with the exception of the theater club where I’m a set designer. Did you think I have the leading role? Think again. Girls like me don’t get center stage.

  “Shut up. You’re perfect.” She swats at my shoulder like she usually does.

  I let the topic go because I don’t want to be the friend who brings other people down.

  The bonfire is roaring and a bunch of kids from our high school are sitting around on logs. Fall came early to Illinois this year.

  Some couples are making out and I glance away quickly. Other kids are enthralled in Keeten Berkshire’s telling of some urban myth about a girl who ventured into the woods years ago and was found cut up in pieces the next morning. We’ve all heard it a million times, but he adds his own spin to the story about how no one missed her because she was such an ugly loser.

  My stomach rumbles with nerves. I don’t belong here. Hell, Lauren only half belongs herself. The seniors from her soccer team invited her after she made the winning goal last week in a clincher. At least she actually talks to some of these people. Me, on the other hand, I’m way out of my comfort zone.

  “Let’s grab a beer first.” Lauren drags me the opposite way of the bonfire and part of me suspects she heard Keeten telling the story and she’s worried I’m going to run off scared and be the one found cut up into little pieces tomorrow morning.

  All the liquor is stashed in the woods so that if the cops come to break up the party, they won’t find any evidence of underage drinking.