by M. C. Cerny
My skepticism must have been transparent because she resumed her full pout. “Don’t be condescending, Hunter, I’m not fourteen, I realize that. The bank wouldn’t have given me a mortgage if they thought this was a terrible idea.” The bank manager was probably dazzled by Taylor Jane’s big blue eyes and thought nothing of giving her a loan she had no business taking.
“I even drew up my own RFP and budget.” Smiling made her face light up with this inner energy you had to see to believe. Yup, fuck a duck. She dazzled the shit out of that bank manager with her mortgaged request for proposed funds. Where would she even get the collateral? I was afraid to ask about her parents’ house and couldn’t help the groan that passed my lips. It was useless to fight the tornado that was Taylor Jane Bryant.
“Hey.” She tugged on my arm, getting my attention. “I spent the last four years watching the Property Brothers do it while I was in college. It’s going to be fun working together, bestie!”
Oh God… even I knew of those guys, both nice, but a bad influence on Taylor Jane.
She tried wrapping her arm around my head, pulling me down to rub her knuckles against my scalp. She used to do this in high school and the feelings I tamped down back then roared with an intensity I barely reined in. It was irritating and put me into way too close proximity of my best friend’s breasts. Beautiful perky mounds I should not have been noticing. I tried thinking of other things, thinking of the girl I was casually seeing, but nothing stymied the softness and fresh smell of the girl right next to me.
I pushed back gently, untangling myself from her. “Are you seriously telling me you want to flip a house because two wankers on TV….” Pushing her off me gently, I couldn’t even finish my sentence that’s how flustered she got me. Taylor Jane had a full head of natural blond hair. Now I’m not saying she was that type of blonde, but I had my moments when I wondered if there were stereotypes for a reason.
In the silence of the truck, she flicked something off her leg and looked up at me with her big bottomless blue eyes.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
Shrugging, she fluttered her eyelashes, and I knew I was doing this before the words even left my mouth, telling her to knock it off with the puppy eyes. She was my apple pie and girl next door that couldn’t compare to anything else in this world.
“How hard could it be?” And there it was, she’d already barreled through like a rodeo bull and tossed me hard. I couldn’t say no in good conscious.
Damn it.
“If you don’t want to help me, Hunter, just say so and I’ll find another contractor willing to work with me.” She sighed, looking over her dream house from a B rated horror film.
Oh hell to the fuck no is she going to pull that trick with me.
Some happy meals lacked French fries.
Crayon boxes were often missing crayons.
Taylor Jane… had a sparkle that rivaled fucking vampires.
I’m so screwed.
Grumbling, I caught a hint of her smile and decided to roll with it. What choice did I have? “Tell me what you envision here.” Turning the key to the truck off, we sat inside the cool dampness. It didn’t help that there was a humid light rain falling and everything was wet. Our breaths kept the inside windows of the truck fogged, blurring the structural lines of the house outside. I don’t bother putting the truck back on to defog anything because I was going to pretend through the clouded windows that some level of ignorance was bliss. For all I knew we would have to bulldoze the lot and start from scratch. The fog mocked me like the structural integrity of the house.
“I want to update the property, restore much of its historic charm and add elements that make it a uniquely modern home that anyone would be pleased to own.” Yup. She was going to be the death of me, just tell me where to sign up and to make sure my life insurance was paid in full.
“So… not too many structural changes? Like you don’t want to knock down a wall and build an indoor pool or anything?”
Taylor Jane laughed, but I had to be reasonable. This woman could talk you into buying sand in the desert, so a simple house flipping project could be the next Mall of America if I wasn’t careful. A man’s gotta be prepared, if you know what I mean.
“Oh, Hunter, always the jokester.” She lightly slapped my shoulder, looking back at the house even though the condensation kept us from seeing it clearly. “No indoor pool, but a screened in Jacuzzi under the back deck sounds like a nice upgradable option.”
The whine from my voice filled the truck. “Tell me what kind of budget we’re working with.” I don’t have a clue of when I agreed to actually do this, but I already regretted telling her I would do it when she squealed with delight, giving me a number that probably wouldn’t cover the permits or the supplies six weeks into this project. I dropped her off at her dad’s house with a sense of panic the next time I saw her.
I hoped like hell I had extra hard hats…
“This read was as sweet at chocolate chip cookies. Hunter and Taylor Jane’s chemistry was bubbly and hot.”
LOVE UNDER CONSTRUCTION
Excerpt from Under The Mistletoe
Looking for a holiday romantic comedy? Try my Matchmaker series, starting with: Under The Mistletoe.
MAXIE
“Oh, geez. I’m late. I’m late. I can’t believe I’m late! Arrrg!” I rush out the door, coffee dripping from my travel cup, the burn stings my hand. I realize my dress shirt has been misbuttoned, giving me that frumpy look where my bra and part of my boob hang out. Attempting to fix the mess with my nude spanx, there is little help for it with the boob shelf I haven’t been able to escape since puberty. I stopped growing up and, instead, just filled out all around like a cute little pumpkin.
I hate pumpkins and this morning I feel like the spastic white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.
“Max, would you relax. We’ve got plenty of time.” Priscilla Monroe, my gorgeous best friend of over twenty years, rolls her eyes and ignores my concern grabbing for the sunglasses stashed in her glove box. I never considered coming back to Miami, but Pris offered her spare bedroom while I looked around for a suitable apartment in my price range. Moving was supposed to be a fresh start, but so far all I managed to do was ruin a good dress shirt.
“Promise me you’ll drive carefully,” I plead with her, knowing it will get me nowhere as I squeeze into her sporty mini cooper. Let’s face it. I’ll never drive a cute, fun car because we short, curvy girls just don’t make the market for these bucket seat deathtraps.
“Maaaxxx…,” Priscilla laughs, pulling her oversized sunglasses over her eyes, speeding off the second I shut the door. I barely get the seatbelt over my body and click it into place as she drives hell bent on killing us before lunch. Over the years when we would get together my nerves always regretted letting her drive. She might have dual citizenship, but she brought the British with her driving skills. Seriously though, someone ought to tell Priscilla Jane Monroe there are no roundabouts in apartment parking lots.
“Is it me, or did you just scrape my bum all over the street when you sped off?” I wiggle in my seat, holding my purse in my lap, precariously balancing my coffee cup.
“You’re wound pretty tight. Relax. Mum wants us at the office as soon as possible. She’s just as excited as I am to have you plan and decorate the holiday mixer. She can’t wait to hear your ideas and introduce you to all the staff...” Priscilla smiles and dangerously weaves in and out of traffic. It will be a Christmas miracle I don’t throw up my coffee before we get there. Thank god I passed on breakfast today. I am doing my best to shed ten pound before the New Year without having to succumb to a useless gym membership and the cardio exercises I hate.
“I’ve got my notes,” I tell her, patting my purse carefully so I don’t lose my perch on the seat. “I just want to be alive to discuss them.”
Chuckling, she continues to drive, zooming by cars and trucks, and I grip my knuckles in my lap, doing my b
est to not claw the dashboard of her car. Pris turns up the radio, singing along. It’ll be anything but a holly jolly time of year if the truck she just passed tries to cut us off. I’ve only been back in Miami a few days and my car is already in the shop, thanks to my latest auto-related mishap.
“Well, here we are.” She slides the car into park and I’m convinced there are tire marks on the back of my skirt somewhere. Why do I let her drive?
“Yeah. Barely.” Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself. This is why I usually leave a half-hour early to get to appointments, so I can take my time, stop for a coffee, get a lay of the land… but not today. Today Satan in the form of my gorgeous Elizabeth Hurley look-a-like bestie has dragged me here almost kicking and screaming.
“Come on. Mum is excited to hear what you’ve worked up for the mixer.” Priscilla gets out of the car and grabs my arm, pulling me along to follow her inside the modern building. I only get a second to take in the tasteful decorations. Miami is still having gorgeous weather so the green and white bows are the only indication a holiday is coming. Beautiful white marble and chrome cover everything. It would be sickening if it wasn’t juxtaposed with the modern touches, definitely some yin and yang design that must have cost a fortune. The Monroe Matches logo in hot pink rests over the receptionist area where an adorable redheaded girl is picking up calls efficiently. She smiles waving at me and I like her already.
I follow Priscilla and take in the heady activity. Adorable stick figure girls, wearing black and pink outfits, run around the office. They look like trendy Stepford wives in a Victoria’s Secret commercial, minus the wings. I feel like a sore thumb sticking out in a sea of perfect bodies. Most of them are wearing headsets and are standing around a large table, talking about a recent episode of The Bachelor and making friendly bets over who gets the next rose. Sweet scents of vanilla and sugar fill the open room and my mouth waters. I could have stayed right here at the conference table, counting imaginary calories from the treats I wouldn’t dare eat. I’m distracted for a moment and almost trip, bumping into a solid warm wall.
“Whoa!” I’m startled when firm hands grip my shoulders and a lilting voice keeps me from moving anywhere else, pulling me in. My breasts rub against his chest while the dress shirt buttons graze my nipples indecently. Because the warm and very male body is holding me close against him the damn ache ensues. I haven’t felt anything near this since my ex-fiancé and even then it was never this strong, this immediate, this ridiculously kismet feeling.
“Oh, my gosh!” My mouth bleats while my body continues to shame me with its reaction to the stranger holding me. Familiar eyes narrow when I look up. Dark and striking eyes I would never forget, now filled out handsomely and all grown up. I should be affronted, maybe even fight a little, but damn if I don’t want to just melt. My stomach does a little dance, unrelated to my looming low blood sugar.
Carla’s excited phone call over the weekend now makes complete sense to me. I had no idea he worked here. That was a clever little omission of facts by both my best friend Priscilla and their mother Carla…
“Maxie?”
“Phineas?” Simultaneously, we speak, but my voice is more of an inaudible groan. My childhood crush and tormentor, Phineas Charles Monroe.
Shit.
And he brought glazed doughnuts.
I am so screwed.
Because everyone deserves to fall at least once…
Monroe Matches is throwing the hottest holiday mixer for all the sexy singles in Miami. We’ve got the mistletoe. Come and meet your holiday match…
Carla Monroe has been matching couples for decades, but if there’s one match she hasn’t gotten right, it’s her son, Phineas. No woman has sparked his interest, no matter how many of her top contenders she’s secretly paraded in his path… both in and out of the office.
Luckily for Carla, Maxine Mackenzie has finally come back to Miami. Once she pairs her grumpy marketing director son with the free-spirited party planner, sparks fly. Taking a cue from her Shaman, Carla hightails it out of town to let the two people who need a match the most fall… Under the Mistletoe.
“A steamy holiday novella.”
“Great mix of humor, sass, spice, and romance.”
One-click Under The Mistletoe now!
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Books by M.C. Cerny
DESIGNED BY LOVES SERIES
First Love - Prequel
Love Under Construction
Unlovely Things
Heartburn
Tailwind
Love Actually
Mission For Love
Mine To Keep
Love On Tap
GOLD BEACH DUET
Summer Ever After
Remains of Winter
THE REED SERIES
Flashpoint
Pulse Point
THE MATCHMAKER SERIES
Under The Mistletoe
The Naughty List
Own The Night
THE CLUB
An Eye For An Eye
Branded
RESCUED BY LOVE
Rescue Me
WTF
INNER HARBOR SERIES
Love, Doctor
Training, Daddy
Quid Pro Quo
Employee Benefits
THE VAULT (Dockside Devils)
Declan’s Demand
Sydney’s Submission
LeHavre’s Lover
STANDALONE NOVELS
Deviation
Night Owl
Dream Catcher
The Warden
Angel
Mr. Huntley’s Wife
Hollywood Lover
Royal Disaster
Stolen September
Wedding In Waiting
NEWSLETTER EXCLUSIVE
Officer Big Daddy
FOR A COMPLETE LISTING OF M.C. CERNY BOOKS, VISIT:
www.authormccerny.com
About the Author
M.C. Cerny is a USA Today Bestselling author of fresh and sexy books. She fell in love with books after experiencing her first real ugly cry reading, Where The Red Fern Grows. Her debut romantic suspense novel, Flashpoint was written in a series of post-it-note ramblings that would likely make her idol Tom Clancy and her mother blush. She calls rural NJ home with her menagerie of human and feline fur-babies. When M.C. is not writing, you’ll find her lurking in Starbucks, running stupid marathons, singing Disney show tunes, and searching out the perfect shade of pink nail polish.
www.authormccerny.com
Acknowledgments
Sometimes books will have little elves in the background helping the magic come together. This one was no exception. Thanks to Amy, Nicole, Rachel, and Perrin who worked edits, plot, and cover wonders for Stolen September.
XOXO
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.
Stolen September © 2019 by M.C. Cerny
Edited by Amy Jackson
Cover Design by The Author Buddy - Perrin
Formatting by M.C. Cerny
ISBN: coming soon!
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