Change in Strategy: An Office Romance (Change of Hearts Book 2)
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Change in Strategy
Change of Hearts Series #2
Sierra Hill
Ten28 Publishing
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
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Game Changer (Book #1 Change of Hearts)
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Sierra Hill
Copyright 2020 Sierra Hill
Ten28 Publishing
Cover Design: Q Designs
Photo: CJC Photography
Model: Jered Youngblood
Editing: Michele Ziemer
Proof Reading: Two Naughty Book Babes Editing
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
To any of those who have suffered at the hands of an abuser, whether physical or emotional.
They didn’t win because you didn’t let them break your spirit.
You’re here, standing tall with pride. You are strong and courageous, brave and beautiful.
You are remarkable.
Chapter 1
Peyton
“Holy shit-on-a-stick – I got it! I got it! Kyler, I got it!”
I throw the stack of unopened mail down on the already messy kitchenette table and unfold the acceptance letter confirming my internship approval and contract.
My roommate Kyler pipes in with his typical dirty response, stepping up behind me to ruffle my hair. “What did you get? Herpes? Tsk, tsk. I told you to use protection, girl.”
I swat him on his forearm with the envelope and stick my tongue out. Yes, I’m very mature but it’s a running joke with us, because between the two of us, he’s the only one who has sexual experience. Specifically, sex with men.
Me, on the other hand…well, I have no such experience. Which can be quite a hurdle when you’re a twenty-one-year old college student with a laundry list of emotional reasons I’ve never had sex with a boy.
Kyler swipes the letter out of my hands and begins reading it out loud, his voice mimicking a professional news broadcaster.
“Dear Miss Burke,” he stops to cluck his tongue and glances at me. “Ooh, so fancy and formal. Maybe I’ll start calling you Miss Burke from now on.”
I punch him again, this time in his side and he doubles over with a laugh. Kyler started out as my classmate and roommate when my best friend, Brooklyn, moved out for her live-in-nanny job last summer. Over the year, we’ve bonded over our interest in fashion design – we’re both studying in the same program at ASU – our lack of relationships, although he goes through plenty of men that never last, our crazy family dramas and our intense love of chocolate chip cookie dough. Kyler has become my closest confidante and all-around bestie, although at times he can act like a seven-year-old twerp and a nuisance.
“Keep reading, you butthead!”
He smirks and fakes like he’s going to leave without finishing the letter, but when I nearly tackle him, he chuckles and clears his throat to begin reading again.
“Okay, where was I? Oh yes. ‘I am pleased to offer you the summer internship at Jensen’s Men’s Fine Clothing and Design. The position will be a paid internship and due to the location in Los Angeles, California, you will be provided a fully furnished apartment within a mile of the office, manufacturing and design center.’”
Kyler stops, his mouth gaping as wide as mine does in astonishment. I was well aware of the location, since I submitted my application to one in L.A. and the other in New York, but this new bit of information related to the apartment and the summer paycheck has me flabbergasted. My hands lift to automatically cover my parted lips. When my eyes meet Kyler’s, who is also in complete awe over this incredibly awesome news, his mouth splits open into a huge grin and he grabs my hands, and we jump around in a circle and scream like lunatics.
When I initially interviewed over-the-phone with the recruiter, she never mentioned anything about housing, even though I knew the role was in L.A. for three months. This is a dream-come-true. Not only will I be interning at one of the most prestigious men’s clothing design companies on the west coast, but I’ll be working right alongside the owner of the company, Brody Jensen, one of the youngest CEO’s in the business. He and his staff have turned his family-owned company around and made it a contender against some rather big competitors in this industry.
Kyler stops our movement, his hands landing on the tops of my shoulders, his expression as bewildered and awestruck as mine.
“Peyton, do you realize what this means?”
I stare up into his pretty face. His large green-brown eyes are framed with dark lashes that make any girl envious, and the series of freckles that dot his nose and cheeks make him appear like a rambunctious teenager instead of a twenty-two-year old man. His soft brown hair, dyed blond at the tips for the summer, flops over in a short and sexy wave and his cheekbones are angular and provide him an air of mystery. In short, he’s beautiful.
If only he weren’t interested in men, I’d be head over heels over for him.
“What does it mean?” I ask, a curious lilt to my voice, popping my hip out, hands planted at my waist.
His mouth forms a broad grin showing off perfect white teeth. “Pey-Pey, this means L.A. parties, baby! Nightlife and gorgeous Hollywood boys that need to be fucked!”
I snort out a laugh and roll my eyes. “You have a one-track mind, Kyler Scott.”
Yanking the letter from his grip, I place it on the table and sit down, running my hand over the paper to straighten out the wrinkles. I’m still lightheaded from this unexpected news.
My anxiety begins to brew, percolating hot under my skin, as I consider everything I have to do to prepare for this internship. We live in Phoenix – Tempe, to be exact – near campus, a five-and-a-half-hour drive to Los Angeles. I’ll need to pack, haul my stuff to California, move into a new place – which is always scary when you’re not familiar with the area – and leave Kyler and my friends here in Tempe while I’m gone. It’s an intimidating proposition for a single woman to do solo when I’ve lived in this area all my life.
Kyler notices my sudden mood swing, as I’m sure the scowl on my face is a sure
giveaway. Squatting down into a crouch next to my chair, he slings his arms around my torso and bends forward, pressing his forehead against my side.
“It’ll be okay, Pey-Pey Le Pew,” he croons, using the stupid nickname he’s called me since our first week together. “I know you’re nervous about this, and I know you’ll miss me like crazy and cry every day without me there because you love me soooo much.”
I snort at his overly exaggerated sentiment, dramatically covering my forehead with the back of my hand like they do in old time movies, feigning grief.
“Oh, whatever shall I do?”
Kyler’s eyebrows shoot skyward, grinning his pretty-boy smile. “You’ll just have to find another boy toy to keep you occupied during our absences. And if he’s gay, all the better for me. But not so much for your little problem.”
He twirls his finger at me and frowns, as I shake my head at his sex-addled mind.
Kyler is the most boy-obsessed guy I’ve ever met. He’s constantly on the prowl, hooking up every weekend, and sometimes during the school week, with boys he meets at parties, clubs, bars and even random places like the local farmers market. He’s insatiable and is never without a man. He gave up on relationships after he found out his long-time boyfriend had cheated on him.
I, however, am the complete opposite and haven’t ever been interested in anyone. I’ve had too many other considerations to tend to, even before my mother was beaten to an inch of her life by her now ex-husband. Perhaps it’s the fact that she was on the brink of death and was in the hospital for close to a month that I’ve sworn off men and relationships.
Although my mother and I had a tenuous relationship during my childhood, and I suffered from years of neglect. Once I went off to college and lived outside of her house, we became a little bit closer. But everything changed after she was beaten, and for four months I put my life on hold and took a leave from school to help with both her recovery from all the physical injuries she endured, but also her alcohol addiction.
While my mother is sober now after fifteen years of a drunken state, and has basically unearthed a brand-new person – one that demonstrates her love for me instead of the years of mistreatment – the change in her behavior comes a little too late. There’s still too much emotional damage within me caused by her careless negligence during my formative years.
That emotional damage took its toll on my psyche and body.
It was during my teens that I developed an unhealthy eating pattern, which my psychologist diagnosed as bulimia when I was seventeen. It sounds so cliché to say it, but it became the only thing I felt like I was able to control in my life during that time. I could control what I ate and how I processed it, along with my study habits and school grades.
That was it.
And it began a vicious cycle that corresponded with my mother’s binge drinking and downward spirals. By the time I was seventeen, she’d been through rehab twice and the AA route, promising each time she’d be a better parent and would even kick my stepfather, Dave, out of the house. But those promises would be broken each and every time, and no sooner would the door slam shut, she’d let him back in our lives and the cycle would begin again.
To this day, I still have no idea what she ever saw in that man. They were so volatile together. Both alcoholics, when he was drunk Dave would lash out at my mother. It began as verbal abuse, and turned physical over the years until it was a weekly, if not daily occurrence.
I tried to make myself invisible. Which is likely why I dropped twenty pounds and barely tipped the scales at eighty-five pounds my junior year in high school.
During her flashes of sobriety, it was my mother’s influence from her rehab stints and AA meetings that she noticed my weight and eating behaviors, and she got me into therapy to help change the attitudes I had about myself, my external beauty, and men in general.
But regardless of the amount of therapy and new behavior patterns, those good intentions can fall short. And it’s impossible to change the internal view when the external factors remain the same.
I distinctly remember my mother telling me once when I was about five before she’d met and fallen for Dave, that I should never trust a man in a suit.
“Peyton,” she said, her smoky-lined eyes trained on me with a mix of annoyance and contempt. “A sharp-dressed man is just a snake in disguise, ready to strike when you least expect. They fool you with their elegant, snazzy exterior, but inside they have hearts of serpents.”
For years after that, I’d literally recoil and have panic attacks anytime I saw a businessman or a nicely dressed guy walking down the street, in a shop or in a restaurant.
My mother in her all infinite, drunken wisdom, taught me to hate those men on sight, and instead, steered me toward the very opposite of a well-dressed man. I was trained by example to fall for the bad boys who wore leather, rode Harleys and slathered their bodies with tats like they were oil on a baby.
However, ironically enough, my internship just so happens to be at a high-end men’s fashion design company.
What do they call that? Shock immersion therapy?
I’ll be working directly for the CEO of Jensen’s Men’s Fine Clothing and Design.
This will be an unconventional way for me to get over my long-standing fears. Irrational fears placed in my heart about men based only on how they’re dressed, and not what’s in their hearts or actions.
If I can thrust myself into a situation where I’m surrounded every day by well-dressed, suited businessmen while I help design said wardrobes, then maybe I can finally break through my irrational fear and distrust of men and even begin to see a different version of life for myself.
Either that, or I’ll crumble on site.
I’m hoping for the best.
Chapter 2
Peyton
The move to Los Angeles went fairly smoothly. My little old beat-up car got me through the five hour drive and I white-knuckled it through my first rush hour traffic jam without incident. But I certainly hadn’t expected to be stuck in an hour long pile up on the I-10 W due to an accident on my way to the Fashion District area of L.A.
The efficiency apartment that was rented for me was lovely but lacked any flare or character, filled with only drab gray furnishings and modular canvas art strewn across the walls. No frilly bedspread like I have in my apartment in Arizona, or fun throw pillows Kyler bought for the couch with unicorns on them. For some strange reason, he has an unhealthy fascination with rainbows and unicorns.
Once I’d unpacked and settled, I walked around the neighborhood, gathering my bearings, but by five p.m., I was already bored with enough pent-up nervous energy to power the city grid. Doing what I normally do when I’m bored or need to talk, I called my best friend Brooklyn.
“Oh good, you made it!” she answered with a breathless voice. “I was getting worried about you.”
“Hey girl, did I interrupt anything?” My mind went in all different directions because she sounded so out of breath. I mean, she is engaged to a former pro-basketball player who is pretty damn dreamy looking, so I can imagine a lot of things going on at the moment.
Brooklyn giggles, only increasing my suspicions. “No, silly. We were playing a game of tag with Caleb.”
Hmm, plausible that she and Garrett were chasing around his six-year-old son, Caleb. The idea makes me homesick.
“I miss you already,” I whine, scanning around the living room, which is muted gray and white. “And I’m bored. It’s so quiet here and no one to talk to. And oh my god, you should see how ugly this place is decorated. And these people are fashion designers?”
Kyler really wasn’t joking when he claimed I’d miss him a lot. He’d become my security blanket and keeper over the past year.
Brooklyn laughs good naturedly at my comment. “Are you all moved in and unpacked? Did you get out and buy some groceries and scan the neighborhood?”
“Yes, grandma, I did.” My joke feels flat, but she laughs at it anyway.
“Hmm, well are there any coffee shops or restaurants you could try? I know you’re nervous about Monday, but it’s only Saturday night. Maybe you can get dressed up in one of the new outfits you bought – maybe that sexy sundress with the pink flowers that shows off your shoulders – and go out for dinner and a drink. Just one drink to calm your nerves,” she advises, knowing my history with my mother’s drinking problem. “And enjoy your first big adventure out on your own.”
Brooklyn is the most positive person I’ve ever encountered. She is as bright as the sun and could even turn this dull efficiency apartment into a sunny playground by stepping a foot inside. I smile at her suggestion, although I feel weird about going out to dinner by myself.
“I don’t know,” I hedge, walking to the bathroom to check my reflection. My hair is a mess and I’m still wearing the tattered and ripped clothing I put on to move in. “I’d have to shower and do my hair…”
The difficulties are poo-pooed by my optimistic friend. “Girl just do what I say. It’ll be fun. You’ll thank me for it.”
“Famous last words.”
Even after the call I still felt on edge with my anxiety still through the roof. I worked through some of my nervous energy using meditation techniques and yoga, but my nerves still remained.