De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  The dogs were both hit by an oncoming log truck. As punishment, Oliver was digging graves for the dogs his father said he murdered. He was told that if he said a word to the social workers, he would go to jail. That he’d never see Grace again, so he didn’t.

  They had made plans that if ever they got separated, they would meet three days later in town behind the park, in the woods. Grace never showed because she was afraid Oliver would get killed.

  She ran away from her next home when she found out she was pregnant, and then she found Natalie. She never looked for him because she was afraid for him, and by the time she had worked through her fears, she found out that both parents had gone to jail.

  I cried the entire time, and Oliver held me, and Grace cried, while Natalie held her.

  Both were deployed again three days later for four months. For four months, I worked from our home in the Hamptons, and so did Oliver. When they returned, it was hard to let go of a little girl who was so resilient, so full of life and love that I had spent four months with.

  Oliver and I flew to Ft. Bragg, on what he calls the flying love shack, to visit Olivia, every other weekend, regardless of where we were.

  After every visit ended, we took comfort in each other in ways that made that first time what it was, a great start to an unbelievable sex life.

  I love my husband, I love my stepdaughter, I love my family, I love my job, and I love being so close to Oliver that there is literally nothing between us. I love the feeling of being connected to him in all the ways we are.

  We spent the summer at Maisie’s and got married on the dock. We wanted a small private wedding since so much of our lives are now public. And we spent winter and spring mostly in between Paris and London.

  Stella lives in London and is doing amazing in school. But her love life… well, that’s another story… but she’s still my best friend, always will be.

  Regardless of how painful our journey was, I wouldn’t change it for a thing.

  Oliver, he’s my strength, I’m his warrior, and together, we’re everything our angel above, knew we could be.

  The End

  Would You Like To Help?

  The USO helps transitioning and deployed troops, military families, and wounded warriors and their families.

  For more information click the link: USO

  No child deserves to live a life in which they are afraid to be seen. Operation Smile is an organization that helps give children the confidence to shine

  For more information click the link

  Operation Smile

  Acknowledgments

  To all of the military heroes I have been blessed to have in my life, thank you for all you have done for us. May your battle scars diminish, your worries lessen, and your hearts be full.

  To each and every one of my readers and blogger friends that decided to take a chance on this book, thank you. Your support and love of written words means the world to me. I am so grateful for each and every one of you.

  To Gitte & Jenny (Totally Booked Blog): I am so glad you loved Cinq A Sept and also wanted more. Your encouragement and support is deeply appreciated, and also part of the reason Natasha and Oliver’s story came to life so soon. I hope you enjoyed them. See you both in September!!

  To Mandy and Asli: Each of you helped polish my words, and for that, I thank you.

  To Jules: I’m not sure how you do it, but you harness my thoughts and create magic. Thanks and much love.

  To Elle: The past couple months have been… insane. When will we get back to normal? Lol. Love you and thank you for all the support.

  To my reader group, Ladies of Love and Steel: You are all shining stars to me. You make me laugh, you make me smile, and you make me remember daily that I have and army of amazing hearts in my corner, I hope you always know, I’m in yours too.

  Forever Steel, ladies.

  To my ARC crew: I love your passion and support for every book I put out. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you.

  To Bobbie, Jamie, Paige, Ivy, Laurie, Renee, Christa, KA: Thank you for the daily dose of love and for making what could be a lonely journey, so much more.

  To Bobbie: Come hell, high water, or hurricane Micheal, you’re always here. You’re a true Angel.

  To Kate Stewart, for loving Bass and Ange so much that you continue shouting Cinq A Sept love all over. For being here when I am struggling and lifting me up when I’m falling so hard. I love you babe. Chelsea Cameron, we’ve been through so many years and moments, together. This past few have been difficult but here we are, still there for one another, at times when I often wonder if you’re living in my head. Love you big CC. Jessica Ruben, you’ve only been in my life for a short time, but I love, adore, and am blessed to have you in my life.

  To Autumn: You are truly a star! I ‘m so thankful and grateful to have you in my life, and not just in the book world. It’s always hard for me to trust or relinquish control, but knowing who you are, has made it easy. Thank you.

  To Ally: It is not possible to love you any more than I have since I knew you were growing inside me. But it’s possible to stand in awe of each and every one of your accomplishments and your dedication to what you… imagine tomorrow to be.

  I will always, love you more.

  Book Three: Hearts So Big

  A de la Porte Fashion Novel

  Hearts So Big

  A de la Porte Fashion Novel, Book 3

  Copyright (c) MJ Fields, 2019

  1st Edition, Blue Valley Publishing, LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of MJ Fields, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Edits by C&D Editing

  Line Edits and Proofing by Donna Cooksley Sanderson

  To all those who carry Hearts So Big,

  that you place others needs before yours,

  your time is now.

  Songs That Inspire

  100 Years by Five For Fighting

  When You Were Young by Ella Mae Brown

  Shallow by Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper

  How Far I’ll Go by Moana Soundtrack

  Despacito by Luis Fonsi, Daddy Yankee, and Justin Bieber

  It’s Not Over by Secondhand Serenade

  Chapter One

  Stella

  Present Day

  “Eight hours and twenty-seven minutes. You got this, Stella McCarty,” I mutter the chant under my breath as I take the final step onto the Boeing aircraft that will take me from London to New York. I keep my head down to hide the anxiety written all over my face, not wanting to cause any uneasiness, nervousness, or distress to anyone sitting around me.

  The truth is: I hate flying.

  Hate. It.

  Sitting in first class, I buckle my seat belt, even though the flight won’t take off for another twenty minutes, then pull my phone out of my carry-on and scroll through it as I try to trick my anxiety into believing we are simply spending the next eight hours and twenty-seven minutes looking at pictures of sweet kittens, fuzzy puppies, and the de la Porte’s fashion blog. Yet, even that—my pet project from my post-graduate internship at de la Porte’s London headquarters—can’t keep me from feeling like a spool of worry.

  I look at the empty seat beside me where Elijah, my boyfriend of five years, was supposed to be flying back stateside with me, angry he had to cancel last minute.

  I take a calming breath, remembering what Elijah said on the phone before he had to go into a meeting.

  “Stella, you’ve flown transatlantic flights two or three times a year for four years now. You�
��re going to be fine.” He had then covered the phone while barking out orders to his latest assistant, Spencer.

  I cringed at the way he was speaking to his employees, which is probably the reason he’s been through more secretaries in the past four years as the number of flights I have taken.

  I mentally put that on the list of things he and I need to talk about.

  “Just take a pill, do a shot, pass out, and I will see you when you get to New York.”

  If he had been anyone else but my Elijah Donahue, I would have told him to take a pill. However, he wasn’t just anyone else. He was the boy who has loved me since we were toddlers, and I was the only girl who has ever made him smile. Even with all he had been through—a scandal involving his father, the late Benton Donahue, who co-owned one of the largest investment securities companies in the country, Donahue and Hearst—I could still make him smile.

  It was speculated that Donahue and Hearst’s funds had been mismanaged, so the company was investigated. His father was asked to step down as CEO. His partner, the less business-minded socialite elitist, Evan Hearst, replaced him.

  Evan didn’t give a damn about the business, but somehow he was able to save it, because his son was Elijah’s best friend, and Elijah, the freaking genius, would spend hours at their home and at the Manhattan office, worried about the business, helping to solve the issues of the missing funds in order to save the company … at thirteen years old.

  My man was a child prodigy. A genius.

  When the board figured out it was a boy puppeteering the man they had put in charge, and the news was leaked to hostile employees, competitors, and naysayers, Evan spun it like only a man of money and connections could.

  At just thirteen, Elijah had news article after article written about him, the “Wonder Boy” who saved Donahue and Hearst, and somehow, investors trusted them even more.

  Because of Elijah.

  When Elijah’s father, Benton, and his best friend Aaron’s mother, Joselyn, died in the accident, foul play was alleged. Evan was the prime suspect, and the faith in the company was shaken once again.

  Evan stepped down, and then the first fifteen-year-old CEO was appointed to a major investment firm in New York City.

  Despite all this, Elijah still went to school, the same arts high school I attended, and he never spoke of his job nor did anyone ever say a word to him about it. Except for Timmy Thurston.

  When Timmy approached the subject, Elijah gave him a bone-chilling death stare, and no one ever said another word to him about it.

  He always kept to himself, was at the top of our class, his designs flawless. He loved designing. It’s the only time I ever saw him relaxed.

  My biggest wish is to see him laid back once again.

  When the plane’s engine begins to start, preparing for takeoff, I grip the armrest, my palms beginning to sweat, and my wish changes.

  Closing my eyes, I wish for a safe flight.

  My wish turns to prayer as the plane starts to taxi down the runway.

  I try to push the fear away, knowing my anxiety is all in my head.

  As the plane takes off, I hold my breath. As terrified as I am, I know I will be fine.

  Eight hours and twenty-seven minutes. You got this, Stella McCarty.

  Sitting in the back of the black Town Car, driven by Roger—whoever Roger is—I look down at my phone again and read the message Elijah sent as I was getting off the plane.

  Elijah: Sorry, I couldn’t be there to greet you when you landed. Had a last-minute issue to deal with. Roger will take you wherever you’d like to go. I’ll meet you at seven. Glad to have you back in New York.

  I’m annoyed, tired, and deeply bothered by his message.

  I tap out my response:

  Me: First, you bailed on flying back with me, then you send Roger to pick me up from the airport. NOT ONCE did you message me while on the flight to see how I was doing, and now… now you will meet me? We had plans, Elijah. Fucking plans. We were going to dinner, then back to your place so I could shower, we could make love, and I could sleep in your arms for the first time in nearly six weeks.

  I read it repeatedly, my finger hovering over send.

  I want him to know that it’s not okay. But it’s my Elijah, and as much as I get angry—more hurt—when he doesn’t put me first, I think back to the time he asked me to stay here for college, and I told him that London was my dream. I knew he didn’t like it, but he accepted it.

  Instead of hitting send, I tap the back arrow to delete my message, not wanting to hurt his feelings. He has a lot going on, too. He’s running Donahue and Hearst full-time now and is incredibly stressed.

  But I never thought that was what he wanted. It wasn’t his dream. His dream was design. Or, at least that’s what he told me.

  I guess things change.

  “Where to, Miss?” Roger asks.

  Where to? I think to myself. Where to?

  “The Staten Island ferry.”

  I’m going home—my childhood home—to shower and rest, and then face whatever is to come next.

  “I can take you to Mr. Donahue, Miss.”

  “I would rather not. I’m tired. I’d like to ride the ferry.”

  “Of course, Miss.”

  Leaning against the window, I look at the cars we pass, watch the buildings go by, and when I see he’s opted to take the Belt Parkway around Brooklyn, I am tempted to ask that he take the route through Brooklyn’s neighborhoods because I’ve missed the area. But I’m tired and mentally exhausted from the flight I hadn’t slept on, so I don’t.

  I lean my head against the seat, knowing it will take over forty minutes to get to the Whitehall Terminal in lower Manhattan, where I will wait for the big orange ferry and board it to ride the twenty-five minutes to One Bay Street, bringing me fifteen minutes from my home.

  When my eyes become heavy, I fight to keep them open, not wanting to fall asleep. It’s almost unbelievable how relaxed I feel being in a car with hundreds of distracted drivers that could easily look away from the road before them, cause a life-altering, if not fatal, accident. Yet, I feel safer amongst them than on a plane in the open sky.

  Statistically speaking, I am much safer in the air.

  I know this.

  I do.

  “Miss.”

  I hear a male voice before I feel him tap my shoulder. I’m so tired I don’t even care that it’s not a familiar voice.

  “Miss.”

  The second time I hear him, I mumble something incoherent. Hell, I’m not even sure what I said.

  “Mi—”

  “Roger, let her sleep.”

  I know that voice.

  I inhale, and his bold, spicy scent fills me.

  Elijah.

  “Sir, I didn’t realize you were coming,” Roger says.

  I feel my eyes burn with pending tears behind my heavy lids. Then I hear a door open on the other side of the car and feel him slide in next to me.

  “Take us to the Upper East Side.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  I keep my eyes closed, not wanting him to see my emotions, all the while trying not to move closer to him like I want to.

  When he pushes my hair off my face, he sighs, “Sleep, Stella.”

  When I feel a tear trickle down my cheek, he pulls me closer to him.

  He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t wipe away my tears, but he tucks his arm behind me and holds me. Still, I dare not open my eyes. I fear my tears, my sadness, will somehow burden him.

  After several minutes, I get my emotions in check, and when I look up into his dark green eyes, his eyes narrow slightly. I smile slowly as I look at him, and his mouth curls up in one corner.

  “How bad did you miss me, Stella?” He takes my hand and places it on the crotch of his pants, gripping his erection beneath our hands.

  I feel heat building as my exhausted body begins to tingle with awareness and desire.

  He looks up and past me, saying, “Close the
divider, Roger, and take your time.”

  When the divider closes, he looks at me, eyes darkening with desire. “Show me, Stella. Show me how much you missed me.” He unbuttons his pants and pulls them down just far enough for his impressive length to be fully on display. “Suck my dick, Stella. Show me.”

  So, I do.

  It doesn’t take him long to finish, and as I lick my lips and sit upright, he smiles.

  I lean in for a kiss I desperately need. He cups my chin, and I close my eyes as he kisses me on the cheek.

  Slightly shocked, I open my eyes.

  He pulls me into a hug then leans forward, moving me backward, and knocks on the dividing window. “Get us to my place as soon as you can, Roger.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sits back, not looking at me, and continues, “Get Spencer on the line. Let her know Miss McCarty will be with me this evening, and I won’t need her to accompany me to the Schwartz fundraiser.”

  “The what?”

  Now he looks at me. “Big money, possible investors. Just need to make a quick appearance.”

  Tonight?

  I quirk an eyebrow, and he cocks his head in a nonverbal question as if he senses my hesitation.

  He attempts to mask his annoyance as he runs his hand through his auburn hair. “You don’t want to go with me?”