Goldie Locks: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  CONTENTS

  Goldie Locks

  NEWSLETTER

  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

  Epilogue

  Extended Epilogue

  NEWSLETTER

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS

  BRATVA BEAR SHIFTERS

  LAIRDS & LADIES

  RUSSIAN UNDERWORLD

  IRISH WOLF SHIFTERS

  Collaborations

  About the Author

  GOLDIE LOCKS

  AN OLDER MAN YOUNGER WOMAN ROMANCE

  _______________________

  A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE WANTS, 243

  FLORA FERRARI

  Copyright © 2021 by Flora Ferrari

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature readers.

  GOLDIE LOCKS

  Phoebe

  They say all that glitters isn’t gold and my namesake is just that but it’s far from glittering.

  Phoebe Gold.

  Sounds like a celebrity but I can assure you, I’m not.

  Silly me. I thought all my problems were over, I thought I’d escaped it all.

  But it’s happening again.

  Someone’s been following me and it looks like they’ve found me again.

  Two different jobs and a move to the city later, I thought it was all behind me.

  The apartments have gotten crummier and the jobs I take match the rent I still have trouble meeting.

  How did they find me?

  More to the point, what am I gonna do now? I can’t keep running forever.

  Just when it feels like I could implode, I lock myself out of my apartment. My keys, phone, and my baby girl still inside.

  If there was ever a damsel in distress, it’s me right now.

  If there was ever a dreamier hero come to save the day, it’s the stand-in locksmith.

  A little unconventional, wearing a five hundred dollar suit but the man’s a freaking god.

  He can pick my locks any day of the week.

  “Your baby’s inside?” he gasps, looking ready to tear the door from its hinges.

  She is… but she’s not the kind of baby he thinks.

  She’s my fur baby, but his concern is so real. So sweet.

  So perfect, like the rest of him.

  Could such a handsome, older guy like him help a younger curvy girl like me? Maybe even something more?

  Something tells me I’m willing to risk everything, even telling him the whole story to find out.

  If nothing else, I know he’s the one man alive who can help me right now. And I’ll do anything he wants to return the favor if he does.

  And I mean anything he wants.

  Maxwell

  I haven’t messed with a lock for years. Don’t need to anymore.

  I keep trying to convince my old man he doesn’t need to either, even tried buying him out a dozen times but he won’t have it.

  It’s his life’s work and it raised me to be the man I am today.

  I have my own life now, more in the business of secure investments than home security.

  A self-made man at forty, I’m living the life most people aspire to. Enough for two lifetimes.

  Then why does it feel so empty?

  That’s an easy one, but I’d never say it out loud.

  Because I’m doing it all alone.

  I’m on the way to a business meeting when I get the call from my dad.

  He can’t get to an urgent job, some young girl’s locked herself out of her apartment with her baby inside.

  Baby? Call 911.

  Apparently, it’s ‘complicated’, so I rush on over.

  At first, I think it must be a setup, dad’s always trying to pair me off with pretty women so he can have the grandchildren he’s always wanted.

  “Then I’ll retire,” he’s always promised.

  But this is no setup.

  This is divine intervention.

  One look at her and I know she’s the solution to all my problems.

  Those voluptuous hips, that chest. Her golden hair.

  Trouble is, would a goddess like that ever go for an older guy like me?

  The bigger problem: She’s got some history, and it’s gonna take more than just picking her lock to find out just how deep the Phoebe Gold well goes.

  It’s far from a fairy tale beginning, but being a man who knows what he wants, I’ll be damned to make sure there’s a fairy tale ending for us both.

  *Goldie Locks is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.

  NEWSLETTER

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Phoebe

  “Well. I’m not sure what to say, Phoebe. You did say you wanted extra shifts and here I am offering them to you.”

  I gnaw at my lip, glancing at the clock, and try to calculate how much sleep I can get before I have to go back to work.

  “It’s just… It’s the first day off I’ve had in over a week,” I hear myself say, not wanting to sound so whiny and failing.

  I can almost hear my boss shrugging, loud scratching sounds too. A thick pencil line through my name and all my other shifts for the next week, I’m sure of it.

  I’ve seen him do it to other people all the time.

  “Alright, alright,” I gasp. “I’ll do it.”

  Feeling the knot in my stomach starting to ball up tighter, I’m wondering if I’m not jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, but I do need the extra money.

  Graveyard shifts at the box factory don’t pay great, but it’s better than waitressing, hairdressing, or the dozen other crappy things I’ve done to get myself to where I am.

  And where is that exactly?

  Don’t say it Phoebes. Don’t do this to yourself.

  Blowing air out of puffed cheeks, I sign off with my boss and hang up. Scanning the threadbare apartment I bust my hump every week to afford and still manage to always be behind.

  Maybe it had its heyday early in the last century, but the crumbling façade of the complex matches the withered interior. And don’t even get me started on the plumbing.

  Not to mention last month’s paycheck got chewed up when I had several new locks put on my front door.

  I thought the past was behind me, but then the strange phone calls started. Even stuff in my locker at work.

  Then finally the notes under the door. />
  I jump involuntarily, but it’s only Trixie sniffing at my feet.

  Bending down I scoop up my baby. My one and only true friend in the whole world.

  Not long after moving a second time, I went to the animal shelter to get a guard dog.

  As soon as I saw Trixie though, all that changed.

  My little fur baby was there waiting for me, shivering and tiny. Lonely and scared.

  We were a perfect match from the first second we saw each other.

  Two souls who needed each other when nobody else would have them.

  She’s a guard dog of sorts, but mainly warding off my negative emotions more than frightening actual stalkers or prowlers.

  She makes a face, reading my mind as I press my own into her fur before she grunts with satisfaction.

  Saving my emotions for the hundredth time in one day already.

  The volunteers at the shelter didn’t like to use the word, but Trixie is a mutt, through and through. A tiny, shaggy, and scrappy bundle of fur. But what she lacks in size and beauty, she makes up for with heart and she sure stole mine. That first day and every hour ever since.

  “Alright baby?” I ask her, sensing she knows I’m fretting. And not just about having to go back to work either.

  She suddenly lets out a low growl and a shrill bark, making me jump.

  Turning in time I see the thin yellow envelope sliding under the front door and my heart stops and then starts to beat rapidly.

  It’s another note. Another message.

  I set Trixie down, commanding her to stay, determined to find out just who’s behind all this once and for all.

  I leave the note, don’t even need to pick it up or open it to know what’s inside.

  It’s just more of the same.

  Taking a deep breath at the door, I swing it open and launch myself out into the hallway, sure I’ll catch whoever’s been stalking me in the act.

  But the hallway is empty.

  My heart is pounding in my chest and there’s blood rushing in my ears, which I can feel turning red with heat.

  I’m kind of relieved in a way.

  What would I do if I confronted them, whoever they are?

  What am I gonna do if I ever-

  Click.

  The sound of my apartment door snapping shut and locking behind me makes my fiery pulse turn to ice in a second.

  I’m locked out. Well and truly. It’s what all those locks are for.

  The keys, my phone, and worst of all, my baby girl Trixie are all locked inside.

  I could go to the neighbors for help, but truth be told, they’re also part of the reason I got those extra locks on my door.

  The only other person I can think of to help me is the landlady, who also lives in the building.

  Old widow Peterson, who’s nice enough most of the time but when I’m already so far behind on my rent?

  I’ve been actively avoiding her for two weeks but now it feels like I don’t have a choice.

  “Ah. Ms. Gold. I’ll get your rent book, just a minute,” she sighs, peering out through a chain locked door to her own apartment after I get up the courage to knock.

  “I was wondering when you’d make up what you owe… but better late than never,” she adds, moving away from the door before I can even begin to explain.

  “Come in, come in,” she exclaims, opening the door wide after fetching the dreaded rent book, practically dragging me inside and making me sit in one of her antique chairs that smell like old books and aged wood.

  Her apartment, like the whole building, is from another age, but her own space is immaculate. Making me feel like I’ve slipped back in time somehow.

  “Such a pretty girl, just need to lose a few pounds,” she muses, not even being shy about touching my hair or insulting me so casually. The one thing I’m actually proud of is my bright blond hair not my weight, but it’s the least of my worries right now.

  “Mrs. Peterson, it’s not about the rent,” I interrupt her bluntly, watching her weak smile turn to a near scowl.

  “Oh?” she says hoarsely, lines suddenly creasing on either side of her mouth.

  “I… I’ve locked myself out of my apartment. I don’t have anyone else to turn to…” I stammer, feeling tears where there should be something else.

  Something more solid.

  I start to cry and watch the old woman roll her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

  “Oh that I might have had a daughter,” she exclaims to the ceiling. “She would have turned out much better than this!”

  Ignoring my tears, she shuffles to a sideboard and starts to rummage through some drawers, keeping the rent book in her hand where she makes sure I can still see it.

  “Here,” she says firmly, thrusting out a business card. “He’s the best, and he’s cheap,” she adds, looking down to find the page in her rent book and producing a pencil from her apron pocket which she licks the tip of.

  “And the rent. Now,” she says calmly but firmly.

  Through watering eyes, I can make out the name of the locksmith, and use it to avoid talking about rent.

  “Three Bears Locksmiths?” I ask, looking up at her.

  She shrugs. “He’s cheap like I said,” she adds, creasing the corner of her mouth as she figures if I can’t even get inside my apartment I won’t be paying her a dime today.

  “Phone’s there,” she grunts stabbing a gnarled finger towards the ancient phone on the wall, which is also a payphone.

  Ever the businesswoman.

  “I suppose you need a quarter, too?” she clips, pulling a dull coin from the same pocket she’s returned her pencil to.

  I take myself and the creased business card over to the phone, relieved when a friendly voice answers.

  “Three Bears Locksmiths. How can we help?”

  I feel like I can breathe for the first time in a long time.

  A friendly voice and an even friendlier person on the end of the line, promising to help.

  With no mention of crappy jobs, rent, or nasty notes under doors.

  Hang on Trixie, baby girl. Help is on the way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Maxwell

  “Pop, hang on a second will ya? Slow down.”

  Covering my phone with one hand, I excuse myself from my meeting.

  I get one polite smile, and the rest of the table raises their brows as I head out to the balcony.

  Sealing big money deals isn’t new to me. Forgetting to switch my phone off beforehand is.

  But it’s my dad, and I know he wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important.

  “A baby?” I exclaim, running a hand through my hair and shaking my head, “Tell her to call 911,” I growl, feeling like maybe I’m the only sane person left alive on this planet.

  “Dad, she doesn’t need a locksmith from the other side of town, she needs to-”

  And then I get it.

  He repeats his story. His little problem.

  Her problem.

  “She’s a young, single mom, Max. Locked herself out and it’s like three blocks from your building… She said it herself, ‘Phone, keys and my baby girl, all trapped behind three locks. What am I gonna do?’”

  I’m counting back from ten in my head. A stress-busting technique I never thought I’d need to use after organizing my own life just how I like it.

  But sometimes, just sometimes, the old man has this effect on me.

  Especially when I feel like he’s trying to play cupid.

  “And what exactly did you tell her, Dad? That you couldn’t possibly help her out. That you could recommend another locksmith or that she call 911?” I ask, knowing what’s coming.

  Almost.

  “That’s the thing, Max. She went weird when I suggested she call the fire department or the cops. Like she’s in some kind of trouble.”

  I blow air out of my cheeks, glancing back at my clients, who look worried.

  “So I told her that my son, my baby bear w
ho used to be my best locksmith before he decided to take on the whole world would rescue her.”

  I feel myself flush with embarrassment.

  “Dad, I told you not to call me that anymore. I’m not a kid.” I remind him, lowering my voice.

  “Best locksmith or my baby bear?” he asks with a chuckle, “and to look at you now. You’re not the baby bear that came to me when you were little. You’re Huge. But I couldn’t help it, Max. I already told her you’d go over. Do it for me?” he asks pleadingly.

  I groan out loud, a mixture of nostalgic pride and more than just a little annoyed at the old man.

  He never could say no to anyone in need and I remind myself to never forget that either.

  “Alright, alright,” I tell him, not wanting him to even start on the fact that maybe there’s a ready-made grandchild just waiting for him if she turns out to be ‘Miss Right’.

  Since I was old enough to have kids of my own, dad has wanted me to start a family of my own. A real family.

  Something neither of us ever had until he decided to adopt me as a kid when he found out he could never have kids of his own.

  “Text me her details, Dad.” I sigh. “Look, I gotta go,” I tell him, hanging up before apologizing to my clients, who might or (most likely) might not be interested in finalizing the deal later on.

  Would I commit to a guy who took a call and then bailed mid-meeting, would I hand over a nickel to that guy?

  Probably not.

  I should be mad, should have just said no.

  But something in the way dad said she could be in trouble. Something about the whole thing just tugs at me for some reason.

  Phoebe Gold.

  I scroll through to my dad’s message in the elevator on the way down to my car. Wondering if I still have some lock picking tools and master keys in the toolbox in the trunk.

  Ha. Sounds like a stage name. Maybe she’s an exotic dancer? Sounds like trouble might follow someone in that line of work.

  Ah well. I tell myself that everything happens for a reason, that may be the deal I almost just made is better off on ice for a while. That maybe there’s nothing wrong with helping people out once in a while either, even if they are complete strangers.

  The address is familiar too. Makes me smile to myself as I remember.