Charming the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 3) (The Meadowview Series Book 7)

by Rochelle French

  “One of these days one of those dogs you walk will grab you and hold on so tight you’ll have no option but to open up your heart and let love into your life,” Tee added.

  “I totally let love into my life,” Victory argued. “I just don’t have room for a dog of my own. And the adopt-a-thon is always super successful. This guy will find a home.” Again, the dog yanked against the leash, this time eager to show off to Butterfly by doing battle with a sea gull, which flapped away, apparently unimpressed with the dog’s display of bravado and prowess. “At least, I hope he will,” she added. “But it won’t be mine.”

  “I know the size of your studio—it’s large enough, plus you have an attached deck. You’re flat out of excuses, Vix. Adopt a dog already. Whoops!” Tee dodged a jogger with a Labradoodle on a jeweled leash. As she did so, Victory’s Dog-Of-The-Day followed Butterfly with the determination of a canine Lothario, only to end up ensnaring himself, Butterfly, and Tee in a tangle of leashes.

  With a sigh, Victory bent to untangle the spider web of leashes, dogs, and humans. “I’ll get a dog someday, just not this dog.” She suffered through multiple kisses from the mutt, who clearly needed mouthwash. Order restored, she stood and tugged on the leash. “Come along, Tramp.”

  “You did not just call that rump-sniffing excuse of a dog the name of the most romantic hero in all of cinematic history, did you?”

  “He looks like Tramp. Acts nothing like him, though. Tramp was awesome. This guy’s a disaster.”

  “You should call him Hobo, not Tramp.”

  “Hobo it is,” Victory agreed. She used her foot to nudge the dog’s nose away from Butterfly’s face, which he was covering with sloppy licks. “That’s gross. She’s not interested in kissing you. Ew!” She turned to Tee and groaned. “The Overall Face Lick. Reminds me of the last guy I dated. Hobo needs to get himself some game.”

  “Too bad you can’t give Hobo love lessons the way Francine gave us etiquette lessons.”

  “True,” Victory laughed, her heart warming at the mention of the older woman who’d taken a lonely eight-year-old under her wing.

  After her mom died when she was six, Victory’s father had drifted through life, uncertain how to care for a child or even how to care for himself. Two years later, he’d met up with a single mom named Flower, a single mom with a passel of kids and a hippie complex. Joining her on her natural foods farm two hours out of San Francisco had given him (for a few years, at any rate) a wife, six step-kids, a home, and a purpose.

  Moving to Vineyard Springs had given his daughter a headache. What kid in their right mind would want grow up in a gigantic crowd of people? What girl would want to be suddenly forced to share her father with six stepsiblings and a flaky wife who called herself Flower and who milked goats and who lived in a yurt? Certainly not Victory, that was for sure.

  Fortunately, when the world-famous Shakespearean actor Bertrand Fairclough retired, he’d bought a huge estate adjacent to Flower’s farm. Francine had been Bertrand’s third wife, a warm woman who’d quickly taken all the neighborhood kids under her wing. Nothing seemed to faze the woman, who was proud of her status as an old hippie (a real one, not a wanna-be like Flower). Francine lived in a state of what she called perpetual bliss (although later, Victory suspected medical marijuana had quite possibly played a part, but who was she to argue with such happiness and lack of stress?).

  “I can’t wait for Francine’s wedding,” Tee said, excitement bubbling in her voice.

  “Me, either. I’m so happy she found love after Bertrand passed.”

  “Is your dad coming to the wedding?”

  Victory frowned. “Nope. Dad is somewhere in Tibet, totally off-grid, on some sort of year-long healing ritual.”

  “Again?”

  “Yep. I expect to hear from him in two months, but until then, he’s incommunicado.”

  “But you’re coming to Vineyard Springs to help us plan for the wedding, right? Anise said she’d invited both of us to the Fairclough Estate for the weekend.”

  Victory frowned. Vineyard Springs. She’d had some fun there, sure, playing with Tee, hanging out with Anise and Cooper Fairclough every summer and winter break when Bertrand Fairclough’s grandkids came to stay with him, but most of her memories were, well, unpleasant would be a polite way of putting it.

  Memories from childhood of weeding gardens and milking goats crowded her mind. Of lonely days spent reading up in a tree while her six stepsiblings all played together, the older ones—Oliver and the girl twins, Gemma and Verity—and the younger ones—Tucker and his twin brother Phineas, and the baby of the family, Delphine. Victory didn’t want to remember the boisterous family dinners, where everyone else’s voices rang loud and excited as each shared about their day but no one asked how her day went, as if she didn’t exist.

  But her mind kept on playing the reel of her former life, reminding her of the first day of her freshman year of high school when she’d arrived home to discover Flower had packed up and taken off for parts unknown, her six kids in tow. Oliver had left a farewell note, but that was the last time she’d heard from any of them. The next two years had been miserable—her father would take off for months at a time on meditation retreats, trying to come to compassion and mindfulness (his words) over Flower’s disappearance from their lives.

  No, Victory hadn’t been back to Vineyard Springs since she’d left for college, six years before, and she had no desire to return.

  A flash of guilt had her biting her lip. Francine deserved happiness, and she deserved Victory’s attention. When Bertrand died, he’d left behind a widow who’d mourned his loss. Then, just like a romance story straight out of the movies, a year ago Francine had found love with Doyle Fisher, the slightly stodgy (but still pretty cool) owner of Jolie Terre, one of the several wineries in town. A proposal had been made and accepted and a wedding date set: two weeks from Saturday.

  She could make the wedding, but as for helping the weekend before?

  “I can’t go.” Honest regret filled her voice. “Kenner-the-Jerk asked me to cover for another blogger—I have to work all weekend. I’ll help plan via phone and email, but I can’t make it to Vineyard Springs before the wedding.”

  Tee stopped suddenly. “But Francine and Anise are expecting both of us. It’s supposed to be like old times, with all of us in the estate house, hanging out and laughing.”

  Regret tightened Victory’s chest. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I already called Anise—she knows I can’t make it. But what can I do? Not show up to work?”

  “Your boss is a jerk,” Tee huffed. “Kenner isn’t supposed to make you cover other blogger’s work. No one in Human Resources ever has to work weekends, but Kenner always makes you cover for his other lousy bloggers. We should get my boss to have a little sit-down with your boss. I’m of the opinion my friend should be allowed to have a weekend off every once in a while.”

  “In two weeks I’ll be at Francine’s wedding. Not even the Boss From Hell can keep me from that event.”

  “You’d better promise,” Tee added, grumbling. “That woman practically raised you. Make sure you do right by her.”

  “Of course I’ll do right by her! When have I ever not?”

  “How often do you go back and see her, or any of the Faircloughs? Jeez, Victory, Anise is your best friend and you only see her when she comes to San Francisco. And you haven’t spoken to Cooper once since he moved back from Hollywood.”

  “But Anise likes visiting me here in the city,” Victory argued. “She and Francine love our once-a-week spa day.” And although Victory hadn’t much felt the urge to return to Vineyard Springs, she’d been more than willing to visit Anise and Francine at the Fairclough Estate. The timing simply hadn’t worked out, especially after the accident three years before, when Anise’s days were filled with doctor’s visits, rehab, and therapy.

  Because of the car accident, Anise hadn’t been able to walk, her legs too wounded. Months of grueling physical ther
apy had graduated Anise from a wheelchair to a single leg brace, but she never could walk the same. Or compete on horseback in hunter/jumper shows or dance the night away in one of California’s West Coast Swing competitions.

  At first, Victory had blamed Cooper. Had his sister not gone down to Hollywood to make sure her wild brother’s behavior wasn’t getting too out of hand, and had she not attended a party with Cooper, they would not have ended up on the 405, rear-ended by a drunk driver. Anise, though, was adamant her brother had no fault in the accident whatsoever, and Victory had finally softened her stance.

  “Besides,” Victory added, feeling a tad bit defensive, “it’s not like Cooper and I were ever really friends. One day he was there playing tennis on his grandfather’s clay courts, and the next day, whoosh”—she swiped the air with her hand—“he was off to Hollywood, following in his grandfather Bertrand’s footsteps. Well, almost.”

  Bertrand Fairclough had been classically trained and only accepted roles he felt worthy of his performance. Cooper, though? He’d gained his fame through slapstick and raunchy comedy. And he’d become a drunken party boy, acting out in real life the on-screen role he’d made famous: Dolby Wenker, frat boy and accidental spy, who never got the girl but (almost) always got the bad guy, according to the movie posters.

  Once upon a time, Cooper had held a special place in her heart. The day she’d turned ten, he’d come across her at the pond on the corner of Flower’s property. Night had fallen and she’d been perched on the end of the dock, crying her eyes out because she’d had a rotten birthday. He’d been all but fourteen, although mature enough to know to help a little kid. He’d dried her eyes and walked her home. Once there, he’d wished her a happy birthday before making sure she got inside her house.

  For a couple of years she’d hero-worshipped him because of how he’d helped her that night. Years later, when she was nineteen and visiting him along with Anise down in LA, she’d thought for the space of a few hours that she was in love with him. Fortunately for her, the feeling hadn’t lasted longer than a few hours when it became clear that the fame he’d achieved in Hollywood had gone to his head. Cooper was a total and utter mess. Whatever feelings she thought had been building at the start of the night fully disintegrated the third time she saw a girl smoosh her boobs in his face.

  It would be nice, though, to see him again at the wedding.

  “Meh. Forget Cooper,” Tee said. “Most of America has anyway, now that he’s not playing stupid Dolby Wenker. I’m more concerned about Francine and Anise. Francine refused a wedding planner—she wants to source everything locally and didn’t want outsiders coming into the town. We need to do our part and give her a hand to make this a beautiful day.”

  “I will! I promise. And besides, I have an entire checklist for the wedding set up already,” Victory added.

  “Ah yes, the ubiquitous checklist. Where would you be without one?”

  “Without a shower.” She shot Tee a glance meant to be a glower. “You always give me such a hard time about my checklist app, but I like seeing the boxes ticked off. It makes me happy to see how much I’ve accomplished during the day.”

  “I don’t get how looking at a checklist could make you happy—seems like actually doing those things would make you happy.”

  “It’s a visual reminder, that’s all. You should try it sometime.”

  “Don’t think so,” Tee snorted.

  The wind whipped up, sending a spray of sand upward. Victory strode forward, tugging Hobo ahead of Butterfly, trying to duck behind a batch of bushes and out of the wind. Hobo cast his ears back in a doggie version of a frown and kept his focus on the toy-sized dog trotting behind him on the sandy pathway. Puppy love. How sweet.

  And a little sad, given that Hobo was headed back to the shelter. At least it was a no-kill shelter, she reassured herself. The place was designed to rehabilitate dogs (Hobo definitely needed some doggie do’s and don’ts drilled into his wiry noggin) and find the formerly unwanted dogs a forever family.

  In the built-in pocket of Victory’s jogging pants, her phone buzzed. Her stomach coiled in on itself when she recognized the name of her boss, Kenner Elliot. Just what she needed on top of this challenging morning, what with the manner-less dog at the end of the leash and the reminder of her less-than-ideal childhood.

  Kenner wasn’t anywhere near top of her People I’d Like to Spend More than Two Minutes With list. Nowhere near the middle, either—in fact, he wasn’t even on the list at all. Oily and smarmy, he’d risen in the ranks at The Bay Online because of his nasty ability to schmooze and kiss ass. Any time spent with Kenner was time spent with her teeth clenched, her breathing measured, and the mantra “let it be” scuttling around in her head. Yuck.

  “What’s Mister Ego want this early in the morning?” she muttered. “I’m meeting with him after lunch. He can’t wait to torture me until then?”

  “Might help if you actually read the text instead of simply thinking about it,” Tee pointed out, coming up alongside Victory, Butterfly exchanging nose kisses with Hobo. At least the dog was no longer slobbering over the petite Papillon’s face.

  Clicking on the message, Victory read through Kenner’s uncharacteristically brief text: Meeting moved up. Get in here. Now.

  “He certainly doesn’t mince words.” She frowned and glanced up at Tee, who gave her a quizzical look. Holding out the phone, she let her friend read the message.

  “Trouble?” Tee asked.

  “Can’t be trouble for me. My fashion blog is going great. I had almost five hundred comments on last week’s post about that jerk of a designer, and seventy-five new subscribers to the entire online magazine. Kenner’s gotta be thrilled about those kinds of stats.”

  “But then why would the meeting get moved up?”

  “Maybe Kenner’s spin class got canceled.”

  “Or his teeth whitening appointment was moved up.”

  She grinned and shoved the phone back into the built-in pocket. “Or, option three is a big fat pat on the back to Victory Lennox for bringing in so many new readers. A raise, even.”

  “What if Kenner’s ready to initiate the entertainment host position we’ve been hearing about?” Tee asked excitedly. “The one you’re desperate to get?”

  Excitement buzzed in Victory’s stomach. That position could potentially make her a household name. Well, maybe not every household, but enough.

  “Can’t you see me as the new Mary Hart? Or Maria Menounos?” Her smile widened. “Interviewing famous actors and musicians, with all of America watching me?” Unless Cathy Klimt got the position. Her rival at The Bay Online had announced her interest in becoming the new entertainment host.

  “And for this you obtained a BA in Journalism at UC Berkeley?”

  Victory frowned. “I get it. Hosting an online magazine’s entertainment section isn’t the same as being a news hour anchor, but still, people would know my name. Know me.”

  “I still don’t understand why you’re so after being popular.”

  “It’s not about being popular. It’s about—” She blew out a breath. This wasn’t the first time she’d had this particular discussion (ahem, argument) with Tee. Her friend just didn’t get it, though. Tee had grown up with two older brothers who doted on her and parents who threw her big birthday parties and took her to Disneyland and helped her with her homework and bandaged up her knee when she fell off her bike and—and all the attention a kid was supposed to have.

  Tee hadn’t grown up the leftover stepchild, alone in the corner of a house that didn’t even have corners. Tee hadn’t been surrounded by family and yet made to feel so invisible it was as if she were fog or simply…vapor. But Victory had.

  Victory stopped on the path, ready to turn around and untangle herself from Hobo’s shenanigans. Oddly enough, Hobo stopped, sat on his haunches, and then looked up with a question on his face. Appreciative of his rare display of good manners, she reached down and patted the top of his head. “Look,
little guy, we’re going to have to cut our time short. I need to get you back to the shelter if I’m going to have enough time to shower and get ready for this meeting.”

  The dog barked twice and stood up on his hind legs, scratching his front feet in the air.

  “Is he waving, or trying to give you a high-five?” Tee asked.

  Victory laughed and scratched under his chin. Hobo sat back down on his haunches and gave her a doggie grin. “Sorry, but I’m not taking you out again on Monday. I made myself a pact years ago—a different day, a different dog. Always.”

  “Someday you’re going to regret that,” Tee said.

  “Maybe. But not today.” She looked down at the dog. “Come along, Hobo. You need to get back behind bars, and I need to get back into the office.”

  “Isn’t that one and the same?” Tee snorted.

  Well, it may have been one and the same before, but things were about to change. Soon, she would be The Bay Online’s on-air entertainment host. Soon, people would know her name. Soon, she’d count.

  Victory wants fame, but there’s someone she’s about to see who doesn’t. What will happen with Victory and Cooper when they connect after spending five years apart? Read the rest of their love story by clicking to purchase What NOT to Do in Bed. Hope you enjoy!

  Charming the One

  Copyright © February, 2016 by Rochelle Davisson

  Bloomfield Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away in any manner.

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  ISBN: 978-1-945052-03-3