by J. M. Maurer
As Right As Rain
Copyright © 2018 by J. M. Maurer
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 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.
Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover Design/Graphics by JC Clarke, The Graphics Shed
Edited by Susan R. Hughes
Created with Vellum
Contents
Introduction
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
Epilogue
From the Author
Curveball Baby
Acknowledgments
Also by J. M. Maurer
Find Me Online
About the Author
After finally landing her first job at a television station, meteorologist Makayla Reading is determined to make her mark on the world. With an ex she’d rather forget and no time for a new man in her life, what she needs is a true friend to help her deal with jittery nerves and her crabby boss who makes her life miserable.
Though a don’t-fall-for-the-cameraman rule should be easy to follow, sparks fly when she meets the handsome and charming Eli Barringer. As their relationship moves beyond friendship, Makayla realizes she must not only give in to her heart but also let Eli in on a secret she’s been keeping, a decision she knows is… as right as rain.
Five minutes? How am I supposed to get ready in five minutes?
I’m a newbie. Albeit one who knows her stuff. But an assignment outside my office isn’t supposed to happen just yet. Heck, the ink on my contract probably hasn’t even dried. Though on a positive note, at least the phone call I’ve been half-heartedly listening to isn’t my mom. If it were, I’d be sighing through another round of her incessant “momineering.” And trust me, twenty-five years of being told what to do and when to do it is enough to last me a lifetime.
“Listen to me,” my boss’s baritone voice blares through the speaker at my ear, and I know he’s not yelling at me just because he thinks my thoughts are scattered elsewhere.
But my thoughts are homed in on the four screens on my desk rather than the phone in my hand. I can’t help it. After months of searching, I’ve finally landed my first job. It’s not the most optimal of situations, but one that’ll do for now. As it is, I’m determined and poised to reach my goals—two of which are making a name for myself and then quickly moving on.
I sit up in my swivel chair and lean toward my desk. For the last five hours, I’ve been struggling to work with an antiquated software system that desperately needs to be brought into the current century. Because of its numerous limitations, I can’t turn the swirl of angry snow-laden clouds covering all of Cleveland into a graphic that’s anything remotely as cool as I’d like it to be. Sadly, my one-dimensional presentations will never, in an entertaining and informative way, look very presentable, much less capture anyone’s interest on any given day.
Sighing in defeat, I fall back against my chair and let my gaze roam along the soundproof walls that are begging for a window. Imagining a wall of glass displaying the clear blue skies of the outside world, I remind myself not to dwell on what’s making my life miserable. After all, I am trained to analyze and deal with even the worst of atmospheric conditions, which now apparently includes the unstable air mass that circulates like a cyclone around my boss.
“Makayla!”
I flinch, and then divert my gaze to the papers and graphs that are scattered across my desk. Back in the moment, I pull the handset away from my ear and pray the added distance will help prevent any further damage to my hearing. “Yes, Mr. Richardson.”
“What is it that you don’t understand about ‘when I talk… you listen’?”
I open my mouth to offer a polite reply but Mr. Richardson continues.
“Things are not starting off well for you, Makayla. I do trust that you realize this. We’ll address your behavior later. As I was trying to say, we’ve got some interesting reports coming in tonight. It’s a damned snowpocalypse out there. And yes, I’m sending you to the front line. I’ve issued a brief to your email. Read it thoroughly. Top to bottom. Left to right. Don’t let me down, Makayla. And make sure you’re with your troops in five.”
“Sir, I’ll—”
“Get to it, Makayla. And don’t be late!”
Dial tone.
My heart pounds as I stare at the phone, my jaw coming unhinged. Reports. Briefs. Troops. Five. I can’t help but picture my boss as a Civil War general or a Navy SEAL instructor. Dumping the phone onto its base, I lift my gaze to the clock on the wall. Geez. It’s 6:53. Five minutes is hardly enough time to prep the toilet seat and pee.
Panic sets in. I want to do a good job. I push back in my chair, snatch up my winter coat with one hand, and toss the strap of my go-bag over my shoulder with the other. I bolt down a stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. Starting to feel dizzy, I stop at the twenty-first-floor landing and realize I need to slow down.
Come on, Makayla. You’re so much smarter than this. You graduated with two master’s degrees, one of them in physics. For God’s sake, woman, act like you’ve been here before and let’s do this.
But can I really pull this off? I’m not sure. I roll my neck to loosen some long-term tension in my shoulders and once composed, push the metal bar of the stairwell door. Like any seasoned reporter would do, I wait for an elevator to take me the remaining twenty-one stories down. With my blurry reflection staring back at me from the closed metal doors, a possible complication to my evening crashes into my mind.
The truth is, I’m not a seasoned reporter. I’m the new gal who’s supposed to stay behind the scenes until the old guy—who is riding out his last six months of a fifty-year career—hands over the coveted wireless remote and retires.
I try not to let that fact freak me out even more. When the gap between the elevator doors is wide enough for my mid-sized frame to squeeze through, I hop into the empty car and toss my bag to the floor. I press the B button as the doors close. Counting down with the highlighted numbers, I toss on my coat and bundle up for the cold.
Ping.
The doors slide open as I finish tucking the last clump of hair into my hat. A mixture of excitement and anxiety floods my nerves as I bend down and grab my bag. Leaping out of the elevator car into the underground garage, I level my gaze up from the concrete, and find myself immediately focusing in on the figure of a man inside the open door of the van.
His dark, wavy mess of hair is the first thing that draws my attention. I tilt my head and grant myself a moment to take in the rest of him. His black coat is tight—it snuggles his upper body like a second skin, making the thickness of his arms more noticeable each time he bends forward to fiddle with a duffel bag that’s tucked away in a corner.
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br /> I grin. It’s hard not to. A thin band of white peeks out at the base of his chiseled waistline, teasing me so.
The thought crosses my mind that despite my crotchety boss, this job might not be so bad after all. But then again, if I want to reach my goals anytime soon, it’s probably best I remove Mr. Gorgeous from my personal radar—and do so immediately.
Heeding my inner warning, I release a slow sigh, lift a boot-covered foot, and hop into the van.
Turning, Mr. Beautiful Male meets my gaze and stares back at me through the most striking set of golden-brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Enchanted, I feel my insides heat up.
“Oh, hey. You must be Makayla…” He pauses, lifting his lips in a smile, and after a quick scan of my face, he offers his hand. “Reading.”
I stare back, absorbing his welcoming smile, and note the subtle way his greeting warms me even further. His lips are centered within a field of trimmed stubble and yellow flecks glint within his eyes. Immediately I know there is something about this man hunched over before me—something about that stare and those eyes. Something familiar, perhaps. I’m not really sure, but it’s the kind of something that makes me temporarily forget I’m in the back of a cold van‚ where I should be focused on work.
But with his gaze locked on mine, I’m not sure which has affected me more, his kissable lips or his piercing brown eyes. For the time being, I have to admit I like what I see, but now I’ve once again forgotten he’s out of bounds, part of my team.
Though the fact remains, he couldn’t possibly look any more divine.
However, I couldn’t help but notice he pronounced my surname wrong. Reading is my professional name. Mispronouncing it has been a common occurrence and one that typically strikes a nerve. Although I heard his mistake, I’m not sure I even blinked. I struggle with this revelation and wonder how I’ll possibly control the two anxious needs I’ve got running rampant through my veins. At the moment, my desire to touch him far outweighs my need to correct his phonics.
I side with my heart over my brain and take his hand in mine. It’s soft and warm, and grips back with a firm yet tender touch. Unable to let go, I hold on much longer than I should. I can’t help it. As much as I enjoy looking at him, I more than like holding his hand. But despite what my body is telling me it wants, my brain eventually kicks in.
“Hello,” I squeak through an unconscious parting of my lips. “Yes, I’m Makayla Reading. Pronounced more like Red-ing. You know, like Reading, Pennsylvania. Have you been to Reading, Pennsylvania? They have this lovely pagoda. And a gem of a museum. There’s even a beautiful forest to ‘find yourself’ while meandering along the many paths in the woods. I’ve only been there once, but if you haven’t been to Red-ing, Pennsylvania, I highly recommend it.” Plus it might help you remember my name. And for obvious reasons, I so want you to remember my name. “At any rate, it’s nice to meet you, my partner for tonight.”
Releasing his hand, I suck in a much-needed breath, noting my anxiety is on overdrive and my hand now feels like ice. Even worse, I realize I’ve blathered on and missed a key rule of social etiquette. Dang it, Makayla. After all that babble, how could you fail to ask him his name?
“You mean like the past tense of r-e-a-d.” He winks. “Read?”
I let out a strangled laugh and wonder if Mr. Gorgeous is always this witty. If so, I’m confident our friendship is more than a certainty.
“Makayla Reading. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Eli. Eli Bare-ing-ger.” He grins, his tone full of teasing, his name sweeping through me like a warm summer breeze.
Smitten by Eli’s playfulness, I manage to answer with a smile of my own, and then follow his lead, positioning myself so I can easily see him, as I buckle myself into my seat.
“So tell me, Red, you’re the new girl, right?”
I inwardly cringe. Worse than my name being mispronounced, Red isn’t a nickname I like. Hearing it reminds me of the past, and I don’t want to be reminded of all that.
Adjusting my scarf, I don a brittle smile. Before I get a chance to voice an objection, a deep tone rumbles toward us from up front.
“You two ready?”
Reluctantly, I pull my sight off Eli and meet a pair of dark eyes peering back at us through the rearview mirror. Since I’ve not yet met our driver, I toss an awkward wave his way and curl my lips into a friendly smile. “Hello.”
He waves in response, just as Eli reaches across my lap and closes the side door. His close encounter with my body draws my attention back to him. A fair amount of cold air drifts around me as he moves, carrying with it a pleasant dose of his tantalizing scent. He smells like a spring breeze as it travels through drizzle and dampens the iron-rich clay, just before a storm cloud opens up and releases the energy of the day.
I grin as Eli returns to his seat. Ahh, the smell of rain. I can’t help but close my eyes and steal a few seconds to relish the moment.
Rain has always been my favorite scent.
As Eli settles back in, his right knee grazes mine. The brief contact spurs a warm sensation up and down my spine.
“We’re ready, Sam,” Eli says, his rich tone filling the van.
But am I ready? I’m not sure. Sitting next to Eli, I feel out of sorts and have to remind myself to breathe.
As it is, my mind’s an avalanche of emotions. My body tingles with need. My heart has long since submitted to the rhythm of its rapidly beating pace.
“Hey.” Eli ruffles the hat on my head like one would do to a child, and then lifts my chin with his gentle fingers, leveling my gaze with his. “You all right?”
I blink him into focus, seeing the crease of concern deepen between his eyes. Although I’m grateful for his question, he doesn’t need to know what’s on my mind. My emotions are all over the place, scattered like debris after a storm. Plus, I’m having a difficult time pulling my sight from his eyes and keeping my thoughts on my job.
What are you doing, Makayla?
Yes, he’s gorgeous. And off limits.
He’s sexy. And still forbidden.
I’m confident there has to be some sort of don’t-fall-for-the-coworker rule I should be following. But no such rule seems to be preventing me from reacting to him the way I am.
Not wanting to alert him to what’s making me so frazzled, I respond to his question with the first thing that pops into my head. “I’m just new. And nervous.”
It sounds plausible coming out, and it’s partially the truth, a fact I’m comfortable with, given I’ve just met Mr. Beautiful.
He moves his hand to my shoulder and squeezes just enough to hold me in place, which also keeps me from sliding in my seat as Sam steers us out of the garage and onto the street. “Okay, if that’s what you’re going with, I’ll buy it. For now.”
I stare back, uncertain what I should say or do, and let him work my tense muscles with his fingers as his eyes study my face. Either Eli’s good at reading people, or the weight I’ve been carrying around the last few months is showing. I draw in a slow breath and decide it’s time to get to work.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I lift it for Eli to see, then bring it back to my lap before returning to the conversation. “I just want this to go well. Mr. Richardson said he’d send all the information I needed. I should read his email and prepare. I don’t even know where we’re going, and I’m not the best at this impromptu spotlight sort of thing.”
Plus, I really need to stop staring.
Eli shoots me a reassuring look. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. This storm is something else. I haven’t seen a winter system like this for a long time.”
Hearing concern in his tone, I hope we won’t be out too long. This storm is a big one, full of unimaginable fury. Hoping to use my phone as a distraction, I peer down at the screen and catch myself stealing a glimpse of Eli between every sentence I read.
With him at my side, it’s nearly impossible to concentrate. He’s such a distraction. I have to reread sections of the email several times
. According to Mr. Richardson, there have been reports of twenty-foot waves on Lake Erie, a few instances of lightning, and booming claps of thunder.
After thinking about it, I find it ironic how this winter storm seems to be having little, if any, effect on me. After all, thundersnow is a rare occurrence I’ve only seen in videos and read about in books. With an opportunity like this, I should be crapping hailstones in anticipation, and have my sight trained on nothing but the skies.
Since I’ve not been doing that, I peer out the window and notice Eli following my gaze. Blurs of white fall diagonally, the heavy snow visible under each streetlight we pass. Eli might not have seen a winter storm such as this one in a while, but being new to the region, I’ve not seen a whiteout like this in my entire life.
He turns to me and gives the stiff muscles in my shoulder one more squeeze. “With the roads this slick, I’m guessing we’ll be on shore in about twenty minutes. Relax. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Turning back, I meet his unwavering stare, and notice an odd color reflecting off both his eyes. It’s not the bright flash of white I’d expect from lightning in a storm, but first red, then blue, and then red again, flashing back and forth. Beneath the color, his expression is a mixture of emotions—but mostly a deep-seated concern.
Something’s wrong. And not just with Eli.
Reluctantly, I twist to look out the windshield, feeling the van slow. To brace myself for the sudden change in momentum, I clasp onto Eli’s thigh. Under a dome of thick clouds, the flashing lights illuminate the sky. Scanning the scene, I count six emergency vehicles scattered haphazardly about, all of them blocking the intersection ahead. Forceful tingling rattles my chest the instant a school bus lying on its side comes into view.