Revealed: A Hype PR and Eye Candy Bookstore Anthology

by Bethany Lopez

  “I wish you would have told me then. There was no reason for you to carry around that burden.”

  “You and Dad were so close, I guess I was just afraid you’d hate me.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  “I think I was bitter too because I never connected to him like you did. The sun rose and set by you. He was so determined to fight all your dragons, to keep you safe, to give you everything.”

  I reached for his hand. It was funny how people saw what they wanted to, how their perceptions were biased to their experiences. “I loved Dad, but he was suffocating me. He thought he knew what was best, voiced his opinion on every decision I made. At ten, that’s endearing, closing in on thirty it was infuriating. I gave him an ultimatum not long before that day. I told him he needed to back off and give me space or I was moving away.”

  “Why didn’t I know anything about this?”

  “Because it was what it was. And then he died and I felt horrible that I had been so harsh. But the truth of it is, I wasn’t wrong. He had to let go and he needed the nudge to make him let go.”

  “I’m sorry, Rayne. I never saw that. I guess I looked at your relationship with Dad with a jaundiced eye.”

  “I’m sorry about Sabrina.”

  “I didn’t love her.”

  “But you were proposing.”

  “I liked her well enough, we enjoyed each other’s company and we probably would have had a good life together. But I was asking her to marry me because it was the next step and I thought it might have made me seem more responsible.”

  “To Dad.”

  “Yeah.”

  Families were complicated. “Going forward, we don’t keep things from each other.” I said.

  “Deal.”

  “So in keeping with that. I slept with Ryker.”

  “What?”

  “Before you go all macho. I love him. You know I love him. And he feels it too.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “In so many words.”

  “I feel like I should be pissed. He’s my best friend and you’re my sister, but I’ve been watching him since our chat the other day. I never realized how much he watched you. You’re never out of his sight. I’m happy if you’re happy.”

  “I am.”

  What I hadn’t known then was though Ryker had said things would be different, never in a million years would I have guessed just how different.

  ***

  Parking along the street in front of Ménage, I didn’t see Ryker’s motorcycle. He was probably parked in the lot at the back. I had just seen him that morning and yet I was like a junkie, needing my Ryker fix. Luckily for me, we both worked tonight.

  I was distracted, understandably so, which was why I didn’t see the sign at first, but it was a bit hard to miss since it was plastered right next to the front door of the club. In large black letters were two words that brought a sickening sense of dread in me: FOR SALE. What the hell? He was selling the club? I had just spent the past two days with him and he didn’t think to mention he was selling the club. He loved the club…he loved the club and he was selling it. And what I feared that meant had me running inside, but he wasn’t there. Not in his office, not behind the bar, not talking to Kel. Ryker was never late. Kitty came from the back, carrying a tray of napkin holders.

  “Hey Rayne. I didn’t know Ryker and Jackson were selling the club.”

  “I didn’t either. Is he here?”

  “No.”

  “Are there enough coming in to cover me?”

  “Yeah.”

  That sickening sensation only intensified when I pulled up in front of Ryker’s apartment building and saw the For Sale sign on his unit. I called him, but the call went to voicemail. It was the sight of the empty parking space at the end of the lot that nearly brought me to my knees. Ryker’s beloved 1969 Pontiac GTO was gone. He only drove that car when he was going long distances. I wanted to believe there was another explanation for all of it, but I couldn’t think of any that made sense. And I did just see him that morning. If he had wanted me to know, he would have told me then. I called him again; to keep it real I called him about ten times over the next half an hour and every call went to voicemail. He said things would be different, I didn’t think he meant this. I tried for the next hour to reach him, even went back to the club, but it was like he just disappeared. Heartbroken, I decided to do the same.

  Chapter Eight

  Taking a page from Ryker’s book, I went off the grid and crashed at Sabrina’s because she was staying at her fiancée’s. I shut my cell off and for the first day I did nothing but stare at the television, not really seeing anything. I was going through the stages of grief. When I reached anger, I had to work really hard not to toss shit around Sabrina’s place. The more I thought on it, the more it just burned my ass. What kind of game was Ryker playing? Telling me he approached Jackson that first day on the playground for me. Sharing some pretty intimate details, something the man just didn’t do, and then he just took off. No word, no explanations. I wanted to believe there was more to it, but I was having a hard time convincing myself of that.

  By day two, I wanted to hunt him down and force him to explain. By day three, I was practically homicidal. I’d hunt him down, force him to explain and then kick his ass. Hope stirred when I turned on my cell to find thirty missed calls—most were from Ryker, a few from Jackson. I didn’t waste time listening to them because I wanted Ryker to explain himself to my face. I tidied up Sabrina’s before I headed to Ménage. I hated that sign, had to fist my hands so I didn’t tear the damn thing down. I heard Ryker before I saw him. My feet rooted themselves to the scarred wood floors because he sounded not just angry but destroyed.

  “Where the fuck is she? You tried all the hospitals?”

  Oh my God. I hadn’t even thought of that. I forced myself to move into the room and the sight of Ryker pacing, rubbing a hand over his head nearly brought me to tears. And then he stopped, his whole body went tight and I knew he knew I was there. He turned so slowly and when his icy eyes landed on me, I felt genuine fear.

  So many emotions moved over his face. Relief, what I wanted to believe was love, frustration, and rage. “Where the fuck have you been?”

  “I’m sorry. I needed some time, but I didn’t think you would think I’d been hurt.”

  “You didn’t think? Fucking yeah, you didn’t think.”

  I had been wrong, leaving without a word, but hello…pot calling the kettle. “Where were you?”

  He looked truly confused. “What are you talking about?”

  My temper was edging out fear. “Do you need me to refresh your memory? After our two-day sex fest, I came to work to find a For Sale sign on the place. I went to your apartment and there was a For Sale sign there too. Your GTO was gone and you weren’t answering your phone. So again I ask, where the fuck were you?”

  I actually watched as the tension and anger just drained from him. “You weren’t running.”

  The man exasperated me and still I was crazy about him. “Running? The only running I’ve been doing is to you. You’re the one who has the propensity to take off.”

  “I wasn’t running.” Three little words and my world righted itself.

  “So what were you doing?” I asked again.

  “I’ll just go grill up a burger or something,” Jackson said as he started toward the kitchen. But he stopped and pressed a kiss on my cheek. “Glad you’re back.”

  I watched as he disappeared into the kitchen before turning back to Ryker. He hadn’t moved, just stood stoically watching me like I was going to disappear in a puff of smoke.

  “Why are you selling?”

  “Your dad fronted us the money for the down payment.”

  I hadn’t known that.

  “He did it for Jackson, but it was for me too. The day before we signed, he came to see me. He had one stipulation.”

  I loved my father, but in that moment, I hated him too. “He told y
ou to stay away from me.”

  “He wanted what was best for you. He didn’t think I was best for you and I didn’t think I was either. He was asking me to do what I already knew I should. So I agreed. The night of the accident, you kissed me. The one thing I wanted most and there you were, giving me what I had been craving for so long. I didn’t want to stop, I was going to fuck you in that closet, but then I heard your father’s voice in my head. I came from shit, I don’t have much to offer, but I have my word. But as I drank myself stupid, your taste still on my tongue, I realized I couldn’t do it. The price I paid was too high. I was going to your father in the morning. Then he died.”

  “And you thought you had to honor his wish.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t. I can’t be near you and not have you. Nothing is worth that hell. Jackson and I have been discussing selling; we put it on the market to see what kind of offers we’d get. But he loves the place as much as I do, so he’s buying me out.”

  “And no one thought to include me in this? I do work here.”

  “And spoil the rest?”

  “What rest?”

  “That’ll be easier to show you. You up for a ride?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer, reaching for my hand as he started for the door. I loved riding with him. It had been a long time since I last had, but I just loved holding on to his big body, the hum of the engine and the wind in my face. We reached our destination far too soon but before I could say as much, I saw where we were. My dream house. Ryker’s GTO was parked in the drive.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I told you things were going to change.”

  “Your car is in the drive.”

  “I bought it.”

  “How?”

  “Years ago, I asked the realtor to let me know first if the house ever went up for sale. He contacted me a couple of months ago.”

  “You bought it?”

  “For you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yeah, but I come with it.”

  My heart should have pounded right out of my chest with how hard it was beating. “You come with the house?”

  “Non-negotiable.”

  I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his neck. He wrapped me in his arms and held me so close.

  “It’s why I’ve been more of a dick lately. Because I knew I wasn’t going to be honoring my promise to your dad. I want you; I’ve always wanted you. I had to reconcile that want with the promise I made.”

  I couldn’t stop the tears from stinging my eyes and with his next words they just rolled right down my cheeks. “Marry me, Rayne. I love you more than anyone ever will. That makes me fucking good enough.”

  “You were always good enough, more than good enough. Yes. I’ll marry you. I would have then, would have at ten, sixteen.”

  His mouth closed over mine, the kiss hot, wet, deep and perfect.

  “Thank you for my house. I didn’t need it though, I just need you.”

  He lifted me into his arms and started for the front door. “We need more space for the kids.”

  “Kids?” The idea of kids with him was almost too much.

  “We’ve got a lot of time to make up for, so I’m thinking we’re going to have a lot of kids.” He pushed the door open. “In fact, we should get started on that now.”

  I had thought Ménage was home, but I was wrong. It was this man. Where he was, that was my home.

  “I love this plan.”

  Kate Canterbary

  Chapter 1

  Cole

  "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

  This was bad. I was officially in the shit, and more shit than my usual. Abandoning the boat's failing navigation system, I stormed into the captain's quarters for my laptop and tools. The screen indicated I was minutes away from reaching my destination at Newburyport Harbor, but the sea and shore were dark. Too dark to be anywhere near a port city.

  "If this is what I get for investing in start-ups," I muttered, "then start-ups can go fuck themselves."

  I snorted at that notion and set to unscrewing the control panel. If it weren't for start-up investors, I wouldn't have been the youngest billionaire in history. But founding an all-things-internet company and making it a household name wasn't as golden and glossy as the media made it seem.

  According to the company's public statements, I was on sabbatical. It was a good cover story, and my spokeswoman managed to weave in some cozy anecdotes about my childhood love of sailing to make it feel even more authentic. It was handy that I did love sailing. Or, I had loved it, back when my summers were spent helping my uncle build custom boats.

  The truth was that my board of directors ejected me from the CEO's seat after my latest project fell below Silicon Valley's expectations. Project DaVinci was supposed to turn the industry upside down. All told, the billions spent were nowhere near as painful as the landslide of bad press.

  This was the first time I'd ever been away from the central operations since founding the company in my apartment three blocks from Harvard University's Cambridge, Massachusetts campus. I wasn't one for lavish holidays or extreme adventures. I was like all the other Red Bull-addled programmers who found it easier to admire smartly constructed code than the natural world.

  But I hated this PR-inspired bullshit walkabout. If it weren't for my desire to keep my stock prices from plummeting, I would've thrown a bigger fit when the board stripped me of my control and saddled me with a lame title. Chief Innovations Officer was a long, hard fall from CEO.

  I was known for that—fit-throwing. I wasn't especially proud of it, and I'd worked my ass off to get my temper under control in the early years of my success, but it still followed me. Any glimmer of impatience was filed under my storied tyrannical management style known widely as Scream, Fire, and Throw. I'd matured over the years, but for an environment that evolved by the nanosecond, the half-life of bad behavior was eternity.

  I'd matured from the slouchy geek who'd changed the way people spent their time on the internet. I was still arrogant and more condescending than necessary, but now I kept all of that close to my bespoke vests. My mentor, Neera, beat some corporate manners into me and helped me recognize the negative impact of my punk-ass attitude on investors, stock prices, and Silicon Valley's mercurial moods.

  And for all that work, I was lost and alone on the North Atlantic. My executive leadership coach couldn't help me here. The nav system was on the fritz, the electrical panel just blew, and in trying to find the flashlight, I walked straight into the stainless steel server tower.

  It had been almost twenty years since I'd sailed. Now, with blood running down my face in the dark, I was failing at this, too.

  And then the pirates arrived.

  Chapter 2

  Owen

  There was a boat in my cove.

  I was reading on the porch, eager to ease the day away with some Whitman when I noticed a light in the distance. I gave it a long, weary stare before setting my book down and heading toward the dock on the edge of my property.

  These waters were protected. Endangered species lived in and around the rocky coast, and vessels with that size and hull structure would leave a wake big enough to disrupt those fragile colonies. Not that I cared about the boat, but it was also in danger. If it came much closer, it was liable to run aground and that was even worse news for the conservation zone.

  It was too damn late for this shit, I thought as I turned over the skiff's motor. I could count the hours until I was due on the water, hoisting lobster traps and ferrying the day's catch to the fish market. But this was my cove, and mine alone. I'd see to its preservation, even if that left me tired and cranky tomorrow.

  I was tired and cranky most mornings. I blamed my temperament on the backbreaking work of being a lobsterman who was doing everything in his power to survive, but there was more. Life on the water wasn't easy, and as the years passed, I was more and more convinced that I was destined for a solitary existence.

&
nbsp; "Oh, for fuck's sake," I grumbled when I noticed the trespassing boat's lights flicker off. That wasn't a good sign.

  I circled the vessel twice, the skiff's aging motor sputtering as I slowed. It was more than enough notice for the crew, and any seaman who knew his shit would've acknowledged my presence by now. None of this felt right.

  With a huff, I tossed my buoys overboard and hauled my body onto the trespasser's deck. I called out to the captain, hoping for a quick chat about shoreline species conservation and directions to the nearest marina.

  Instead, I found myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.

  "Welcome to Talbott's Cove," I said. "Now lower the firearm, Captain."

  "I know maritime laws, and I know I did not invite you aboard," a quivering voice said.

  In one deft movement, I had the gun in hand and ammunition tumbling to the deck. "No," I said, "you did not. However, you're drifting northwest and minutes away from running aground. If that wasn't enough, you're in an ecological preserve that's only open to low speed small crafts. You're looking at a ten thousand dollar fine."

  I hadn't gotten a good look at the shotgun wielding captain. It was too dark in the cloudy moonlight to see more than shapes, and the man was sheltered by the mast's shadows. But now, as he stepped forward, his eyes wide with fear, I realized several things.

  First, the captain was injured. His forehead was split with an ugly gash, and his hands and preppy polo shirt were soaked with blood.

  Second, he was strong, stronger than I'd expected for a man who led with a shotgun. His chest and shoulders were broad, his biceps strained against his sleeves, and his thighs were thick and powerful. I'd place him in his late twenties or early thirties, but no more than five years younger than my thirty six.

  Finally, I was immediately attracted to him. I couldn't articulate why I found this man pulse-quickeningly sexy, and I didn't want to dwell on that reaction either.