Love Happens

by Claudia Burgoa

  I don’t reply to Jolene as my mind is set on the one thing I need to do.

  When the bus lets me off at my stop, I have to walk several blocks to get to my final destination. The sun is just now setting on the horizon, letting me know that my fate has already been determined. I take a deep breath in and climb the steps to the building. When I get inside, I head toward the officer behind the main desk.

  “I have information,” I say.

  “What kind of information?” the woman inquires.

  “Information where I need to make a deal,” I state.

  “We don’t make deals, honey,” she claims.

  “Cops always make deals,” I state confidently. “I’m sure someone will help … especially if I’m the one confessing to something.”

  “What are you confessing?” she inspects.

  “I need to know that the person who has been wrongly apprehended will be let go before I say,” I return calmly.

  “Just tell me, honey,” she insists.

  “No,” I reply. “I want to talk to someone who can confirm it in writing first.”

  I’m not sure how long I wait, but another officer finally ushers me to a room some time later.

  “So, tell me what you have to confess,” the detective states.

  “Mr. Lance Garvey is not guilty of possessing marijuana,” I state.

  “How could he not be when we found it in his vehicle?” the detective pries.

  “Because, it wasn’t his,” I share confidently.

  “Who’s was it?” the cop inspects.

  “If you can give me something in writing that he’ll be released, I’ll tell you,” I answer.

  “We need a name,” the other cop insists.

  “Delilah Powell,” I reply.

  “Who’s that?” the first cop checks.

  “Me,” I answer.

  Delilah’s and Lance’s story will continue in a full-length novel. Be sure to connect with Martha Sweeney online to find out when the rest of their story will be released.

  Martha Sweeney is an Amazon BestSelling author with five complete novels and a coloring book. With a B.S. in Psychology, Martha utilizes her knowledge of human and animal behavior successfully in the business world and in her writing. She’s been creative since she was little, always drawing, coloring or making crafts, so her venture into being an author was a natural transition. Martha writes in a variety of genres, constantly pushing herself as story-teller.

  She lives in sunny California with her husband and enjoys writing poolside most months out of the year.

  www.marthasweeney.com

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  All Work and No Play by Mia Kayla

  Kent Plack, bad boy billionaire, believes that all work and no play makes for a boring day. Too bad his wife isn’t up to bringing some of their bedroom antics into the boardroom.

  As a self-made woman, Beth’s drive for success got her out of her small town and helped her fulfill her dreams in corporate America. When she decides to work for Kent’s company, she draws a hard line between business and pleasure.

  But Kent has other plans in mind.

  Like Beth climbing his corporate ladder.

  From the characters from Marry Me for Money, comes a short, light story about a husband and wife who have differing views about what happens in the workplace.

  The light from our floor-to-ceiling windows filtered through our condo and highlighted every edge of our kitchen: the light reflecting off our dark hardwood floors, the light shining on my husband’s handsome face, the light shining in my eyes.

  “You done with your breakfast?”

  After I nodded, Kent took my plate and dropped it in the sink. Handsome as ever, he was in a fitted, button down white shirt. His tie hung around his neck, undone, and his jacket was slung over his chair, opposite me.

  I loved Kent Plack. Most of all, I loved the view. From his deep-in-his-cheek dimples, to his short dark hair, to the white button down that clung to his chest.

  I loved all of him. And he belonged to me.

  I stood and flattened my hands against my pinstriped skirt suit, grabbing my computer bag from the floor.

  Kent filled up my coffee cup and, before I knew it, we were out the door and in the car, on our way to work—his Company.

  Sitting in the car, I watched the gleam of the skyscraper windows, and reflected on how I had gotten to this point, with this man that held my hand fiercely.

  Our love affair had started out as a deal—a plutonic marriage of convenience, but had ended in love. I had married him so he could get access to his trust fund and, in return, the debt my mother had put me in would be paid. I would’ve never guessed we’d end blissfully in love and married. And now I was working for his company, our company—Plack Industries.

  It was my second week working for the family business, when my father-in-law, the current CEO of Plack Industries, approached me about the idea about working for the company, I had major reservations about working so closely with Kent because of his inability to keep his hands to himself. But my husband promised to be good, most of the time—whatever that meant. Also, it was important to my father-in-law that I worked for our company because I was part of the family now.

  Kent parked in his usual spot in the garage and opened my door. He held my hand the whole way to the office like he always did. There was comfort being connected to him in some way, shape or form, even if it was merely from the touch of our fingers together.

  Women’s heads would do a one-eighty just to get a glimpse of him. He always looked like he had stepped straight out of a magazine, even when he woke up. But his hands, his eyes, his focus were always on me, as though those women did not even exist.

  Jealousy never filled my veins because his eyes never strayed, and neither did his hands.

  But that was the problem—there was no separation of sex and state in the workplace.

  My husband was trying to break me. Break me in the place I should have solitude from his sexual advances. I was sitting in a packed boardroom with Kent in the seat next to me, while the operations manager from our California plant gave a presentation at the front. You’d think our morning romp in the shower would satisfy this beast, but no, his sexual appetite could never be tamed.

  His foot played with mine under the table and, when I kicked him, he coughed out a laugh. Every seat was taken and there were a couple people standing by the door given there wasn’t any room at the table.

  I was trying to concentrate on the screen, focus on the improvements on production levels, but I couldn’t. Not when my husband was playing footsie with me and writing me obscene notes on his notepad.

  “Meet me in the copy room,” he whispered discreetly. “I want to show you the copy machine from a different angle.”

  My eyes stayed level on the presenter in the front of the room. When the lights turned off, Kent’s hand grazed my knee. His posture was steady and I was amazed at his ability to keep a straight face as his fingers glided up my leg.

  I pushed him off me with such force that I shifted a little off my seat and the person next to me glanced my way.

  He gripped my knee with force, not taking no for an answer, and glided his hand further up my thigh. I held my breath, barely breathing when his fingers moved to my inner thigh. I clamped my legs together, trapping his hand. Instead of taking this as a ‘hell no’, he proceeded to glide up even further. He leaned in, scooting his chair closer to mine as he pretended to look at my paper.

  This was so forbidden and so hot at the same time. My brain and body were at war with each other. Then he glided his fingers further up my thigh until he reached the edge of my panties. I yelped and stood, automatically dropping my gaze to the floor and charging out the r
oom and into the bathroom. My whole body was on fire and so was my mind. I couldn’t believe he’d take it this far. I didn’t put it past him, but I couldn’t believe he would give me an orgasm in the middle of the freaking board room, in front of everyone to witness!

  My husband was out of his mind, and I was right there with him, contemplating if I should call him to the women’s bathroom to finish the job.

  When I walked out, Kent was waiting for me, one leg propped against the wall.

  “Kent.” My voice was quiet and stern, opposite to the havoc happening internally. “You should be at the meeting.” My feet moved toward the conference room.

  He grinned sheepishly. “I thought it would be the gentleman thing to wait for you.”

  I shook my head and huffed. He pulled me into him, stopping me and almost making me trip over my own feet.

  I flipped around toward him and pushed his hands off me. “What is wrong with you? We’ve talked about this. I’ve barely started at Plack Industries and here you are, unable to keep your hands to yourself. Is this how my life is going to be working here? I shouldn’t have quit my job at the bank to come here.”

  He reached for my hand, his face telling me he was sorry, all smiling put to the side, but I was far too irritated.

  I turned toward the conference room and promised myself I’d ignore him the rest of the day. By the time work was over, I was exhausted. Tired of work. Tired of learning new systems. Tired of fighting with my husband.

  Kent pushed open the door as we exited his company’s corporate headquarters on Michigan Ave. He took my laptop bag from my hands and I didn’t argue. He opened the door to the car and I slipped in. My whole body fell into the chair in one big thud and I closed my eyes to let my whole body relax when a warm hand encased my hand on my lap and squeezed. When I opened my eyes, I met his caramel brown ones.

  “I’m sorry,” he mouthed. “I love you.” He was trying to play up his charms, and he was so adorable doing it. The alpha male playing for cute, and it almost worked. Almost, but not quite.

  I straightened in my seat. “This is a new job for me and I have to start over and move up. I want to prove to your father that I’m taking this seriously. I didn’t marry into this family because of money, and I know I’m up for the challenge, but I need a fair shot and can’t get side tracked.”

  His hand squeezed mine again. “He knows. He knows you’re a hard worker and that’s why he coerced you to leave your other job.” His eyes turned serious. “Eventually this is going to be our company once he retires, our legacy. There’s nothing to prove. He knows your work ethic.”

  I let out a soft breath. Says the male that was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has had never had anything to prove. “Just don’t go there anymore, Kent. Okay?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  He nodded, but his face was intently on the road in front of us. “Okay, my wife. Your wish is my command. Although I still don’t see what the big deal is.”

  I rolled my eyes. There was no use in engaging in an argument that I wasn’t going to win. So I’d have to show him that it was a big deal. Make him see my point.

  The alarm clock rang loudly, beeping and beeping, and my husband kept on snoring and snoring. I glanced at the clock and nearly bolted from the bed. I must’ve pressed snooze about three to five times. Then I looked at Kent. It was him. He had pressed snooze, I was sure of it.

  I shook Kent’s shoulder beside me. “We’re late. Baby, wake up! We’re late.”

  I pulled the sheets off of him, exposing his perfect I-work-out-everyday ass, and threw the sheets off the floor. Our counterparts from California were still in town and we had to make an eight-thirty meeting to give my portion of our quarterly projections. If I didn’t hustle in the shower, we were going to be late.

  “Babe!” I hit his shoulder. When he didn’t move, I decided it was everyone for themselves. After my two minute shower, I rushed out in a towel, still dripping wet, and began drying my hair in double time. After putting on my makeup, only then was my husband out of bed and strolling into the shower in his my-life-is-so-easy pace.

  “Five minutes,” I yelled, or we’d be driving separately.

  I slipped on my suit and walked into the kitchen to find that my to-go coffee mug had already been filled. Kent had probably filled it while I was in the shower.

  “Kent!” I yelled, slipping on my high heels by the door.

  When I turned around, he was right behind me. Where I looked like a frazzled mess, he looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine spread for Business Insider. I hated that.

  He was wearing a light sweater and a scarf around his neck. Internally, I let out a low, evil laugh. Though the laughter was silent and in my head, it was there. Mixing work and play is not a big deal, huh?

  He walked past me, smooth and collected, and grabbed the keys off the counter. “I’ve got your laptop bag. I’ll meet you in the car.”

  This man made life look like it was easy living. I let out a long frustrated sigh, but headed out with him anyways.

  After we stepped into the office, Kent grabbed the lapel of my jacket, pulled me toward him, and kissed me passionately, deeply, tasting me and savoring my lips. Then he released me, leaving me breathless, my pulse throbbing.

  “See you at the meeting.” He smirked.

  Momentarily, I stood dazed from his irresistible lips and his crazy quick kiss. I watched him retreat toward his office, shook my head to focus, and almost tripped, half running to my area.

  I threw open my office door and stared intently at the clock on my desk. 8:25 A.M.

  After booting up my computer, I printed the projections and the current financials I had worked on yesterday. I glanced up at the clock again, even though it had only been a minute from the last time I’d checked it. This was why I hated waking up late. Just a minute more of sleep could throw off my whole day. To be early was to be on time. To be on time was to be late.

  Our meeting began at 8:30, and I was already tardy. I knew people were filing into the boardroom, taking their seats, and I was the second presenter. My heart beat loudly in my temples as I printed copies of the financials I’d presented to our local team yesterday. My eyes focused on the clock again. It was 8:28 and I had to leave for the meeting like ten minutes ago. I reached for the stapler, grabbed my portfolio, and stuffed the bunch of papers on my desk that I had just printed out. Then I plucked the rest of the papers from the printer dock, ran to the elevator, and pressed the button for the top floor.

  My skirt was creeping up my nylons, wrinkling up my leg as I sprinted with papers, stapler, and portfolio in hand to the boardroom.

  As I stepped in, I heard the chatter around me, and dropped everything at my seat to the left of my father-in-law, Mr. Plack, the CEO of the company, whose spot was at the head of the boardroom and thankfully wasn’t there yet.

  “Do you need help?” Kent asked.

  I didn’t have to look up to know he was seated directly in front of me, to his Dad’s right.

  “Yeah.” I threw the stapler at him. “Staple this, please.” I organized the papers, then passed them to him. The click of the stapler mixed with the chatter in the room—organize, pass, staple, repeat.

  My nerves tensed, and I bit my lip to keep myself steady, frequently glancing at the door. When Dad stepped into the boardroom, followed by his secretary, I sped up to finish. Their CEO took a seat at the head of the table, causing the chatter of the crowd to silence.

  I released a silent sigh, passed Kent my last projection to be stapled, and sat down in my seat. Running my fingers through my locks, I tucked an escaping strand behind my ear. I was sure my hair was a mess, but I didn’t care. Everything was completed on time. That was all that mattered.

  I lifted my eyes to Kent. “Thanks, babe,” I mouthed.

  Then my heart stopped dead in my chest, and the world around me became so vividly clear.

  Right there, in plain view, for every single person in the room to see, w
as my little piece of revenge to get back at him for the slip of his fingers at yesterday’s meeting.

  The piece of retaliation stared at me—a bright purple, such a contrast to his cream V-neck fall sweater. My freaking love bite was almost as big as my fist and screaming insanely loud on his neck.

  I wanted to die. Seriously die.

  I widened my eyes at him and he rubbed his chin, covering his mouth with one hand, trying to contain his laughter because he so knew it was there for everyone to see. Of course, I was the idiot. I wanted to bang my head against the boardroom desk until I knocked myself out. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  In the throes of passion, I had given him one very deliberate hickey, sucking so hard that I knew, very well knew it would leave a mark in the morning. It had been my form of revenge because I thought it would’ve been embarrassing and he’d be forced to cover it up and prove my point. I thought he’d wear the scarf the whole day. But no, he was blatantly throwing the hickey in my face.

  I should have seen this coming. I should’ve known he’d flaunt it, and my smart plan would blow up in my face. To add insult to injury, he was wearing cream, which only brought out the purple. It was probably the only damn cream sweater in his whole walk-in closet. Oh my word, I wanna die.

  “Okay, let’s start,” Dad said, folding his hands together.

  Dad reached for the paper in front of him, placed on the table by his secretary, and when he lifted his head, his eyes zoned in on my little revenge on Kent’s neck … and he started to chuckle.

  My father-in-law—the guy I called Dad, who was the utmost professional when it came to work, the guy who had built an empire—was chuckling. Not a full on laugh, but a soft chuckle, loud enough to cause a stir in a silent room.

  My pulse jumped from my throat to my ears when everyone zoned in on Kent’s neck, their faces flipping from me to him. I ignored their stares and fiddled with the papers in front of me while my ears burned.

  Of course I was the one who gave it to him, idiots. I’m the flipping wife.

  Dad shook his head, still smiling. “Okay,” he coughed, to cover up his amusement. “Let’s get started.”

  My face flushed bright red, brighter than the sirens on a fire truck. I shot daggers at Kent with my eyes, but he was still covering his mouth, pretend-rubbing his chin. He thought this was humorous. Of course he would. He was Kent Plack.