by Olivia Dade
The Lovestruck Librarians series by Olivia Dade
Broken Resolutions
My Reckless Valentine
My Reckless Valentine
Olivia Dade
LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
The Lovestruck Librarians series by Olivia Dade
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
Teaser chapter
LOVE BETWEEN THE LINES
Copyright Page
This book is dedicated to Mia Sosa, my dear friend
and trusted critique partner.
Thank you for adoring Angie just as much as I do.
Love you, lady.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My poor agent, Jessica Alvarez. When she offered representation, she had no idea what sort of trouble she was inviting. Instead of a mild-mannered, low-maintenance client, she got me—a snarky, potty-mouthed nerd too nervous to send completed manuscripts directly to the editor. Instead, I’ve begged Jessica to read and evaluate each book before it got anywhere near Kensington. She’s devoted so much time and effort to helping me, and I can’t thank her enough.
My editor, Martin Biro, provided such thoughtful feedback on this manuscript. Also, he totally caught me being lazy. I knew I needed another, earlier scene with Grant and his parents, but I avoided writing one . . . until he made me. Thanks for keeping me honest, Martin.
I also appreciate the efforts of everyone else at Kensington. My gratitude for all your hard work on my behalf.
My husband, daughter, and mother mean the world to me. Thank you for loving me.
My friend (and smut-loving librarian) Jodi simply couldn’t have been more enthusiastic about this book. She believes in my writing more than anyone else I know, and I appreciate her loyalty, good humor, and unstinting support.
Finally, a big shout-out to all my other family and friends. Please consider the many sex scenes in this book a token of my affection and esteem!
1
“One more complaint and the library will have to fire you,” Tina told Angie. “We don’t want to. I don’t want to. But I will.”
Angie met the assistant director’s solemn gaze without flinching. “None of the complaints came from patrons or the staff of my branch. Not one. They’re all from Administration. And none of them have to do with my demeanor, my work ethic, my management of my staff, our circulation statistics, budgetary concerns, or anything substantive.”
What she didn’t say, though the words pounded through her brain: Please don’t take this job away from me. I love my work. I love my library. I belong here.
Tina pushed a strand of her steel-gray bob behind her ear and reached for the most recent letter of reprimand. Turning the paper around on the workroom table so Angie could read it, she pointed to the first complaint. “You created an erotica display labeled Spanking-New Books. Your sign featured a huge fake book cover the color of someone’s backside. It had a pink handprint on it.”
“It wasn’t the shape of an ass,” Angie pointed out.
“I think the ass-like nature of the cover was implied,” Tina said. “In the display, you labeled different categories, one of which involved bondage—”
“Learning the Ropes.”
“Another of which involved threesomes—”
“Ménage and More. I didn’t want to exclude groups of more than three.”
“Yet another of which involved shape-shifting creatures having sex—”
“Horny Like the Wolf.”
Even though Angie knew the situation didn’t call for a smile, she couldn’t suppress a small one. That particular category name had entertained her for the entire week the display stood in the library. The number of holds on shifter romances had jumped significantly too, even after the display came down.
Tina threw her hands in the air. “Angie, I’m not questioning your ability to come up with clever names for different types of erotica. I’m questioning your judgment in creating the display in the first place. What if a child saw the cover of . . .” Tina glanced at the letter. “Ride Her, Cowboy? Or, even worse, Two Men Enter a Bar . . . maid? How are those titles appropriate for anyone under the age of eighteen?”
At that, Angie wiggled a bit in her rolling chair. “I put the display at the back of the adult section, where no kids could accidentally see it. And if anyone underage wandered into that area, I shooed them away unless they had parental permission to see those books.”
“Are you telling me you watched who went back there every minute of every day this branch was open?” Tina asked.
“Well, no,” Angie admitted. “Sometimes I had to go to the workroom to get something. Or I had a lunch break. And obviously I don’t work every day.”
“So you have no idea how many kids looked at that display.”
“I guess not.” Angie looked down at the nubby gray carpet, blinking back incipient tears. When she spoke again, her voice wavered. “But again, no one complained, and the circulation statistics for the books in that display were killer. Even after two months, patrons ask me all the time for a list of those titles.”
Tina’s eyes darted behind Angie, to the door separating the workroom from the main library. A small hand settled on Angie’s shoulder. Penny’s hand. Evidently, her best friend and coworker had heard part of the discussion from the circulation desk.
Penny rolled Angie’s chair back from the table and inserted her tiny frame in front of her friend. Which, to be fair, left a good chunk of Angie still exposed to Tina’s view. Angie appreciated the thought, though.
“Anything in this library is the responsibility of the entire staff,” Penny declared. “Don’t just blame Angie. Also, everyone who works here watched over that display. We made sure no children saw it unless their parents gave permission.”
Angie gently nudged Penny, edging her back from the workroom table. “Penny? I think you need to go back to the circulation desk.”
“But I should be here to—”
“No, honey. This is my responsibility. I made the display, and I’m the manager.”
“I’d rather stay and—”
“And I appreciate it,” Angie said. “But now I’m telling you to go to the circulation desk. Not as your friend, but as your supervisor. You don’t need to attend this meeting.”
With a final worried glance Angie’s way, Penny returned to the public portion of the library. Angie knew without looking that her friend had stationed herself next to the door, barely out of sight, ready to intervene again if necessary.
Angie reached out an arm and closed the workroom door. She didn’t want to expose Penny to this discussion. Despite her valiant attempt to shield Angie, Penny typically shied away from conflict. It upset her. And her friend didn’t deserve a second of discomfort over that damned display. God knew, Penny had warned Angie about it enough times.
Angie, I don’t want you to get fired, she’d cautioned the day Angie had unveiled the display.
Angie, I’m not sure a masturbation-themed book called
Just Beat It is appropriate for the library to showcase, she’d noted the next morning.
Angie, she’d declared five days later, your display is amazing. Hilarious and eye-catching. But it’s going to get you in trouble. Can’t we take it down before we open today?
Later that particular morning, the director of the Nice County Public Library system had made an unexpected visit to the Battlefield Library, and Angie had found herself on probation for a month. She’d ignored her friend’s repeated, impassioned warnings. So Angie alone needed to take whatever consequences were coming down the pike.
“Then there’s your New Year’s Eve singles event,” Tina said. She pointed to the second complaint in the letter. “Am I to understand that you used library money to buy chaps? And a harness? And a French maid outfit?”
“They were props for couples to recreate book covers, an activity the Library Board approved,” Angie said, defending herself. “Plus, I used discretionary funds from the sale of donated books. Haven’t you told me I could use that money for any library-related purpose?”
“Technically, that’s true. But I think it was understood you wouldn’t use the money to buy a whip.”
“The library actually made money on that event,” Angie reminded Tina. “We also inspired several happy relationships, including one for Penny.”
“That’s not really the point of—”
Angie held up a finger. “Wait a minute. I didn’t ask for reimbursement for those props, and no one complained. So how did you find out about them?”
Tina sighed and plucked another printout from her black leather briefcase. “We got a request to hold a similar event at Downtown, only with more buccaneer-themed props and activities. From someone named Clarence, who signed his e-mail”—she straightened her wire-rimmed glasses and read the next line in a resigned tone—“ ‘Still lookin’ for booty, so thank ye kindly, Clarence.’”
Angie hung her head and heaved her own sigh. Pretend Pirate Clarence. Her favorite—and only—swashbuckler-obsessed patron. Of course.
“Angie.”
She glanced around the workroom, cataloging the changes she’d made since becoming branch manager seven years ago. When she’d arrived, the staff-only space had overflowed with random papers, books, and supplies. Because of the clutter, the regular cleaning service hadn’t been able to do their job. Every surface in the room had rested under a blanket of dust and grime. Within Angie’s first week, she’d bought additional shelving and bins from her own savings, organized the chaos, and disinfected the whole damn area.
In the past seven years, circulation numbers at the Battlefield Library had skyrocketed. The number of holds had increased exponentially. Because of special events like the New Year’s Eve program, Battlefield even contributed a little extra money to Downtown’s coffers. The programs held at Battlefield boasted the best attendance of any county branch. Angie and her staff received thank-you notes, baked goods, and frequent hugs from their visitors.
But it wasn’t enough, apparently. Angie’s knowledge of her patrons and what they liked was irrelevant in the face of complaints from administrators who rarely stepped foot in her library. So here she sat, marveling at how little her life had actually changed over the years.
A familiar sick feeling knotted her stomach and rose, bitter, into the back of her throat. Once more, she’d disappointed someone whose opinion she respected. Once more, she’d been reprimanded like a naughty child. And not in a hot way, either.
“Angie,” Tina repeated. “Look at me.”
She obeyed. The assistant director leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on Angie’s arm.
“Angie, I’m the one who hired you. You know I like and respect you. After the debacle with the erotica display, I fought for you to get probation rather than a pink slip. But I can’t protect you anymore. You need to be smart and protect yourself.” She gave Angie’s arm a final pat and stood.
Angie rose too. Even though she stood almost half a foot taller than Tina, she felt about a millimeter high. Shades of her childhood. “Okay,” she said. “I appreciate the warning.”
“Is there anything in the branch that needs repair? I could take a look and contact maintenance for you when I get back to Downtown.”
“No,” Angie said. “No, nothing needs to be looked at. Nothing at all.”
“Are your shelves getting too crowded? Do you need help weeding the collection?”
“Nope.” Angie stood in front of the door to the main library, her hands braced on either side of the frame. “Thanks, though.”
“All right. I’ll be off, then. Don’t be late to the staff meeting tomorrow morning,” Tina said.
“I’m never late,” Angie replied. “You know that.”
Tina gave her a genuine smile. “I know. You’re a hard worker. I meant you should be on time because there’s an announcement tomorrow that will affect you. I’m hoping the change will help you keep your job.” She headed toward the back door of the workroom, the one leading to the staff parking lot.
An announcement affecting me? What the hell does that mean?
“Should I be worried?” Angie called after her.
Tina turned and gave her an assessing look. “Maybe.” She flicked a glance at Angie’s clothes. “And no jeans.”
Before Angie could say anything else, the assistant director let the door close behind her.
Angie waited until she heard Tina’s car pull away from the parking lot. Then she staggered back into a chair, planted her elbows on the workroom table, and covered her face with her hands.
The door to the main library opened with a protesting squeak. A slim arm surrounded her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Penny again. Angie covered Penny’s hand with her own and leaned into her friend. The soft cotton sweater on Penny’s shoulder cushioned Angie’s hot cheek. Breathing in her friend’s familiar, lemony scent, she relaxed a little bit.
“Oh, thank God,” she said.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Penny said. “I’m glad you’re relieved. I’m just not sure why you’re so thankful. From what I could tell before you closed the door, Tina was reaming your ass. In the nicest possible way, but still. Are you simply thrilled to have continued gainful employment?”
“Not that gainful,” Angie muttered.
“True enough. But you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m very happy she didn’t fire me. Trust me on that,” Angie said. “But on this particular occasion, I was giving thanks that Tina came and left through the workroom. She didn’t see the public spaces at all.”
“Why wouldn’t you want her to see the rest of the building? The library always looks great. You make sure of that.”
Angie raised her head and looked at Penny.
Penny gave a little start. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, shit. Yeah, that would’ve been ugly.”
“No joke.”
Angie stood up, and Penny’s arm slid off her shoulder. The two women walked into the main library and gazed wordlessly at the signs Angie had plastered over every available surface a week or so ago.
Each poster featured Cupid, but not the baby version. No, this particular Cupid was all man. He stood bare chested, wearing only a tiny white loincloth. Muscles rippled down his tight abs, strong arms, and long legs. A quiver of arrows lay on his back. He’d removed a single arrow and was holding it in one hand while gripping his bow in the other. His blond curls clustered in carefully created disarray around his chiseled features. He gleamed, as befitted a god. Or, alternatively, as befitted a male model who’d slathered baby oil all over himself.
The image: enticing. The professional judgment involved in displaying it: questionable. A firing offense? Given what Angie had heard today . . . maybe.
Below the image of Studly Cupid, she’d written, ATTENTION, ALL BATTLEFIELD LIBRARY PATRONS! ARE YOU INSPIRED BY VALENTINE’S DAY? IF SO, WRITE THE HOTTEST, MOST WELL-WRITTEN SEX SCENE YOU CAN (UP TO 2000 WORDS), PRINT IT OUT, AND TURN IT IN TO THE LIBRARY BY FEBR
UARY 13. THE AUTHOR OF THE BEST ONE—AS JUDGED BY OUR STAFF—WILL RECEIVE A GIFT CERTIFICATE FOR A COUPLES’ MASSAGE AT MOUNTAIN VALLEY MASSAGE!
The contest: very popular among her patrons. The professional judgment involved in creating it: very questionable. A firing offense? Given what she’d heard today . . . probably.
Both the image and the contest itself could potentially lead to Angie’s imminent unemployment. But she had an even bigger problem: the text above Cupid. The text she’d giggled over and typed with such glee.
THINK YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO STIFFEN CUPID’S ARROW? THE LIBRARY CHALLENGES YOU: MAKE HIS QUIVER . . . QUIVER.
The tagline: hilarious. At least to Angie and the patrons who’d commented on it. The professional judgment involved in using it: dismal. A firing offense? Given what she’d heard today . . . abso-fuckin’-lutely.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus.
“If you cancel the contest, patrons will complain and you’ll get fired,” Penny whispered. “If you don’t cancel the contest and the administration finds out, they’ll fire you anyway.”
Angie pursed her lips. There was no need to respond. Penny had pinpointed the problem with her customary precision.
“You’re fucked,” Penny added, as if Angie didn’t already know that.
“Without a doubt,” Angie said. “Without a doubt.”
2
One more complaint and we’ll fire you. We won’t want to, but we will.
No matter how intently Angie tried to concentrate on the narrow country road ahead of her, no matter how loudly the Beastie Boys howled about sabotage on her car’s stereo, the warning from Tina replayed in her traitorous brain.
There’s an announcement tomorrow that will affect you.
God knew what Tina had meant. So now Angie needed to survive a good twelve hours of uncertainty and dread before she discovered her fate. Her plans for the rest of the evening: Home. Bra removal. Beer. Bitching on the phone to her besties. More beer. Buying as many filthy e-books as her Kindle could handle. Finally, reading said e-books alongside various personal appliances until she fell asleep in a blaze of horny glory.