Life Shocks Romances Contemporary Romance Box Set

by Jade Kerrion

  Drew gritted his teeth as he gripped the armrest. His biceps cording, he pressed down and pushed to his feet. He reached for his crutches. His first few steps were slow and unsteady, but he was not in a rush. His practice was best done in the privacy of his apartment instead of in the mad and impatient swirl of New York City.

  He had just completed two loops around his apartment when his smartphone rang. He leaned against the closest wall and tugged the phone from his pocket. No caller ID. Frowning, he accepted the call. “Hello.”

  “Hi, Drew.”

  Her voice jolted him. “Maggie.”

  “I just got in.”

  “Got in? You’re in New York?”

  “Yes. I’d like to talk about my finances, and I wondered, are you free to meet me tonight?”

  Tonight? He could barely frame a coherent thought. What was she doing back in New York? “Yeah, I am. Where would you like to meet?”

  “How about your place?”

  “My place?”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Drew hobbled the short distance to the door and flung it open. Maggie, stunning in a sapphire blue dress that matched her eyes, stood outside the door. With a smile, she disconnected the call and slipped her smartphone back into her handbag. Her eyes lit. “You’re walking!”

  Drew glanced down at his crutches. “I’m trying.”

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  He still couldn’t think clearly, but he stepped aside to let her in.

  Maggie’s gaze flicked across the apartment. He couldn’t tell if she noticed the Tiffany box on his bedside table. When she turned back to him, she wore her professional smile, the one that appeared on magazine covers. It reminded him of the distance between them.

  “Sorry, I would have picked up if I’d expected company,” he said. “What would you have done if I wasn’t home?”

  “But you were. I saw you enter the building, in your wheelchair, ten minutes ago.”

  She had been watching him? “Why?”

  “Why what?” she returned innocently.

  “Why are you back in New York?”

  “I told you. I wanted to talk about my budget.”

  “And e-mail or an international phone call wouldn’t have worked?”

  She pouted at him. “I wanted to see you. You look tired, but it appears physical therapy is paying off.”

  He nodded.

  “Would you like to sit?” she asked. “You should be sitting before I talk about my one-off.”

  Drew lowered himself into a chair. “Are you budgeting for it?”

  “That’s the plan,” she said with a broad smile that made him suspicious. She reached into her handbag for a tablet.

  “How is Milan?” he asked as she walked around the table to stand behind him.

  “Lovely. I finally moved out of the hotel and into this delicious little condo. Prime location. Took me forever to find it.” She set the tablet in front of him and tapped her way into a spreadsheet.

  Drew went straight to the bottom line. “It’s a lot of money.”

  “It’s a big deal. I broke down the line items in the budget; I knew you’d want to see the details. Perhaps you can find additional ways to bring the cost down?” She leaned over his shoulder and scrolled up on the page.

  His trained eye jumped to the big dollar numbers.

  Rings.

  Catering charges.

  Open bar.

  Photographer.

  Table and chair rentals.

  Decorating costs

  Reception band.

  Venue fee.

  Drew’s breath caught. His thoughts froze. She was planning a wedding.

  His gaze continued down the page, as if he needed more confirmation.

  Dress—was she really planning to spend $10,000 on a dress?

  Jewelry.

  Shoes.

  Wedding planner.

  Wedding favors.

  Tuxedo.

  His throat tightened. His head felt like it would explode—too many stray thoughts, not a single clear conclusion. “It’s a lot of money.”

  She nodded as casually as if they were talking about budgeting for a picnic in Central Park. “That’s why I thought I’d come to you and get your take on this.”

  “Your income gives you enough breathing room to absorb this over twelve months without drastically cutting your lifestyle. If you want, I can escrow for it. When…do you need this money?”

  “Late spring, early summer.”

  He set the tablet down and closed his eyes. The pain in his chest was so real he had to clench his hands into fists to keep them from pressing against his heart in an irrational attempt to alleviate the pain. “Congratulations,” he managed to get out.

  “Thank you.”

  He heard the smile and genuine delight in her voice.

  He had wanted her to get married. He had told himself once that he would be able to move on once she did. Let it go. She’s found someone else. My only job is to manage her money.

  Now, Drew realized, he had only been lying to himself. Hating himself, he asked, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  ~*~

  Maggie still didn’t know whether to scream or cry, but then, what was Drew supposed to think after three and a half months of complete silence between them?

  Instead of replying, she reached over his shoulder for her tablet and pulled up her Pinterest account where she had saved pictures of wedding invitation card designs. “I hope you’re grateful I narrowed down the thousands of choices into two. Which one do you like?”

  The first featured entwined calla lilies and the second showcased mini roses. In both cases, the flowers framed the names Marguerite Ferrara and Drew Jackson.

  He froze.

  She waved her fingers in front of his nose to make sure he was still breathing.

  Keep it casual, she coached herself. She had rehearsed it a thousand times in her mind. The only way to get past Drew’s formidable defenses was to act as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I know you don’t have a tux, but if you’d rather not look like a penguin, a regular suit is perfectly fine. That will save…let’s see, $250 on the rental. Good, that’s like a bottle of champagne for the wedding night. Rounding error, as you might say.”

  “Maggie—”

  Don’t give him a chance to object. “I was thinking of a May wedding. I know that’s only a month and a half away, but Cheryl, my wedding planner, swears everything is on track. Even my dress is ready; I designed it myself. I’d show it to you, but it’s supposed to be bad luck. Your parents and my mom finalized the guest list. Greg and Brandon helped some. The envelopes have been addressed. All you have to do is pick the card, and the invitations can be in the mail by this weekend.”

  “Maggie—”

  She leaned down, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pressed her cheek against his. She tapped on another Pinterest board to bring up pictures of just about every key European city. “And for the honeymoon, we can do Paris. I actually prefer Cinque Terre, but when we’re in Italy, we can take lots of extended weekend trips there. The condo I found in Milan is five hundred feet from the best hospital in the city. I got Dr. Hendricks to interview several specialists in Milan, and the picky bastard finally found someone he’d trust with your continued care and physical therapy. As soon as you sign the release for your medical records, Dr. Hendricks will send your file to Dr. Costa so that he can get your treatment plan set up before you arrive.”

  “Maggie—”

  She turned his chair around so she could look him in the face. “I love you, Drew, but I refuse to do what you or my father think is best for me. I’m going to do what I know is best for me, and that means marrying you. You said you wanted me to be happy. The only thing that will make me happy is knowing that I can come home to you, always, whether home is here or in Italy. Oh, that, and the fact that you’ll be legally obligated to wake up next to me every morning.”

  His dark eyes locked
on her. “Maggie, will you shut up long enough for me to propose to you?”

  “Yes! I do!” She threw her arms around his neck and claimed his mouth with a kiss. He filled her senses—this man whom she had loved for so long—his familiar, clean scent mixed in with the crisp fragrance of his aftershave. His hands gripped her waist hard, and he embraced her with the desperation of a dying man given a fresh promise of life. Their tongues tangled, their breaths united.

  “But I didn’t even ask yet,” he said as they came up for air.

  “Too late, I’ve already accepted. And I lied to you. I already chose the invitations and mailed them out yesterday.”

  “What?”

  “That was Plan B. I figured that if pure love wasn’t enough to move you, that the thought of poor little Maggie Ferrara jilted at the altar by her fiancé would get you down the aisle.”

  His eyes widened. “Blackmail?”

  “Darling, you’re stubborn as hell, especially when you think you’re right. I had to pull out all the stops.” She relaxed in his arms. “But what made you change your mind? Surely it wasn’t my eloquence.”

  Drew glanced at the little blue box on the bedside table. “When I realized that the hope of marrying you one day was the only thing that got me out of bed each morning.” He rested his head against her breasts, drew a deep breath, and closed his eyes. Tension eased out of his shoulders.

  Maggie smiled as she cradled his head. She was home. They were both finally where they belonged—in each other’s arms.

  EPILOGUE

  That particular Sunday morning had begun like any other. Felicity Rivers, wrapped in her bathrobe, bent down to pick up the newspapers that had been delivered through the mail slot in her door. She gathered up the pile of yesterday’s mail too.

  She sat at the breakfast table, sipping from a mug of coffee, as she idly flipped through the Sunday paper. A large photograph in the Entertainment section caught her eye. Marguerite Ferrara looked like a modern-day princess, stunning in a pale-cream lace and satin wedding gown that hugged her curves before flaring out into a mermaid-style bridal train. She had gathered her blond hair into a chignon—an unusual style for her—and happiness radiated from her eyes.

  Next to her, Drew Jackson looked dashing in a tuxedo. According to the article, Drew had made significant improvement since his spinal injury in December; he had progressed from crutches to a cane and had even managed a short and slow wedding dance with Maggie. Like Maggie, the happiness in his smile extended far beyond what words could adequately express.

  Social media channels buzzed, apparently aghast at Marguerite’s choice of a partner. Felicity, however, was not surprised. She had seen Maggie, drooping with exhaustion, keeping faithful watch by Drew’s bedside. No one could have loved him more, and no one was more deserving of his love.

  Felicity smiled through the ache in her chest. She was happy for them.

  She set the newspaper aside and picked up her mail. Her chest tightened as she ripped open an envelope with the loan company’s return address. The pink slip inside reminded her that the ninety-day forbearance period on her brother’s medical school loans, which she had co-signed, had expired, and on top of that, the payments were ninety days overdue. The letter, not politely, threatened to turn the account over to a collections company.

  Go for it, Felicity thought bitterly. There was nothing to collect.

  She set the collection letter aside and glanced at the rest of her mail. Most of them were store catalogs, but one stood out. It was a small envelope addressed to her in an unfamiliar hand, with a return address, but no name.

  She opened the envelope and pulled out a card. It had only three words. I’m so sorry.

  It was signed “Cody.”

  Trembling with rage, Felicity crumpled the card and flung it across the room. Damn you, Darrell, for dying and leaving me alone, she cursed her brother. And damn you, Cody Hart. You killed my brother.

  CRUSHED

  Cody Hart, the daredevil black sheep of the esteemed Hart clan, should never have made it to his twenty-fifth birthday. What he hadn’t counted on, though, was his best friend dying instead of him.

  Emotionally devastated and financially ruined by the death of her brother, Felicity Rivers is down to her last hundred dollars when Cody offers his help, at a price. She’s out of options, but nothing on Earth could possibly entice her into the arms of the man who killed her brother.

  CHAPTER ONE

  If Felicity Rivers needed an indicator of just how far she had fallen, she found it in the realization that a good day was scarcely different from a bad day.

  The ceiling fan above her head creaked as it cast its shadow over the old carpet. The muggy air infusing her bedroom scarcely stirred in response. She did not notice the heat any more than she paid heed to her small and cramped quarters. It was a far cry from the expansive one-bedroom apartment she had occupied in a classy West End condominium six months earlier, but such was life, and life sucked.

  She sat cross-legged on her single bed, hunched over her computer notebook. Squinting against her headache and the glare of the screen, Felicity reread the e-mail she had composed, swallowed her pride, and hit “send.”

  Her gaze fell on a book on the bedside table. Her fingers twitched toward it. She had not had time to read in weeks, and she wanted, so badly, to get lost in a world where her problems did not exist.

  No, she had to do the responsible thing, and at that moment, sleeping was the responsible thing. She sighed, set her computer notebook aside, and got out of bed to turn off the light. The digital numbers on her alarm clock gleamed bright green in the darkness. It was two thirty in the morning. There seemed hardly any point in going to bed. She would have to get up in two and a half hours to begin her workday; it was a long commute into the city.

  Her cell phone rang. She snatched it up before its shrill tone disturbed Stacie, who was asleep in the next room. “Hello?”

  “Felicity? It’s Drew.”

  “Drew?” She sank down on her bed. “Why are you calling now?”

  “I was at my computer when your e-mail came in. I figured that if you were awake enough to send an e-mail, you were probably awake enough to talk.”

  She cast a confused glance at the clock. “What time is it where you are?”

  “Eight thirty. I’m in Milan, six hours ahead of you.”

  “Oh.” In spite of her throbbing head, Felicity relaxed into a smile. Drew Jackson, her former boyfriend, was a financial advisor. He had recently married Marguerite Ferrara, who modeled and designed clothes for the Italian fashion house, StilEterno. “You’re back from your honeymoon. How was it?”

  “More relaxing than I expected.”

  She laughed. “I suspect Maggie is a lot more laid back now that she has what she wants—you.”

  “That probably has something to do with it.” The easy humor vanished from Drew’s voice. “And how are you?”

  Felicity’s shoulders sagged on a silent sigh. “Well, the e-mail captures the gist of it.”

  “But why didn’t your brother’s medical school loans discharge with his death?”

  Death. The word still sent aftershocks through her. With effort, she steadied herself and focused on the conversation with Drew. “Because I co-signed them.”

  “What?”

  “The banks wanted a co-signer, and I had a steady job, so why not?” Her twin brother, Darrell, was the only family she had, and she would have done anything for him.

  Drew was silent for a moment.

  Was he trying to find the right words? Felicity rushed to fill in the silence. She didn’t want his sympathy or condolences. They distracted her from the fact that she had a problem to solve right now. “I’ve done all I know how to do. I’ve given up my West End apartment, sold just about everything I owned that was worth something, and moved across the river.”

  “To New Jersey? That’s a hell of a commute.”

  “Two hours on a good day.” Twice or thre
e times that if the transportation network clogged up. “The savings managed to keep the loan company happy for three months, but it’s all gone now, and I don’t earn a regular income from my second job.”

  “When did you take up a second job?” Drew sounded concerned. “What do you do?”

  “Virtual assistant. Thirty bucks an hour, but I’ve only just started, and I don’t have any regulars yet. Once I do, it’ll be better.” She decided to leave out the fact that she was weeks late on her rent and her share of the utility bill.

  “Have you negotiated a loan repayment plan with the bank?”

  “Yes. It was the most lenient plan they said they could offer me.” Her gaze fell on her bedside table. Despite the darkened room, she could make out the most recent letter from the bank. It threatened to garnish her wages. Good luck, she thought bitterly. Her inability to pay her brother’s education loans was not from lack of trying.

  “All right,” Drew said. “I’ll take a look at your finances. I might be able to make a few suggestions.” He hesitated. “Will you accept a personal loan?”

  “No,” Felicity snapped out the word like a curse. She realized, belatedly, how hostile she sounded. “I mean, thank you for the offer, but I’d rather owe the government than my friends. I don’t want to declare bankruptcy, but if I have no choice—”

  “Bankruptcy probably won’t discharge those student loans, and you’d be no better off.”

  Felicity sighed. “That’s what I figured.”

  “How are you, really?” Drew asked.

  She knew he wasn’t asking about her finances, but about her. In that moment, she was grateful he could not see her in her tiny room, with the remnants of her life around her. Drew was a good man, and like many good men, he had a compulsion to protect women, whether or not they needed his protection. She had to remember that he was Maggie’s white knight now, not hers.

  Felicity forced a smile, knowing that it would trickle into her voice. “Not great, but it’ll be better here on out.” She hoped it would be enough to assuage Drew.