by Lauren Layne
He still doesn’t relax, the press of his fingers urgent, demanding. “Love me back,” he whispers. “Please love me back.”
I press my face to his neck. “You’re ridiculous,” I whisper. “Of course I love you back.”
Andrew’s eyes close, his head going back in relief, before he looks down at me with a smile. “If you really love me, we’ll never speak of the singing episode again.”
I grin back. “If you really love me, you’ll do an encore whenever I demand it.”
His gaze goes just a touch more serious as his fingers brush my lips. “I truly do love you, Georgiana. I owe you so many apologies for the way I spoke to you that night.”
“I’d like to hear those,” I say, going to my toes and kissing him. “Maybe later? In bed? Naked?”
“But—”
“Please don’t make me beg you to take me home right now,” I say with a little laugh.
He kisses me slowly and thoroughly, but pulls back far too soon and checks his watch. “Not yet. It’s just past three.”
I lift eyebrows. “You say that mighty casually for a man who usually gets up in two hours.”
“Actually, I get up in one hour. I usually wake up at four; I just dawdled a little so I could see you every morning.”
“Four? I don’t know if that’s sweet or obscene.”
“Both. Now, what time does your donut shop open?” he asks, putting an arm around my shoulder and pulling me close as he lifts a hand to hail a cab.
“Not till five, but they let me in at a quarter to.”
“Of course they do,” he mutters. “So what do you usually do until then?”
I shrug. “Talk with friends. Go to a diner. There’s an all-night coffee shop that does Disney karaoke from midnight to four—”
“The diner it is,” he says, ushering me into the cab.
“Should I be offended you’re not dragging me home and into bed as soon as possible?” I ask.
He smiles but doesn’t answer as he gives the taxi driver the intersection of a diner near our apartment building.
A couple of hours later, happy on coffee, hash browns, and the love of my life, I realize why Andrew was stalling. It was so that he could slide a perfect solitaire on the fourth finger of my left hand in our apartment building’s lobby with Ramon and Charles and the rest of the staff waiting with mimosas.
And in case you’re wondering…
At five A.M. on the dot, I said yes to being Mrs. Andrew Mulroney, Esquire.
Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER, SUNDAY EVENING, 6:00 P.M.
“What if she hates me?” I ask, bending slightly so I can check my reflection in the shiny oven door, fluffing my curls.
Andrew glances over as he opens the bottle of red wine. “Has anyone ever hated you?”
“You did,” I accuse, putting a hand on my hip. “From the very start.”
“Self-protection,” he says, pouring us each a glass of wine. “I’m smart, remember? I knew, even from the beginning, that you’d turn my life upside down.”
“And look how that worked out for you,” I murmur, taking the wineglass from him and tilting my face up for a kiss. He obliges, and what I meant to be a playful peck turns hot far too quickly considering that we have dinner guests arriving any minute.
“Don’t suppose we could cancel?” he says in a husky voice when I gently push him back.
“Absolutely not. I’m determined to make a good impression on Dad’s new girlfriend. Plus Peter will kill you if you make him come all the way into the city for nothing.”
“You know I see right through you, right?” he says, helping himself to a piece of cheese and a cracker. “Everyone knows that you just want to see the kid.”
“I can’t help it if I’m the best auntie in the world,” I say breezily.
He’s right, though. Pam gave birth to a healthy baby girl a few months ago, and I’ve fallen hard for my new niece. I also can’t wait to give Kim a cousin to play with someday soon, but for now I’m just enjoying being a wife to the man of my dreams.
Life is…well, quite honestly, life is amazing.
Andrew and I were married last month in the most perfect wedding ever. Marley was maid of honor, naturally, although I did talk her out of the gold glitter dress and into a gorgeous lavender gown instead.
My dress, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, was white, sparkly, and enormous. It took Andrew nearly ten minutes to get it off me at the end of the evening, but I made it worth his while.
As for my parents, they’re, well…fine. Mom’s embracing the single life like nobody’s business, and though it still hurts that they’re not together anymore, I have to admit she’s sort of thriving. And she’s happy. So I’m happy.
Dad’s happy too, even more so now that he’s started seeing the mysterious Melinda, who I’ll get to meet tonight.
Andrew and I have dinner with Liv Dotson and her hot Yankee center fielder at least once a month, and Marley’s dating a dentist who she’s over the moon for. And get this…Brody ended up marrying his midwestern baby mama after all. They live in Iowa, and last I heard, he’s never been happier.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is that they all lived happily ever after.
Especially me.
For everyone who believes in a Disney version of happily ever after…
Acknowledgments and Letter to Readers
Hi everyone, Lauren Layne here!
Thanks so much for taking the time to read Walk of Shame! I know from personal experience that there are so many more wonderful books to pass hours reading, so I’m truly grateful you picked Georgie and Andrew to spend time with.
While I can say without a doubt that I love every single book that I write, it’s also safe to say that some books are trickier than others. Some make me sweat to get them just right.
Others simply…are.
Walk of Shame was in the latter category—one of those stories where the biggest struggle was getting my fingers to type fast enough to get the story out of my head and onto the page. If you enjoyed reading it even half as well as I enjoyed writing it, I will be one happy author.
I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise that this book is very much a love letter to love. Aside from the most obvious shout-out to the movie Enchanted (which I’ve seen approximately two million times), there are several other nods to some of my favorite over-the-top love stories in this book. I don’t know that I set out to write a book that was a celebration of the HEA, but that’s what I ended up with, and I couldn’t be happier with the results.
Of course, as with all my books, it’s absolutely not a solo effort. There’s a whole LL team behind every book, starting with my husband, who’s always very kind to lend me to my fictional heroes as I’m in the writing zone, letting me fall in love with someone else, just for a short time.
From there, I put Walk of Shame in the oh-so-capable hands of Sue Grimshaw, my fabulous editor, who’s a genius at seeing how to take the messy first draft and turn it into an actual book.
And thanks to Kristi Yanta, who reads (almost) all my books in their fugliest stage and always seems to understand my vision for the story and know what tweaks need to be made in order to make it sparkle.
A big thank-you to Janet Wygal and the rest of the production team who polished the book into reader-ready prettiness, and to my ladies Erika Seyfried and Madeleine Kenney for their amazing organization and marketing vision for getting my books discovered by readers.
To Gina Wachtel and Matt Schwartz for all the vision and support, and for taking care of all the “stuff” so I don’t have to.
A long, dramatic slow clap, please, for Lynn Andreozzi and her amazing design team, because this cover…it’s everything.
Hugs to my amazing agent for being ever patient with the fact that I go weeks ignoring her calls while in the writing cave, only to bombard her with a dozen calls on the two days when I come up for air.
Same goes for Lisa Filipe, who des
erves all the chocolate on the planet for dealing with my shenanigans, and for holding down the fort while I disappear into my head for days (weeks? months?) at a time.
And, lastly, to my street team and all the loyal LL fans whose enthusiasm for books sustains me when I get overwhelmed or discouraged. I just…love you guys. (*awkward hug, because I’m bad at hugging*)
If you guys have gotten this far, THANK YOU. Thank you for reading Walk of Shame and for supporting all of us authors in our passion projects.
For the latest Lauren Layne news, and all Lauren Layne books, please be sure to check out my website!
BY LAUREN LAYNE
Love Unexpectedly
Blurred Lines
Good Girl
Love Story
Walk of Shame
I Do, I Don’t
Ready to Run (August 2017)
Runaway Groom (September 2017)
Just Run with It (October 2017)
Oxford Series
Irresistibly Yours
I Wish You Were Mine
Someone Like You
I Knew You Were Trouble (June 2017)
Sex, Love, & Stiletto Series
After the Kiss
Love the One You’re With
Just One Night
The Trouble with Love
Redemption Series
Isn’t She Lovely
Broken
Crushed
PHOTO: © ANTHONY LEDONNE
LAUREN LAYNE is the USA Today bestselling author of over a dozen novels. A former e-commerce and Web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated in 2011 to New York City, where she left the corporate world to pursue a full-time writing career.
Her hobbies include maintaining a designer purse addiction and observing cocktail hour. Lauren lives with her high school sweetheart in midtown Manhattan, where she writes romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush.
laurenlayne.com
laurenlayne.com/the-ll-monthly
Facebook.com/LaurenLayneAuthor
Twitter: @_LaurenLayne
Instagram: @_laurenlayne
Read on for an excerpt from
I Knew You Were Trouble
An Oxford Novel
by Lauren Layne
Available from Loveswept
Prologue
ONE YEAR AGO
One thing nobody had warned Taylor Carr to be prepared for on her first day on a new job at the country’s top-selling men’s magazine?
The eye candy.
As in lots and lots of the hottest guys she’d ever seen, each one better dressed and more charming than the last.
Taylor liked to consider herself a no-nonsense kind of girl. Had probably been called a ballbuster behind her back once or twice.
But here amid the suit-wearing perfection that was the men of Oxford magazine, she felt a little…
Breathless.
Perhaps she should have been prepared. She’d interviewed for the job with Alex Cassidy, the editor in chief who would be her boss.
As far as male specimens went, it didn’t get much hotter than the green-eyed, dark-haired brand of tall dark and handsome that Alex Cassidy had going on.
But even if the title of boss hadn’t marked him off-limits already, the gold wedding band marked him as a look but don’t touch.
Little did she know that Cassidy was the rule, not the exception. So far on her tour of the office, she’d met at least a half dozen guys who qualified as perfect tens in her book.
Taylor wasn’t ashamed to admit she had a type. She liked her men polished, successful, and quick-witted, and so far the guys at Oxford ticked all her boxes.
She tried to remind herself that she was above this.
That she’d practically been raised in high heels, was professional enough to rise above ogling her colleagues, and that her aunt would be absolutely appalled if Taylor’s only impression of her first day was “cute boys” and not world domination.
But damn if Taylor wasn’t just a little disappointed by how many of them either had wedding rings or had given her the polite welcome of a man whose heart—and body—was otherwise engaged.
“I hate to do this on your first day, but okay if I hand off the rest of your tour? I’ve got a meeting in five that I tried to get out of, but—”
Taylor waved her hand at Alex Cassidy. “Please. Don’t worry about it. Just point me toward someone who can show me where the coffee is kept and give me a couple lunch recommendations, and I’ll have everything I need.”
The editor in chief had spent the past fifteen minutes taking her around the office, making introductions, doing the typical we’re like a family speech, although she had to admit that, based on what she’d seen, it did feel a bit like a family.
Cassidy smiled. “That I can do. And I know just the person.”
Taylor braced for another obnoxiously attractive man, but the small office Cassidy led her to belonged to a woman. A pretty twentysomething with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a friendly smile.
“Brit, this is Taylor Carr. She’s starting today with the advertising team. Taylor, this is Brit Robbins, digital marketing extraordinaire.”
Brit smiled. “Welcome! Fab shoes,” she said with an approving look at Taylor’s Jimmy Choos.
“Annnnd, that’s my cue,” Cassidy joked, already backing out of the office. “You mind showing Taylor the rest of the office? Specifically, where she can find coffee.”
“Should I also tell her the coffee sucks because you won’t replace the machine?” Brit called after an already retreating Cassidy.
He didn’t respond, and Brit turned her attention back to Taylor, giving her a once-over that was unabashed but friendly. “So. Please don’t think me forward, but there’s a shocking lack of stylish women around this place. Any chance you want to be best friends and talk about boys?”
Taylor laughed in surprised pleasure.
She had never been much of a girls’ girl.
Growing up she’d been almost painfully shy in that way that other kids interpreted as standoffish. By high school, her aunt’s icy demeanor had rubbed off on Taylor enough that the other girls’ avoidance of her hadn’t hurt—much.
College had gotten better. She’d joined a sorority, learned how to play nice with the other girls, so to speak. She’d also learned that for every competitive, catty woman out there, there was another perfectly nice, loyal friend to be had.
Still, she could count her really good female friends on one hand, and none of them lived in New York. She was definitely due for a local BFF.
Taylor leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “So I’m not the only one who noticed.”
“That we live in the headquarters of hot guys? No, trust me. I spent the first six months trying to remember to wipe away the drool. I was basically HR’s worst nightmare.”
“No dating among colleagues?”
Brit shrugged as she picked up her cellphone and gestured for Taylor to follow her down the hallway. “As far as I know, it’s not an official rule, I just know I lack the emotional maturity to handle a workplace romance.”
“Not even a holiday-party hookup?”
“Nah, but trust me, if Lincoln Mathis looked my way twice, I’d break all my own rules.”
“Yeah, I met him. He’s…” Taylor broke off, trying to figure out how to describe the black-haired, blue-eyed journalist Cassidy had introduced her to earlier.
“There are no words,” Brit finished for Taylor. “No words for someone that good-looking.”
“He got a girlfriend?”
Brit shrugged. “Not sure. He’s got a reputation as a ladies’ man, but so did most of the guys in the editorial group before they settled down.”
“Is there a big division between the editorial group and the rest of us?” Taylor asked.
“Everyone’s friendly, but mostly it’s the columnists on one side of the building, the operations and strategy group on the other.”
“Any chance the guys on the operations and strategy side of things are more human-looking?” Taylor joked.
Brit lifted her finger and gestured to a door to their right. “Ladies’ room, in case Cassidy forgot to point it out. But no, we’ve got our fair share of hotties on our side too, although I’d rather die than admit it to Hunter.”
“Hunter Cross?” Taylor asked.
Brit glanced over. “My best guy friend. You know him?”
“Just by name. It was a big deal he left a VP role at his last marketing firm to take a lesser title here.”
“Please don’t tell him that,” Brit said in a joking tone. “He’s insufferable enough as it is.”
Good-looking too. Taylor had never met him in person, but based on his headshot, Hunter Cross likely blended in very nicely with the Oxford crew.
“There are two kitchen/break room areas,” Brit was saying. “You in an office or the bullpen?”
“Office,” Taylor said.
The bullpen was an affectionate term given to an “open office,” where instead of individual offices, employees worked alongside each other without doors separating them. Typically allotted to more junior employees, or groups whose functions require collaboration over privacy.
“Well, should you ever need to find anyone in the bullpen, welcome to the center of it all.” Brit stopped and lifted her hands in front of her, gesturing to the bustling scene in front of them.
Men still dominated the room, although there were more women on this side than over in the editorial group, which had been mostly hot guys in their private offices.
Plenty of them glanced up at her and Brit, their gazes friendly but curious. She gave a smile, refusing to feel shy even though she hated being the newcomer—hated feeling vulnerable in any way, for fear that someone would see right through her confident shield and call her out as a fraud. To expose her as what she really was on the inside: lonely. Maybe a little unlovable, if one wanted to get melodramatic about it.