Accidental Triplets
Layla Valentine
Holly Rayner
Contents
Accidental Triplets
1. Cassidy
2. Cassidy
3. Rhys
4. Rhys
5. Cassidy
6. Cassidy
7. Cassidy
8. Rhys
9. Cassidy
10. Cassidy
11. Cassidy
12. Rhys
13. Cassidy
14. Cassidy
15. Rhys
16. Cassidy
17. Rhys
18. Cassidy
19. Rhys
20. Cassidy
21. Rhys
22. Cassidy
23. Rhys
24. Cassidy
Epilogue
Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner
Second Chance Twins
Introduction
1. Shelley
2. Shelley
3. Miles
4. Shelley
5. Shelley
More Series by Holly Rayner
Accidental Triplets
Copyright 2018 by Layla Valentine and Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Cassidy
“My God. Cassidy—how do you do it?”
A pleased little smile formed on my lips.
“Can't really say. Just sort of comes to me.”
Winnie Samson, the impossibly stylishly dressed fashion reporter, made a slow circle around the willowy female model outfitted in my latest design. A look of disbelief was painted on Winnie’s face. She made loop after loop around the model, shaking her head slowly as though she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
“I'm normally not so forward with designers who I profile—journalistic impartiality and all that—but I have to say: you have a gift.”
I gave Winnie a little nod that said, “Why, thank you.”
It was nice to hear the words, but by this point, I was getting a little used to it all. The rave reviews, hordes of top models all clamoring to wear my clothes, the fashion shows with “Cassidy May” front-and-center in big, bold letters…it was all routine by this point. But that didn't mean I didn’t appreciate a compliment every now and then, especially from someone as esteemed as Winnie.
“Well,” she said, stepping back and placing her hands on her slim hips, “I don't know what else to say. I've spent the last week with you and you've managed to impress me more and more with each passing day. I’ll admit that I was a little apprehensive about putting someone as new to the game as you on the cover of Chic, but now that I've had a chance to look at your work…well, I can't think of anyone more fitting.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but before a word could pass my lips, one of the many assistants zipping here and there in the dressing room backstage of my fashion show rushed to my side.
“Miss May,” he said, clearly a little intimidated to be interrupting my conversation with Winnie.
“Yes?” I asked. “I'm a little busy at the moment.”
“Oh, I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to,” said Winnie. “Don't let me hold you up.”
I took in a slow breath and turned to my assistant.
“Yes?”
“There's someone here to see you.”
“Oh, really?” I asked. “Someone thinks they can just show up unannounced backstage on the night of my spring line debut?”
“If it had been just ‘someone' I would've told them to get lost,” he said. “But it's not just ‘someone'. It's…Rhys Cole.”
Holy shit, I thought. Rhys Cole—billionaire owner of Cole Apparel, one of the top fashion houses in the world—was here to see me? My heart began to thud in my chest and a thrill of giddy excitement ran up my spine. On the outside, however, the only sign of my internal state that I allowed to show was my trademark, slightly-raised right eyebrow.
“Mr. Cole?” I asked. “Well, then, send him in.”
Winnie's face lit up. I could tell that she was just as excited to see him as I was. I was doing a better job at hiding it, however.
My assistant gave a little bow before disappearing into the bustling crowd of backstage personnel. Moments later, gasps sounded through the crowd, and I knew that this meant Mr. Cole had arrived.
I turned towards the direction of the commotion, and there he was. Tall, gorgeous, with a head of striking, slicked-back blond hair, eyes as blue and bright as a frozen pond with the sun shining down directly overhead, and a jaw that seemed carved out of granite, he was about the most perfect specimen of man I could imagine. He was dressed in one of his usual perfectly tailored dark suits, complete with a tie and pocket square patterned with subtle blue and white stripes.
“Miss May,” he said, stepping towards me with perfect poise and extending his hand. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”
His voice was smooth and rich as butter. I took his hand and shook it gently; his grip was warm and firm. There was instant electricity between us.
“Likewise, Mr. Cole,” I said.
“Winnie,” he acknowledged, giving her a slight nod.
Winnie waved her hand in such a girlishly giddy way that she seemed more like an awestruck middle-schooler than one of the toughest fashion reporters in San Bravado.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked.
Rhys took a slow glance around the bustling backstage scene.
“I was in town for an investor meeting and thought I'd drop by to meet the hottest new name in fashion,” he said. “Looks like you're about to have quite a show.”
“Just a spring line debut,” I said.
“Just?” he asked, raising his thick eyebrows. “I see that you're as modest as you are gorgeous.”
Stunning and forward, I thought. Fine with me.
“Oh, Mr. Cole,” I chuckled. “It looks like your reputation as a ladies’ man isn't ill-founded.”
“I'm not in the business of holding my opinions back,” he replied, not missing a beat.
“I can see that.”
A brief, magnetic moment flashed between us.
“Well,” he said. “I'll let you get back to it. Though, I'd love to continue this conversation over drinks, if you can find somewhere to squeeze me in.”
“I think I can find a spot for you,” I said, giving him a flirty half-smile.
“Actually,” he said, stepping close to me, cutting the distance between us. “Why even wait for drinks? How about we just cut to the chase and find an empty dressing room? Then, I can show you the real reason for my lady-killer reputation.”
He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me close.
“Oh, Mr. Cole,” I said, my voice breathy. “You're incorrigible.”
“Hey!” a voice seemed to cut in from somewhere in the distance.
“Why not just do it here, in front of everyone?” Rhys asked. “I'm not shy if you're not.”
“Excuse me, miss!” It was that voice again.
“Only if you prom
ise to make me come over and over again,” I told Rhys.
“Can someone please assist me? This woman's just staring off into space.”
“Happy to accept the challenge,” said Rhys.
“Hold on, she does this sometimes. Earth to Cassidy. Come in, Cassidy.”
Then, a hand shot in front of my face, the fingers making a crisp snap.
Just like that, I was back in reality. I looked around, seeing that I was no longer backstage at my fantasy fashion show, but on the main floor of the Cole Apparel store, where I worked as an assistant manager. In front of me was Karla, my shift leader, and to my right was a plump, sour-faced, middle-aged woman who looked like she had wealth to spare.
I shook my head and cleared out the last remains of my pleasant little fantasy.
“I'm so sorry, ma’am,” I said, affecting my best customer-service voice. “Just going through some inventory in my head. How can I help you?”
Karla flashed me a wry smirk and shook her head good-naturedly as she sauntered away, leaving me to deal with the customer.
“You could sure do better to focus on the customer while you're working the floor,” she said. “I shouldn't have to make a scene to get your attention like that. Really!”
Ah, the joys of customer service.
“Well, I'm here and present now,” I said. “And happy to help.”
“Good,” she said. “Now, I wanted to see if you had this top in my size. Your shelves are looking a little bare, and I know you people like to keep things in the back rooms.”
I glanced down at the top, which was some gaudy, sequined thing from one of the other labels we carried—one of those pieces that showed off both the wealth and the poor taste of the woman wearing it.
“Let me just take a look,” I said. “Come with me…”
The rest of the workday trickled by at a snail's pace. Once my shift was over, I got the hell out of there so fast, I could've sworn I'd left behind a cartoon-style dust cloud.
See, I had big plans that night. Somehow, against all odds, I'd managed to use my position as an employee of Mr. Cole to snag an invite for the huge fashion show that was being held in San Bravado that evening, featuring Rhys Cole and Nina Wauters, two of the biggest names in the West Coast scene. I'd been looking forward to the event for the last month, and now, finally, the big night had arrived.
Whipping through traffic in my humble car, I pulled up to my apartment complex and rushed up the stairs. Moments later, I stepped into my trendy—although admittedly shoebox-sized and pretty cluttered with fabrics and random design supplies—apartment. Then, it was time to begin the process of going through just what I was going to wear tonight.
I knew that I had to make a splash, to wear something eye-catching and stylish that reflected my taste. After all, anyone who was anyone was going to be there tonight, and if I was going to put my retail days behind me and start the fashion career I'd been dreaming about since high school graduation, I couldn't afford not to make a killer first impression.
With three outfits laid out on my bed, I put my hands on my hips and looked them over with my careful, designer's eye. Before I had a chance to even begin the process of deciding between them, however, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that it was Erin, my best friend and plus-one for the show tonight.
“Hey, girl!” I answered as I picked up. “You ready for tonight?”
“Um, hey,” she said, her tone somehow apologetic before she even managed to say a word.
“Why are you talking like that?” I asked. “You sound like you're about to give me some really, really bad news.”
“That's because I kind of am. Well, it's actually good news…sort of.”
“Let's hear it,” I said, wanting to rip the Band-Aid off as fast as possible.
“Well, you know that guy at work that I haven't been able to shut up about?”
“Oh, you mean Ryan, the insanely hot financial advisor with the most amazing green eyes in the world and forearms that you just want to bite into? Of course I know who he is, lady, you've been gaga about him for the last two months.”
Erin laughed.
“Okay, and you know that he just broke up with his girlfriend last month, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that I've been doing everything but wearing a giant neon sign above me that says ‘ask me out, please!' in big letters?”
“Right.”
“Well, I guess he finally got the hint, because he asked me this afternoon if I wanted to go to Le Poisson Rouge with him tonight.”
“Are you serious? How the hell did he get a reservation there? I heard they were booked up until the end of the year!”
“I know, I know! I guess he knows the right people or something. But, um, I kind of got so excited that he was asking me out that I forgot all about the show tonight. Sorry, Cass.”
The disappointment hit me like a punch to the gut, but Erin had been going crazy over this guy for months; I couldn't blame her for forgetting about other obligations.
“No problem,” I said. “I can handle this one solo. You have a great time.”
“Are you sure?” asked Erin. “I mean, I could try to cancel; I know we've had these plans for weeks and you've been beyond excited about going.”
“Don't you even think about canceling with Ryan. If I were in your shoes, I'd do the same thing.”
“Okay, last chance,” she said.
“You go on that date or I'm gonna swoop in and steal him out from under you.”
“Thanks, Cass. And sorry for being a bad friend. I promise I'll make it up to you.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “You're the best friend a girl could ask for. Thank me by having a killer night.”
“Aw, you're the best. Okay, I gotta get ready. Have fun tonight, and tell me all about it!”
“You too!”
With that, I hung up and tossed my phone on the bed. I’d done my best to hide it on the phone, but I was beyond disappointed. It wasn't just having to go to this event alone—I could handle that—it was the fact that it felt like every woman I knew was having more success in her dating life than me. Erin was my last single girlfriend, and I'd come to rely on her as the one girl with whom I could commiserate about being lonely as eff. But if she ended up pairing off with a guy like Ryan, that would mean I was really, truly alone.
I shook my head and tried my best to focus on the night ahead. Figuring that some wine would help the process, I poured myself a glass and stood in front of the dresses once again. About halfway through, I decided on the long, black number.
“Black is simple and classic. Eye-catching, but not showy,” I said to myself. “Oh shit, I'm already talking to myself; this isn't good.”
I downed the rest of the glass of wine, poured another, and got ready before I started having a full-on conversation with myself. Once I was all dressed, I took a look at myself in the mirror. Reflected back was stylishly-cut, chocolate-brown hair; fair, slightly freckled skin; full, red lips; and almond-shaped hazel eyes, outlined with a perfect cat-eye.
I'm not terrible-looking, I thought, adjusting my dress to show off just a hint more cleavage. “Right? Oh, God, I'm doing it again. Damnit, Cass—get your head in the game.”
Finishing my wine and feeling the pleasant buzz, I stepped out into the cool night air and took in the sweep of the city around me.
It had been almost ten years since I'd moved to San Bravado for college, and I'd never once regretted my decision. The hottest tech hub on the planet, this city had it all. Amazing nightlife, the best food in the country…and, of course, the latest fashions were all here, flowering around the money that the billionaires and their tech companies brought to the region.
Living here had its downsides, sure—like the fact that it took nearly my entire paycheck to cover my tiny studio apartment—but it was worth it. Every time I looked down at the glittering lights of San Bravado Valley, I felt like I was in the center of the universe
, like the world was there for the taking.
I took a deep breath before carefully trotting down the stairs to my car, ensuring I didn’t take a tumble in my red stilettos. The night ahead of me was going to be amazing; I just knew it. And I couldn't wait to get it started.
Chapter 2
Cassidy
The convention center looked like something out of a wild, futuristic fantasy. A massive, modernist construction of glass and steel, the building jutted out of the downtown block like some kind of diamond. Spotlights cut into the sky, and limo after limo pulled in front of the building.
As I maneuvered my car towards the valets, I craned my head to try to catch glimpses of just who was walking into the place. At an event like this, I knew I could expect to see all manner of celebrities from the worlds of music, movies, and—of course—fashion, and even though I was still in my car, I was feeling a little star-struck.
“Come on, Cass,” I said. “Be cool. No one wants to work with a fangirl.”
At this, I forced my mouth closed into a flat line, realizing that I was talking to myself yet again. I wished Erin was here with me; going to an event like this was scary enough without having to do it solo.
Character-building, right? I thought as I pulled up in front of the valet booth.
A sharply dressed valet rushed to the side of my car and I flashed him my invitation and Cole Apparel badge. Moments later, I was on the grand steps leading into the convention center, a flurry of photographers all around me and the rest of the guests, all snapping pictures and clamoring for a moment of the various celebrities' time.
One day, I thought as I approached the doors, it'll be me that they're begging to take a picture of.
After showing my credentials and invitation one more time at the door, I was in. The foyer of the center was a sleek, expansive room, packed with well-dressed men and women, along with service staff clad in white, smoothly navigating the area and attending to each guest’s needs. I snatched a glass of champagne off of a passing server's tray and took a small sip. As I did, I made a mental note to pace myself—the wine I'd had earlier was already swimming in my head, and I knew the last thing I needed was to get sloppy drunk in front of the most notable members of the San Bravado fashion world.
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