Nobody's Fool

by Barbara Meyers

  “I didn’t manipulate her at all. After you backed out and she found out what I’d done she was mad as hell. She told me I’d never convince you to design for her. That’s when I asked if she wanted to bet on it. I had to try one more time to give you the chance you deserved.”

  “You thought if you did I’d forgive you?”

  “I hoped, but I didn’t want you to throw everything away just because you wanted to avoid me. Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me having you so close and knowing you hated me? Knowing that I made you hate me?”

  Jolie took a step closer. “I do know. How do you think I felt being close to you and thinking you didn’t care? That all you wanted was to pay me back for hurting you.”

  “That wasn’t how it started. It just all…went wrong. But honestly, I didn’t think you’d care. It was always so easy for you to walk away from me.”

  “I made it look that way, didn’t I?” Jolie asked with a tentative smile.

  “I’ve wanted so badly to explain it all to you, but a guy who’s still hung up on the girl next door after ten years? That’s kind of pathetic.”

  Jolie reached for his hand. “No, it’s not.”

  “I wanted to be over you. I wanted to walk away from you and be done. Start over.”

  “But you didn’t,” she said.

  Court chuckled. “No…no I didn’t. The only thing I proved to myself is that I never will be. I can say I’m sorry a thousand times, but like you said, I can’t take it back. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you.”

  Jolie slid her arms around his waist. “I think we’ve both got a lot of making up to do. We could start now, couldn’t we?”

  “We could.” He touched the locket she wore. “But it might take forever to finish.”

  “Yes,” she breathed as she kissed him. “It might.”

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Beth Fredstrom for her friendship and for patiently answering all of my fashion design questions, as well as my editor, Noah Chinn, and all the crew at Samhain Publishing.

  About the Author

  Barbara Meyers is the author of The Braddock Brotherhood series of sweet, spicy, sexy contemporary romances published by Samhain Publishing as well as two other novels. Her short story, “Katy’s Place”, appeared in the 2013 Novelists, Inc. anthology.

  Under the pen name AJ Tillock, she ventures into off-the-wall comedic fantasy with The Forbidden Bean, the first in the Grinding Reality series.

  When not writing fiction, Dr. Seuss-like poetry or song lyrics, Meyers disguises herself behind a green apron and supplies caffeine-laced substances to addicted consumers for a world-wide coffee company.

  She is still married to her first husband, has two children and one almost perfect dog. Originally from Southwest Missouri, Meyers currently resides in Central Florida.

  Contact her at barb@barbmeyers.com

  Visit her at www.barbarameyers.com

  Follow her infrequent posts on Twitter @barbmeyers and @ajtillock

  Like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/BarbaraMeyersAuthorPage

  Read her blog at barbmeyers.wordpress.com/blog

  Buy links to her books: www.barbmeyers.com/where/index.html

  Look for these titles by Barbara Meyers

  Now Available:

  The Braddock Brotherhood

  A Month From Miami

  A Forever Kind of Guy

  The First Time Again

  There’s no defense when love blindsides your heart.

  The First Time Again

  © 2013 Barbara Meyers

  The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3

  Once Trey Christopher was the small-town golden boy. Now he’s just another burned-out, washed-up ex-quarterback with a bum knee, a tarnished reputation, and a simple wish. To be the kind of man he can face in the mirror.

  Moving back home is a start, as is hiring a down-on-her-luck local woman to help him out around his grandparents’ old homestead.

  The last thing Baylee Westring wants is to clean house for a high school crush who barely remembers her name, but Trey’s money will finally top off her get-out-of-Henderson-forever escape fund.

  Before she hits the road, though, Baylee’s got something for the man she still finds wildly attractive: the virginity he almost—but not quite—took during a drunken teenage party.

  Neither is prepared for the emotional impact of that encounter. But just when Baylee dares to believe in happy ever after, an old enemy turns up to even the score. And Trey finds his heart left in the red zone, with his last chance for love ticking down to zero.

  Warning: Contains an overeducated housekeeper who’s open to receiving a pass or two, and an ex-football player who can’t seem to stop himself from showing her all his moves.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The First Time Again:

  Baylee’s grandparents’ best friends, Mike and Josephine Pritchard, had lived on Sycamore Road. During her youth she had occasionally visited the Pritchards with them.

  She wouldn’t apologize for being late. Best to let T. C. know who was in charge. It had taken her a while, but she was learning. She wasn’t going to be a doormat for anyone. Not anymore. And certainly not for some overbearing guy who sounded like he was used to ruling the world and getting his own way.

  The address on Sycamore Road turned out to be the Pritchards’ house. It didn’t look much different than Baylee remembered. Josephine, whom everyone called “J”, had passed within the last year. Baylee wasn’t surprised to see not much about the property had changed. There was a black Porsche Cayenne parked near the back porch. Turbo, she noted as she drove past and parked a few feet away. Money.

  Yippee! Her heart did a little pitter-pat. She could name her own price.

  She’d always liked the Pritchards’ place. It was nestled in the midst of some gently rolling hills with the Blue Ridge range as a backdrop. The house was set far enough back from the road to offer privacy, but not anonymity. The old barn was empty now, as was the feed lot and the chicken coop. A few other outbuildings were ready to tumble down, taking the rusting fences surrounding them along.

  Trees dotted the yard and the pastures beyond. Birds chirped and flitted in the branches, and a couple of squirrels gallivanted underneath the big oak closest to the house.

  Near the porch were flowerbeds badly in need of weeding. A twining rose climbed up a trellis. The old swing still hung at the end of the porch. Baylee could remember sitting there contentedly, swinging and daydreaming to the rhythmic squeak of the chain against the hooks while the adults gathered around the wicker table to drink glasses of sweet tea and chat amicably.

  A pang of longing for those simpler times hit her. She hadn’t known then how many mistakes awaited her, how many difficult lessons she had to learn. But learn from them she would. Her new motto was a slightly amended version of “Been there; done that”. To which she had added “not doing it again”.

  She got out, mentally debating about using the front door or the back when she noticed the Cayenne’s Florida vanity license plate. TC9. She stared at it while several possibilities she’d chosen to ignore clicked into place.

  T. C. Trey Christopher? Nine. His number with the Jacksonville Jacks?

  Could it possibly be? Of course it could. The Pritchards were Trey Christopher’s maternal grandparents. In fact, he’d been at their house on a few of those occasions when she’d visited as a child. He always seemed to have a pack of other boys with him, and she’d learned early on to avoid them because they’d do nothing but tease and torment her if she invaded their territory. Which seemed to be everywhere except the back porch where the adults lurked.

  She had more memories of him than those from childhood, one in particular which had plagued her all through high school and beyond.

  She hesitated a moment
longer before she climbed the three stairs to the porch and realized she wasn’t alone. A man seated at one of the four chairs surrounding the table used another chair as a footstool. He had one leg outstretched on it, the other bent at the knee. An ice pack was balanced on the outstretched knee.

  His arms crossed his chest, his thumbs tucked underneath his armpits. His head was down. There was a mug on the table. Was he asleep?

  He had burnished blond, gold-tipped hair, and from what she could see from his seated position, he was tall and in good shape.

  She cleared her throat and took a step toward him. When he didn’t move, she stepped closer and poked his upper arm. Beneath the long-sleeved jersey he wore, her finger met solid muscle. “Excuse—”

  His head snapped up and a pair of stunning blue eyes lasered right through her. She sucked in a breath and stumbled back.

  Trey Christopher!

  She scrambled to get hold of herself. She was an adult woman of almost twenty-nine, not a naïve teenager of fifteen.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He grinned, which turned his already handsome features into to-die-for good looks. She did nothing but stare even though she knew he was making a joke, since she had been the one to startle him.

  “You okay?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I did. The ghost that’s haunted me for fourteen years.

  “Want to do this another time?”

  No. Been there. Done that. Not doing it again.

  She got hold of herself. Finally. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

  He studied her for a few seconds. “I’m Trey, by the way. And you are?”

  “Baylee. Baylee Westring.”

  He chewed on the inside of his lip as if contemplating something while he continued to peruse her from head to toe. She’d come dressed to work in a faded pink T-shirt, ancient jeans and sneakers. Over which she’d worn a hoodie she’d bought on sale at Walmart for five dollars last spring. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of her way. Makeup was nonexistent. She was the cleaning lady. She didn’t have to impress anyone, and she liked to be as comfortable as possible while she worked.

  As if remembering his manners, Trey straightened in his chair and pulled his feet off the other one. The right one he helped along with both hands supporting his thigh after setting the ice pack on the table. “Please. Have a seat.” He indicated she was welcome to take any one of the four chairs. She opted for the one opposite him instead of the one next to him where his foot had been.

  She sat, and he looked at her for a long moment before he spoke. “Have we met? You look awfully familiar for some reason.”

  Baylee pushed her glasses up on her nose. He was fishing, so she decided to join him. “Maybe from high school.”

  “Nope. That’s not it. Seems like somewhere more recent.”

  Your grandmother’s funeral last year, maybe? Not that she had any intention of enlightening him about their past history if he couldn’t remember it. She’d seen him at the funeral, at a distance. They hadn’t spoken or touched. But she’d been haunted by that memory for months afterward. What, she’d wondered at the time, was it going to take to get him out of her head for good?

  Certainly not this. Why was she still here? Why had she sat down as if she was seriously going to consider coming to work for him?

  Apparently he was waiting for an answer, and she finally grasped the thread of the conversation. “I don’t know.”

  He shrugged as if it wasn’t important.

  “Can you start today?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Not sure because…?”

  “Not sure if I want to work here. For you.”

  “Ah, I see. My reputation precedes me. Tell me, other than Ryan Reagle, is there anyone in this county who doesn’t hate my guts?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, no. I get it. I’m the town hero, the golden boy who made it to the big time and threw it all away. I failed the town, I failed my team. I failed everybody, including myself, and now I can’t catch a goddamn break. I get it, okay? I’ll clean my own damn house. Sorry I wasted your time.”

  Trey scooted back to brace his hands on the chair arms and shoved himself up to stand. He limped across the porch and opened the screen door and let it slam shut behind him.

  Baylee tried to sort out how she felt. She knew there were quite a few locals who didn’t think too highly of him at the moment and would be happy to make sure he knew it. Yes, he’d been a high school hero, a local football legend who’d made it to the pros. He’d had some good seasons with the Jacksonville Jacks. He had at least one Super Bowl ring, possibly two to show for it. She knew he’d been injured and he’d sort of gone downhill afterward, but she hadn’t followed his fall from fame all that closely. She’d had too many of her own problems to worry about at the time. Trey Christopher had been on a far back burner until she’d seen him again last year. But he was so far outside her normal sphere of acquaintances, at the time she doubted she’d ever see him again.

  She might hold a grudge against him. She might have some less than stellar memories of their one high school encounter. But he needed someone to clean his house, and she needed the work. Was she going to be stupid and stubborn and walk away from a job because of some ancient history he didn’t even remember?

  No. She wasn’t. She’d charge him top dollar, and she’d do her best to keep a reasonable distance from him. But there was no good reason to walk away from this gig.

  Irritated, she adjusted the glasses on her nose again. The frames were slightly bent and the prescription was four years old. If she took this job she might be able to afford another supply of contact lenses.

  Decision made, she got up and tapped on the screen door’s wood frame. “Hello? Trey?”

  Silence greeted her. Carefully she eased the door open and closed it softly behind her. The kitchen hadn’t changed much since the last time she’d set foot in it, except for appliance upgrades. She spotted dirty dishes in the sink and crumbs on the counter.

  She crossed the kitchen and listened. From the bathroom near the back bedroom, she could hear a shower running. Fine. She’d start in here, and when Trey came out of the bathroom, they’d settle things between them. Like her hourly rate.

  Revenge wasn’t supposed to be this sweet…

  If You Want Me

  © 2014 Cassi Carver

  The Ashford Legacy, Book 2

  Sara Castillo has sworn never to get sucked into the world of the rich and famous, not after billionaire Benjamin Swayne broke her heart and left her carrying the burden of their shared secret.

  Now Sara has a successful career working with her dear friend, Kyle Ashford, and her life runs like a well-oiled machine—until Kyle chooses Ben as his best man. No way will Sara let the renowned bad boy turn Kyle’s bachelor party into a front-page fiasco. She’s going to plan the party herself…even if she has to blackmail Ben into agreeing.

  Ben isn’t thrilled about working with a woman who’d like to shank him and dump his body in a roadside ditch. But he’s willing to let Sara meddle, if only to teach her a lesson. And if the sight and scent of his old flame still makes his head swim…well, tough.

  After Kyle’s party is wrapped up, Ben may finally be able to put Sara in the past. That is, if their time together doesn’t convince them they have a future.

  Warning: This book contains a woman who likes being in control, a billionaire who likes to make her lose it, and enough sex toys to satisfy an army.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for If You Want Me:

  Benjamin Swayne was a disgusting man. How could so many people miss this fact and label him as charming instead? How could they look at the tall, sculpted physique, the sandy-blond hair, the finely tailored tuxedo an
d not see the worthless human being underneath? Sara had fallen victim to that charm eight long years ago, and her heart still had the scars to prove it.

  Never again. That was her motto when it came to Benjamin Swayne and men like him. Never. Again.

  Sara tapped a finger to the screen of her tablet, putting it to sleep and clutching it to her chest so she could better glare out at the dance floor through the strings of twinkly lights. The botanical gardens couldn’t be prettier, and everything was going as planned for the engagement party, but still, she couldn’t peel her gaze from Swayne and the six-foot-tall lingerie model grinding against him.

  The six-foot-tall drunk lingerie model grinding against him.

  And the lingerie model label wasn’t a jealous barb. Sara had seen this woman on the cover of the bra magazine she’d recently gotten in the mail, though she doubted the model still sported the same jewel-encrusted brassiere. No, the silk dress the model wore was so thin and transparent that the rhinestones would have shone through the fabric, but the only things poking through tonight were the woman’s nipples. Disgusting. Yep. She’d called it. They were a perfect pair.

  “Hey, Sara. What are you doing over here? Time to join the party.”

  The voice from behind her jolted Sara to attention. She turned to see the bride-to-be staring back at her, looking so beautiful in her aqua evening gown and little satin hat. If guests thought it strange that Rayna Sommers wore a hat at night, they no doubt chocked it up to the eccentricity of the filthy rich…or those marrying the filthy rich, as the case was.

  Rayna crossed her arms and gave Sara a playfully stern look. Sara knew Rayna pretty well now, seeing as Rayna was marrying Sara’s boss, Kyle Ashford, and she could tell Rayna wasn’t truly annoyed.

  Sara smiled. “Of course I will.”

  Of course she wouldn’t.

  She could mingle when she had to, but these weren’t her people. Rayna’s humble upbringing had been closer to Sara’s, but soon Rayna would be marrying into one of the ten richest families in America, and things would change, as they invariably did with the newly rich and famous. “I was just checking the guest list to see who had RSVP’d but hadn’t show up.”