Embrace

by Fernandez, Michelle

  Embrace

  Michelle Fernandez

  Contents

  Letter to the reader

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Epilogue

  The Salvation Society

  Inspirational music

  Acknowledgments

  Books By Michelle Fernandez

  About the Author

  Embrace

  Copyright © 2020 by Michelle Fernandez

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted on any form or by means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written consent of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editor:

  Missy Borucki

  Proofreading:

  Michele Ficht

  Julie Deaton

  Cover Design:

  T.E. Black Designs

  https://www.teblackdesigns.com

  Interior Design and Formatting:

  T.E. Black Designs

  https://www.teblackdesigns.com

  To My Baby Sister, Leta,

  You are beautiful, bold, and brave.

  Don’t ever forget that!

  Love you to the moon and back,

  Aht

  ~ Note to Corinne ~

  In July 2019, during a conference event, you walked past me, and I totally freaked and was starstruck! My bestie nudged me to go up and say “Hi,” but I was so nervous I just couldn’t do it. And here I am writing a story in your series. Un-freaking-believable! If anyone asked me then, if this would have happened, I would have laughed and said ‘In my dreams’!

  You know that saying, “Dreams do come true”—well, this was one of them. Thank you for your big heart and believing in me. You are an inspiration and your words of encouragement helped me see the end of the tunnel. And finally, Embrace is making its debut in your series.

  Letter to the reader

  ~ Letter to the Readers ~

  I am completely humbled, I am eternally grateful, and my heart is full of love for you. You are the reason I write, and I can’t thank you enough! I hope that my words have given you someplace to go when you want to escape the real world. A place to daydream and pretend you are one of the characters. A place to follow the tragedy, turmoil, and triumphs to a happily ever after.

  My stories are about second chances, protective men with broken pasts, and women that thrive and show their strength through the challenges they are faced with. I love to tug at your heartstrings, make you swoony, and add a bit of suspense to keep you on your toes.

  I am a big fan of Corinne Michaels and I have read all her books. My favorite is The Salvation Society Series. As a new author, it meant the world to me when I was selected to write a story in this series. If you ask me which SS novel or character is my favorite, I couldn’t give you an answer. With that said, Catherine, Jackson, Mark, Charlie, Natalie, and Liam will make their appearance and will be an influential part of Brody and Delilah’s lives and I hope you enjoy their story.

  Embrace is a standalone story and is a crossover from The Broken Hero Series. I hope you enjoy reading about Brody and Delilah as much as I had fun writing it.

  Chapter One

  Delilah

  “I can do this . . . go in there, show them what I’m made of and nail the interview.” My nervous voice echoes in the bathroom as I take in yet another deep breath.

  “Chase that sunset, Lu,” I whisper to myself, using my childhood nickname and the mantra Mama has been telling me since I was a little girl.

  I pull my hair back, my skin pale, and my makeup is heavier than usual only to cover the dark circles under my eyes as I stare at my reflection.

  Tawney needed help with closing the diner last night. As much as I wanted to go home and get a good night’s sleep, I couldn’t leave her. She’s been so good to me, taking a chance on a girl who’d never waited on tables.

  I inhale, exhale, then shake out my shoulders to relax them. All this to impress the man I imagine sitting behind a large desk, lobbing questions at me for a job I have been trying to nail for the last couple of weeks.

  It was only a few months ago when I packed up, did what I wanted, and embraced my new life. As I look at my blue eyes, there’s less uncertainty in them since I moved to California.

  Time has given me the opportunity to find the strength I once had.

  My parents raised me to be a strong and confident woman.

  I have two older brothers, Drake and Dylan, one a sheriff and the other a former Navy SEAL, which forced me to be resilient and tough. Then there’s Daxton, my younger brother with Down syndrome who’s shown me there is still good in this world.

  When I left my hometown of Windmill Creek, I wasn’t being tough and resilient.

  Leaving home was one of the toughest things I had to do. But I had to do it and run away from the one man who ruined me and tore me down—physically and emotionally—every chance he had.

  The raising of his hands and the threats still ghost my thoughts. The bruises once hidden under my clothes, the cast I had on for weeks and told my family I fell off my horse while riding her.

  I shake my head and take in another deep breath, pushing him out of my thoughts.

  He has no place here.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  Today is about me.

  I need to walk into that office and show another man that I am not weak and deserve this job.

  Chase your sunset. I repeat in my head about the hundredth time.

  My fingers trace the leather portfolio case on the granite counter, ready to show my designs.

  I silently pray all those years in Sunday school paid off as my fingers fiddle with the cross charm hanging from my necklace. Mama gave it to me when I turned sixteen. It’s my favorite piece of jewelry and I wear it every day.

  I look at my watch. 9:12 a.m.

  My stomach growls, and I regret not eating breakfast. I should have at least toasted up a bagel, but there was no time.

  I hit the snooze button a couple of times just to get that extra sleep. Then after finally waking my ass up and the news reported a three-car pile-up on the 405 Freeway, I was pressing my luck to sit by the toaster for two minutes.

  The thing about LA traffic, it will take at least two hours to travel only fifteen miles. I’m grateful I quickly learned that the moment I moved here, although it’s something I may never get used to.

  I go over the typical qu
estions and rehearse my answers in my head.

  Why did you choose this company?

  Why should we hire you?

  What special skills can you contribute?

  CJJ Public Relations only hires the best.

  I square my shoulders and scan my outfit again.

  My hair, my face, even my new heels one last time.

  Check, check, and check.

  A woman enters the restroom and startles me out of my thoughts as I realize I hadn’t shut off the faucet.

  After she does her business and washes her hands, she pulls out a tube of lipstick from her Michael Kors purse. I quickly glance at the dark blue folder in her hand. A resume? Is she here for the job interview too?

  She smooths the mauve gloss over her lips, then blots them together. She’s wearing a white top with beige pants complementing her dark waves floating down her back. She looks familiar, but I can’t remember where I have seen her before.

  The woman glances at me through the mirror and I’m immediately embarrassed for staring too long.

  Good one, Delilah. You probably look like a freak!

  “That perfume you’re wearing . . . what’s it called?” she asks as she slips her lipstick back in her purse. “It’s pretty.”

  “Huh . . . it’s um . . .” I stumble over my words sounding like a complete idiot. You’d think I was from another planet and didn’t understand a word she said to me. “Uh, it’s . . .” I glance at my reflection again and I suddenly look pale.

  Why can’t I speak? I mentally slap myself in the head. All I had to say is that it’s a perfume my friend Jenna makes and sells at her boutique back in Kansas.

  “Are you okay?” she asks as she places her hand on my shoulder.

  “Yes. Sorry. Nerves. And I skipped breakfast.” My mouth feels like I swallowed a jar of cotton balls. “Are you here for a job interview too?”

  She laughs gracefully. “Oh, no. Just a meeting.”

  “So you work here?”

  “You could say that.”

  A sigh of relief washes over me, thankful she’s not my competition. “I’m interviewing with Mr. Grisham, in the Creative Department,” I say, then chastise myself for blurting it out. Did she really need to know that?

  “Ahh, yes . . . Peter is looking for someone to fill Liz’s spot. After she had her baby, she decided to be a full-time mommy.”

  “I’m assuming there are some big shoes to fill?”

  “Liz was great. There’s no doubt about that,” she says, while my lack of confidence suddenly overwhelms me.

  “Any advice you can share?” I ask. I need some insight on how to nail this interview since she’s not a threat to taking it.

  The corner of her mouth turns up, and a raise of her perfect brow. “Don’t get pregnant.”

  “Oh, I’m not . . . I don’t even have a boyfriend,” I say nervously. “I mean . . . I want to have kids someday but . . .” Delilah, shut your mouth. You sound like a babbling baboon.

  “I’m kidding.” She laughs and extends her hand. “I’m Kitty, one of the publicists here.”

  “Delilah. But my friends call me Dee.” I shake her hand and can’t help but stare at the sparkling diamond on her finger. “Beautiful ring.”

  “Yeah. Jackson’s a keeper.” She gazes at her ring, then giggles as if she remembered something. The look in her eyes tells me she must be one of those women that found her true love. I envy women like that.

  Mama with Daddy. Dylan with Phoebe and Drake with Franny.

  “Well, clearly he’s a keeper. It’s written all over your face.”

  “What is?” she asks as her cheeks turn rosy.

  “Love . . . not just regular love. The rare kind. The kind that makes you smile even when you’re not trying to.” I clear my throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to get all mushy.”

  “It’s okay. I like a woman that recognizes what love is. I take it you have been in love before?”

  “Me? No. Mine was a mistake, not love.”

  “I’ve been there, done that. Then I met Jackson,” she says. “Listen, as for the interview, Peter’s harmless. Just be yourself. If you have the talent, drive, skill, most of all the passion, and he likes what you show him in that portfolio of yours”—she juts her chin to the black case—“you’re hired.”

  “I hope it’s enough,” I mumble under my breath. “It’s such a lengthy process to get a job here. It makes me wonder why I have to jump through all the hoops. If my work was good enough during the first interview, why go to the next?”

  “Listen, a while ago, I pitched an account that could land me a promotion I wanted so badly. Initially, I thought it would be a disaster. Only because he, the competition, stole my graphics, my files, and used my pitch. But that’s a story to tell another day.” She shakes her head slightly and rolls her eyes.

  “What a creep!” I squeal. “What did you do?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t giving up without a fight. I held my head up high and told myself that my skills and talents would nail the account.” She clears her throat. “The thing is, I did my research and knew the account like the back of my hand. Looked at every angle, checked out the targeted audience and what the company needed.”

  “And did you get the account? And the promotion?”

  Kitty nods with a proud smile. “I got the account. But I didn’t get the promotion right away. I had to prove myself.”

  For the next few minutes, Kitty tells me about Peter and the trigger words that will get me on his good side.

  Feeling more at ease, I tell her a little about me and how I love designing, then tell her about Jenna’s perfume ads, my parents’ farm and how they’re the sole distributor to one of the leading grocers in Kansas and all the work I did for our small town to gain revenue.

  I glance at my watch again and realize I have fifteen minutes to spare. “Well, I gotta get in there . . . my dad once told me ten minutes early is ten minutes late.”

  “Smart man. It was a pleasure meeting you, Delilah. And good luck.”

  “And thank you again for the advice.”

  “You’re gonna do great, Delilah. Just go in there with confidence.” She waves and leaves me in the stillness of the bathroom.

  I turn and look in the mirror one more time. I take in a breath, hold my head up high, and here goes nothing! Chase your sunset.

  After giving my name to the receptionist, letting her know I am Peter Grisham’s ten o’clock appointment, I follow her into an office with a large window.

  The panoramic view of the 405 Freeway and the skies of Los Angeles greet me.

  The man, I assume is Peter Grisham, is on the phone, the cord twisted around his chair, his back facing me.

  “We can’t lose this account. The fashion show is in several weeks,” he snaps and continues listening to whoever is on the end of the line.

  The receptionist gestures for me to sit in the chair in front of his glass desk as nerves crawl up my spine once again. My palms sweat and I rub them on my skirt. My throat goes dry as I watch the receptionist close the door behind her.

  “She stopped by and she’s not pleased with the draft . . . since Liz left, it’s almost impossible to meet the deadline . . .” he rambles. “She leaves for New York in two weeks.”

  I remain quiet and survey my surroundings.

  There are mock-ups and graphs strewn all over a long table on the other side of his office. I can’t help but notice the mock-up with the picture of an eye-catching woman wearing a bathing suit. It’s Avery Saints. Then I see the fonts on another mock-up, and I cringe, only because it’s not something I would use for a bathing suit ad.

  “Uh-huh. I like that idea . . . she’s gonna love it. Yes, get it done,” he says then turns to face me as he hangs up the phone. “Sorry about that. Deadlines.”

  “I understand.” I quickly survey his face and although he’s smiling at me, I see the stress overwhelming him. His salt and pepper hair, fine lines at the corners of his brown eyes, the p
rominent brow ridge scrunched together as if he’s in deep thought while he stares at the paper in his hands.

  The longer we sit here in silence, the tension builds. And I pray my stomach will not growl while I’m waiting for him to fire off his questions. I knew I should have eaten at least a piece of cracker or maybe the granola in my purse.

  He looks up at me, then at the paper. He clears his throat as he slips the paper in a folder.

  Is he testing me? Does he want me to speak up?

  I clear my throat. “Here is my resume, Mr. Grisham. You’ll see I have the skills and talent to take on this role.” I hand him my resume, then place my leather portfolio on the other chair. “Let me show you my projects.”

  * * *

  “So, are you just going to stare at the ocean? Or are you going to tell me about your interview today?” Sydney asks, handing me a glass of wine then sits next to me on the lounge chair.

  She’s been my best friend since we started crawling along with Jenna, who still lives in Kansas. We were the trio that stuck together through thick and thin. The endless sleepovers, borrowing of each other’s clothes, and have seen each other’s first crushes and never-ending heartbreaks.