The Morning After: Starting from Zero Box Set

by Dallen, Maggie

  But he’d done as she’d requested and now all he could do was wait for the final verdict.

  He didn’t have to wait much longer. No sooner had he deposited Robbie in the groom’s waiting room just off the chapel, when Robbie dispatched him to grab them both a stiff drink from the bar to ease his nerves.

  He walked into chapel, which was still empty, waiting for the guests to file in for the show. He’d taken a couple of steps down the aisle when he heard the giant wooden doors in back open. He froze in place, terrified for one split second that if he moved too quickly or spoke aloud, the heavenly illusion would vanish.

  But this was not a fantasy. She was here. And she was more gorgeous than ever. Elizabeth spotted him a second later and he held his breath as he waited to see her reaction. He watched as surprise made her big blue eyes even bigger. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest as her surprise gave way to joy. He saw it radiate from her person as her lips curled up in a shit-eating grin that had him smiling back in that dopey way that he had decided was reserved solely for her.

  Without a word, she hitched up her floor length, royal blue bridesmaid’s dress and raced toward him at full speed. In seconds she was in his arms and he crushed her tight, lifting her off the floor as he held on for dear life.

  “I am never letting go again,” he growled. He hadn’t meant to say it, and if he’d had access to any rational thoughts he would have warned himself not to say anything so possessive and needy. Not until he knew if she felt the same way.

  But screw that. He loved this woman and he’d vowed to be fearless for her. Which meant putting it all out there, whether it was reciprocated or not.

  “I missed you.” The words whispered softly in his ear were nearly his undoing. His chest tightened painfully as relief and happiness threatened to bury him alive.

  “I missed you too, sweetheart.”

  When she pressed lightly on his shoulders, he forced himself to loosen his death grip on the love of his life and she slithered to the ground, still pressed against his chest. She stared up at him with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I left.”

  Of all the things he’d expected to hear, that had not been one. “What? No, don’t apologize, you did what you needed to do.”

  She shook her head in impatience. “No, I ran away. And you deserve better than that. You deserve fearless.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at that. “You are plenty fearless, you just needed perspective. There’s a difference.”

  She looked so earnest gazing up at him, her eyes so filled with every emotion he was feeling, it was hard not to laugh out loud with happiness. But he needed her to tell him how she felt. He needed her to do that for her sake, to own what she was feeling and admit it.

  She blew air out through pursed lips and he could practically see her attempting to put her thoughts into words. As she did, she ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, as if reassuring herself that he was there.

  He realized that he’d been doing the same thing, stroking her back, touching her arms—doing anything he could to assure himself that she was there in his arms, where she belonged.

  “I thought I was going there to get perspective,” she said. “I had this whole idea that it would be an Eat Pray Love-style, soul enhancing trip.” She shook her head as if annoyed by her own stupidity.

  “And it wasn’t?” he asked.

  Her lips pulled to the side in disgust. “More like an angst-filled trip to lonely island.”

  He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “That bad, huh?”

  “I missed you,” she said again. “And it wasn’t just that I was lonely. I didn’t want to be with just anyone. I wanted to be with you. Because you make me laugh, and you make me feel alive. And you make me want to be better.”

  His throat tightened as he realized she was saying his words back to him, and with a sincerity that left him in awe. He was the luckiest man alive.

  “What are you saying?” he asked. He was desperate to hear it.

  “I’m saying,” she said in a shaky voice. “That I think I’m falling for you, Mark.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her with all the desire and desperate urgency that had built up over the past month.

  Her tongue tangled with his and her lips met his with the same desperation until they were clinging to one another, their bodies pressed together as tightly as humanly possible while still wearing clothes.

  “Eh-hem.”

  They broke apart reluctantly at the interruption, staring up at one another for a second before turning to face the chapel’s newcomer.

  “Reverend,” Mark said with as much dignity as he could muster. He had a feeling it wasn’t much since he was fairly certain her bright pink lipstick was smeared all over his mouth.

  The short balding man raised his brows in a warning look before turning to walk out again, presumably to give them some privacy. The moment the doors closed, Elizabeth burst out laughing. “Reverend,” she mimicked in a low, grave voice, making him laugh and causing her to slap a hand over her mouth to stifle another round of giggles.

  The sound of the doorknob jiggling once again had them staring at each other in horror. “To be continued?” Elizabeth asked.

  Mark pulled her close for one last kiss. “What do you say we play hooky at the reception and meet up in my hotel room?”

  Elizabeth grinned and he thought his heart might explode then and there. “I’d say Connie would kill us.” Then she added, “I’ll see you there after they cut the cake. No one will miss us then.”

  Deal made, they went their separate ways—Mark to the bar to run his errand, and Elizabeth off to find her sister.

  When the ceremony finally started, Mark had the distinctly painful pleasure of standing directly opposite Elizabeth as words of love and commitment were said and echoed. He held her gaze the entire time, content for the moment with the knowledge that their happily ever after was still to come.

  Thank you for reading Love Times Two! If you enjoyed it, reviews are greatly appreciated. Keep reading for the last book of the series, Less Than Three.

  Less Than Three

  Starting from Zero

  Copyright © 2016 by Maggie Dallen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Chapter One

  IT WAS A butt-dialing disaster of epic proportions.

  It happened as Lacey scrambled to gather the last of her belongings from the hotel room. She’d said goodbye to her boss an hour earlier after wrapping up with their Chicago client, and he’d wished her luck, assuring her once again that she was ready to handle a client on her own.

  Lacey sucked in a deep breath. Not just any client. Newsom Industries was one of the biggest clients her firm had ever landed. It was only out of sheer luck that all of the other consultants were already booked and the plum job had landed in her lap. “You’re ready for this,” she muttered to herself.

  Her boss’s parting words had become a sort of mantra as she threw her belongings into her luggage. “You’re ready for this. You’re ready for this.”

  And then it happened.

  While leaning over to pick up a pair of undies, she somehow managed to sideswipe her phone. She grabbed it out of her back pocket and stared in horror as the screen lit up with Lawrence Newsom’s name.

  Lawrence Newsom III, as in the grandson of Lawrence Newsom, Sr., and the heir apparent to his family’s private jet empire. As in, her next client.

  She moved to hit the “end call” button, but she was a second too late. A deep voice on the other end said “Hello?” just before her finger hit its mark and the phone was silenced.

  Oh God. She’d hung up on him.

  Which was worse, butt dialing your n
ew client or hanging up on him?

  Lacey debated calling him to apologize. No, that would make things worse. She’d just forget about it; he would never know it was her. She went to turn off the offensive piece of technology when it happened.

  She did it again. One of her fingers barely grazed the screen—the stupid, overly sensitive screen that was now lighting up again. She jabbed the “end call” button.

  Why had she let her roommate talk her into buying a new phone? Her old one was a piece of junk, but it never ever became possessed by the devil, unlike this new device.

  Tentatively, and with the utmost care, she reached over to turn off the phone and stick it in her bag. For a moment she thought she’d willed the phone to ring. But no, someone was calling her. He was calling.

  Maybe he knew it was her. Maybe they’d given him her cell number as well, and he’d programmed it into his phone. Unlikely.

  Maybe she should answer—explain the situation. She grimaced at the thought of such a terrible first impression. No, she would just let it go. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

  But as the phone’s ringtone pierced the air for a third time, panic set in. One more ring and her voicemail would pick up. He’d hear her chipper message saying, “Hi, you’ve reached Lacey Ames.”

  He’d know it was her; she had to pick up. She hit the answer button and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What was she going to say?

  She drew in a deep breath, but he spoke first.

  “Hello? Who is this?”

  Lacey’s mouth opened and closed as she struggled to come up with something—anything—to put an end to this call.

  He sounded impatient when he spoke again. “I know you’re there, I can hear you breathing.”

  Something like a squeak came out of her throat before she fumbled for the off button. She was panting as though she’d run a marathon.

  Now is not the time to panic. Think, Lacey.

  She would call him. That was the only answer. Even if he didn’t have her number now, he would soon enough. She had to come clean.

  She took a deep breath and reached for the phone. She jumped when it let out a dinging noise. It was a text. From him. Her sweaty palms fumbled to find the message.

  “Who is this?”

  She started to type in an explanation. Then she deleted it. She was on revision number three when the phone dinged again.

  “I figure there are three options: #1 You’re a stalker #2 you’re a secret admirer or #3 you got the wrong number.”

  Yes, yes, number three! This was her out. She’d tell him it was a wrong number and he’d drop it. This whole ridiculous episode would be over.

  She scrambled to type #3 and hit send.

  Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. This could not be happening.

  She tried to stop the message from sending and moaned in horror when her phone made a swishing noise that signaled the text had been sent.

  In her haste, she had mistyped. She’d hit the ‘less than’ symbol just below the pound sign. She watched in horrified fascination as the phone transformed ‘<3’ into a bright red heart emoticon.

  This could not be happening.

  Lawrence Newsom called again. No doubt to threaten his lunatic admirer with a restraining order. She answered and hung up. Five minutes later as she rushed out of the hotel room, she answered and hung up again.

  By the time she arrived at the airport she had hung up on Lawrence Newsom a total of six times and was in a perpetual state of fear that her phone would ring again.

  This was ridiculous. She couldn’t keep this up forever. What if he called when she was in the shower or fast asleep? He’d get her voicemail and assume that his new public speaking coach was a full-blown crazyface.

  She would disconnect her number. That was it. She would get a new number. But then her family and friends would have no way of reaching her. Her overprotective parents would have the National Guard hunting for her if she fell off the face of the earth.

  “Miss, this way please.” The driver who had dropped her off ushered her into a small waiting room in a hangar set apart from the main terminal. A beautiful man was already in there. Beautiful was not often a word she associated with men but in this case, it was fitting. He was long and lean, stretched out in a low-slung chair by the door. He had black hair and dark skin and the sort of features that sculptors loved.

  When he glanced up at her, she had to remind herself to breathe. Those eyes. They would have been a lovely shade of green on any face but set against the bronzed skin of a Greek god— they looked unreal.

  “Are you Lacey?”

  She nodded and let go of the handle of her suitcase. It promptly toppled over. If she was going to keep up this traveling saleswoman routine, she should invest in a good set of luggage.

  “Here, let me help you,” the god said.

  Beautiful and polite? He had to be gay.

  He maneuvered her lopsided suitcase so it was leaning against the wall and gestured toward the seat across from his. “You might as well get comfortable. We may be here for a while. No flights are taking off until the snow lets up.”

  “Oh.” She watched him turn his attention to the phone in his hand and wished she could think of anything interesting to say to hold his attention. Not for the first time, she had to marvel at the bitter irony of being a public speaking coach who was forever at a loss for words.

  “So do you, uh…do you work for Newsom Industries?”

  That earned her a half-smile and quite possibly the most adorable dimple in the universe. “Yes. I wear various hats there. Today I’ll be the pilot flying you to New York.”

  She nodded like an idiot. She assumed he would turn to whatever it was on his phone that was entertaining him but instead he stuck it in his pocket and shifted so he could lean back in his chair.

  Lacey fingered her own phone in her hand. Not even the presence of a god could keep her from the persistent fear that Lawrence Newsom would call again and get her voicemail.

  “You waiting for a call?” He nodded toward the phone in her hand.

  “Um, sort of.”

  The sound of the pilot’s phone ringing broke what was about to become an awkward silence.

  “Yeah, this is Alex,” the pilot said. Whatever the person on the other end said annoyed him because the Greek god pilot frowned. Was it possible he was even more beautiful when he frowned?

  He muttered a curse that made Lacey shift in her seat uncomfortably. “Is everything okay?” she asked once he’d hung up.

  He stood and picked up the overnight bag at his feet. “There’s another storm heading our way. We’re not going anywhere tonight.”

  He slung his bag over one shoulder, grabbed the handle of her suitcase and started walking out of the office.

  “Wait, where are we going?”

  He glanced over his shoulder and watched as she chased after him—not an easy feat in three-inch heels. “I’m taking you to the hotel. We should get there before the storm hits.”

  They caught the driver in time and hitched a ride to the city. Alex spent most of the car ride on the phone with someone at office headquarters giving details about their predicament.

  The pilot seemed severely put out by the change of plans but Lacey could barely conceal her relief. She was excited about the prospect of soloing with her first major client but she was also a ball of nerves. Now she had one more evening of respite before she was thrown to the wolves.

  She looked at the phone in her hand, which had been silent since she’d reached the airport. Lawrence Newsom seemed to have given up on his quest to figure out the identity of his stalker and hopefully it would all be forgotten by the time she arrived in New York the next day.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, there’s only one room left?” Lacey was aware that her voice had entered the shrill territory and took a deep breath. The bored looking woman at the front desk looked unfazed by Lacey’s distress.

  Lacey pasted on a smile
and tried a different tactic. “I stayed here last night. Can’t I have that room? Room 601?”

  The woman didn’t even pretend to check the computer. “That room is currently occupied. The only room available is the penthouse suite.”

  “We’ll take it.” Alex came up behind her and slapped his company card on the front desk. He looked amused by the look on her face. If everyone found her as funny as this guy did, she would quit her job and become a stand-up comic.

  “Relax,” he said. “It’s a suite. I’m sure there are plenty of places to sleep. Besides, I just called around and all the hotels near here are booked solid with stranded passengers in the same boat. We’re lucky to get a room at all.”

  Lacey gnawed on her bottom lip. “But a penthouse suite? That’s so expensive…”

  “The company is paying for it, remember? And it’s on my expense account, not yours. If anyone gets in trouble, it’ll be me.”

  That thought only made her feel worse. Twelve years of Catholic schooling had left her with a decent education and an overly developed guilty conscience.

  Apparently Alex misconstrued her concern because he leaned down so he could look her in the eye and gave her a reassuring smile. “Hey, I’m a good guy, I promise. I won’t lay a hand on you tonight.”

  Lacey’s cheeks burned as a delicious image of a half-naked Alex flashed through her mind. She thought he must have read her mind because he winked and leaned in closer so the front desk attendant couldn’t hear. “Unless you want me to.”

  He was joking. She knew he was joking. But that didn’t stop her stomach from doing a nervous backflip.

  She followed him into the elevator and down the hall to the suite, nervous at the thought of sharing a hotel room with a perfect stranger.

  The suite was huge. Enormous even. But it only had one bed. An enormous king-size bed, but still just one bed. Lacey stared at it as though hypnotized by the down comforter’s floral pattern.

  Alex walked past her, tossed his bag on a leather recliner and flopped onto the bed. He crossed his arms behind his head. “So which side do you want? Left or right?”