HARD LOVE
Copyright © 2017 Joanne Schwehm
All Rights Reserved
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The use of artist, song titles, famous people, locations, and products throughout this book are done so for storytelling purposes and should in no way been seen as an advertisement. Trademark names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
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Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers
Cover Photo Credit: deimagine (iStock Photo)
Editor: Librum Artis
Proofreader: Author Services by Julie Deaton
Formatter: Integrity Formatting
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the author
Sneak Peek: Unexpected Chance
Chapter 1
A chance of rain my ass.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Why didn’t I look at the forecast? Puddles on the rain-soaked streets splattered on my favorite Aquazzura pumps. My beautiful blush-pink suede shoes were now waterlogged and tinged with black spots. Welcome to New York City in the spring.
I cradled my cellphone close to my ear. “Rochelle, this is awful. What was the address again? I can’t find it.” Drops of water clung to my eyelashes, making it hard to see where I was headed.
“Why are you walking? Do you know it’s raining outside?”
If I had the time to stop and look at my phone to make sure I was speaking to my assistant and not someone who thought I was without sense, I would have. “I did take a cab for most of the way, but there was some sort of accident, so I decided to walk. Of course, it wasn’t pouring down buckets when I had that idea. How the hell did I know the sky was going to open up? Can you hurry please, my phone is getting water-logged.”
She sighed. “Sorry, I should have told you before you left that there was a chance of rain.”
I snorted, “A chance? Remind me in my next life to be a meteorologist. I want to say the word ‘chance’ in business and get away with it.”
Rochelle laughed and spouted off the address. “Do you want me to get you an Uber?”
“No, I should be close. I’ll talk to you later.”
After I tucked my phone into my purse, I cradled the leather satchel like a football under my arm, trying to protect the ridiculously expensive bag. I may as well have been a running back for the Jets the way I dodged people on the street—nudging shoulders, ducking under umbrellas, and knocking elbows. A helmet would be a welcome addition to this ensemble—my hair would look better than I assumed it did now. My peripheral vision spotted red curls starting to form. By the time I made it to my lunch meeting with a potential client, I’d look like a drowned, strawberry blonde poodle.
What sucked the most? I was a stylist. Yup. A personal fashionista to the rich. My new company, Exquisitely Yours, catered to those who didn’t shop for themselves. Not because they were old or sick, but because they were either too busy or just didn’t want to.
When I was young, I never really fit in with the popular crowd at school or with the socialites at the functions my parents loved to attend. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as though I was a hermit, but studying always came first for me. I had something to prove to someone and that someone was myself.
My family was well-off and was well-known in the business world, but I didn’t want that for myself. I went to Europe to study what I loved—fashion. To say my father was disappointed that both his children wouldn’t be working for him would be an understatement. But giving up my dream to fulfill his wasn’t an option.
Finally spotting the green and white awning, I ducked under and headed inside. A perky blonde who could have been one of my cheerleaders—you know, if I really was a football player—greeted me. Her toothy Colgate grin faltered when she took in my appearance. “Hello, welcome to Tornitaro’s, do you have a reservation?”
A cold shiver ran through me as droplets of water fell from the ends of my hair down my back. “Yes, I’m meeting Mr. Conklin, do you know if he has arrived yet?”
She glanced at the book on the pedestal. “No, he isn’t here yet.” Thank God.
I nodded. “Before you show me to his table, can you point me in the direction of the ladies’ room?”
With a turned-up snout, she uttered, “Of course.”
Since it was just a bit past noon, some of the tables in the restaurant were empty. As I weaved my way to the restrooms in the back corner, a familiar looking man texting on his phone caught my eye. He looked like my brother Adam’s friend, Cade. But, it had been years since I’d seen him. Plus, this wasn’t the time to check him out.
But, out of all my brother’s friends, one stood out above the rest, Noah Winston. He was the center of my dreams for most of my high school years. Okay, he may have trickled into my nighttime fantasies in my early twenties, too. But, Noah Winston was everything a boy was supposed to be—tall, handsome, kind, smart, hair you wanted to run your fingers through—the entire package. Not that I knew what his package looked like; I was just the geeky younger sister who would conjure up scenarios in my head.
Each of those visions included Noah kissing me like I’d never been kissed before, touching my body in places no one had visited. Or wanting to hold my hand, bring me flowers, all of the Hallmark movie clichés.
The sad reality was he never looked at me liked that, no matter how much I tried to read into every smile or wink he’d tossed in my direction. He was just a sweet guy who was kind to his friend’s little sister. Cade was nice, too, and when they were all together, girls flocked to them. They could have had anyone they wanted, and the harsh truth was—Noah didn’t want me.
When we were younger, my brother’s friends were good-looking enough to make a teenaged girl wish puberty didn’t exist. Pimples, bad hair days, mood swings, bloating—not things a young girl wants when cute boys were at the house.
The heartbreak, even if self-induced, from all those years ago still hurt. I suppose that was why people called it a crush. Since then, I did my best to protect my heart.
I hustled through the door to the ladies’ lounge and gasped at my reflection. It was worse than I thought. Black smudges under my eyes—again looking like a football player—needed to be dealt with. I grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and cleaned
the mess on my face. My hair was a different story. There was no way in hell the thin piece of paper would begin to absorb the water that still dripped off the ends. Thankfully, they had hand dryers on the wall. The unfortunate part was they were the type where you stick your hands in rather than under the blasting hot air.
Bringing my head as close to the contraption as I could, I dried my hair until it felt halfway decent . . . and I lost partial hearing. I reached into my quasi-dry handbag and rummaged around to grab the makeup case. I applied a fresh coat of lipstick, swiped eyeliner under my eyes, and I was back in business.
When I stepped out of the restroom, the hostess gave me a small wave and nodded toward the older gentleman sitting at a table. With a straight spine, and a slight ringing in my ears, I went to meet Mr. Conklin.
Chapter 2
Don’t get wet without me.
Rain pelted the sedan as we drove through the streets of Manhattan. Arthur, my driver, navigated the roads better than any NYC cabbie to Tornitaro’s restaurant. A couple times a month, I would meet my friends Cade and Adam for lunch, but Adam was away on business, so it was just me and Cade today. The three of us had been friends since our sophomore year in high school when my family moved to the west side of the city. We didn’t attend the same university, but we stayed close and spent a lot of time at each other’s homes during breaks. They were like the brothers I never had.
Spring in New York after a cold-as-fuck winter was welcomed, but rain not so much. When we arrived, Arthur stepped out first and stood by my door with an opened umbrella. Passersby looked at me as if I was a prima donna, but I was dry and didn’t give a fuck.
Before I went inside, Arthur handed me a dry umbrella to use when lunch was over. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, a cute blonde hostess greeted me with a smile. She’d seen me before and knew who I was—a lot of people here did. Since The Post mentioned me on a regular basis, it tended to put a dent in any attempt at anonymity.
The restaurant wasn’t very busy. Slight chatter filled the modestly lit room as I made my way to the table.
“There he is,” Cade said as he stood to shake my hand. “How the hell are you?”
“I’m good, just swamped with work as usual. How’s life over at Octane International?” I took a seat and a sip of the drink he had ordered for me and flagged down a waiter.
“Busy as hell, but I suppose that’s a good thing.” Cade chuckled as the waiter came to take our orders.
“It sure is; money talks, right?”
“Yup, and bullshit walks.” We both raised our glasses in a silent toast. Cade took a sip of his whiskey with a grimace before saying, “Dad wants me to expand my horizons past the boardroom.” After that comment, I wasn’t sure if the scowl on his face was due to the liquor or his father.
Where I was the CEO of Carris Global, Cade was the Vice President of Operations at Octane. His father still held the reins, whereas I was in complete control. “What does that mean exactly?”
“Represent our company at charity events. I need to be the face of Octane.”
“You are pretty.” I let out a laugh, but Cade just shook his head.
“You’re calling me pretty, Mr. Most Eligible? I’m still not sure how you got that title.” Now he was laughing, and I wasn’t. “Not that I lack in the pussy department.”
“Well, you can have the title. I’ve never been a fan of it. As far as the events, I’m sure I’ll see you there since I have a few on my calendar.”
The waiter returned with our meals. “So, do you have a new lady? Is that why you don’t want that title?” Cade smirked as he chewed on a piece of steak.
“You’re a funny guy. That title brings out money hungry women, and who needs that in their life? Hell, I grew up with a woman like that and don’t intend on going through that again.”
“Not every woman is your mother.”
“Thank God for that.” I finished my drink in one swallow. Thankfully, we changed the topic of our conversation subject to sports because even the thought of my mom made me start to lose my appetite.
Just as we finished our meals and arguing about the Yankees and the Mets, a melodic laugh rang through the air, catching our attention. I glanced to my left in search of the sweet sound to find it came from a woman sitting a few tables over. Her wavy, reddish blonde hair bounced as she shook her head at whatever her lunch date had said—lucky bastard.
Cade smirked. “Maybe I’ll take her to one of the events.” She laughed once more as if she heard him—and was declining the offer. “Damn, wonder what she sounds like in bed?”
I glared at him, debating calling dibs on her, but that was a bit juvenile so I played a different card.
“Why don’t you go ask her out, and maybe you’ll get both of your answers?” Then she stood, and I saw all of her, instantly wishing I could take back my suggestion. Fuck me. Even from across the room she was stunning. Those gorgeous curls framed a beautiful heart-shaped face. Her porcelain skin, what looked to be green eyes, and ruby red lips made my dick wake up. She looked a bit younger than me—not jailbait age, but I’d put her at about twenty-four.
Thankfully, the cell phone gods dialed Cade’s number just as our check came, and the gorgeous stranger started to head for the door, alone. I tossed a hundred dollar bill down on the table and motioned to Cade that I had to go. He knew what I was going after—or rather, who—his scowl confirmed that. Sucked for him, but in my head she was already mine.
Water continued to bounce off the city streets as a sea of umbrellas flanked the outside of the doors. I popped mine open just in time to see a cab stop in front of the mystery woman. She opened the door, and as she moved to get in, some jackass in a trenchcoat slipped inside and closed the door. What a douchebag.
She yelled something in what sounded like French, her middle finger thrust high in the air, followed up with, “Asshole!” I couldn’t help but laugh. When she turned to look at me, droplets of water ran down her face, taking some of her eye makeup with them. Even with black smudges, she was beautiful . . . and very familiar.
“Margo?” Her eyes narrowed for a minute as she studied me. “Margo Perry?”
Her perfectly shaped lips fell open. “Noah?” When I nodded, her lips curved up in the prettiest way, and in an instant, I pictured not only kissing them, but doing other things to them as well. The last time I saw her, she was barely an adult, now she was all woman. I couldn’t help but pull her in for a hug. God, she felt good. Her soft breasts, pushed up against my chest, were the best greeting ever.
“Come on.” I placed my hand on the small of her back, making sure I kept the umbrella over her head. “I have a car here.”
Arthur opened the door for us and I slid in right behind Margo. She was spectacular. No trace of the awkwardly cute, gawking teenager remained. Nope. Margo was stunning, and now I was the one gawking.
“Thank you so much for the ride. This weather sucks and that guy was a dick.” Her face flushed at my surprised expression. “Pardon my language.”
“No, you’re right, he was definitely a dick.” Once more, she smiled; my new goal in life was to bring that look to her face as often as I could.
“It’s so weird that you’re here. I was just thinking about you.” She was? That was a good sign. “You look fantastic, Noah, but you always did. If possible, you might look better now than the last time I saw you.”
Me? I let out a chuckle. “I’d say you hold the award for that. The last time I saw you . . .” An image of her in an oversized hoodie, baggy jeans, black-rimmed glasses, and hair in a nest of curls that birds would have loved to live in, popped into my head. “You didn’t look like this . . .”
“That’s because I was seventeen. You, on the other hand, were much older.”
“I was only twenty-two! I’m not that much older than you.”
“Back then you thought you were.”
“So you were thinking about me?”
“Yes.” Her face turned a pr
etty shade of pink at her admission. I knew that Margo had a crush on me, but she was just a kid when we first met—a high schooler, and I was in college. In other words, no way in hell would I have even considered her dateable. But knowing I had been in her recent thoughts made me happy.
“I’m flattered.” I shot her a wink.
“I’m sure you are, but I thought I saw Cade in the restaurant and you popped in my head. Were you with him?” Margo reached in her bag and pulled out a compact. As soon as she saw her reflection, she cursed. “This makeup sucks.” She swiped at her face with her fingers. “I don’t know why I bothered to fix it the first time.” When she looked at me, her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment.
“Yes, we had lunch.” She kept her focus on the tiny circular mirror in her hand. “I’m sorry; I don’t have a handkerchief or tissue to offer you.” She gave me a half-grin. “If it’s any consolation, you wear it well.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “Sir? Would you like to go to your office?”
I’d almost forgotten I had a meeting to attend. Right now, I was only interested in the beautiful woman sitting next to me, who smelled like a bakery. Was she a baker? If so, she didn’t eat anything she made or had a kick-ass metabolism, because even though she had on pants and a coat, I could tell her figure was slight.
“Where are you headed?”
“Eighth and Thirty-fifth. Midtown. Were you going in that direction?” Her plump lip disappeared underneath her bite.
“My office is just a few blocks from here.” She nodded, a defeated look on her face. “But it’s not a problem.”
“Can you drop Noah off first?” Margo asked Arthur, and then snapped her head toward me, wincing, probably from giving my employee orders. “If that’s okay with you? Never mind, I can take a cab from your office. It wouldn’t be the first time today my mode of transportation changed.”
“You’re not taking a cab. After I’m dropped off, Arthur will take you where you need to go.” I reached into my pocket in my blazer and pulled out a business card. “Here’s my information. I’d like to get together. How about dinner tonight?”
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