by Addison Fox
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Frances Karkosak. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Alethea Spiridon Hopson
Cover design by Danielle Marie Barclay
Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-091-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2013
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: The Mirage Hotel; Jimmy Choo; Rockettes; Barbie; Spider Man; Lifetime Movie of the Week.
To the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood.
A tremendous group of women with outstanding taste in shoes. I love you guys!
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Prologue
EIGHT YEARS AGO
Mayson McBride watched the hordes of Las Vegas tourists stream through the convention hall and gave herself a mental high-five.
They’d done it.
A heady streak of pride ran through her.
Another glance toward all the smiling faces marching up and down rows of food, wine, appliances and home décor only reinforced that feeling.
“I’m still not sure why you and your sisters bothered with this.” Andrew McBride sidled up to her, and she couldn’t hold back her surprise at her father’s sudden arrival, as if she’d conjured him up from her recalcitrant thoughts.
She gave him a hug and not for the first time wondered, what it would be like to be happy to see him. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Changed my mind. Wanted to get in on a poker tournament down at the Mirage.”
“How’d you do?”
He lifted up his hands, his arms held wide and a lopsided smile playing around his mouth. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Of course he was. Her father wasn’t known for his gambling savvy. Or his business savvy. Likely because he managed both with the same wild streak of inconsistency, simply seeking some sort of gambler’s high as opposed to doing any real work or using any measure of strategy.
“How’s attendance?”
Mayson couldn’t hold back a smile of her own. “Beyond expectations. We already have signed letters of intent from forty exhibitors waiting to get in on next year.”
“Wow. Your sisters were working it.”
She brushed off the flare of annoyance that skittered down her back. “We were all working it.”
“Sure, sweetie. I know a lot of set up went into the layout and design.”
She gritted her teeth. “I designed the layout for the entire hall. Ensured each booth had a specific look and feel. And I helped close on the sales.”
His smile fell. “Mayse, you’re always so prickly. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
“What did you mean, then?” Because I sure as hell wouldn’t classify it as a pep talk.
“You’ve got your mother’s eye for design. At least you’ve figured out a way to make something of it.”
“Unlike Mom, who sat on her ass and did nothing?”
“Again, you’re misinterpreting my words.” He patted her on the back, his discomfort at being called out evident in the way he’d begun to glance around the hall, seeking an out. “It looks great. Everything looks great. But we’ll see. The proof is in the receipts.”
“You don’t think Keira, Camryn and I did it?”
Keira’s challenge to their father had been simple and direct. If they turned a profit on the home show, he’d give them the entire Home and Family asset to run. Magazine. Website. Trade show. Cookware extensions. All of it.
“Like I said, the proof will be in the final tally.”
“Get ready to turn over the keys, Daddy. We not only did it, we blew the doors off.”
“Our deal was two years. Two years to turn a profit.” He held up two fingers to punctuate his point, but he couldn’t hide the slight tremble that gripped his limbs.
“I can guarantee we just did it in one.”
“We’ll see when Camryn runs the financials.”
“Aren’t you seeing what I’m seeing?” Mayson did a swift turn around the hall, the throng of people like a cocoon around them.
Her father gave the room an impatient glance. “Yes. Lots of pretty booths. We’ll let Cam do the final tally and then decide what comes next.”
Mayson knew exactly what came next. She’d known it for months, as she and her sisters worked tirelessly to make something of their lives and their legacy. They all had gifts—Keira for management, Camryn for finance, and her with her eye for design—and they were going to bring McBride Media back from the brink of disaster.
Her father had underestimated their determination to make something of themselves and their sheer fortitude to bring it to fruition. It was a trait he’d never understood or appreciated in his children. But it was about to have consequences for his role as head of McBride Media.
Chapter One
NEW YORK CITY, PRESENT DAY
Mayson McBride stared at the lovely red wine stain that spread across the front of her champagne-colored bridesmaid gown and wondered why the hell it couldn’t have been the other way around.
“Why did it have to be that delicious Bordeaux?” she muttered to herself as she slipped out of her ruined dress. The guests at her sister’s wedding reception had already lined up at the bar for glasses of the thousand-dollar treasure, and she was going to miss whatever was left in the time it took to change her clothes in her hotel room five floors up.
With a quick shimmy out of the now-ruined slip that bore the same stain as the bridesmaid dress, she suited up in the silk sheath she’d thought to stow in her bag. The designer had given her the dress after she covered his photo shoot the previous month and she’d been in love with it ever since. The simple lines of the dark indigo dress belied the real genius in the design. The silk clung to her figure like a lover, yet hid any areas she’d prefer the eye skimmed over.
She glanced in the mirror to confirm her chignon was still in place with its iron-clad application of hairspray and then she was on her way. Maybe she’d still get a glass of the Bordeaux if she hurried.
The sounds of the wedding got louder as she stepped off the elevator and clicked down the marble hallway in her heels. Her sister, Keira, had already declared she wasn’t doing anything as traditional as a bouquet toss, but Mayson was looking forward to the distribution of roses that every woman would get after the cake was cut, and she hoped she hadn’t missed it.
As if on cue, the doors flung wide as she approached. A harried florist, his arms full of blooms, let out a string of curses that would quell even the most well-spoken sailor. Mayson stumbled backward to keep her footing and avoid getting slammed with the heavy ballroom door.
Her maneuver h
ad almost worked when her second foot came down hard on the marble and her ankle twisted, shooting the spiky heel out from underneath her. A string of curses of her own came barreling out of her mouth, her arms flapping while she tried to catch her balance. The loud oomph that hit her ears was the last thing she expected as a hard chest pressed against her back and a tuxedo-clad sleeve wrapped around her.
“You okay?” The heavy voice floated over her, the tones distinctly cultured and cold.
“I’m fine.”
Her racing pulse didn’t slow, nor did the arm wrapped around her body release her. A slight warmth flooded her belly, the opposite of what she should be feeling locked in a stranger’s embrace. She struggled to get some distance. The effort was to no avail, her heels clicking against the floor as she attempted to right herself.
“You’re fine?” The words were lower than the last spoken, and she caught another distinct note layered over the cool refinement.
Laughter.
“You think this is funny?” She stilled, that slight edge of humor stopping her more effectively than anything could have.
“I think you’re moving like there’s a fire somewhere and now you’re paying for it.”
“I wanted to get back to the wedding.”
“So you thought it made sense to run through the lobby on those stilts? Not that I can argue with their effect on your legs.”
“I didn’t want to miss the Bordeaux. And why else would I bother wearing them?”
“So Nathan went ahead with it.”
She puzzled at the rapid change of pace and the loss of warmth as the arm that banded her loosened. Mayson turned the moment she was free, and the impression of strength and quiet attractiveness she’d glimpsed from the edge of his profile hit her with a harder punch.
Oh, he was more than attractive, with a ready smile and hazel eyes that were an unexpected and intriguing contrast to his lighter hair. The broad chest she’d felt layered against her back boasted an even broader set of shoulders above it, and every inch of his tuxedo-clad frame had an aura of power and confidence, the exact opposite of what she usually went for.
And how’s that working out for ya, McBride? Her conscience piped up, clearly displeased with her mental attempt to brush off her quick attraction.
“I stand corrected. I’d rush for that wine, too. I’m not sure I’d have left the ballroom.”
“So what are you doing out here?”
“I had a meeting that ran over.” A hint of merriment hit those hazel eyes, morphing them to an enticing shade of green as he stood there with his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. The move was impish and all-together too appealing. “And I’m late for the wedding.”
“Business meeting on a Saturday? How many kinds of jerk is your boss?”
“I can be an incredible jerk, but today’s meeting was, unfortunately, necessary.”
…
Holt Turner tried to douse the interest that had gripped him the moment this luscious package of adorable fell into his arms, and knew he was about to fail miserably. Who was this woman? Since she was at the wedding, she was a part of Nathan and Keira’s social circle. How had he never met her before?
Her eyes widened at the realization of her insult, and a light blush crept up her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“You can apologize by having a drink with me.” He moved his hands from behind his back, producing a bottle of the luscious Bordeaux she’d been rushing back to the ballroom for. “Maybe this will change your mind?”
Her mouth dropped. “Where did you get that?”
“I have my ways.”
“You stole it?”
“No, I didn’t steal it.” He was surprised at how quickly the words chaffed and tamped down on the annoyance that nearly spilled forth to ruin the moment. She’d made a joke, nothing more. And he hadn’t needed to steal for a long time.
“Where’d you get it?”
“Since I’m the one who gave it to Nathan and Keira as a wedding present, Nathan thought it only fitting some was kept aside for my enjoyment.”
He saw her eyes widen and marveled at the innocence there. Most women—certainly the ones who knew the value of the Bordeaux as she obviously did—would have begun seeing dollar signs. Instead, a warm glow lit up her face, from her dark, expressive eyes to her broad smile. “That’s an incredibly lovely and generous gift.”
“I’m happy for them, and it was my pleasure.” The large lobby had various seating options, many hidden away in private spaces for quiet conversations. Holt gestured toward one of them and enjoyed watching the light sway of her hips as she moved toward a plush seat.
“Do I at least get a name?”
“I’m not sure. I’m still a bit wounded by your snap judgment of me and my heels.” A light veneer of amusement flickered across her features. “Maybe when I know you better.”
“Isn’t a name part of the process of getting to know someone better?”
“Share that bottle and I’ll consider it.”
Holt snagged the attention of a bellman and requested glasses and his services to open the wine. As they waited, he took the opportunity to really look at her.
“Are you here with anyone?”
“Do you mean like a date?”
“The question was a bit more general than that, but yes. A date, or anyone else for that matter. A friend? A sibling?”
“I’m here with my family.”
“Aren’t they going to wonder where you got to?”
“They’ll be fine.”
When that line of questioning turned up no further information, he took a new angle, curious to know more about her. “So you clearly have a low opinion of business meetings.”
“They’re a necessary evil.”
“Which either means you sit through a lot of them or deliberately chose a profession without any.”
“A lot. Definitely a lot.”
“Ah.” He pointed toward her feet. “That explains your speed on those heels.”
He didn’t miss the wry tilt to her lips when she spoke again. “The speed is a side benefit of a frenetic personality. The quality of the heels, however, is a side benefit of all those meetings I hate going to.”
“You’re a career woman?”
The smile vanished, her features darkening, and it was obvious he’d hit a nerve. “I don’t like categories like that. It diminishes someone’s value. Puts them in a box.”
Holt couldn’t argue with her assessment, but he was curious to know why she thought so. “We’re bombarded with messages and images all day long. Categories help us put things in their place. Figure out our world. It’s not a bad thing.”
“No, but it’s not the easiest way to get to know someone.”
“So we are going to get to know each other?”
The question hung between them as the bellhop returned with their wine. Holt took the glasses and open bottle from the man, and gave him a quick tip. The bellhop’s jaunty step as he walked away ensured he’d give them their privacy, yet keep an eye should they need anything else. Just the way Holt preferred it.
He poured two glasses of the rich red and handed one to the woman as he swirled his own glass. She did the same, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
“What’s that for?”
“The wine. It’s so simple. So easy.”
“I’d say it’s incredibly complex.”
“Exactly!” She held up her glass, swirling it once more. “It is deeply complex, yet what you see is what you get. It’s a rich promise that never disappoints. People can be the same way.”
Holt leaned forward and clinked his glass against hers. “To simple complexity.” Before she could offer her own toast, he added to the toast. “And sharing a complex yet simple glass of wine with an exquisitely beautiful woman.”
She was unexpected. Rare. And his interest raised another notch, deepening in the light of her dark gaze.
“We were interrupted. Why don’t you like cate
gories?”
That dark gaze dropped, and Holt couldn’t help thinking she hid secrets behind those eyes. But it was when she looked up again that he was charmed by the intensity he saw reflected back at him.
“I think the human experience is far richer than people often give it credit for. And those boxes we like to drop people into? Well, they’re boxes of our own making, not a true reflection of that other person.”
“No one can really know everything about another person.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t categorize them or assume we really know them. We don’t. We know what we think we know about them.”
“You feel quite passionately about this?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Let’s say a lifetime of being put in a box of someone else’s making grew rather tight and restrictive.”
The prim set of her shoulders and the long legs delicately crossed at the ankles drew him, the proverbial moth to flame. There was depth here, and far more than a pretty face. While he’d never spent much time analyzing or worrying over his dates, the fact that he was now faced with a woman who had layers and thoughts and opinions had him immediately intrigued. And interested far more quickly than he normally would be.
“I have no interest in putting a label on you, but I do have an interest in getting to know you better.”
“I’d like that.”
“Perhaps we can start with a name?”
She hesitated for the briefest moment before she spoke. “Elizabeth.”
“Lovely to meet you, Elizabeth.” He extended his hand. “I’m Holt.”
“You, too. Holt.” His name hovered on her lips as she slid her hand into his, her voice husky and deep from the wine.
He held her hand a moment longer than necessary before releasing it and picking up his glass. “We’ve spent a lot of time talking about work. Or dancing around it. What do you do for fun?”
Light flooded her features, filling her gaze with delight. “I have a charity I’m involved in that I love.”
“What do you do for them?”
“I work with special-needs children at a camp upstate. It’s called Hands, Hearts and Hugs.”
“What sort of work is it?”