DIGGING A HOLE (The OHellNO Series Book 3)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Wow. “Why didn’t you ever mention this?” Not that we talk much about the past. It’s sort of an unsaid rule between us. We’re in love and we’ve committed to a fresh start together. So while the past can’t be completely avoided, we choose to look forward. For both our sakes and for Joy’s.

  He shrugs.

  Oh no. He only shrugs when it’s bad. “Sam?”

  “I met Kate there.”

  “Oh.”

  “After she passed away, I went back to school and applied for the bureau.” He looks away, across the room. I can tell by his tightly knit brows that he feels uncomfortable talking about this.

  “Sam, I know we’ve focused on moving on, but please don’t ever feel like you can’t talk about her. She’s a part of you and Joy, and I happen to love you both very much.”

  He spears me with those intense eyes. “I love you. You know that, right?”

  I nod.

  “Good, because I don’t want you to think that I’m not all in with you.”

  “Okay.” I don’t think that, but I do wonder what he’s getting at.

  “So when the time is right, you know that I’m going to ask you.”

  It takes a moment for me to read between the lines.

  Marriage. My heart goes into pitter-patter mode. I can’t imagine my life without him, and Joy has become this unexpected ray of sunshine in my life. She’s not only smart, funny, and adventurous, but I’m getting a second chance at a happy childhood, living vicariously through her. She’s got more love than she knows what to do with, and she won’t ever feel like she doesn’t matter. Sam would never let that happen to her.

  “The answer will be yes.” I peck Sam on the lips.

  “Good. I just wanted to wait until the press and everything died down. I want the moment to be perfect.”

  I grin. “I’m good with that.” As long as we’re together, I can wait for the rose petals, champagne, and the man I love bending his knee. After all, you only marry the man of your dreams once.

  “So, bodyguarding. It’s great news. When do you start?” I squeeze his hand.

  “After the holidays. I’ve actually recruited my first employee to help with Mitch’s surveillance: Your friend Abi.”

  “Huh?” My eyes go wide. “Abi? My Abi?”

  “What’s wrong with her? She’s smart. She wanted the job, and I need someone who will blend in with Mitch’s mostly female entourage.”

  Besides the fact she has zero training in anything remotely related to self-defense or defense of others and is—or was until recently—the second most shy person on the planet? Ummm…

  “She hates Mitch. With a passion. He apparently slept with her at that party we went to and then tossed her out on her ass the next morning.” And she refuses to talk about it even with me. I love her, so I’ve respected her wishes, but I know it took her months to get over it. He was her first. What a dick. A big dick.

  “Oh.” Sam scratches the scruff on his jaw.

  “Yeah, ‘oh.’ Does she know her first job will be guarding that manwhore?”

  Sam frowns. “Well, I guess I’ll have to find someone else.”

  But Abi’s internship is over, and she needs the job. She was just telling me how desperate she is for money to pay for her final semester. Of course, I offered to loan her money, but she won’t take it.

  “Better let her decide,” I say. “Maybe she’s fine with it, and if she’s not, maybe she wants to be. Abi always surprises me with her choices.”

  “Have I ever told you how much I love your positivity?”

  “Maybe, but tell me again,” I say.

  “I love it. And I love you.” The adoration in his eyes undoes me every time. It’s not just that he makes me feel special and safe, but that he believes in me. He pushes me every day to overcome every hurdle I encounter, be it dealing with the press, trying to make my way through school as a person who is now recognized as much as my father, or just being a woman with huge aspirations. Sam is there, loving me and refusing to let me be anything less than I am: a smart, capable woman.

  “Sam, you have no idea what you do to me.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re the one who’s been driving me crazy since we first met.”

  I frown. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t notice me drooling all over you—those tight skirts and sweet little lips. The way you looked at me with your sexy green eyes.”

  My skirts were just skirts. Okay, they were a little tight because I’m slightly curvier than Claire, but they weren’t that sexy. “I had no clue.”

  He whispers in my ear, “And that red dress you wore to the fundraiser. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever had to jerk off so many times to keep my head straight.”

  I blink at him. The thought of him leaning back, his cock in his hand while he—

  Christmas. Family. Children present. “Change subject fast,” I blurt out.

  He grins, knowing full well what he’s doing to me. “Did I ever tell you,” he keeps whispering in my ear, “how hard you made me when you were sitting next to me in my office and—”

  “You are a wicked man, Sam,” I mutter under my breath. “Let’s meet upstairs in five minutes.”

  “Sorry. You have to wait until we’re home tonight,” he murmurs seductively. “But know I’ll be thinking about all the ways I’m going to fuck you once we’re alone.”

  “Oh,” I give him a look, “you are a cruel, cruel man.” And I can’t wait that long for him. I take his hand. “Just two minutes in the bathroom upstairs.”

  Sam’s about to tell me to keep it in my horny lady-pants when my phone rings. It’s Henry. Oh God! I almost forgot!

  My hands fumble to answer. “Hello?”

  “Georgie, tell everyone it’s a girl!” Henry sounds like he’s crying.

  My eyes tear, and I can’t speak. I’m just so happy. I’m an auntie!

  Noticing I’m in a happy, emotional lockdown, Sam takes the phone from my hand and hands it to my sister Claire. “I think it’s good news.” He passes it off, and I hear my sisters screaming out the wonderful news to my mom.

  Sam leans over and whispers in my ear, “I love you, Georgie. Thank you for bringing happiness back into my life.” He kisses my cheek, and I take a deep breath. It’s not the end of our story. It’s just the beginning. Because I so, so dig this man.

  THE END

  Looking for more of the OHellNo series? BATTLE OF THE BULGE is coming next! (Sneak peek of the cover is on the next page.) Don’t miss it. Sign up for Mimi Jean’s very magical newsletter (it magically appears when new books come out) or check here www.mimijean.net/bulge.html for updates, buy links, and extras.

  AND…

  KEEP READING FOR instructions on how to get a free signed bookmark!

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hello, my awesome nerds, jocks, bookworms, romance fans, innocent bystanders, introverts, extroverts, and a-hole fans (I mean that figuratively, though I’m not judging).

  I hope you enjoyed Georgie and Sam, but most of all, I hope I made you laugh. I won’t lie, I couldn’t stop chuckling when coming up with Nick’s creative insults (Dumpster in a skirt? Hehe. I mean, it’s just so wrong). But, of course, I followed his sales technique—start with the worst possible scenario and finish with the good!—hoping to make you walk away loving him as much as I did. (What a sweet jerkface!)

  Anyway, up next is an epic love war. THE BATTLE OF THE BULGE…

  Sizzle. Sizzle. CHECK HERE FOR UPDATES: www.mimijean.net/bulge.html or sign up for my newsletter for an alert. Sign up for Mimi’s mailing list for giveaways and new release news!

  If you’re looking for a SIGNED DIGGING A HOLE BOOKMARK & MAGNET:

  1. Email me with your shipping address. (Include country, por favor.)

  2. If you took the time to show the book-love with a review, thank you! You rock for supporting your favorite authors! No matter how big a writer gets, she/he
is ultimately engaging in a very personal relationship. You are letting us into your hearts and minds. So don’t ever feel like your appreciation is meaningless. As for me, I like to show my reader-love. Provide a link or screen shot of your review in your email. (Magnets are on a first-come basis, so I do run out, but at the very least you’ll get a wonderful thank-you from me!)

  3. Draw upon your pity for me as I sign 1K+ bookmarks and then endeavor to stuff them into envelopes.

  4. Keep a lookout for a confirmation email from me. (Don’t hate me, but sometimes it takes about one month to get to all of them.) If you don’t hear from me by then, assume the spam-monster has eaten your email.

  While you’re waiting, you can always listen to my crazy DIGGING A HOLE PLAYLIST here:

  https://open.spotify.com/user/mimijeanpamfiloff/playlist/3zagS0Zpb90nzgBPbs9uXA?si=FC_7bHTyS7GWLGzynk5yvw.

  I especially recommend the “ASSHOLE” song by Dennis Leary. I think it channels the spirit of Craigson perfectly. What a super asshole.

  As for my semi-regular book breakdown, I think it would be an insult to your intelligence to explain what the book meant. I can only add that while I’m probably a six or seven on the extrovert scale, I think most of us have a little Georgie in us. She’s the piece that, at one time or another, kept our mouths closed when we really wanted to be fighting. In the end, however, maybe what defines us isn’t the times we stayed quiet, but the times we spoke up. No one can be “on” all the time. No one can fight every battle and horrible person they come across. We have to choose; otherwise we’d spend our entire lives as a species pissed off and fighting. In my humble opinion, we’re all better off focusing 90% of our time on the good—love, family, friendship—which fuels our hearts and souls. And when we have to fight, we fight because it’s right and our calling.

  I call for more love!

  XOXO,

  Mimi

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  You’re all warrior squirrels for digging in and helping out with book #33! Which is why I love you. So thank you for putting up with this major a-hole/fiction maniac/romance rebel who can’t seem to stop herself from going for the warrior-squirrelly plot twists!

  So to Su, Karen, Dali, Ally, Latoya, Pauline, and Paul: I dig you. Thank you!

  To my dudes: I dig you, too, but please stop washing my colors with bleach and the whites with the darks. My clothes look like they belong to a criminally insane person. I’m only a bit crazy.

  With Love,

  Mimi

  Upcoming Releases!

  CHECK

  Book Three and the Finale of the Sexy, Suspenseful Mr. Rook’s Island.

  FOR MORE, GO TO:

  www.mimijean.net/check.html

  THE LIBRARIAN’S VAMPIRE ASSISTANT

  Book 2

  FOR MORE, GO TO:

  www.mimijean.net/the-librarians-vampire-assistant-2.html

  LOOKING FOR A DARK ADVENTURE?

  Check out Mr. Rook’s Island, a Sexy, Romantic Suspense.

  He’s Enigmatic, Dangerously Handsome, and COMPLETELY OFF-LIMITS…

  The women who vacation on Mr. Rook’s exclusive island are looking for one thing and one thing only: to have their wildest romantic fantasies come to life. Pirates, cowboys, billionaires—there’s nothing Rook’s staff can’t deliver.

  But when Stephanie Fitzgerald’s sister doesn’t return after her week in paradise, Stephanie will have to pose as a guest in order to dig for answers. Unfortunately, this means she’ll need to get close to the one thing on the island that’s not on the menu: the devastatingly handsome and intimidating Mr. Rook. And he’s not about to give the island’s secrets away.

  FOR MORE, GO TO:

  www.mimijean.net/rooksisland.html

  or continue reading for an excerpt.

  EXCERPT MR. ROOK

  PROLOGUE

  My name is Stephanie Fitzgerald. I am twenty-six years old, London born, New York raised, and I know exactly three things about my current situation.

  One: I am an imposter riding on this private jet carrying myself and eleven other women to an island “paradise.”

  Two: I have no clue what I will find when I disembark, because this exclusive resort doesn’t exactly advertise.

  Three: I will be fired if I don’t return home with concrete information regarding Mr. Rook, the mysterious owner of the island. And when I say I’ll be fired, I really mean that my body will be thrown down a deep dark well by a bad, bad man.

  Those three things, however, don’t really matter. Only finding my sister does. Because the last place Cici was seen alive is here, “Fantasy Island.” Yep, that’s what some people actually call it. Some even say the show in the ’80s was based on this place.

  Sure. If your fantasy is to disappear, leaving your family an emotional train wreck, then okay, I concede the point.

  Regardless, this is where Cici went after winning a mystery dream vacation in the back of some travel magazine, and it’s touted as the real deal. You pay fifty K. They make your wildest fantasies come true. One week in Heaven.

  Heaven, my ass.

  As the tires hit the wet landing strip and the plane slows to a crawl, I glance out the tiny oval window to my left, and my breath hitches. Standing among the lush vegetation lining the runway is a tall man with square shoulders. He’s looking right at me, and those eyes—so predatory, so cold—are the only thing I can really see of him.

  I blink, and he vanishes like a wisp of steam.

  Fuck. What was that? A hard shiver slams through me as I realize I have no clue what I’ve just gotten myself into. Because I am one of the next happy guests at Mr. Rook’s private island, where “Every woman’s fantasy is our business.” And not everyone comes home from vacation.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Like its mysterious owner, Rook’s Island was practically an urban legend. No brochures. No real website. They advertised strictly by whisper of mouth. In other words, you had to know someone willing to tell you about it. Confidentially.

  But from the bits and pieces I’d gathered off the Internet, I deduced it was an uncharted island somewhere west of the Bermuda Triangle in Bahaman waters, likely northwest of Highborne Cay among a cluster of unnamed isles. That said, no one could tell you exactly where it was, and if they knew, they’d never admit it. Even the employees of the Bahaman government had simply stared at me like I was a madwoman.

  “There is nothing in those waters, ma’am, except fish,” one of the clerks from the Bahaman embassy in DC had said several months ago.

  “Then why the hell did my sister have a goddamned plane ticket to the island?”

  The man had simply shrugged. “I cannot say, ma’am. I have never heard of such a place, so perhaps your sister simply lied. People disappear on purpose all the time.”

  What the fuck? Cici, my sister, was a goddamned saint, a kindergarten teacher who loved her life. She lived for those kids and was the kind of person who made everyone smile.

  Unlike me. I used to be outgoing and optimistic, but now I’m just broken. I’m broken because I loved my big sister more than anything. She was my best friend, my blood, and my hero. She was there for me when my widowed father was too busy working and I was trying to grow up without a mother. Cici made us a family, and now she was gone. Just like that. A fact the police had little to say about since they had a video of her clearing out her safe deposit box.

  “She did not abandon us, you piece of shit!” I had screamed at the embassy guy. “Now help me fucking find her!”

  The rest of that moment—a blur, really—consisted of multiple expletives, resulting in my being arrested and banned from their embassy. Indefinitely. My father, an award-winning war correspondent, had to pull a few strings to get me out of jail that day.

  “Stephanie, please don’t do this to me,” he’d said, his thinning gray hair its usual mess, his strong hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel of his Volvo—an old beige thing he’d purchased for my mother right before she died. God rest
her beautiful soul. She had been a journalist like my dad when they met in Afghanistan, but they moved around a lot for work, eventually landing in New York right after I came along. Then one morning, she was out for a jog and dropped dead of a heart attack. Poof. Gone forever from our lives.

  My poor father was never right in the head again, and until this day, he refused to let go of my mom or that Volvo. So while I never really knew her, I felt the painful void she’d left behind, which was why I couldn’t give up searching for Cici or accept that there was no island.

  And look. There it is… I glanced out the tiny window of the plane, knowing I was one step closer to getting answers.

  My heart hammered against my rib cage as the private jet’s outer door popped open. Okay, really, my heart hadn’t stopped hammering since I’d boarded. What kind of place doesn’t require a visa or passport? A shady place, that’s what.

  “Ladies,” said the stewardess with dark brown hair matching my own, “the staff here at Mr. Rook’s island would like to welcome you to your dream vacation. As you exit the plane, please be careful descending the staircase. Of course,” she giggled, “if you do decide to fall, there will be a strong, handsome gentleman waiting to catch you.”

  The female passengers, who’d been sipping fancy cocktails since we boarded at a private airfield south of Newark, started clapping and hooting.

  “I’m definitely taking a dive, then!” barked out a redhead in her mid-forties, wearing an animal print blouse, white jeggings, and a heavy amount of gold jewelry around her neck. Her accent screamed Southerner, while her outfit screamed new money and that she liked borrowing clothes from her daughter—the one she’d been talking about nonstop to the other passenger directly behind me. Apparently, the redhead had just got divorced from her wealthy cheating husband and the daughter recently graduated from college. This vacation was her big indulgence after years of marital ugliness. The woman to her side, a timid little blonde thing, didn’t say much other than her sister had come to Rook’s Island over a decade ago and hadn’t stop talking about it since.