Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After

by Krista Phillips

  Her appraisal was interrupted when Nick looked up and pocketed his phone, gaze sweeping across the room past her, then locking in on her. His full lips parted in a small oval of appreciation, and they walked toward each other.

  “Holy cannoli.”

  “I know, right?” Chelsea flexed her leg. “You can’t even see it.”

  “No, Scotty. You look…Wow.” He took her hand and lifted it to twirl her around, but her ankle buckled, and she pitched sideways, barely recovering in time.

  “Like an impostor?”

  “Not even close.” He shook his head and pressed his lips together, almost reverent. “You’re beautiful, Chelsea Scott.”

  She swallowed hard, chest tightening as if her ribs had suddenly turned trash compactor. So this was what it felt like to be looked at like this. To be seen in a way no one had ever seen her before. “Thank you. You clean up nicely yourself.”

  Nick offered her his arm, and she clutched it as if her life depended on it—because, if she was honest, it probably did. “You’d better keep your end of the bargain, Nick Pearson. No trips to the ER for these stilettos tonight.” Not that she had any collateral to give him.

  The car service was waiting for them in the hotel’s circle drive, and Nick opened her door, sliding into the seat beside her. Not letting go of her hand even when she was safely seated.

  And, for a minute, Chelsea allowed herself to relax into him, the person who’d actually made her feel lovely. Basking in the lights of the city outside her window, there was no keynote address to give, no life-altering decisions at stake, no baby news revolving pressure and pride in her chest. Just a girl in a pretty dress sitting next to a man whose grin and gumption put the storybook heroes to shame.

  If this was the red carpet of the stationery-paper world, Chelsea Scott was the star. Nick had barely been able to keep his eyes off of her since she’d come through that elevator, as she answered press questions with kind composure and posed for pictures with fans. Her team had made her red-carpet-ready from head to toe, but nothing could have made him ready to see her like that. It wasn’t because of the makeup—she was just as beautiful how he remembered her, all eight-year-old eyes half-hidden by her hair, as she was delivering her keynote address about passion and hustle and self-care for entrepreneurs like some kind of TED Talk rock star.

  “How can I help you?” Nick asked a woman with a severe expression who hadn’t taken her eyes off of Chelsea for a few moments.

  “You can’t, but thanks. I would like to speak with Chelsea.”

  Nick turned around. The rock star was still talking to a magazine reporter. “She’s wrapping a few interviews with the press right now, but do you want me to have her touch base with you when she’s finished?”

  The woman scowled. “Tell her Jewel Hargett is trying to find her and that I”—her veneer softened a few degrees—“was impressed with her keynote.” She turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

  Jewel Hargett. Where had he heard that name before? Chelsea’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  “Thank you so much!” She shook hands with a reporter, but something in her eyes was off. Despite the glamour and promise that came with being the spotlight company at one of the most elite events in her field, something was definitely going on. Her megawatt grin and optimism-drenched statements were convincing to everyone else. Contagious, even. But Nick wasn’t fooled.

  After the reporter was out of sight, Chelsea turned toward the wall, swaying a little and bracing against it with her hand. Nick sliced through the crowd as quickly as he could, almost knocking down a trio of eighty-year-old men.

  “Hey. Let’s take a break.” He gripped Chelsea’s waist with one hand and motioned to Rhonda with the other, steeling his eyes so she’d know it wasn’t a request.

  Chelsea pushed his hand away lightly as Rhonda approached. “I’m fine. Who am I talking to next?”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Rhonda ignored her, turning to Nick.

  “She hasn’t had time to eat all night. She’ll end up on the ground if she doesn’t sit down soon.”

  Rhonda whirled around as if that was explanation enough, gesturing sharply at a uniformed server and then speaking quietly to him.

  “Thank you.” Chelsea squeezed his hand, and when she relaxed her grip, he caught her fingers in his grasp before his brain could catch up to him.

  Rhonda clapped to command their attention with the authority of a reform-school disciplinarian. “Okay, you can follow this man to a quiet place where you won’t be disturbed. I’ll fend everyone off in the meantime.”

  But as they moved to follow the server, Rhonda pulled Nick close to her. “Do whatever you can to make sure she comes back herself. I don’t need to tell you how important this gala is for her future.”

  “We’ll come back when she’s good and ready.” Nick gave her the most charming smile in his arsenal. And only when she’s good and ready.

  Rhonda nodded and turned back to work the room.

  He caught up to Chelsea and the hotel employee in the hallway and rested the tips of his fingers between her shoulder blades as they turned another corner. In the second room on the right was another banquet hall like the one they’d just left, except this one was smaller, blessedly empty and quiet, its starched linens untouched.

  The server motioned to a table against the wall and pulled a matchbook from his pocket, bending over it to light the candles. “Someone will be by shortly to bring you a plate,” he said as he left.

  “Thank you.” Chelsea’s voice was raw around the edges but relieved as Nick pulled her chair for her. They were finally alone, what he’d craved ever since Rhonda had climbed into the hired sedan on Chelsea’s other side in the hotel’s circle drive before the gala.

  “You were amazing in there, Chelsea.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded, and the sight of her eyes crinkling in the low light pulled his hands toward her on the table until her elbows were cupped in his palms. “Are you happy with the way everything’s going?” They sat up straighter as a server arrived with two steaming plates of juicy steak with pats of herbed butter still melting on top, creamy mashed potatoes, and glazed carrots so fancy their leafy ends were still attached.

  “I don’t—I’m not sure.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this now if you don’t want.” Nick cut off the end of a carrot. “Really.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Chelsea scooped up a bite of potatoes and chased it with a drink of water. “I haven’t had enough time to really think, but I know this isn’t my scene.” She motioned toward the other ballroom. “Definitely more of Rhonda’s thing.”

  Nick nodded and cut a bite of steak, saying nothing. He didn’t need to wax poetic about Rhonda—he’d made his opinions clear.

  “But you know what I do know?”

  He gave her the politest acknowledgement he could muster around his mouthful of steak.

  “You’ve made this whole trip so much easier for me.” Chelsea stared into her plate, the candlelight flickering across her delicate features. “Thank you for being my calm.”

  “Mission accomplished.” That’s all Nick had ever wanted to do for her, to repay her for being his when he needed it the most. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Someone named Jewel Hargett came looking for you while you were talking to that last magazine.”

  Chelsea’s fork paused midway to her mouth. “Jewel Hargett? That’s the woman I pitched to this morning from Carter & Fritz.”

  “She said she was very impressed with your keynote. That’s good, right?”

  Chelsea looked like a North Pole elf who’d just been informed that there were places on earth not entirely covered in snow. “Yeah, I guess.”

  She guessed?

  “I just mean that a deal with them would change everything for us. Our office dynamic. Control over my designs.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and draped it across her empty plate. “But maybe that would be a good thing.
”

  “I have all the confidence in the world that there is no right or wrong decision, Chelsea, because you can make it work no matter what.”

  Her beautiful eyes gleamed. “Thank you, Nick.”

  “Should we go find your Frost Queen, then?” He stood, offering his hand to Chelsea.

  But she pulled on his hand until the dark desire in her gaze had him on his knees. “That’s not important right now.” Her lips brushed his jaw, and he turned to rest his forehead against hers, smoothing her hair back and framing her face in one delicate movement of his right hand. Relearning the contours of her cheek and jaw with his thumb. Goodness, the woman was captivating.

  “I think you’re smarter and more capable than you give yourself credit for, Chelsea Scott.”

  And then her mouth covered his, stealing his breath and pouring heat down his spine through his entire body, as their lips became a soft tangle of giving and taking. Her hands settled in the curve of his neck, pulling him nearer as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. It was mutual.

  Loud laughter at the door finally tore them apart. “Mike, you crazy—oh, sorry!” Two members of the wait staff straightened at the sight of Nick and Chelsea, and they disappeared into the hall.

  “No!” Nick shook his fists and then rested his hands against Chelsea’s hips.

  Chelsea laughed against his mouth and kissed him again. “What did we just do?”

  “I don’t know.” He brushed a kiss on her cheekbone. “But we’ll figure it out, right?”

  A smile played on Chelsea’s lips, but—was she about to cry? “I can’t believe, that after everything that’s happened…” Her voice broke.

  “Chelsea.” He pulled her close to him, running his fingers through her hair. “All that matters to me is what happens next. What’s happening now.”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said again. They had to. After having her in his arms again, everything about Chelsea was ingrained in him so strongly he’d know her even if all of his senses were dead. The place where her head reached his chin when he held her, the softness of her hair between his fingers, the give of her skin and bones beneath his arms, the notes of her different laughs, the smell of her shampoo, the steel in her eyes when she determined to do something—everything re-learned and memorized.

  He knew that powerful things could happen when he and Chelsea were on the same team. They’d been working toward different things for the past twelve years, but imagine what they could do with each other in their lives.

  What would happen if his role in her story looked less like the revolving door it had been and more like a front row seat?

  Chapter 8

  It was over. No more presentations to design or piles of notes to wake up in. The rest of the show would be networking with people at the booth. Compared to her work schedule lately, it would be a vacation, really.

  Chelsea glanced at Nick beside her in the elevator. And then there was him. She reached until she felt his muscled hand and hooked her pinky finger in his.

  “Have a good evening.” The older gentleman who’d been in the elevator with them said as he got off on the fourth floor.

  As soon as the doors closed, Chelsea felt Nick tug at her hand, and he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’m proud of you.” His lips brushed the hollow of her temple, and she allowed his warmth to permeate her entire body. If she told nineteen-year-old Chelsea that she’d be held by Nick Pearson in an elevator when she was thirty, teenage Chelsea probably would have kicked her in the shin.

  She wrapped her fingers around Nick’s arms and leaned against him. They were adults now. With very grown-up decisions to make. This one was easy, though, maybe the only thing she didn’t have to overthink.

  The elevator dinged, and Nick squeezed her before letting go. She turned for one last look at him as the doors opened, to not waste a single moment in their cozy cocoon between the gala and reality.

  And when she turned around, reality punched her like a subzero wind-chill. Did this elevator reach the depths of the earth, where her insides had certainly fallen without the shell of her body?

  Paul. Straight ahead.

  No way around him. No way to pretend she hadn’t seen him.

  “Well, what do you know?” The sound of his voice rising above the crowd had the same effect as food poisoning. “I was wondering when I’d run into you.”

  She reached back and pinched Nick hard. As if that could help him understand the gravity of this situation. “Hi, Paul.”

  “Gosh.” Paul gripped her arms below the shoulders. “It’s been so long. Too long.”

  Chelsea shrugged away from him, but the slimy feeling stuck to her skin. “I…uh. I think you know why.”

  “Yeah.” Paul cringed as if he’d made the little mistake of stepping on her foot. “We had a little glitch, but we’re back stronger than ever.”

  “Chelsea?” She felt Nick’s hand on her hip, and she took a step back, retreating into him.

  No. That’s not how this was going to go. Paul was the one who’d done wrong in this situation, not her. She stepped forward, her face on fire. “You skipped town, Paul. You disconnected any way I could reach you, abandoned your office space.”

  “Simmer down, Chelsea,” he said through his teeth, eyes darting around the crowd of gala attendees watching them curiously. “We changed our business name. Did some restructuring.”

  Chelsea threw her head back as cold laughter burst through her lips. “Are you seriously trying to feed me bogus excuses?”

  “Look.” Paul’s charming smile was back in place, his hand creeping up to her shoulder. “I’ve been working on getting your money back, but it’s taken time.” His thumb glided along her collarbone, and she felt Nick’s breath seize behind her. “You, of all people, should know it takes time.”

  Nick angled himself between Chelsea and Paul then. “I don’t think she wants you to touch her, okay?” His tone was firm but not threatening.

  “Relax, bro. Chelsea and I go way back. I know she’s a woman who likes to speak for herself.” Paul pivoted next to Chelsea and slid his arm around her shoulders, the lilt in his tone daring Nick.

  “And I’m telling you, Paul, that I don’t want you to touch me.”

  “C’mon, Chelsea,” he crooned, only gripping her more tightly when she tried to wiggle away. “Let’s go somewhere and talk for a while, darling. See if we can work out our disagreements.”

  “Not a chance. Wait—” Something clicked in Chelsea’s mind as she registered his tailored suit and oiled shoes and briefcase. “Are you seriously pitching at this convention right now after what you did to my company? You took advantage of me.”

  “I didn’t know my printer couldn’t handle the order. We’d never dealt with that kind of volume. It was an honest—”

  “That’s enough.”

  At the sharpness in Nick’s tone, Paul’s schmooze crumbled, the veneer replaced with ice and stone. “Okay, fine. I know an easy target when I see one, okay? All it took was a few dinners and I could have sold you a snowman in the middle of summer. It’s not my fault you let your emotions get in the way of business.”

  Paul’s gaze shifted up to Nick, and he stepped toward him. Nick’s jaw ticked with each foot of space that disappeared between them.

  Don’t test him. If Paul valued his life, he wouldn’t toe this boundary.

  But he reached out to smooth Nick’s collar. “Looks like you’re about to make another emotional decision right now.”

  And then Paul was on the ground, rolling onto his stomach as Nick shook out his hand.

  Chelsea stilled, muscles and thoughts frozen. The room spinning around her until the sight of Emmerlyn with her phone snapped the trance.

  Paul shot to his feet, holding his cheek.

  How long had Emmerlyn been recording? Was Chelsea’s business drama going live right now? Her failure broadcasting to her clients in addition to the industry professionals who’
d witnessed the whole thing as their after-dinner entertainment?

  “I’m going to sue you.” Paul wagged a long finger between her and Nick. “I’m going to take you for everything you have.”

  “Go ahead,” Nick answered. “I’m sure the authorities would be very interested in learning more about your dealings with Chelsea.”

  Paul backed down, waving away the two jacketed hotel security guards who’d approached. Lasering a glare at Nick and Chelsea that could have burned through metal as he exited the building.

  “Don’t worry,” Emmerlyn said to her, slipping the phone into her shoulder purse. “That guy will never do any business in this community again if I have anything to say about it.”

  Chelsea’s breath came in rasps as the present closed around her lungs and the crowd’s chatter slowed and hushed in her ears. She felt Nick’s hand on her elbow and allowed him to lead her out of the hotel lobby and into the back of their car.

  They flattened against the seat, staring straight ahead for a few moments as the car sped toward their hotel.

  “Does it hurt?” Chelsea took Nick’s right hand in both of hers.

  “Not at all.”

  She pressed her lips to his knuckles. “You didn’t even hit him that hard, didn’t you?”

  “Only enough to bring him down a few notches, but he deserved to be knocked out cold.” Nick’s voice shook with anger. “I had no idea that girl was recording. I just couldn’t take another word.” Tenderness infused his tone. “I had to make him stop saying those things about you.”

  A tear slid down Chelsea’s cheek as Paul’s words snaked around her heart, a tattoo made of barbed wire. Emotional decision. As if the internal portfolio she’d been building about herself had been given an official title, a primary hue that dominated the entire color scheme. Is that why she needed to work so closely with her team? Why it’d taken hiring a woman closer to the logic end of the spectrum to fix the disaster she’d created?

  Was she just making an emotional decision with Nick now?