by Jenna Gunn
The seats behind us are filled with Archers.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out who’s on duty. Maddy is here too, sitting with my father and his lady friend.
Councilman Brightly clears his throat and says, “Let’s begin.”
Raven places her hands on the table, on top of the stack of papers she has neatly tucked into a file folder. Her brand new diamond ring shoots fire when the overhead lights hit it.
I suppress the idiotic grin I get just from seeing the ring on her finger. It’s all so surreal. I’m engaged, and I’m going to be a father. And I’m loved by the smartest, prettiest, strongest woman I’ve ever met.
So, it doesn’t really matter what the council says.
“Captain Archer, Recruit Carson. We’re ready to hear your comments on the charges that resulted in your suspension.”
“I’ll go first,” Raven says as she adjusts the mic in her direction. “Sirs, Ma’am, I met Captain Bryce Archer the day before my interview. We were unaware that I was interviewing for a position that reported to him. When I was offered the job, we stopped seeing each other. However, circumstances led us to reconnect, which I am happy to report has resulted in our engagement and pregnancy.” She glances at me, her eyes filled with love.
“I understand our actions were not in alignment with the policies of the county. However, the fact is, love won. And I’d like to request that the council consider my request for transfer to a different position.”
Councilwoman Smyth leans toward her mic before saying, “And what position would that be?”
Raven opens her file folder. “If I may, I’d like to present copies of my proposal to each of you.”
The only woman council member says, “Bring them forward, please.”
Raven rises and walks confidently to the platform, hands out the proposals, then returns to her seat. “I propose that a position for Media Spokesperson for Ocean Safety be added to the county Safety Department. The position would report to Captain Christian Archer, therefore eliminating the conflict of interest between Bryce and myself.”
The panel begins to whisper to one another.
After a moment, Raven continues, “I would like to represent the department as the media liaison and also increase safety education to the public.”
Then, Councilman Brightly asks, “Would you manage the social media accounts for the department?”
“I would if you so wish.”
His eyes shift to me. “Captain Archer, please provide your comments at this time about the charges against you.”
“Council, I have been on the force for twelve years. As you know, our family lives and breathes Ocean Rescue every day. When I met Raven that day, I knew something special was happening. I hope you will allow me to continue. I love the job, I love this community, and I love the woman who will soon become my wife and mother of my child.”
I hear crying behind me, but I can’t bring myself to look back. I’m about to choke on this damn lump in my throat already. Tears are threatening my eyes as it is. Raven squeezes my hand—our code for everything will be fine.
Brightly covers his mic with his hand and speaks to the other members. Heads nod in response to whatever he says. When he turns back to us, he smiles. “This is an outstanding idea, Recruit Carson. Your proposal is just perfect for our growing media needs. And Bryce, you may return to your job immediately. We just have one request.”
“Yes, sir. What can I do?”
Brightly grins. “Just try not to black anyone else’s eyes, please.”
The whole room erupts in laughter. Raven leans into me and places a kiss on my cheek. “I love you, California,” she whispers.
I smile at her like the lovestruck fool I am. “You’re amazing, Texas. And you’re mine.”
+++
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Sneak Peak
A dream in the sheets and a devil in the streets….
I should have known my one-night lover was the wrong man to work for.
Yes I committed the ultimate work sin—I took a job for the rich prick I slept with. And now I’m stuck at his island resort.
It’s just two weeks. But that’s a long time to keep your sanity and your heart intact.
I’m not sure where we’ll land when this is all done—oceans apart or in our own paradise.
Stuck With The Boss is a steamy standalone romance in. the Everything for Love Series. Get swept away to an island resort for some engine revving fun.
Chapter 1
“You cannot wear that to a silent auction,” Langdon flatly says as he stares at my overalls.
His baby blue polo and corresponding plaid shorts make him look like he just left the best golf course in Charleston.
“What? They’re the nicest ones I have,” I looked down at the quilted pattern on my legs. “They were the best looking ones at the co-op.”
His brown eyes glisten with pity. “Oh, Honey, no. Give us both a present to celebrate our first big show and. Let. Me. Dress. You.”
“Fine,” I sigh. As my best friend plunders my antique wardrobe, I strip off the overalls. The wardrobe always creaks on the wooden floor whenever the doors open, and sometimes they open by themselves, which makes Everett jump. Thankfully, he is distracted by Christmas tinsel for the time being.
Wooden hangers clack as Langdon tears his way through my mostly secondhand clothing, rambling about how I have good legs and shouldn’t cover them up, but I get this speech every time we get together these days, so I tune him out and watch as Christmas tinsel flies wildly through the air surrounding Everett.
Langdon Grant has been my rock since I came to Charleston. I had a crush on him the instant we met, and I would have wasted a lot of time on him— but I met his husband ten minutes later. Langdon is tall and has a smile like a dental billboard. He’s the best dresser I’ve ever met, so I trust him to dress me, even if we have a difference of opinion on the matter. “Valerie Culpepper, you have been holding out on me!”
Oh hell. He found the dress. “Oh, have I?”
He dangles the peacock blue cocktail dress out from the wardrobe and in a sing-song voice says, “Miss Culpepper, I would love to go to the ball!”
“It’s not a ball.”
He laughs, his bright smile lighting his dark African American face. “No, but it’s the fanciest shindig you’ve been to since you got here, so you might as well look like you want to be there. Where did you get this, anyway?”
“I didn’t. My mom got it for me, I don’t know where. She said it would bring out my eyes.”
“The tags are still on it!”
I nod, “She wanted me to be able to exchange it, if I needed to. But the size is right.”
He lets out a low whistle, “Mom paid a pretty penny for this. It’d be a shame not to show it off, Val.”
“Do I have to wear that one?” I whine.
He nods and asks, “When was the last time you dressed up for anything? And do not tell me it was when you were dating Reusable Randy.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” I step behind my shoji room divider and change into the dress.
“Why not? His couch was a cluster of crates and cushions, his car was older than him and not in a good way, and he tried to propose with a ring he had used with another girl. Reusable Randy is the nicest thing I can call him.”
“His name was Dave.”
Langdon says, “Let me see the dress.”
I step out and spin for him. “And?”
“Why don’t you wear dresses more often?”
“Because it feels like a costume.”
He laughs, “An I’m-a-girl costume?”
I roll my eyes, “I can’t even paint in this! Where would I put my brushes?”
“Ugh,” he grunts. “You’re 27, Val, you’re not a kid anymore. It’s time to face facts.” He grabs my shoulders and puts me in front of my freestanding full l
ength mirror. “You’re a biscuit, with jam and butter. You’ve got some of the prettiest long blond wavy hair, those bright green eyes, and lips most men drool over. Why not show all this off?”
“With all due respect, Langdon, this is not my makeover scene. Your services as my fairy godmother are not required. I will dress myself for this.”
“Of course, Miss Earthly-Goods-Have-No-Real-Value, if you didn’t care about how you look, then you wouldn’t have a full-length mirror, would you?”
I smile and sigh, “Stop being so smart. Yes, I care about how I look, just not the way other people do. Is that so bad?”
He laughs, “Fine. But don’t come crawling to me when you go home alone tonight.”
“I’m going to sell my painting. Not to get laid.”
He shrugs, “Why not both?”
“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” I giggle.
He nods, “How else should I be?”
“Speaking of optimism, has Mike sold Rhubarb Manor yet?”
Langdon’s face melts into pity. “Sweetie, you’ll never afford it. You’ve already had that talk with him. Don’t make me have it, too. I hate telling you no.”
“Okay, so the ‘I will love it and bring it back to life’ discount doesn’t exist in real estate, but you know I would make that place even more amazing than it was a hundred years ago.”
“Yes, you would, but that doesn’t matter to the seller.”
“I know,” I try something with my hair and fail.
He says, “Rhubarb Manor is $650,000.”
“Plus restoration costs,” I add, as I try something else with my hair. I haven’t told him about my savings, or my inheritance from my Aunt Liza. I’m more than halfway to Rhubarb Manor, but I don’t want to take out a loan for the rest.
Being an artist, I hang onto every penny I get. The art market is volatile, even in good years, so a loan for that amount seems extravagant or irresponsible. But every time I walk past that house, I long to be reckless.
“And the restoration costs will likely be another $200,000, at the bare minimum. I can’t even figure out why you’d want to tackle a project like that.”
My mind wanders dangerously close to Rhubarb Manor’s gingerbread trim, faded from years of neglect. The shutters that dangle from the front windows, as though a faint summer breeze could whisk them away, let alone the damage a winter storm will do to them this year.
Rhubarb Manor was once the famed home of a notorious prostitute-turned-party hostess, Magdalena Cartwright. Rumors abound of her naughty exploits, including the takedown of a local preacher who used his church to steal money from the poor. She is said to have been a charming genius, who fended off marriage proposals to keep both her independence and her businesses out of men’s hands.
It was party central apparently with many late nights of gambling, johns, and other scandals. Part of the charm of the house is the deliciously wicked history. Plus the good bones of the floor plan.
She’s two-stories, with four bedrooms upstairs, and the main living area downstairs. It was one of the first houses in Charleston to use windows for cross breezes to cool in the summer. All the windows need to be replaced, but that would be easy enough. It is a project I can handle. I just know it.
And certainly a more rewarding project than a silent auction, where the wealthy will judge what my hard work is worth. Just thinking about such a thing stresses me out. One thing at a time. “Well, right now,” I drop my hair back down, “the project to tackle seems to be my hair.”
“I’m not that gay, Sweetie, you’re on your own for that mess.”
“Thanks,” I glare, then smile. I knew he’d never touch my hair, but at least I got him to stop talking about the house and the dress.
“Focus on something attainable. Like getting laid.”
That again. “Why is everything sex with you?”
“Why isn’t anything sex with you?” He raises a judgmental eyebrow at me. “At least bring condoms with you. Just in case.”
I huff, “If I wanted to do something attainable, I’d keep selling my paintings at your mom’s coffeeshop, instead of trying to sell my painting at the silent auction that you talked me into.”
He smiles, “Everett coming with you tonight?”
“As always,” I smile at him, and Langdon makes the face he always makes when I bring Everett somewhere in place of a proper date. It’s a lot like the face my other friends make when I bring him. “That guy’s gotta earn his keep somehow. Might as well be my date.”
“Where did you even get Christmas tinsel this time of year?”
“I have to order it online for him.”
“Isn’t it dangerous for him to play with it? Does he eat it?”
I giggle, “Not really. He just likes to watch it twirl in the light, I think.”
Langdon sighs, “Wear the dress. Maybe those black kitten heels you have hidden in the back of your closet. And no pigtails tonight.”
“But-
“If I see you there in pigtails, I will become that gay for exactly however long I need to drag you to the bathroom and fix your damn hair, got it?”
“Sir, yes, Sir,” I salute his smart ass and send him on his way. His bright red vintage Ford truck pulls away from my yurt, and I wonder if he’s right about dressing to get laid. I mean, I know he’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. I’m not shy or anything. It’s just that I don’t see the point of dressing like something I’m not. I mean, I’m a girl, yes, but there’s more than one way to be a girl. We don’t all need to wear dresses to be girls, and it’s silly to think that’s all we can wear.
That said, I have to admit the dress is hot. I turn to Everett and ask, “What do you think, Ev?”
He looks at the dress as I shimmy in it in front of him, chirps at me, then goes back to his Christmas tinsel.
“We can’t all be content with shiny things,” I scratch behind his ear and smile. “My silly ferret boy.”
Chapter 2
“Where are you this time?” Mother’s tone cuts through me.
“Charleston,” I say as I straighten my tie in the mirror. The hotel is nicer than the last one in Asheville. But that’s no surprise as that town is known more for her breweries and art scene, not her hotels.
“Why does Ray have you running all over the deep south for art?”
“Because a lot of our guests are projected to come from New York, which means they will have already seen everything in the northeast, and I wouldn’t be caught dead giving them something they’ve already seen.”
Her judgmental huff says it all for her, but she says it anyway. “Ray is a good assistant, Adam, but she has no business telling you how to run your resort. You are a Rhodes. Resorts are in your blood. What does your gut tell you?”
I smooth my beard as I tell her, “That I need to hang up, so I can focus on getting ready for this auction.”
“Adam,” her voice sounds like a reminder that I will always be a child to her.
I’m no child. “Mother, have a good night.”
“Before you go,” she sounds annoyed. Good. “How are things going with Britney? Have you popped the question yet?”
“I told you we broke up two months ago.”
“And I told you to get back together with her. You are thirty, she’s 26, just the right time to start having babies. She’s an ideal match. Her family has been in resorts as long as we have and with a merger-
“Mother!”
“What?”
I tease, “Maybe I’ll meet someone tonight at the gallery.”
She laughs angrily, “Don’t you dare even joke about such a thing, Adam! You cannot marry some art snob. I’ll have nothing to talk to her about.”
“Maybe I could get a quiet family supper for once in my life. Would that be so bad?”
“Adam Rhodes, you-
“Good night.” I hang up. I’m not having that conversation again. Mother had been the one to fix my up with Brittany in the first place,
with her eye on a merger between Rhodes Resorts and Taylor Travel. So her disappointment was palpable when we broke up. But if I were to ever get married, it would be for love, not business. Everything else in my life is for the business. A marriage would be for me.
“Mr. Rhodes?”
A voice by the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in, Ray.”
My assistant has the second keycard to my room, of course. She walks in with her permanently frozen resting bitch face and it almost makes me smile. “Mr. Rhodes, are you ready to go?”
“Just a minute, I need to take care of my beard for a second. Make yourself comfortable.”
She gives a polite, minuscule smile that never reaches her blue eyes. Her rbf is framed by a brown bobbed haircut that never has a hair out of place, and I envy her effortless style. Always in black. Always perfect.
I’ve thought about shaving the beard, but it hides my youth, and in my business, people want someone with mileage. It makes me look more competent. So, maintaining the beard is a business expense of sorts. I carefully trim an errant tuft and oil it back into place. The color is the same as on my head—chestnut brown. My stylist fawns over the color, saying it’s the richest brown he’s ever seen, but I think he likes to complement his clients for the tips.
My suit is a deep navy and the white button down underneath was freshly pressed this afternoon, but there’s something about the southern humidity that makes everything seem loose and rumpled.
Unless it’s on Ray. Her clothes wouldn’t dare wrinkle. Her black cocktail dress is smooth to her thin frame, with a high neck suitable to her pearl necklace. I smile at her, while I envy her magical powers of constant flawlessness. “I’m ready.”
“Excellent.” The GPS navigation gets us to the art gallery, as we listen to classical on the satellite radio. She tells me all about the paintings we are there to see, and how they will complement the colors in my new resort. “…the Culpepper painting is called, ‘Wilderness in blue,’ and will suit the color scheme in the largest casita to a tee.”