“Baby, you’ll never have to find out.” He sealed that promise with his kiss.
Ready to read ALL the books in this series?
Get the FAKE MARRIAGE BOX SET here.
Read on for a sneak peek to Our Last Chance featuring Nick and Mia. This is a standalone second chance romance from my HEART OF HOPE series, and I think you are going to swoon over Nick.
.
Book Five - Accidental Daddy
Prologue
Erica (Leslie) - Five Years Ago
I’ve always loved the news. As a kid my mother sheltered me from all the grim stuff like murder and plane crashes. But I’d always liked checking in with what was happening. Were stocks up or down, even though I didn’t know what stocks were. What decision did the president make that day? And in local news, who was arrested for what or what good-doer had done something great for the community.
As I grew up, the fascination with news never left. While history was interesting as well, news was the recording of history as it was happening. A
nd I wanted to be a part of it. It wasn’t just that news was immediate, a snapshot of life in a moment, but I was intrigued by how news came to be. Why did leaders lie? Why did so many who had less, give more? Why did people steal while others gave things away? I suppose in the end, my real interest was in life.
I wrote a little newsletter in my sixth-grade class, started a curated news blog for kids in junior high, and joined the school newspaper in high school. It was a given that I’d study journalism in college, even though newspapers were dying out and it was tougher to get a job as a reporter these days. But I did get a job. I helped pay for college with freelance work which helped me become a stringer until recently when the online news outlet located in Omaha hired me.
So far, I did smaller stories. My boss always liked how in-depth my writing was, but complained about how long my articles could get.
“We just need the news, Leslie, not a psych eval.”
I always smiled and agreed to do better, but it seemed to me that motivation and personality was a part of the news. For example, why did all the rich and powerful of Omaha have a fancy charity event that cost attendees thousands to attend and cost thousands more put on. Why not skip the ballroom and cracked crab and donate it all to the charity? My theory was that rich people liked to feel important and shindigs like a charity fundraiser made them seem important but also benevolent.
I had nothing against rich people, and in fact, I was beginning to see the draw of fancy parties as I observed and took note of the event. For me though, I felt a little like Cinderella. Birds and mice didn’t make my dress, but my mother did help me fix my old prom gown so I could fit in better at the party. There was nothing I could do about the studious glasses or crazy hair except pile it on my head in an attempt of an up-do.
Everyone who was anyone was at this fundraiser for the children’s hospital. State and local politicians and top businessmen mingled in the large ballroom. Most of them were old white men.
The one exception was Simon Stark. Although he inherited his parent’s wealth, in the few years since their death, he’d taken their fortune and quadrupled it. He was Nebraska’s golden boy. Top of the list of the state’s 30 Under 30 top people. He was considered Nebraska’s most eligible bachelor and to look at him, it was surprising that more women weren’t flocking to him. He was tall and lean, but not in a lanky way. He had broad shoulders that made me think of a swimmer. He was blond with deep brown eyes and chiseled features with high cheekbones. Not that I was gawking at him or anything. Okay, so maybe I was. But it wasn’t his money or even his great looks that made me watch him as he moved through the room talking to people. It was something in his eyes. They were both expressive and vacant at the same time. Like he was putting on a show, but inside was empty. Not in a psychopath sort of way, but like his life had been filled with sadness and he was trying to hide that. Of course, his parents had been killed in a private plane crash several years ago. Perhaps that was the source of his lost puppy look. I wanted to interview him, but I was here to observe and perhaps make small talk about the charity event, not do in-depth bios on its attendees.
I’d made the rounds of the room, and had put notes in my phone. I figured I deserved a little reward, so I headed to the bar to get a glass of champagne. I’d had the golden bubbly before, but I imagined that this stuff was expensive, which should equate to delicious.
The bartender narrowed his eyes at me. “Do you have ID?”
My mother said a day would come when I’d be glad to be carded because it would mean people thought I was younger than I was. That day wasn’t today.
“Yes.” I pulled out my little wallet from my purse and handed him my driver’s license.
“This is expired,” he said, handing it back to me.
I frowned as I looked down at it. Crap. I forgot to renew it. “It was good until a few weeks ago and it clearly says I’m old enough.” I was twenty-two for goodness sake.
He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t accept expired ID.” He turned away to help someone else.
Dang it. I really wanted to try fancy champagne.
I turned away and ran smack into a wall of man.
“Looks like you’re having some trouble.”
I lifted my gaze to the soft brown eyes of Simon Stark. Even closer I could see the wall he tried to erect, and the pain.
“I think I can help.” He smiled, and while it made him handsome, that lingering of sadness remained. He pointed to a seating area. “Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll see about getting you something to drink. Champagne?”