Blush Read online

  Blush

  A Lakeside Vines Novella

  Jen Doyle

  Contents

  Praise for author Jen Doyle

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About BLUSH

  Excerpt from CALLING IT

  Also by Jen Doyle

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Blush

  Copyright © 2019 by Jen Doyle

  Ebook ISBN: 9781641971218

  * * *

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  * * *

  NYLA Publishing

  121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001

  http://www.nyliterary.com

  To the Read Happy crew:

  * * *

  You make every day wonderful.

  But especially Wednesdays and Fridays.

  I love you all!

  Praise for author Jen Doyle

  “Sexy and sweet and packing some serious heat. CALLING IT is a debut home run.”

  ~Marina Adair #1 National Bestselling author of Summer in Napa

  * * *

  “Ms. Doyle’s fresh writing just lit a fuse that I didn’t want to end. I’m in awe that CALLING IT is her first novel. She absolutely killed it!

  ~ The Romance Reviews, Top Pick

  * * *

  “CALLING IT grabbed my heart from the start and didn’t let go. I enjoyed every crazy, funny, emotional, heart-warming minute of it and I can’t wait to read the next one in this series!”

  ~ Slick, Guilty Pleasures, 4.5 Stars

  * * *

  “It’s funny, sweet, sexy, and real. Everything you could want in a romance.”

  ~ Harlequin Junkie, 4.5 Stars (on CALLED UP)

  * * *

  “Bottom line—Ms. Doyle writes characters you want to have coffee, or maybe a beer, with. The story moves along at a good pace. All the scenes make sense, and lead somewhere. Nothing is wasted space. Again, the characters...Take a chance on this. I can't imagine you will regret it.” ~ RVA Booklover, 5 stars (CALLED UP)

  * * *

  “Great lead characters, wonderful secondary characters, melting hearts, believable conflict, and a happy ending. What more could you want?” ~ NovelMomma, 5 stars (CALLED OUT)

  * * *

  “I highly recommend Called Out. It's a terrific endearing and mesmerizing story.”

  ~ With Love For Books, 5 stars

  * * *

  “Wow, this story was fantastic. I absolutely fell in love with every single thing about it. … Highly, HiGhLy, HIGHLY recommend this one. It was a fantastic story!” ~ Smitten With Books, 5 stars (HOLIDAY HOUSE CALL)

  Prologue

  “You’re married.”

  Simon Grenville looked up to see Jeremy, his friend-slash-bodyguard, standing in the doorway to his office, a manila folder open in his hands.

  “Was,” Simon answered. “I was married.”

  “In Vegas?” His eyes not straying from the papers he was holding, Jeremy laughed. And then in his thoroughly American way muttered, “Holy shit. You were married to a guy? What happens in Vegas really does stay in Vegas.” He looked up at Simon in an assessing way. “You kept that under wraps for nine years?”

  Accepting that he wasn’t going to finish the calculations he’d just started, Simon pushed his laptop away. He was surprised at the slight twinge he felt in his chest at the thought of Nicki Hollister. “She was all woman. Trust me on that.”

  “Oh. Okay. Yeah, look at that,” Jeremy said, flipping through to the next piece of paper. “Nickola. But why does the annulment say ‘Nickolas.’ You sure you didn’t marry some drag queen?”

  “I’m fully aware of the parts, Jeremy.” Just the thought of her legs alone had Simon adjusting his trousers. He turned his gaze to the window and the city of London below, already on a trip down memory lane. The vision of her dancing just for him on their terrace far above the Las Vegas Strip—in nothing but the strands upon strands of diamonds and pearls he’d bought her—was impossible to suppress. He reached for the flask in his desk drawer.

  Shaking his head, Jeremy sat down in the chair across from Simon. “Well, I think you might need to take a look at this because the annulment says Nickolas for sure.”

  Simon swung his chair back to face Jeremy. Legal documents were ten times preferable to thoughts of the only woman he’d ever loved. He grabbed the folder Jeremy was holding out to him and looked at it. Then he straightened up and looked at it again. “That has to be a mistake.”

  When Jeremy laughed this time it sounded a bit more ominous. “Could be a pretty expensive one.”

  “You have no idea,” Simon mumbled. It was just a spelling error. Errors could be fixed. When you were the 13th richest man in England, there was even a whole staff—two whole staffs, business and personal—to fix things.

  But there was also an entire industry devoted to documenting your missteps. Mistake or not, just the fact of the error alone meant there would be enough of a question for Nicki to lay claim to a portion of everything Simon owned. And although Simon was fairly certain no court would award half of his family’s historic properties to an American showgirl he’d been married to for all of one month, there had been enough recent rulings to make it more than just a fleeting concern. Especially if it turned out she was his wife of nine years, instead—and especially if she chose to make something of the fact that he’d technically been the one who left. He’d never intended their separation to be permanent, of course. He’d had every intention of going back. She’d made it quite clear, however, that his return wasn’t of interest.

  Simon looked at his phone. It rang just then, once again making Simon wonder if his mother truly were a wicked witch. She had eerily uncanny timing when it came to anything with even a whiff of scandal, much less the fully blown real thing. Simon had no doubt she’d be the first to remind him of how little time it had taken for Nicki to begin selling off the jewelry he’d given her. Two days, to be precise. And considering his mother was still trying to get over the loss of the family’s title—which became extinct in 1852, a full century before the woman was born—Simon knew she wouldn’t take this well. He looked up at Jeremy.

  “Bloody hell.”

  1

  “I heard she was a cocktail waitress.”

  “I thought it was a stripper.”

  “A showgirl,” Nicki Hollister mumbled to herself as she looked at the array of far-too-decadent pastries behind the glass. A classically trained dancer, thank you very much. And anyway, when you performed topless there was no need to strip.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.” The cashier smiled brightly at Nicki, almost as if she
couldn’t hear a word the soccer moms were saying despite their being at the table just a few feet over. Unlike the other woman behind the counter, the one who was jamming chocolate eclairs into the display case none-too-gently while glaring past Nicki’s shoulder. If Nicki hadn’t had ten years of plastering a smile on her face through every show and with a thirty-pound headdress bearing down on her brain, she might have winced. At least it was the mom crew under the woman’s scrutiny. Nicki was doing her best to lay low. Let all the nice townspeople get to know her before casting judgment.

  So far she appeared to be failing spectacularly.

  She pointed to the squished-together éclairs. “I’ll take two of those.”

  Of course, since she was also no longer dancing in ten shows a week, she should probably be a lot more careful about what she ate. But that was a concern for another time.

  “Oh, my God, didn’t you know? She was a cheerleader at USC when Brock Russel was there.”

  They were no longer even pretending to whisper.

  “It just doesn’t seem right that Dana would have to deal with this. I’m just glad she got back from Italy in time to put a stop to it.”

  Oh, hold on. Now they’d crossed a line.

  Nicki knew that Dana—formerly Romano but now Russel—had been left standing at the altar when her first husband-to-be took off with one of the bridesmaids instead. And although Nicki was well-used to rumors swirling about her history with Russel, she wanted to smack the smiles off the women’s faces for Dana’s sake alone. Nicki and Brock had been friends in college, period. It had been clear even back then that there was only one girl he’d ever loved, and Nicki was thrilled he now happened to be married to her.

  She was also ready to kill him. So much for It won’t affect Dana at all; no one will even know you’re here.

  Thanks, Russ.

  At the same time, Dana was being a lot nicer than Nicki might have been under the circumstances, and although they’d barely spent any time together, Nicki was already feeling protective. Just as she whirled around to say something that would no doubt have her kicked out of Santa Christa before she’d even fully unpacked her things, however, she realized someone else had come into the shop, that someone being none other than Dana Romano Russel, herself. Who was clearly both entirely unconcerned about any such rumors and unfazed by being the subject of gossip.

  With only a slight roll of her eyes to indicate she’d heard what they said, she came straight over to the counter. She hugged Nicki as if they’d been friends forever instead of only meeting a few times, the first of which was during Nicki’s interview for her new job at Lakeside Estates, Russel’s golf course and luxury housing development. What that job was, no one had truly defined yet.

  “Kind of like a concierge,” Russel had said. “Or maybe a project manager.” Because College Friend Who’d Recently Been Told By Her Bosses That Her Ta-Tas No Longer Had The Anti-Gravity Properties Required And Therefore Needed A Job didn’t fit on a business card.

  Pulling back, Dana took the two coffees the cashier handed her, blew a kiss to the pastry stacker, and then nodded her head at a table clear across the cafe from the other women. “Shall we?”

  When they sat down, Dana smiled much more warmly than Nicki would have in this situation. Because the reality was that, yes, the woman’s husband had hired a Vegas showgirl—with whom he had a past, albeit an entirely platonic one—to work in a job he hadn’t quite created yet at his upscale development in a town where it clearly wouldn’t go unnoticed.

  “Thank you for meeting with me.” Because the meeting had been Nicki’s idea. She’d been the only girl on her high school football team, a Pac-12 cheerleader, and then a professional dancer on The Strip. She was well aware of the various stereotypes involved, and she wanted to start off on the right foot with Dana seeing as they’d be working as closely together as Nicki and Russel would.

  But also—and just as importantly—because Brock Russel was one of Nicki’s oldest and best friends in the world and his wife was the love of his life. Nicki wasn’t looking to be besties with the woman but she at least hoped to be on good terms.

  Damn. That probably meant she should offer up one of her eclairs.

  Dana waved it off, though, her smile wide and friendly as could be and making Nicki want to smile as well. “I’ve already had three this morning,” Dana was saying. “Big day.” Then she pulled some folders out of the big shoulder bag she carried. “Brock sent you all the designs, right?”

  Not just did she have the designs…

  Nicki reached down into her own bag and grabbed a stack of folders as well as the booklet she’d had made up for today’s meeting, her first official interaction with a client. Dana’s eyes lit up with what Nicki hoped was approval.

  Good. Because Nicki had spent the last two weeks putting everything together, and she had no idea if she was on the right track or not. With Russel in Southern California for most of that time working on another development he had underway, and Dana in Europe for something related to her family’s winery and then in catch-up mode once she’d returned, Nicki had mostly been on her own since she’d started officially three weeks prior. Other than the twenty minutes Russel had spent giving her a tour of her new house and handing over the keys, everything so far had been done via email and text. Not at all the ideal way to head into her first—and possibly last, if she didn’t get it right—meeting with a client.

  “You did this?” Dana said, paging slowly through the booklet.

  Nicki nodded. “I thought it would be good to have a presentation that fully showed how much customization is possible.” She handed over one of the folders. “I also had some brochures made up to highlight Santa Christa and the surrounding towns, the country club, and some of the local artisans you’ve featured in your designs.”

  “Oh wow.” Dana’s eyes still on the booklet, she stopped on the last page. “That’s a gorgeous photo. Is that Alejandro’s patio?” Alejandro Garcia being Russel’s friend whose day job was as a professor at the local community college but who had a clear passion and talent for creating elaborate mosaics.

  And also the only other person Nicki had known before she’d come here. “Alejandro showed me some of his designs last week; it felt like just the right touch.”

  Realizing she was tapping her foot a bit frenetically, Nicki had to force herself to sit still. She still wasn’t sure if Dana liked what Nicki had done or was about to send her back to Vegas. But when Dana finally looked up, there was something in her eyes Nicki hadn’t seen in a very long time: respect.

  She’d been good at her job—she’d been one of the best dancers out there and had gained a bit of a fan club over the past ten years. But although it pissed her off that having ‘former showgirl’ attached to her name gave people an unjustified impression, the impression was there nevertheless and Dana’s approval meant more to her than she felt comfortable admitting.

  “Were you able to find out anything more about this client?” Dana closed the book and handed it back to Nicki.

  Shaking her head, Nicki put the booklet back in its sleeve. “I could only get as far as the law firm in San Francisco. They said they’re not at liberty to name their client but they’ll provide any information we need after the meeting.”

  Dana reached down for her bag. “Brock said a few of his old football buddies use the firm, so I’m deciding not to freak out at how shady it all seems.”

  Since Nicki had had similar thoughts, she found herself smiling. The phrase ‘head of a drug cartel’ had definitely come to mind when the call came through about whether or not there was a heliport available; no lie. Then again, she’d met her share of high rollers during her years in Vegas and if there was one thing she knew about the truly rich it was that they could be both paranoid and eccentric. “Russel usually seems to know what he’s doing.”

  Now it was Dana smiling. “He really does, doesn’t he?” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “What are we waiting for? L
et’s go meet him.”

  2

  The view from the helicopter was breathtaking.

  Simon had spent a lot of time in California while on his quest to avoid expectations and responsibilities, but most of it was riding the waves off the coast of its southern beaches in his gap year. Well, gap years, rather, as he’d taken several of them. Once he’d accepted his place in the family machine, business brought him to San Francisco quite often—even the Napa Valley once or twice. But he’d never been to Santa Christa.

  “You’ll be meeting with Brock Russel, former college football player…”

  American football player, Simon presumed, although he didn’t bother to make the distinction.

  “…injured his sophomore year and went on to pursue acting,” the twenty-something assistant the solicitor’s firm had sent to accompany him continued. “He starred in two of the highest-grossing films of the last decade. He…” She leafed through the papers in her hands while shouting to be heard in the headset. Simon wasn’t so much of an arse as to tell her that not yelling was the purpose of the headset in the first place, but it was close.