Chapter 1
HOPE
Give me three reasons as to why I shouldn’t kill the idiots I work with.
Istared at the picture of Justice Wild hanging above my desk, mentally cataloging the ways in which he embodied the perfect bad-boy rocker vibe.
Cocky grin—check.
Tattoos—check.
Wild hair—check.
Women screaming his name—check.
Excellent music—triple check.
Once upon a time he’d lived next door. The moody but charismatic kid who’d channeled his love of music into a billion-dollar career.
Meanwhile, here I was living in my grandmother’s house, dealing with difficult employees and working for a boss that didn’t seem to understand why I was stressed.
“We’ve never had this conversation.”
I blinked as I came back to reality with a rough thud.
Taking a deep breath, I unmuted myself.
“Ciara, I don’t think this is a productive meeting. You’re saying we’ve never had this conversation before, I’m saying I’ve provided you with feedback both directly and through others in the team. I think—”
“The only feedback you’ve ever provided to me was when you called my dress attire shabby.”
I stared at the woman on the other side of the screen, desperately fighting for calm.
Ciara had the potential to be an amazing employee. The issue was that she assumed she didn’t need to change anything.
“I don’t believe I’ve called your outfits shabby. That wouldn’t be professional.”
“You did!” Her voice caught and her eyes welled with tears. “You’re a horrible boss! How can you say you didn’t?”
I muted myself and stared at the screen, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. Ciara’s rant began once again, her face flushing as tears ran unchecked down her cheeks.
I hated this conversation. I hated how after every catch up I felt drained and useless. I hated how this had been going on for months and despite my best efforts we seemed to be stuck in the same cycle.
I’d provide her with feedback. She’d deny I ever provided her with the feedback. I’d show her emails and notes from our meetings, and she would deny we ever had that conversation.
It had gotten to the point where I’d begun to doubt my own sanity. I’d begun to look over my notes and wonder if they were lies—figments of my imagination.
They weren’t, but that was how I was beginning to feel.
An hour later the conversation ended with agreement for yet another discussion.
I ended the call and tossed off my headset, pinching the bridge of my nose to keep from crying.
“Damn it,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders as if trying to shrug off the energy of the discussion we’d just had. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
Once upon a time I’d loved my job. We worked with businesses of all kinds creating custom solutions for their organizations.
Be it social media posts, meeting minutes, developing project plans, or supporting staff recruitment.
The work was varied and interesting, the hours were great, the pay was excellent, and I had managed a great team of twelve staff who all loved their jobs.
Or at least I had, until six months ago. Ciara had been hired and within a month my job satisfaction had deteriorated. She’d struggled to juggle clients, had refused to communicate with me what she needed, and had begun to assign her work to other team members instead of actioning herself.
I wanted to help her. I wanted her to succeed. But every effort was met with hostility and wild accusations. And my boss, George, while a good guy, didn’t seem to appreciate how stressful and toxic the situation had become.
I finished up a few emails then logged off for the day as my phone beeped with an incoming text.
Faye
Give me three reasons as to why I shouldn’t kill the idiots I work with.
I grinned, leaning back in my chair as my fingers flew across the screen.
Hope
1. You need the money. 2. You’d look horrendous in a prison outfit. 3. You’re married to one of those “idiots”.
Faye
You’re right. I’ll add itching powder to their underwear before a gig. That’ll teach ’em.
Hope
What’s happened now?
Faye
The usual. I’m wrangling PR nightmares, Justice has gone AWOL, Felix is brooding over some couple he met on a mountain treat, Radley is being… Radley, and do NOT get me started on the sex animal I married. The man is insatiable!
Hope
And that’s a bad thing?
Faye
It is when I’m in the middle of a call with Rolling Stone about getting them on the cover and Sam decides to crawl under my desk and eat me out.
I squealed a little, delighted my best friend in the world had landed such a good man.
We’d met in college, Faye with her bold personality and sharp wit had taken me under her wing.
We’d become fast friends and quickly moved in together.
We’d lived off campus in a quiet bungalow where I’d managed to kill every plant and blade of grass, and she’d managed to set fire to the cooktop three times.
After the third visit by her brother, who was a firefighter, we’d agreed that I’d take over the cooking and she could do the yard work.
I’d loved those long, busy days spent laughing over some new story or calamity. We’d been poor but happy.
Then Faye had graduated and been offered a job by The Wild Ones.
Did I find it strange that Justice had employed my best friend as his PR rep?
A little. But Faye had known her husband, Sam, for years before the band had formed, and Sam had suggested her when the band had needed someone passionate but cheap.
The thing I’d taken away from the whole situation is that the world is a small place.
I returned Faye’s text.
Hope
And what is the problem?
Faye
No, you’re right. Muting your phone so you can climax is totally professional. Thank you for the reality check.
Hope
This is going in a book.
Faye
I should hope so. Speaking of… have you seen Justice yet?
Hope
No. Should I be expecting to?
Faye
Maybe? He asked Simon to organize a suit for one of his brothers. Something about an event coming up. Do you know anything about that?
Hope
You should ask him.
Faye
I have. And the fact you’re being cryptic tells me I should push harder before the media finds out what’s up. Thanks for nothing you goose.
I chuckled.
Hope
Love you too. See you in a few weeks?
Faye
You know it!
I clicked on the after-work mode on my phone, breathing a little sigh.
I missed Faye and couldn’t wait to see her at my birthday, but there was a grief attached to seeing her moving forward with her life.
A yearning I’d never expected had begun to take root in my chest—a wish for the kind of things she had.
I wanted her to be happy and fulfilled more than I wanted my next breath.
My heart held such joy for her—she deserved every good thing.
But watching her find her dream job, travel the world, embrace herself, and find a relationship with a person who adored and complemented her in every way, made me want the same.
I’m lonely.
I didn’t have any problem with being single—in fact most of my life I’d preferred it. But lately my world had narrowed to become one video call, text or email after another. My friends were moving on with their lives while I felt… stuck.
I loved my gran, but she had become the only person I physically interacted with.
I longed for connection, meaning, touch.
I knew I needed to crack the shell I’d built around my life, but I’d become trapped, like a wallflower or bluestocking that had a badge placed upon her before she’d even fully matured.
“Get over yourself.” I forced away my morose thoughts and opened my personal laptop. “Your life is fine.”
Flexing my fingers as my manuscript loaded, I glanced up at the picture of Justice hanging above my desk.
“Let’s see what mischief you’re getting up to tonight.”
By day I was Hope Higgins, the shy virtual assistant who lived with her grandmother and made pies for the town charity events.
But by night I was H. Stone, author of the bestselling series, “Savage.” The series followed the sexual exploits of the Savage Boys, a band that had taken the world by storm. The books featured each of the band members as they fell in love and found their soul mate.
It was the worst-kept secret that Justin Savage, my lead character, was inspired in no small part by Justice Wild.
Did I have a crush?
Oh yeah.
But I’d been nursing that sucker since I was four years old and Justice had agreed to push me on a swing.
Would my dream of being the woman he came home to each night ever come true?
Absolutely not.
Would my dream of some epic love filled with steamy sex and deliciously delightful public declarations of love ever come true?
Again, no.
One could say I wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who inspired feelings of love and devotion in others. I’d once been referred to as a wallflower by a well-meaning but horrendously insensitive aunt.
My books had become an outlet for my unfulfilled desires.
Every night I wrote about all the things I wished would happen in my life knowing none of it was even remotely close to reality.
For brief periods I could be someone else—someone bold and confident.
Someone who inspired love and lust and devotion.
Someone who wasn’t lonely.
“Hope, dinner’s ready.”
I hit save and sat back in my chair, stretching my arms and cracking my back.
My family had no idea I wrote smutty romance, and I intended to keep it that way.
I headed downstairs, pausing when I saw my grandmother sitting outside on the back deck.
“Gran?”
She waved at me through the porch door. “Come sit with me, dear. I have news.”
“News” always translated to gossip—and as the oldest member of our small town of Peach Springs, Gran always seemed to know everything about everyone.
I served myself up a plate of chicken and salad and settled beside her on the porch swing.
“First, I heard from Hudson today,” she said, referring to my youngest brother.
“How is he?”
“He and Natalie are thinking of enrolling Remy in dance classes next fall.”
I chuckled. “I can’t imagine Hudson as a dance dad.”
“Mr. Allen from Peach Fuzz also called today.” Mr. Allen had owned the local barber shop for more years that I’d been alive.
“Mm?” I murmured as I chewed. My attention had begun to drift back to the story that awaited me upstairs.
Maybe I could have Justin meet his potential match at a—
“Justice Wild is back in town.”
My attention diverted so quickly I was surprised I didn’t end up with whiplash.
“What?”
Gran nodded, spearing a cherry tomato with her fork. “The boy is back in town. Went to the Fuzz for a haircut. Tipped Mr. Allen good, too. Must be here for the dedication.”
I swallowed then swallowed again, fighting against the rolling emotions that had spontaneously erupted in my gut.
“Dedication?”
“The court case was finally settled. The developer lost. The park is safe. It’ll be handed over to the town officially in a few weeks. Didn’t you read the paper?”
I shook my head slowly, trying to piece together my thoughts.
Twenty years ago, Justice’s parents had been working to donate a large tract of their land to the town. They’d been peach farmers— and while the rest of their land had been perfect for agricultural use, that area was far too rocky and hilly for them to utilize.
They’d decided to donate it as a nature reserve to the town for everyone to use. Only they’d passed away before finalizing the donation, and a developer had lodged an appeal with the town to try and get the area rezoned for housing.
“I must have missed the news.”
“Well, you’ve been on that computer for weeks. Barely leaving the house, working around the clock.” Gran tsked under her breath. “You’re letting your life roll by without participating in it.”
I brushed away her concerns. “Why is Justice in town? I thought he was on his tour.”
Gran waved her hand dismissively. “The tour is on break for two months before the next leg. Word has it he caught some kind of cold.” She sniffed. “Gladys is sure it’s mono.”
“And he’s spending it here? In town?”
Gran nodded.
I swallowed, glancing away as I stared out at the apple trees that surrounded our small cottage.
Unlike the rest of the town, which was peach obsessed, my great-great-great-great grandparents had decided to plant apples.
Apples had been my family’s obsession until my father had passed away when I was thirteen. My mother had tried to continue the tradition and run the orchard, but her heart hadn’t been in it. A few years later she’d moved us halfway across the world back to her home country of Astipia.
My father’s side of the family still ran the orchard, which was well known for its fresh, crisp varieties of heirloom, organic fruit.
That was why I was here. My Gran—my father’s mother—needed help around the house while she waited for a spot to open at the local assisted living home. But with peak fruit picking season nearly upon us, there wasn’t anyone in the family who could assist her.
And so, I’d upended my life, moved halfway around the world and returned to Peach Springs to help.
The adjustment hadn’t been easy. Being an apple in a town full of peaches had its downsides.
Not to mention being the only member of my family who lacked a green thumb.
I couldn’t even keep a succulent alive, let alone an apple tree.
Thankfully no one seemed to expect me to pitch in on the farming side.
“I want you to take that pie you baked this morning over to the Wild house.”
My head twisted to stare at my tiny, wrinkled grandmother.
Her dark black hair had faded to a striking white.
We shared the same blue eyes, though hers were a much deeper blue than my own.
Unlike shy me with my average height, abundant hips and overly generous breasts, her small frame and petite body belied her larger-than-life personality.
She had ruled her home with an iron fist—and all her children still bowed to her whims.
I aspired to be my gran when I grew up.
“But that was for our dessert.”
Gran pegged me with a glare that said southern hospitality was alive and damn near considered sacred by her.
“You make sure you take the cream I just made too,” she said, ignoring my protest.
“Yes, ma’am.” I bowed my head, pushing absently at the salad on my plate.
“You’re a good girl, Hope.” Gran pat my leg. “Now go put on a nice dress. You never know, maybe one of those Wild boys will take a liking to you.”
I snorted.
She tsked gently once again. “Stranger things have happened.”
Yeah, right.