Undeniably Unexpected
Keegan
The timer on my computer ticks down, getting dangerously close to when I have to stop. Shit. Not yet! Fingers fly across the keys, my tongue tucked against my bottom lip as I get my characters in and out of a very compromising position. In public. But it’s after the big, I love you moment so it has to happen. And truthfully, it’s some of my favorite to write.
Considering my love life does not mimic my writing, especially the end of my most recent failed relationship, I can’t help but get lost in fiction that is so much better than reality. Maybe that’s why I picked OB-GYN as my medical specialty. It’s the HEA to every love story. Even if it’s not mine.
The timer on my laptop makes an annoying dinging sound in my ear, cutting off the inspirational music I had pumping through my AirPods.
Ugh. Fine!
I hit save on my document, unable to help my gleeful smile and the excited pound of my heart. That was a seriously spicy scene, and I can’t wait to read it back through later and finish it. The way his fangs slid over her skin, drawing just the smallest amount of blood? Damn hot. And thank God for it. It completely took my mind off all the other bullshit I’ve dealt with over the last week, and Lord, did I need that.
But now it’s back to reality and I have to get to the grocery store since it’s my day off from the hospital, and I promised Kenna, my twin sister, who is also my roommate, that I’d cook tonight. I have no clue what I’ll make, but I’ll figure that out at the store. How this day flew so fast, I have no clue, but at least I got in some solid writing time.
Good thing too as I’ll barely have any time since I’m about to start a sixty-hour week at the hospital. Life as an OB-GYN resident is no joke. At least I’m nearing the end of my residency. Hopefully, things will slow down a bit once I’m an attending physician. I’ll have more time for me. More time for my secret writing hobby that I’m falling more and more in love with each day.
Just as I go to close my laptop, an email comes in from someone I don’t know. I’m about to ignore it until I read the company name at the end of the email address. My eyes round and my heart picks up an extra beat.
Holy shit. No. It can’t be. It’s absolutely impossible.
With a tremulous hand, I click on it. Long paragraphs form before my eyes I’m hardly able to read with how adrenaline is taking over my brain. I scroll past their name and information followed by mine, and nearly throw up all over the coffee shop table.
We are delighted to inform you that after careful consideration, All That Book Romance would like to extend you an offer to publish your five-book series, Shadows of Eternity. Your work captivated our editorial team with its unique voice, compelling narrative, and potential to resonate with paranormal romance readers across the globe.
Below are the key details of our offer:
I stop reading and squeal at the top of my lungs, not even caring if I garner odd looks from fellow patrons. Which I do. But holy shit. Holy freaking shit! A book deal. I’m being offered a five-book deal by a big romance publishing house. Oh my god. Oh my freaking god. Oh my motherfluffing god!
“Um, miss, are you okay?”
My head whips over to the teenage kid wearing a green apron and a concerned look.
“I’m so fabulous I’m a damn unicorn,” I tell him, and he clearly thinks I’m on drugs because his face twists nervously, and he throws a side-eye toward the counter as if he’ll need backup. He’ll get over it, and I don’t care if he thinks I’m the crazy, high girl right now. I basically am. Still, I’m a Fritz, and getting negative public attention isn’t what famous billionaire families do. “I’m fine. I swear. Just a really good, life-changing email.”
“Oh. Congrats then.” Without another word, he walks off and lets me return to my glee.
I submitted book one to them like six months ago and I never ever thought I’d hear from them. And they’re not just offering me a deal on the first book, but all five that I pitched them. I mean, I haven’t written any but the first book, but I can totally do this. I’ll finish the book I’m writing now and immediately jump in on this series. Even with my hours at the hospital. I’ll have to put in later nights or earlier mornings or maybe negotiate those deadlines for delivered manuscripts because, yeesh, that looks tight.
Whatever. I can do it, and I’ll figure it out and worry about the details later.
Best. Day. Ever!
Quickly I go through the terms and advances, but I can’t concentrate on any of it. My adrenaline is adrenaling too hard right now. Plus, I’ll need to speak to my lawyer and negotiate stuff, but again, who cares? I’ve been secretly writing books since college and publishing since medical school. A total side gig I never thought would get me anywhere other than using it as the best stress reliever ever. Except publishing and trying to run the business of it when you’re a full-time doctor is getting to be impossible.
It’s why I reached out to publishing houses.
But now…
I can’t wait to tell Kenna and my best friend, Katy. My parents, too, but maybe not until I sign the contracts. My parents and my closest friends are the only ones who know, and I’ve sworn them all to secrecy. Growing up in the Fritz family, where over ninety percent of us are in the medical field, doesn’t go well with publishing steamy paranormal romance. Not to mention any time I’ve told people outside of my immediate circle, well, let’s just say it didn’t go well.
But Scarlet Nightshade—that’s me—looks like she just landed herself a legit deal.
Shutting my laptop, I go and order myself a fatty as fuck frap because I obviously have earned it, and head for the door of the shop, skipping and singing as I go. I don’t even care that it’s somewhere around twenty degrees and sleeting with a newly formed sheet of ice I hadn’t noticed before since I was lost in my words on the sidewalk.
That is until my cute and not at all practical for winter weather heeled booties skid and slide on the ice. My arms flail and my hands fly as I try to counterbalance the slip of my feet, and in the process, the plastic top of my drink snaps off and douses my cashmere camel-colored coat in a wet mocha mess.
“Fuck!” catapults from my lungs because even though I’m upset about my coat—it’s my favorite—there is no stopping my trajectory, and no matter how I move or twist or try to plant my feet, I’m slipping fast and furious.
“Hold on!” someone cries out. “I’ve got you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a tall, broad man heading my way with hurried yet careful steps. But it’s too late. There’s no way he’ll catch me in time.
With one final attempt, my boots that have zero grip give out from beneath me and I go down. Reflexively, my hand shoots out to stop my fall, which it does, but it also slips on the freezing cold, icy sidewalk, and I land on it. Hard. Pain slices from my hand to my elbow, immediately followed by a sharp thwack when my ass and back meet concrete. Thankfully I stop my momentum just in time to prevent smacking the back of my head.
“Ow.” It’s a pathetic whimper and not nearly adequate enough to cover the pain. For a moment, I don’t move. I’m too stunned. A cry crawls from my lips, and tears threaten as I slowly sit up and cradle my injured wrist with my other hand just as the stranger reaches me.
“Keegan, are you okay?!”
“I’m fine,” I answer reflexively though I want to cry like a baby from the pain and shock of it, but I hold it in. I force a chuckle. “I didn’t know it was tryouts for Clumsy Doctors on Ice.”
“Oh, love. That was a horrific fall.” A hand brushes some of my hair from my face.
“I was just testing gravity. I’m happy to say it’s still intact.”
He brushes off my poor attempt at humor and lame jokes. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you in time. Is it broken?”
Hold on. How does this stranger know my name? And why is he touching me?
Except wait. I know that voice. That accent. I’ve heard it on screen and in person—not to mention dreamed about it—far too many times not to know the person it comes with. I whip toward the sound and am suddenly face to face with a pair of… brown eyes. Hidden under large, gray-framed glasses with a nose that’s… a bit too big. Hair that should be blond appears brown, is longer than I remember it being, and tucked under a Boston Rebels baseball hat.
What in the what? I could have sworn…
I tilt my head and squint, my eyes disbelieving in the dark evening as I take in the face before me despite the voice and accent I’m positive I heard. Not to mention, he used my name, so he knows it’s me. Not uncommon in this town considering I’m a famous Boston Fritz, but still. Usually strangers on the street don’t call me out by name.
He smirks at my expression, and I know that smirk. I’d know it anywhere.
“Loom—”
The smirk instantly slips, and he subtly shakes his head.
“I don’t understand,” I admit. “Did I hit my head? Am I concussed?”
“No, darling, just, shhh.” He holds his finger up to his lips before coming back for my face, his fingers gentle as he wipes an errant tear from my cheek. “Are you badly hurt?” He sinks into a deeper crouch, his eyes all over me as he checks me for injuries and notes my wrist.
“No,” I state, though the wobble in my voice doesn’t sell it for either of us. “I was just a bit stunned. It’s not every day I eat concrete in the middle of Boston. I fell on my wrist. I’m sure it’s fine.” I glance down. “Unlike my coat. That’s ruined.”
“Are you sure it’s not broken? Can you move your wrist for me?”
No, I’m not sure and I don’t want to try to move it just yet because it hurts something fierce. “It’s likely just a sprain.”
“You should go to the hospital. Have someone there check it out.”
“I’m a doctor, remember. I can do that.”
“Yes, I know you are, but you don’t have X-ray vision unless I missed something. In which case, what color are my briefs?”
“That seems a bit forward for a meet-cute.” I raise a pointed eyebrow at him. “Do you always ask women on the street to try and guess what color your underwear is?”
Humor dances in his eyes. “Only the really beautiful ones I meet-cute in tragic situations. Though I think we deserve a better one than this, don’t you?”
I roll my eyes at him. “I’m sorry, and you are?”
Loomis chuckles. “Frozen. That’s what I am. Here.” He wraps his arms around me and slowly helps me to my feet. The sleet or freezing rain or whatever is to blame for my fall is stopping, but it doesn’t make the air any warmer. “Are you okay? Please tell me truthfully.”
Tentatively I flex and extend my wrist and it hurts. A lot. I wince and try to stifle my whimper. A sprain could feel like this. I don’t have time for anything else but a minor sprain so that’s all this is allowed to be. “I’m fine. Promise.”
He holds me against his chest, almost rocking me, as if to comfort and take away some of the pain. It’s annoyingly splendid. Especially since he’s warm and smells like clean laundry, citrus, and cedar. “I’m not quite sure I believe you.”
“How long have you been here? I didn’t even know you were back in Boston,” I say instead, still shocked both by the pain in my wrist and the fact that Loomis Powell is wearing a disguise and holding me in the middle of the sidewalk. I assumed he stayed in London with his family through the holidays after he finished filming the movie he was working on with Tinsley Monroe, who is one of my best friends.
Loomis Freaking Powell. A British actor I more than swooned over and celebrity stalked a bit the way all girls do when they’re young—okay, maybe I was in my mid-twenties, but still. Then I met him in person through Tinsley since they’re BFFs, and that starstruck, he’s not a real human, just a celebrity on screen turned into an actual crush.
Because he’s great. Truly great.
Except he never saw me as anything more than Tinsley’s friend. I haven’t talked to Loomis in months. Not since I went out to LA in August for a conference and visited him. He was quiet and distant with me, and my girlish crush was squashed when nothing happened between us, and he showed zero interest in changing that.
Which is fine. Better really since he lives in either LA or London and I’m a working doctor who lives in Boston. It was a stupid celebrity crush anyway.
“I’m not here,” he quips, though there is something serious behind his eyes as he says, “You didn’t see me.”
I extricate myself from his arms, and heavy silence settles between us. His eyes graze over the lines of my face, and my heart gives a familiar thump, but I quickly push it away. All our playfulness from seconds ago is gone and now it’s just… awkward.
“I should get going,” he says quietly after a minute, his eyes still on me.
“Same. I have to get to the grocery store. I’m cooking for Kenna tonight.” Though we’ll see how I manage that with this wrist throbbing like crazy.
“Right then. I’ll let you get to it since I’m freezing my bollocks off, and I imagine you are too. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“If you’re not here, how will I see you around?”
His lips twitch. “Good question. Maybe we’ll run into each other again. If you recognize me, that is. I do a great American accent,” he finishes in said accent.
I tilt my head and wrap my arms around my chest to ward off the cold. “No kidding, given the disguise. What’s all this about?” I wave my hand around his face before I return it to my ribs. I’ve never seen him do this and he’s been here in Boston and gone out in public enough times for me to know this is different.
His expression turns rueful. “My life’s a bit of a mess at the moment, but that’s a story for another time.” He checks his watch. “I’m late to meet someone. I’ll ring you, yeah?”
I shrug. “I guess. Sure.”
He smirks. “You guess? Sure? Ringing endorsement there. Or is this because you’ve now got a boyfriend and are too cool for your former mates.”
“How did you hear about Alden?” I ask only to mentally doink my forehead. From Tinsley, of course. “We’re not together anymore.”
“You broke up?” That gets his attention. “When?”
“A week ago.”
He visibly mulls that over, his expression unreadable, though I swear his lips bounce into the smallest of smiles before it’s just as quickly gone. He cups my face, his thumb grazing my jaw and an involuntary shudder rattles through me.
“I’m sorry, darling. Has it been rough for you? Should I find the bastard and kill him? I will. Happily.”
Before I can answer, a voice comes from behind me. “Keegan?”
I spin around, protectively holding my wounded wing up against my chest, and come face to face with Alden as if he was conjured straight from my thoughts. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
“Hi,” I squeak before my expression grows sour. I don’t want to see him.
“Hi.” His gaze bounces back and forth between me and Loomis, not missing the fact that Loomis is standing close, and his hand is now on my shoulder. “Um.” He takes Loomis in briefly before returning to me. “I went to the hospital, and they said it was your day off. I figured you might be here.”
I frown. “What do you want, Alden?”
Loomis stiffens beside me. “Alden?”
I glance up at him. “Yes. My ex-boyfriend.”
“Who are you?” Alden asks with an edge, obviously not liking our proximity or Loomis’s hand on me. Not that he has a right. Not anymore.
Loomis smirks and shifts in closer beside me, his hand roving around to my hip so he can pull me against him. “I’m her new boyfriend.”