Falling Fast Page 15

  Again.

  “I’ll give it one more shot. But don’t expect a miracle.”

  *

  Will sat in his home office, staring intently at the computer screen, typing furiously.

  He couldn’t believe the new CFO had countered another one of his ideas. Will sent one final email and then leaned back in his chair to take a thirty-second break before he got on the phone to chew out his CFO for blatantly undermining his authority.

  He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. Lately, running PTI was one headache after another. Whether it was the shareholders, the board members, the employees, or the customers — the troubles seemed endless. Who knew, he found himself thinking, maybe this whole Feng Shui thing could really help. He had heard that Donald Trump used it and look how well he was doing.

  Oh no! He had left the consultant in his front yard.

  Will rushed down the hallway to the front door, but she was long gone.

  When his ex-wife, Susan, had told him what she was giving him for his thirty-third birthday, his first and only question was “Fung what?” He’d told her he had no intention of meeting any consultant of any kind at 2 p.m. this Thursday, at his house.

  Unfortunately, Susan could talk anyone, including him, into a corner.

  Against his better judgment, he agreed to waste two precious hours of his workday with some mystical junk. But that was before the new executive staff at his company, Personal Technology Inc., had ambushed him with their radical plans, none of which he agreed with as CEO. After putting in several eighteen hour work days to keep things from blowing up in his face, he was utterly exhausted and in no mood for anything that wasn’t marked URGENT!

  Still, even though he thought Angelina’s profession was ridiculous—he’d take science over fantasy any day—he owed her an apology. Not to mention the fact that Susan was probably just going to send over one Feng Shui consultant after another until he let one of them in to look through his house.

  He grabbed his cell phone and was surprisingly glad to hear the consultant pick up and say, “Angelina Morgan speaking.”

  “Angelina. It’s Will Scott.”

  Even across the phone lines he felt how much effort it cost her to push “Hello” past her lips. Susan always said he could charm the knickers off a nun. He had a feeling he was going to have to call on all his powers of persuasion to get back into Angelina’s good graces.

  “I want to say how sorry I am about abandoning you in my front yard.”

  Again, he heard the awful sound of silence across the line. Angelina was definitely angry with him.

  “I don’t know what to say other than work has been crazy and it’s got me doing things like leaving a beautiful woman standing all alone in my front yard.”

  Too late, Will realized he had just admitted he thought she was beautiful. Even now he could remember the way the sunlight had played off of her dark brown hair, the way it had lit up her pretty hazel eyes. And the fact that her mouth had looked so soft.

  So kissable.

  In a very brisk and professional voice she finally said, “Thanks for the apology. I appreciate it.”

  Will released the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

  “Actually, I’m glad you called.”

  “You are?”

  “I just got off the phone with Susan. I have a policy not to work with people who aren’t interested in my services and I was going to give her money back for the consultation.”

  As disappointment moved through him, he realized he’d been lying to himself about his reasons for calling Angelina. Yes, Susan was like a dog with a bone. Yes, he owed Angelina an apology for leaving her standing on his front step while he took a phone call.

  But the truth was, he wanted to see her again.

  “I’m sorry that I gave you that impression, Angelina.”

  He thought he heard her sigh before saying, “Susan was adamant, however, about rescheduling our consultation.”

  “She was?”

  He sounded like a complete moron. The man who could convince investors to give him millions armed with nothing but a speech and Power Point presentation, now appeared to have a vocabulary of about twelve words. Way to make up for a really bad first impression, pal.

  “I agreed to try again. One more time.” Angelina deliberately enunciated each word.

  “And this time, you need to guarantee me two uninterrupted hours.”

  Will’s phone beeped in his ear. It was his CFO.

  “Angelina, I need to get this call. Could I call you back?”

  “No.”

  Will had almost switched over the call when he realized what she’d said.

  “No?”

  “No,” she repeated. “And I need your agreement to not answer the phone at any point during our next consultation.”

  The call went through to voice mail.

  It had been a long time since anyone had challenged Will. But instead of being irritated, he felt a grudging respect four how she stood her ground.

  “C ould you come back tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I’m booked solid until next Thursday.”

  “Great,” he replied without checking his schedule. He’d simply rearrange anything in his way. He did own the company, after all. Time to use some of the perks that came with the title.

  …Excerpt from SPARKS FLY by Lucy Kevin © 2011.

  *

  SEATTLE GIRL (A chick lit romance about love, sex…and my really big mouth) The first time Georgia Fulton gets behind a microphone at her college radio station (because of a guy, of course…), she’s hooked. (Who would have thought she’d ever find a potential job where a boss would appreciate her big mouth?) Unfortunately, being a smart-mouth doesn’t necessarily keep her from getting hurt by one guy after another. With help from her friends - and loyal listeners - will Georgia finally figure out the real deal about sex, love…and maybe even herself?

  Please enjoy the following excerpt for SEATTLE GIRL © 2011 Lucy Kevin…

  The official biography that KSEA sends out reads:

  Georgia Fulton, popular host of Seattle Girl, says she got into talk radio because, “I have a really big mouth and I could never find any other job where my boss appreciated that skill.”

  But while I’ll admit that I rarely do shut up and that I can’t keep an opinion to myself even if it’s gonna get me lynched, the simple truth is that I got started in talk radio because of a guy.

  Six guys to be precise.

  (Hey! Watch who you’re calling a slut. It’s not like that, I swear. Well, mostly not like that, anyway.)

  And if I ever get the chance to write my biography, it’ll read more like this…

  *

  When I was a little girl my mother told me repeatedly, “Georgia, boys don’t like girls who talk too much.”

  I think she got her greatest pleasure from making proclamations like this during breakfast. Really, who wouldn’t?

  Later, when I was living at home one summer in college, she announced, “Georgia, boys don’t pay for the cow when they are getting the milk for free.”

  So much for the great strides of feminism.

  And that was when I figured out that it’s not the establishment holding us down.

  It’s not the Man holding us back.

  It’s the Mom.

  But after giving it some more thought, I can see that since my mother endured twenty hours of excruciating labor to push me out into the world, suffering the indignity of a ripped hoo-ha while she was at it, she very well might feel that giving me such charming motherly advice is only her due.

  And that I should listen to it.

  As if!

  Thanks Mom, I’ll be sure to file that beefy black and white farm animal tip away. Pass the Fruit Loops, would you?

  I don’t mean to give you the wrong impression. It’s not that my childhood was particularly bad. My parents certainly didn’t beat me or anything. We were comfortably middle-class in a nice
suburban neighborhood and there was always enough food on the table and a trip to Disneyland every summer.

  My childhood was sort of weird, that’s all.

  Like we lived just down the block from normal.

  To be fair, though, I think I’ve always been a bit of a freak. Take my brother, for instance. Same parents, yet John is a perfectly normal high paid executive, white picket fence in the suburbs, great wife, two kids, and golden retriever kind of guy.

  But me, I’m a whole different ball game. And the fact is that no matter what anyone ever said to try to get me to quiet down or button up—and kids and teachers and parents said a whole lot of stuff, like “Shut up,” and “Don’t be so loud all the time,” and “How many times do I need to tell you to settle down young lady?”—I was never the kind of girl who came in a neat little package.

  You remember those neat, little, perfect girls from high school, don’t you?

  No? You’ve spent thousands of dollars in therapy to block out the pain of your blissful school years? Lucky you. Well, I’m happy to refresh your memory.

  They had perfect little bodies, they wore perfect little Tshirts tucked into perfect little jeans, and they walked around in perfectly white tennis shoes.

  I was never one of those girls. Thank God.

  Okay. Settle down, you. I can hear you giving me shit already. And yes, maybe I did envy them some, but I’d like to think that I’m the one that’s happier now.

  I love, love, love bumping into fellow ex-geeks from high school so that we can trash on all of the Barbie cheerleaders from our past. So we can say things like, “Oh my god, have you seen Susan from high school lately? You’d die if you saw her—she’s really fat now and has three snotty kids!”

  I like to think that girls like me are having the last laugh and that God’s big joke is that pretty girls from high school get uglier and fatter as the years go by, while the rest of us get infinitely more gorgeous.

  Oh, who am I kidding? Certainly not you. You can see right through me.

  We all know that I would have given my left arm to be one of those perfect girls.

  Or even to have let one of them cheat off my math test from time to time.

  But I ask you this: Who wouldn’t have wanted to be blonde and blue eyed and thin and cute and giggly, given that originality and uniqueness are completely over-rated from ages five to eighteen?

  And for those of you who were perfect, I’m dying to know, was it as good as it seemed?

  And are you fat and ugly now with a bunch of brats driving you crazy? I sure hope so…

  Just kidding. I’m happy for you, really I am.

  …Excerpt from SEATTLE GIRL by Lucy Kevin © 2011.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When Lucy Kevin released her first chick lit novel – SEATTLE GIRL – in 2011, it became an instant digital bestseller. Her next two fun contemporary romance releases – SPARKS FLY and FALLING FAST – have also appeared on many Top 50 bestseller lists, climbing as high as #4

  on the Top 100. Her books have been read by half a million people on their e-readers and the Washington Post has called her, “One of the top digital writers in America.”

  If not behind her computer, you can find her reading her favorite authors, hiking, knitting, or laughing with her husband and two children. For a complete listing of books, as well as excerpts, contests, and to connect with Lucy:

  lucykevinbooks@gmail.com

  http://lucykevin.blogspot.com

  http://www.twitter.com/lucykevin

  http://www.facebook.com/lucykevinbooks

  http://www.LucyKevin.com