Romancing the Rival Read online

  Titles by Kris Fletcher

  Life of the Party

  The Bridesmaid and the Bachelor

  Romancing the Rival

  Romancing the Rival

  Kris Fletcher

  INTERMIX

  NEW YORK

  INTERMIX

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2017 by Kris Fletcher

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  ISBN: 9781101989265

  First Edition: September 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  This one is for Larry. For everything, as always, but especially for taking snow day duty two days in a row so I could finish this book. Smooches, hon.

  Contents

  Titles by Kris Fletcher

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Bree Elias hated not knowing what to do.

  Of course, she had long ago learned that there was a time and a place—and, sometimes, a moral imperative—to fake her way through some things. Like shaking hands with people she didn’t know when her father, the mayor, used to take his daughters campaigning with him. Or thunderstorms, after Dad vanished and her mother was at work and Bree was in charge of her terrified little sisters. Or her first day as a teaching assistant when she looked out on a sea of undergrad faces and immediately forgot everything she had ever learned about Freud, Erikson, Piaget, and Skinner.

  Some situations, though, took more than the big smile and swift Google search abilities that she had developed over the years. Thanks to her disappearing-reappearing-father-the-felon, she’d had her share and then some of being knocked sideways by circumstances. She didn’t need any more, thank you very much.

  Except that one of them was staring back at her right now. From an e-mail. One she should have read more carefully when she’d received it; but seriously, the dean had sent it out five days before Christmas, right in the middle of final grade and shopping season, and then all her sisters had been home for the holidays, and now it was New Year’s Day and her future brother-in-law was being sworn in as mayor of Calypso Falls, and—well—who would have thought that an e-mail could go from Welcome to WTF in one careful reading?

  Something that felt suspiciously like a fingernail poked her in the ribs, jolting her back to her chair, the auditorium, the audience applauding.

  “Wake up, Bree.” Her mother’s whisper carried no less power now than it had when Bree was a kid. “Here they come.”

  Bree shot one last, desperate glance at her phone before shoving it deep into her quilted bag. “Sorry,” she whispered, and focused on clapping wildly while her sister Jenna held the Bible on which Cole Dekker placed his hand while he took the oath of office.

  This was a special day, a celebration of much more than simply winning the election. Cole and Jenna had met when she volunteered with his campaign. And who had suggested that Jenna work for him? Yep. That had been one of Bree’s better ideas. So she was determined to make the most of this day, to soak up as much of the happiness as she could and fill herself with good foods and enjoy this extraordinary event in the life of her family.

  Bree was nothing if not determined. If she decided to have fun, then damn it, fun would be had, and to hell with unsettling e-mails.

  She did her best to memorize every moment of the ceremony. She reveled in the glow on Jenna’s face. She smiled gently as Cole stumbled over his own name, and felt her heart melt a little as he kissed Jenna when the ceremony was over. She was first to jump to her feet when the ceremony ended, and she was the loudest in her cheers for the new mayor.

  Considering that her aunt Margie’s whoop-whoops had often been compared to those of a bull moose, this was quite an achievement.

  But when they filed out of the auditorium and into the official reception, Bree’s thoughts of cheese and champagne were interrupted by her sister Annie’s shoulder deliberately bumping against her.

  “So what had you staring at your phone like you were getting texts from Satan himself?”

  Bree stifled a sigh. She’d had a lifetime of practice in the hard truth of No Secrets, No Privacy, but a small part of her still clung to the hope that maybe someday . . .

  Eh. Given the choice between sisters and secrecy, her sisters would win every time. And Annie, despite being the youngest, was already the owner of her own day care center, which meant that she had plenty of practice in making sense of the ridiculous and confusing. Since that was approximately the situation in which Bree now found herself, she might do well to seek Annie’s advice.

  “You know that committee I was appointed to? The town-and-gown one?”

  “The one that’s supposed to—what was it—encourage cooperation and open dialogue between Calypso Falls and the university?” Annie’s mildly mocking tone conveyed her true feelings about the group better than her words ever would. “Yeah, I remember. What about it? You came to your senses and resigned?”

  “No, I did not. This is a great chance for me to add to my credentials. I’m going to be job-hunting pretty soon, and I’m not going to miss this chance to get some pertinent volunteer experience.” She lowered her voice. “Except it’s going to be a little . . . awkward.”

  “What’s gonna be awkward?” Aunt Margie boomed as they approached the table loaded with appetizers. Bree spotted puff pastry. Her spirits jumped.

  “Well, usually that means Dad,” Annie said. “But I don’t see how he could interfere with your task force, Bree. That’s a stretch even for him, and give the man his due; he can mess up where no man could mess up before.”

  “It’s a gift.” Margie grabbed their elbows and steered them toward a far corner, ignoring Bree’s yip of protest. “Yeah, I know. You’re hungry. But you’re not getting anything until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Margie . . .”

  “Spill or I’ll tell your mother there’s a problem.” Margie nodded sagely. “And you know what she gets like when she thinks one of her babies has a problem.”

  “Better do it, Bree,” Annie said. “You don’t want Mom going all ninja in the middle of Cole’s first official appearance as mayor.”

>   “Fine.” The sooner Bree got this out of the way, the sooner Margie would release her and she could have her own special moment with the cheese tray. Life as a doctoral candidate/TA might be a little more secure than it had been when she was McJobbing her way through her master’s, but she was still far from being in the position to turn down free food. “So I got an e-mail about the task force back before the semester ended, but I didn’t look at it carefully. You know. Final grades and Christmas and everything. Today, while we were waiting for things to start, I was doing a careful read of my flagged mail, and I took a look at who else is part of this group.” She grimaced.

  “Hang on,” Margie said. “There’s only a few people in this world who make you look like you just sucked a salted lemon. You sure it’s not your father?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Hmm.” Margie rubbed her jaw. “Any Kardashians in town lately?”

  Annie, however, had a most unnerving gleam in her eyes. “Bet I know.”

  “How?” Margie demanded. “She hasn’t even given us a hint.”

  “Don’t need one. All it takes is a little deductive reasoning. Exhibit A.” She ticked one finger. “It’s obviously someone Bree knows and has either wounded or doesn’t respect.”

  “Or like,” Margie said, but Annie shook her head.

  “No. Bree is fair. She might not like someone, but if they are doing their best and they’re fair and honest, she will still respect them and do her best to work with them.”

  “Thank you.” Bree tried her best to look regal as she inclined her head. “Even though I don’t really enjoy being talked about as if I wasn’t standing here beside you.”

  “Exhibit B, the committee is university and town. Which doesn’t narrow things down too much, but other than the ass in the registrar’s office—”

  “Death on his house,” Margie intoned.

  “And the dean, of course,” Annie continued, “Bree doesn’t gripe about too many DeMotte people. So it has to be someone in town. Maybe someone who is bringing professional expertise to the subject. This group is making plans for some kind of garden, right?”

  The knot in Bree’s stomach had nothing to do with hunger anymore. Each word from Annie’s mouth was another reminder of what—or, rather, whom—she would need to go toe-to-toe with in the very near future. “Right. An urban garden that straddles the town and DeMotte border. Lots of fruit trees and berry bushes and things that folks can harvest together. Get to know one another.” She winced. “Spend time together.”

  Comprehension dawned in Margie’s round face. “Someone from town, who knows about plants—”

  “Because he owns a landscaping business,” Annie interrupted.

  “And who Bree doesn’t like.”

  “More like someone who’s inclined to not like Bree,” Annie added, far too cheerfully for Bree’s level of happy. “Not after she went all banshee on him that day he came into the diner when she was waitressing there.”

  “Oh God.” Margie let loose with a hoot of laughter that soared above the hum of conversations and brought Bree’s sister Kyrie hightailing it toward them. “You get to work with Spencer James?”

  Kyrie skidded to a halt between Annie and Margie. “Hang on. Did I just hear the name of Bree’s high school nemesis?”

  Bree tried not to wince.

  “Yep,” Annie said. “Bree has to be on a task force with him.”

  Kyrie’s mouth sagged. “You’re kidding.”

  “Look,” Bree said in a rush. “Let’s get things clear, okay? I don’t care about high school.”

  “That’s not what you said when he beat you for valedictorian,” Kyrie said. “I think Jenna still has that videotape of you throwing pillows all over your room while you shrieked about how much you hated his smirking, slimy ass.”

  “I remember that!” Annie said. “That was, like, the ultimate Bree meltdown. Other than when we found out Dad was still alive, I mean.”

  Kyrie, Annie, and Margie exchanged loaded glances.

  “Epic,” said Kyrie.

  “Terrifying,” added Annie.

  Margie simply shivered.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” said Bree. “It wasn’t that bad.”

  “You’re right,” Kyrie said. “It was minor compared to the way she unloaded on him to his face after he left university.”

  “He didn’t leave,” Bree protested. Oops. Too loud. Faces were turning their way, including her mother’s, and, damn it, the crowd around the appetizer table was three deep. “He got himself kicked out.”

  “Blew his scholarship,” Annie said.

  “Wasted everything his parents had invested in him,” Kyrie chimed in. Gleefully, of course.

  Bree would have been pissed, but she knew at heart, her sisters understood. They knew that Bree had no patience for anyone who chose to squander the gifts and advantages that had been given to them. And seriously, who could blame her? So much of her life—of all the Elias family’s life, really—had been spent dealing with the fallout from their father’s choosing to do just that. She wasn’t inclined to waste a whole lot of energy or sympathy on someone who’d had his schooling handed to him on the proverbial silver platter, then got kicked out for dealing something a whole lot more potent than a parsley garnish.

  And if, one time, she had let her feelings slip . . . in public . . . could anyone blame her?

  “Look,” she said now. “I admit I was an idiot. Chewing him out in front of a diner full of people was stupid, true, but nothing compared to what he did.”

  “Not that you’d ever know from the way people talked about it,” Kyrie said.

  Bree closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke as slowly and calmly as she could manage. “Annie, what do you tell your day care kids to do when they have a fight with another kid?”

  “Apologize, of course.”

  “I need specifics. Step-by-step instructions.”

  “Oh. Well, I tell them, you have to say you’re sorry and promise to never do it again.”

  Bree nodded. She could do that. Truthfully, too.

  “The other thing I tell them is that they have to listen to what the injured party says. And if the other person isn’t ready to accept an apology yet, well, they have that right.”

  “Uh-oh.” Margie shook her head. “That Spence is a proud one, Bree. He might not be too willing to forgive and forget.”

  The knot in Bree’s stomach tightened once more. Apologies she could offer. She could never condone what Spence had done, but she’d had no right to dress him down, especially in public.

  “Could he make things difficult for you?” There was no teasing lilt in Kyrie’s voice anymore.

  “Maybe.” Force of habit had Bree downplaying the possibility, but she knew the potential was there. The task force needed Spence. He could bring years of professional experience to the project. All Bree could offer was her enthusiasm and willingness to work, which could come from almost any randomly selected PhD candidate.

  She really hoped that somewhere in that array of puff pastry and meatballs and cheese, someone had thought to include a giant freakin’ humble pie.

  * * *

  Spencer James was spending New Year’s Day the way he’d begun every year for the past five years: taking his father on a scenic tour of downtown Calypso Falls.

  Actually, it was his father’s cremains. But even though Spence was not what anyone would describe as a sentimental or fanciful man, there was a part of him—his inner seven-year-old, his mom would say—that held to the belief that somehow, somewhere, his dad knew what was happening. That when Spence walked the streets with the rosewood urn swinging in a grocery bag on his arm, Gordon James was following along, hearing and seeing everything Spence described.

  For one day of the year, it was a good feeling.

  Some years ther
e wasn’t a lot to talk about. Change didn’t always come fast to town. But on this particular New Year’s, Spence had a lot to point out to his dad. Some of it was even good.

  “Well, Dad, the town finally elected a new mayor. Can you believe it? For a while there, I thought old Tadeson would die at his desk and the town would be so determined to keep him on that they’d have him stuffed like a deer and mounted in his chair for all eternity.”

  The good thing about taking this trip down memory lane on New Year’s was that the streets were usually deserted. Spence appreciated that. It made it easier to talk to his dad. He had no problem having a bad reputation—in fact, he’d worked very hard to become known as a badass—but there was a big difference between being seen as someone with a Troubled Past and someone who gave his troubles names and talked out loud to them.

  “The new guy seems pretty decent. About my age, maybe a couple of years younger. Name’s Cole Dekker. I think you knew his grandparents. He lives in their place, one of the big brick houses on Sycamore. They’re probably with you. You can check in with them, if you want.”

  Spence reached the top of the hill and walked toward the wing of the building that housed the public library. The town offices were at the back, tucked between the senior center and the police station.

  “Funny thing is, Dad, the new guy—Dekker—came close to losing the election at the last minute. Bet you can’t guess why.”

  In the distance, he heard the delighted shrieks of kids sledding down the library hill.

  “Yep. It was all thanks to your old buddy Rob Elias.”

  Who would have ever believed that someone running for office would fall for the daughter of one of the most disgraced politicians in the country? Or that the local newspaper would have splashed insinuations all over the front page on the eve of the vote?

  “But Dekker seems to be a stand-up kind of guy. He played it straight and honest, told folks what was what, and pulled out a win despite it all. I hear he and the Elias girl are getting married. The second daughter. Jenna.” He huffed out a laugh. “Should have clarified. Just in case you thought it was Bree.”