I’m working on a few projects right now, one of which I hope to release in the summer, a contemporary romance titled WOKE.
Here’s something I wrote yesterday for it: it’s still fresh and unedited, so don’t judge!
“Almost everyone has checked in,” I told Gillian Spring hours later. “I just have one reservation left. A”—I glanced down at the sheet of names—“Kincade Enright.”
“That would be me.”
I looked up and found a deep pair of green colored eyes that looked hauntingly familiar.
The guy from the rehab center. The one I’d almost fallen flat on my ass from barreling into.
“Well.” A smile danced on his lips. “We meet again. Talk about coincidence.”
Gillian looked from me to him, a tiny smile tugging on the corners of her lips.
“I see someone I need to talk to,” she told me. “I’ll see you inside.”
Before walking again she mouthed Oh my God to me.
She wasn’t kidding.
Goodness. The man had been appealing in workout clothes, all hard muscle and lean mass on display, but wearing a perfectly fitted, midnight colored, double breasted suit that I knew sold for over five thousand dollars, he was absolutely…mouthwatering.
And there was a phrase I hadn’t used, nor thought of as a description, in almost two decades.
I returned his smile and handed him an auction brochure along with his table number.
“It never ceases to amaze me how small a city with eight million people can actually be,” I said.
His smile grew.
“The silent auction has already started,” I said. “It’ll close when dinner is served in about,” I checked my watch, “twenty minutes, so you have some time to look around. The live auction takes place during dinner.”
He flipped through the brochure and stopped at one of the pages. “The Charles Dickerson painting is on the live auction, yes?”
I nodded. “Are you a fan?”
“I am. I’m not bidding on it for myself, though, but for a client.”
“A client? Are you an art dealer?”
He reached into his pocket and handed me a business card.
Enright Investments/Management
Kincade Enright, MBA, PFS
“So, you’re a… stock broker?”
“No, I’m in personal finance. I manage online investments and portfolios for my clients, one of whom wants an original Dickerson. So,” He lifted his hands in the air.
Talk about serendipity. Just yesterday I’d been toying with the idea of searching for a financial planner as a way to help grow some of the center’s donations. While my mother’s lawyer could point me in the right direction, I didn’t want someone conservative, which is where I knew he’d direct me. I wanted someone with a foresight and courage to help grow our coffers. Investing seemed like a good way to offset the times when the funds grew tight. Fingering the embossed card I tucked his name into the back of my mind.
“Well, I hope you can make your client happy tonight, Mr. Enright, and in doing so, you’ll both be benefiting the women’s center, so I’ll thank you in advance.”
“You’re welcome, and it’s Cade.” He stuck out his hand to shake mine. “And you are?”
My gaze took a quick dip from his grinning face to his outstretched hand. Manners had been ingrained in me from birth, both by my mother and Maeve, so I slid mine into his, ready to give it a perfunctory shake. The moment his fingers wrapped around mine, though, a bolt of lightning flashed between us and paralyzed me to my spot.
A tiny jolt of…something, flared across his eyes, telling me he’d noticed it, too.
Warmth steeped from him through to me and flowed all the way to my core, heating it like a nuclear coil. His skin was soft and smooth, like he wasn’t used to manual labor, but by no means was he weak. Strength and power surged from his grip. Instinct told me this was a man for whom character, depth, and a strong sense of self were integral parts of his makeup.
All intriguing qualities in a man.
Intriguing, and wildly alluring.
While he stood in front of me, still holding me hand, I realized I was supposed to answer him.
I blinked a few times to try and refocus myself and said, “A.J. Callahan. Sorry, I’ve got a lot going on up here”—I pointed to my head with my free hand—“and I’m thinking of fifty things at the same time.”
Lame, I know, but I was really caught off guard by his touch.
He pumped my hand once, then let it go. For a hot second I fantasized about pulling it back and maybe even wrapping it around my waist.
“Well, I’ll leave you to them, then. It was nice seeing you. Again.” He grinned.
“Enjoy the auction and the dinner. Bid often and bid high,” I added. “It’s for a worthy cause.”
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Until next time ~ Peg
Peggy Jaeger, Author 