Read Meet Your Mate (A Good Riders Romance Book 1) Online
Authors: Jacie Floyd
Meet Your Mate (A Good Riders Romance Book 1)
For Goble, my hero for life.
Everything. Always.
“And the winner
of this year’s Community First award is—” Annabel heightened the imaginary
suspense with a mental drum roll as she pulled into the local television
station’s parking lot.
Beelining
for an empty spot at the end of the row,
she allowed hometown favorite George Clooney to announce, “Challenging Destiny,
Lasting Productions, Annabel Morgan and Howard Lasting, producers!”
Normally, she only conjured up her
favorite career fantasy in dark and private moments, but today she’d paraded it
out in bright sunlight to distract herself from a raging case of stage fright.
After all, she didn’t appear on an afternoon talk show every day. Or in front
of a television camera ever. Her nerves were stretched tighter than her budget.
Easing through the tandem parking
slot from one side to the other, she pictured herself at the upcoming award
ceremony. Dressed to impress in something sophisticated and expensive, she’d
step up to accept the award that would change her life. Just as George took her
in his arms for a meaningful exchange of glances and a long congratulatory kiss
filled with infinite possibilities, a sickening crunch jolted her back to
reality.
The front bumper of her
ten-year-old Saab was metal-on-metal with a small, flashy vehicle attempting to
back into the space she’d been sliding into headfirst.
Grimacing over her carelessness and
the certainty of another insurance claim on the heels of her seventeen-year-old
stepdaughter’s mishap the month before. Annabel shifted her car into park. She
clutched the hem of her mini-skirt to keep it from rising to indecent heights
as she stepped out to meet her victim. Good thing it was May, not January, or
she’d freeze her butt off.
“Hey, lady,” a testosterone-laden
voice growled over the slam of a car door. “You should keep your mind on your
driving when you’re behind the wheel.”
Fresh from her bout of daydreaming,
Annabel bit back the urge to tell the chauvinist where to stick his opinion.
She glanced at the slight crease in her fender and the deeper dent in his,
relieved that the damage hadn’t been worse. Shoulders squared, she turned to
exchange info with the other driver and admit her guilt.
Damn. Investigative reporter ‘Mad
Max’ Williams. An apology died on her lips. Even though he worked at the
television station, he spent most of his time out on assignment. She’d hoped she
wouldn’t run into him today. And now she had. Literally.
She crossed her arms and studied
him with a chilling look. Professional acquaintances and personal opposites in
work habits and lifestyles, he was her biggest rival for the community service
award she coveted.
Aside from their award competition,
she’d worked with him on several projects for Lasting Productions. Her work
involved insignificant details like scriptwriting, casting, editing, and
scheduling. His duties included the more challenging tasks of sitting in a
booth and recording the voiceover, flirting with female assistants, distracting
male interns with assorted hijinks, generally creating chaos, getting paid the
big bucks, and receiving most of the recognition.
Everything about his flamboyant
image and overbearing self-confidence rubbed her the wrong way. It annoyed her
to admit that the broad shoulders and rugged good looks the television camera
loved were even more compelling in person than they were on the small screen.
But the less-than savory details she’d witnessed and heard about from others
prevented her from lusting after the exterior packaging that rivaled Clooney’s.
Smoothing down her skirt, she
waited for Max’s leisurely perusal to move from her new pointy-toed high-heeled
shoes and past her uncustomary form-fitting outfit to her face. As expected,
the interested gleam dimmed from his eyes and switched to disbelief as
recognition kicked in.
“Nice legs, Morgan. First time I’ve
seen you in anything but your Iron Maiden costume. You should show that figure
off more often.” He lounged against the hood of her car and let his gaze travel
her body a second time. “This new look is almost enough to excuse you from
rear-ending me. But not quite. What had you so distracted?”
“What do you mean?” Like she’d be
willing to share her hopes and dreams with him.
“You sure weren’t thinking about
your driving, and you couldn’t have been preoccupied with your love life since
everyone knows you don’t have one.”
“Whereas you,” she countered,
poking a finger into his rock-solid chest, “were probably thinking about the
bevy of mud wrestlers, rodeo queens, and strippers you’re currently dating.”
“Hey!” He straightened up with mild
indignation. “Candy
LaBar’s
not a stripper. She’s an
exotic dancer. Her act’s very artistic.”
Already running late, Annabel
didn’t have time to trade childish insults with Max. She dismissed the response
with a flick of the wrist. “I’ll bet.”
He whipped his phone out, then took
pictures of the damage to both bumpers. As she stepped toward the television
station’s main entrance, his fingers clamped around her elbow. “Aren’t you
forgetting something?” He jerked a thumb toward his car. “Damage? Repair?
Insurance?”
“It’s just a scratch.”
He shook his head at her dismissive
attitude. “It’s just a scratch on the bumper of a vintage Porsche I’ve spent
two years restoring. Whether they fix it or replace the bumper, it’s not going
to come cheap.”
That figured. “I’ll have my
insurance company contact you.”
“They better, or I’ll send the
repair bill straight to you.”
“Fine, fine.” Annabel marched
forward, eager to leave Mad Max behind. But he fell into step alongside her
with his customary swagger.
“By the way,” he said,
“congratulations on the Community First nomination.”
She slid a peek at him from the
corner of her eye and examined his comment for sarcasm. His expression remained
suspiciously sincere. “You, too.”
“Who’d have thought we’d be
nominated in the same category?”
“Not me. The mind still boggles
over my documentary about inner-city high school students competing with your
four-part exposé on botched boob jobs.”
“That’s one way of describing
them,” he said before urging, “Just remember what they say.”
“What do they say, Max? Sex sells?”
Why does he always manage to bring out my inner bitch?
“No-
oo
.
It’s an honor just to be nominated.”
She coated the smile she turned on
him with pure sugar. “You remember that when they call out my name from the
podium.” She prayed they’d call out her name. Her professional and financial
future hinged on winning the award.
“Yeah, right. I’ve got the award
all but in my hands.” He raised her show of bravado with an ante of
overconfidence.
“And how many judges did you sleep
with to make that happen?” The accusation almost shamed her as she made it.
“Talent earns its own reward.” A
glint of real pride moved behind his dark brown eyes as he veered away from
her, toward the news team’s entrance. “See
ya
later,
Morgan.”
“Not if I see you first,” Annabel
muttered to his retreating back.
Against her better judgment, she
watched him stride masterfully toward the building. Then, he looked over his
shoulder and caught her watching him. Lifting her chin, she turned to glide
into the main entrance. Her face flushed when she twisted her ankle on the new
heels.
Damn
,
he probably saw that
.
Putting the incident behind her,
she hurried into the lobby where Carly waited. Her stepdaughter bounced in
anticipation of their joint television appearance. A quick hug went a long way
toward banishing Max from Annabel’s thoughts and quelling her preshow anxiety.
“Been waiting long?”
“Long enough to find out everything
we need to know.” Excitement widened Carly’s bright blue eyes to saucer-size.
“First, sign in here, then follow me.”
Annabel had visited the station
many times and knew her way around, but she allowed the bouncing teen to lead
her the makeup room anyway. After they’d settled into chairs, an energetic elf
with purple-streaked hair introduced herself as “Voila!” then set to work. She
dabbed foundation on their faces, swiped blush on their cheeks, and applied
goop to their eyes.
“Not so much, please.” Annabel
pushed
Voila’s
hand away. She didn’t want to look
like a clown, and Carly’s fresh appeal didn’t need much enhancement.
Voila frowned. “You’ll look sickly
without it.”
“You know she’s right, and I want
you to look awesome. Please?” Her stepdaughter’s coaxing did the trick after
the makeup artist’s opinion had failed to win Annabel over.
Voila hurried to apply a few
finishing touches. Annabel assessed her reflection in the mirror then blotted
off a coat of shiny magenta lipstick. She tugged the lapels of her snug teal
jacket together. As soon as she released them, they separated into a wide V
that exposed the barely-there cleavage created by her new push-up bra.
“I don’t know how you talked me
into buying this suit. I’m touched by the attempt to update my image, but I
have plenty of other, more suitable clothes.”
“More boring, you mean.”
Carly brushed Annabel’s hands away from the lapels. “You’ll be in front of a camera
instead of hiding behind one for a change. You should wear something that makes
you look young and hot, instead of old and frigid.”
“Let’s take your hair down to
really boost your image.” Voila pulled pins out of the bun at the base of
Annabel’s neck.
“No.” Annabel covered her hair with
her hands to keep
Voila’s
busy fingers out of it.
“It’s too curly and flies around when it’s not pulled back.”
“Hmmm.” Voila cocked her head and
considered for a moment before sweeping Annabel’s locks into a French twist
with just a few loose tendrils. The style softened the angles of her face and
enhanced the shape of her light-gray eyes.
If her stepdaughter weren’t sitting
right there beside her with Carly’s own brand of youthful, natural beauty,
Annabel wouldn’t have recognized herself.
“You look gorgeous,” Carly enthused
as they made their way to the green room next door. “Super hot!”
“You look fabulous, too.” Annabel
pulled the girl’s long French-braid in front of her shoulder as they stepped into
the waiting room. “But we’re going on a program to discuss successful
stepparent/stepchild relationships. We’re not trolling for guys on the
internet.”
“Close enough,” murmured a
pencil-thin woman nibbling a carrot stick by the snack table.
As they took seats on a lumpy sofa,
Carly refused to meet Annabel’s eyes. Never a good sign. Annabel studied the
seven other sets of parent/teen duos.
While a couple of parents glanced
at her curiously, the others flicked pitying looks her way. None of the
teenagers managed to look her in the eye.
A wary tingle replaced stage fright
as the reason for her damp palms. “Close enough to what?”
Before anyone responded, a chipper
production assistant buzzed in, wearing a headset and clasping an electronic
tablet. “My name’s Justine. On behalf of Tess Hartley, I’d like to welcome all
of you to
Let’s Talk
. We’re going to open with the kids on camera. If
you’d head that way, please...” She motioned the younger group toward the door.
“I’ll come back for the parents shortly.”
Carly squeezed Annabel’s hand. The
teenager’s excitement fizzed palpably between them like a carbonated cola.
“Good luck, Anna,” Carly whispered.
“Please don’t be mad,” she added before slipping away.
Don’t be mad?
That simple
plea put Annabel’s parental alarm system on full alert. She was all too
familiar with the way the high-spirited girl’s best intentions frequently
misfired. “Mad about what?”
From the doorway, Carly flashed a
mischievous smile and escaped with the other teenagers. Except for the gurgle of
an espresso machine in the corner, the room swirled with awkward silence.
Annabel thought of all the editing waiting for her back at the production
studio and longed for the safety of her ordinary routine.
A military-type with
ramrod-straight posture and square jaw stopped at the end of the sofa. “When
you came in,” he said, “I wasn’t sure if you were a parent or one of the kids.”
The flattery tickled Annabel. Only
fourteen years older than Carly, people occasionally guessed they were sisters.
But she couldn’t imagine anyone mistaking her for a teenager. Maybe the
kick-ass outfit Carly chose for her had shaved off some years.
“Stepparent.” She glanced around
the room, trying to interpret the spike in atmosphere. “Aren’t we all?
A couple of “Not me’s” mingled with
one “I am.”
“What’s going on here?” she asked
GI Joe.
He nodded toward a monitor where
the smiling face of Cincinnati’s answer to Oprah filled the screen. “Watch and
learn.”
Tess Hartley let her lively theme
song and the audience’s applause fade away before she introduced the day’s
episode. “Today on
Let’s Talk
, we’re going to meet a group of caring
teens who are concerned about their single parents.”
Concerned! The word bounced around
inside Annabel’s head like a loose basketball on a gym floor. Why would Carly
be concerned about her? Discomfort plummeted into downright dread.
“Through death, divorce, or
abandonment,” Tess continued, “all of these high-school seniors live in
single-parent households. As they prepare to leave home for the first time,
they worry about their parents’ lonely futures. Isn’t that sweet?”
Tess’s audience agreed with
enthusiastic applause, but Annabel didn’t think
sweet
accurately
described it. In the green room, the knowing nods of some parents and the
shocked expressions of others who’d been duped confirmed her assessment.