Authors: Sandi Lynn
Then You Happened
Then You Happened
Sandi Lynn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Cover It Designs
Photography by Kelsey Kukal-Keeton @ K. Keeton Designs
Models: Tessi Le’Anne & Nathan Weller
Editing by B.Z. Hercules
Then You Happened
is dedicated to all of my die hard romance fans! Thank you for taking a chance and reading something new from me. I’ve stepped outside the box to hopefully give you some laughter and fun!
XOXO
“Give a girl the right shoes and she can conquer the world.” ~
Marilyn Monroe
“Clothes are like a good meal, a good movie, and great pieces of music.” ~
Michael Kors
“A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” ~
Coco Chanel
Table of Contents
Do you remember when you played with your Barbies as a child? You had a beautiful, blonde-haired Barbie doll that you dressed in the most elegant dress because Ken, the hottest male doll ever made, was coming to pick her up and take her to the most magnificent ball. She’d be up in her room, in the townhouse, looking at herself in the full-length mirror. While butterflies stirred, Barbie would be all giddy with excitement for her date with Ken. The doorbell rang and Barbie would take the elevator down to find Ken, who was looking hot and sexy in his black tuxedo. He would lean in closer for a kiss and whisper in her ear, “Barbie, I’m going to marry you and buy you a dream house where the two of us can raise a happy family.”
Barbie would smile at Ken as she jumped up and down in excitement, but still waited for that ring on her finger. She would hook her arm in his and off they would go to the ball.
Once they arrived, Barbie would look around and thank Ken for bringing her to such a glamourous event. She would feel like the luckiest Barbie on Earth to be on the arm of the most handsome male of them all. Barbie was a queen and Ken was her king.
All would go
well until Teresa Barbie showed up at the ball with her long, silky, black hair and eyes like a cat. Her skin glowing with a luminous tan as she strutted her little body in her silvery, short, glittered dress past my king. I watched as his head turned and the smile on his face grew wide.
“Excuse me, Barbie. I’m going to get us some drinks from the bar.”
He walked away and I noticed he approached Teresa. Tears filled my eyes as I watched them talk and laugh. He grabbed her hand and off they went. My king, stolen by another woman. I ran back to my townhouse, as my world was now shattered. The love of my life. My king. My Ken, dumped me for another Barbie. My life would never be the same.
And that was where it all began. Somehow, we knew, even as children who played innocently with Barbies, that men would ultimately betray us and fill our hearts with promises they never intended to keep, leaving us alone and wondering what the other Barbie had that we didn’t.
What’s the moral of this story, you ask? It’s simple. Men suck, Barbies suck, and there’s no such thing as true love. Does life go on? Sure it does, but with plenty of tequila. This is my story.
Sierra
I stirred when I heard my phone beep and I opened my eyes. The smell of his cologne first thing in the morning was nauseating. I rolled out from under his arm and picked up my phone, which I left sitting on his nightstand last night. Shit, I thought as I read a text message from Kirsty.
“Where the hell are you? I’m at your house, sitting on your unslept bed. Did you forget about the meeting you have this morning with the Dickson Brothers? They already aren’t fond of you. This is your last chance.”
“I didn’t forget. Get out my black pinstripe pant suit and my black lace push-up bra. You know, the one with the extra lift? I’ll be home soon.”
“Look what I found!” Royce said as he held up the leather strap.
“Good times,” I said as I gave a fake smile and put on my bra.
He got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. “Grab a cup of coffee on your way out. My maid bought some to-go cups,” he said as he peed with the door open.
I rolled my eyes at his generosity and pulled on my skirt. I grabbed my purse and put on my sunglasses. “I’m out of here, Royce. Thanks for last night.”
“Have a good day, Sierra. We’ll talk soon. Last night was fun,” he yelled as I walked out the door.
James, my driver, was waiting for me at the curb. “Good morning, Sierra,” he said as I took the cup of coffee he held in his hand.
“Morning.”
James had been driving me and my father around for the last five years. He was accustomed to me and my behaviors. The thing I loved about him was that he didn’t judge me, unlike my mother,
Delia. He knew my patterns and he knew my men. Shit, he knew my secrets. He was there for me during the toughest times in my life and he got me.
“Tough night, Sierra?” he asked.
I yawned before I took a sip of my coffee. “Isn’t it always, James?”
He cocked a smile and pulled up to my house located in Hollywood Hills. As he reached his hand out the window and punched in the three-digit code to the gate, I watched as Kirsty came running out of the house with her hands up in the air.
Kirsty and I were the same age and we met back in college when we were roommates. Delia was appalled that I actually stayed in a dorm freshman year because the Adams were better than that. I wanted the rounded freshman college experience of living on campus, even if it was just for a year. I hated every minute of it and my dad refused to let me move because he said that it would be good for me to see the other side of life. After my freshman year, my dad moved me into an upscale apartment and I moved Kirsty in with me. She became like a second daughter to him. Not only was she my assistant, but she was also my best friend. She grew up in a small town in Missouri and attended UCLA on a full-ride scholarship for business. She was incredibly smart and she tried to her best to keep me grounded. She had a thing for James and I’m pretty sure he had a thing for her. Who wouldn’t love her five-eight stature and size two waist? Not to mention her gorgeous long, brown, wavy hair and big brown eyes. She was one of the funniest and sweetest people I knew and I loved her more than the world. When my father passed away two years ago, and I took over as CEO of Adams Advertising, I brought Kirsty on as my assistant. She already kept my life in order, so why not pay her for it? As for her and James, there was a twelve-year gap in age between them. She was thirty and he was forty-two. She didn’t see anything wrong with it. I did because my parents were twelve years apart and it didn’t turn out well.
My parents, Carl
and Delia Adams, divorced when I was nine years old. They shared joint custody of me because my dad wouldn’t have it any other way. I was his little angel and the only angel in his life. He got my mom pregnant at the age of eighteen and they thought they were doing the right thing by getting married. Obviously, it wasn’t, because they always fought. During my weeks with him, he would make me come to the office to sit and observe. He always told me that Adams Advertising, one of the largest advertising agencies in the world, was going to be mine someday and he wanted to make sure I was ready for it. I learned the ropes, the tricks, the lingo, and then attended UCLA, where I graduated with a Master’s degree. As soon as I graduated, I became his right hand.
He was diagnosed with prostate cancer at the age of fifty-two and lost his battle four years later. I became the CEO of Adams Advertising when I was just twenty-eight years old and had been running it for almost two years. It was tough being a young corporate woman where nobody wanted to take you seriously. That was why I devoted my life to my career and my company. There were other reasons, but I’ll get into that later.
“It’s about time? Do you see what time it is?” Kirsty snapped.
“Yes, I do,” I said as James helped me out of the limo. “Are my clothes ready?”
“Of course they’re ready. All laid out nicely on the bed, waiting for you to change into them.”
I walked into the house, set my coffee on the counter in the kitchen, and said hello to Rosa, my maid.
“Good morning, Sierra.”
“Morning, Rosa. Toast a half of bagel for me please, light cream cheese. I’ll grab it on my way out.”
“No problem,
senorita
.”
I walked upstairs and opened my bedroom door. There, lying on the bed, was my pinstripe black suit and my push-up bra. Kirsty followed behind and sat on the bed while I changed.
“So, how many last night?” she asked.
I turned to her and smiled as I threw my shirt at her and put on my push-up bra. “Three.”
“Damn. The only orgasms I’ve had lately were compliments of
moi
.”
I laughed as I slipped on my jacket and buttoned the only button there was, exposing the lace on my bra and the enticing cleavage it created. I twisted up my long, blonde hair with a clip and
turned to Kirsty. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I pictured George Clooney fucking me in order to achieve them.”
She giggled. “You have the most perfect tits. I wish I had tits like you. All I have are these size B cups,” she said as she looked down and pushed them together through her top.
“Get a boob job?” I smiled as I put my feet into my black Jimmy Choos with the four-inch heels.
“I just might.”
“Bullshit. You’re too scared,” I said as I left the room and she followed behind.
“True. But then maybe James would notice me more.”
I sighed. “Give it up, Kirsty. He’s too old for you.”
“Only by twelve years. When you’re our age, that doesn’t matter anymore.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbed my bagel and briefcase from Rosa, and headed to the car. James opened the door for me and I slid in while Kirsty got in on the other side.
“We’re going to be late,” she said.
“We’ll be fine,” I replied as I pulled out my phone. “Hmm. I have a text message from Don. He wants to meet up tonight. Apparently, there’s a new art gallery opening and he wants me to attend it with him.”
“I don’t like him,” Kirsty said.
“You don’t like any of the guys I know.”
“True. But he creeps me out. He has those creepy eyes. You know; like a child molester’s.”
I smacked her on the arm. “He does not. He’s a good guy. Rich, successful, and a no-strings type of playboy.”
“Child molester,” she said as she shook her head.