Lucky stars fates aligne.., p.1
Lucky Stars (Fates Aligned Book 3), page 1
Lucky Stars
A Fates Aligned Novel
Christi Whitson
Lucky Stars
Copyright © 2019 by Christi Whitson
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 any electronic method, without the prior written permission of the author. This excludes brief quotations used in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are the products of the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Design and Formatting: Christi Whitson
Editing: Christi Whitson and Judy McCrary
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Before You Go!
One
Gemma
The delicious scent of baked goods all but assaulted me as I trotted through the entrance of Sweet Dreams, my heels clicking on the polished tile floor. I was pretty sure a girl could gain five pounds just by breathing the air. It was that good. Just about everything on the menu was unhealthy, but the smell alone was enough to undermine anyone’s willpower. My stomach let out an audible growl. I hadn’t intended to buy anything for myself, but maybe I could scarf down a bagel or something on the way to my morning meeting.
The euphoria of promised sweets faded when I saw the line of people at the counter. I checked the time on my phone and decided to go for it, joining the queue behind a tall man in a charcoal gray suit. He was facing away from me, and I didn’t give him much thought until another newcomer forced me closer to him and an altogether different aroma enveloped me.
Damn. He smells even better than the food.
I glanced up at the back of his head, wondering what kind of cologne he was wearing. He had dark, wavy hair, and I could see just enough of his face to note the shadow of a day’s growth. It seemed at odds with the tension in his frame and the firm set of his jaw. His posture radiated control and poise, but perhaps his usual morning routine had been cut short. At least he didn’t skip the shower, I thought, shamelessly inhaling his scent again as the line moved forward a few paces. Yum.
Giving myself a mental shake, I forced my gaze away from the enigmatic stranger. The line was moving quickly enough, thank God. I really couldn’t afford to be late for this meeting. I was a senior project coordinator for Rowan Pierce Construction, and one of our biggest projects had recently been reassigned to me. Forrester Hotels was opening a new location at Indian Rocks Beach, and the stakes were high.
No matter how much prep work I’d done, I was still a bit nervous about the meeting. I preferred to spearhead a project from start to finish, but this one had fallen into my lap in the middle of the execution phase. The previous coordinator had been fired due to some rather unprofessional behavior, and I’d walked into a bit of a mess.
Though I was confident enough in my skills that I didn’t mind stepping in so late in the game, I was counting on Charlotte Brighton, a good friend and even better colleague, to help me navigate the issues our coworker had left unresolved. She worked in the legal department and had been on the project from the very beginning, and I was grateful she would be at the meeting this morning. A change in leadership didn’t exactly give the client a good impression of RPC, and I’d never met this Hayden Forrester before.
Charlotte had an ‘in’ with him, whereas I did not. Forrester was a close friend of our boss, who happened to be Charlotte’s husband. I hadn’t heard much about Forrester, other than that he was a thirty-year-old guy who owned a multi-million-dollar chain of hotels. And that he was known to be a bit of a control freak. Although tourism was a diverse industry in Florida, his youth did make him stand out a little amongst his contemporaries. Perhaps it made him feel like he had something to prove? So far, I'd only communicated with Forrester via e-mail. He'd seemed polite enough, but I was still a bit wary. 'Control freak' could mean a lot of things, and this project really didn't need any further disruption.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have taken time to stop for food right before such an important meeting. But I’d made a promise, and I intended to keep it. The line inched forward again, allowing me to see more of the menu on the wall behind the counter. Most of it was written in various pastel shades of chalk, since the items offered changed with the seasons. Luckily, my daughter’s favorite starberry lemon muffin was a permanent fixture.
I’d actually promised her one yesterday, but the extra office hours I’d needed to prep for today’s meeting had kept me from delivering. I’d kicked myself for it, since I knew better than to make a promise like that in the first place. Where most kids could be distracted or pacified with something different, my Hallie was set in her ways. She had a tendency to fixate on small worries until they caused her real stress. Sure enough, my promise of her favorite treat was the last thing she’d talked about at bedtime last night and the first thing she’d mentioned when she woke up this morning.
All in all, Hallie had handled the unexpected change pretty well, though, and I wanted to reward her for it by following through on my promise, even if it was a day late. It would help teach her patience and challenge her rigidity in a manageable way. Small measures like that were essential when dealing with an autistic child. In the long run, gently introducing small challenges was far more effective than forcing large ones. And hopefully, if she could learn to deal with minor disruptions and upsets, she would be just a little more capable of adapting when life threw things at us that were beyond our control.
A cool, deep voice pulled me out of my wandering thoughts, and I belatedly realized the yummy smelling stranger ahead of me had reached the front of the line. The young, redheaded cashier was batting her eyes at him.
“I need to pick up an order, please. Should be under Cantwell.”
“Of course, sir. I think they’re packing up the last of it now. I’ll be right back.” But she didn’t move away from the counter. Instead, she seemed frozen in place, staring at the man with something like starstruck wonder.
I followed her gaze up to his face and felt my mouth go dry. No wonder she was gawking. But he wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking at me. The tense, shadowed jaw I’d glimpsed a few moments ago complemented a set of chiseled cheekbones and a straight nose. His eyes were dark and striking, but I couldn’t quite tell what color they were. Just that they were focused on me.
For an endless moment, I couldn’t seem to look away from him, and my own eyes dropped to his lips without my permission. The border of his top lip dipped inward a little in the center, making his mouth appear a bit fuller than that of most men. As I watched, those perfect lips twitched into a crooked smile that I felt myself mirroring involuntarily.
“Ma’am?” another voice from behind the counter spoke up loudly enough to get my attention. I was jolted back to reality by a freckle-faced teenage boy whose eyes were darting curiously back and forth between me and the sexy stranger. The redhead must’ve stepped away at some point. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I replied quickly, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment. I could still feel the man’s gaze on me even as he shifted out of the way so I could place my order. “I need one of the Starberry Lemon muffins, please.”
“I’m sorry, but we’re out of those at the moment.”
“Seriously?” I deflated, sighing in frustration.
“We had a few large orders come in this morning, so we’re a little low on some of the more popular items. We should have more ready in a half hour or so.”
Well, shit, I cursed inwardly as I scanned the handwritten menu, searching for an alternative Hallie would like. To say my four-year-old was a picky eater would be an understatement.
“I… I don’t have time to wait.”
“We do have some of the Raspberry PaJAMa muffins left,” the boy offered apologetically.
“Do they taste anything like the strawberry lemon ones?”
“Not really,” he replied, looking uncomfortable.
I sighed again, knowing the poor kid probably thought I was crazy. Who in their right mind would be this disappointed and inconvenienced by an unexpected muffin shortage? There was really nothing to be done but try to stop back by on my way home from work or maybe on my lunch hour.
“Is there some kind of muffin emergency?”
The question didn’t come from the boy but rather from a much deeper voice to my left, and I turned to find the handsome man grinning at me. Once again, his smile was so perfect I couldn’t help but return it. He was taking a large carton of baked goods from the redheaded cashier, but he’d still barely glanced
“I know you’re kidding, but… yes. Sort of,” I chuckled nervously. To my surprise, he immediately turned to address the cashiers.
“Can I get an empty bag and a napkin please?”
The redhead handed the items to him, and he stepped a little further out of the way of the other customers, gesturing me to follow. My brow furrowed as he reached into the large box and pulled out a strawberry lemon muffin, transferring it to the small paper bag.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can stop on my way home or something.”
“I insist. I’m sure my assistant ordered more than enough anyway. We always seem to have leftovers.”
“Well…” I hesitated, glancing at the open bag and back at his flawless face. “At least let me pay you for it—”
“Not a chance,” he refused promptly, still smiling. “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress. Besides, someone saved me from a donut emergency just last week, and I’m a pay-it-forward kind of guy.”
I could feel my face getting warmer as I laughed at his words. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d blushed, but this sexy stranger had made it happen twice in the past five minutes. Not only was he ridiculously good-looking, but he was apparently a bit of a flirt. And he was hitting on me. His dark eyes lingered perceptibly on my body, and his Adam’s apple bounced a little as he swallowed.
He was checking me out. And liking what he saw.
A girlish sort of happiness fluttered in my stomach, and my cheeks began to ache from smiling. It had been years since the last time I’d felt like this. Years since I’d caught anyone looking at me that way and felt even a hint of attraction in return. And damn if I didn’t like it. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be a woman and not just a perpetually exhausted single mom.
“Thank you. You definitely saved me.”
“From an absurdly picky boss, no doubt.”
“Something like that,” I chuckled.
I caught a glimpse of something small and white folded into the brown napkin as he tucked it into the bag, but there wasn’t time to wonder about it. He handed me the bag with another panty-melting smile, and our fingers brushed lightly, sending another wave of warmth to both my cheeks and my center.
“I’d better be on my way,” he admitted, and I was sure I had to be imagining the regret I saw in his features. “I’ll soon have a conference room of hungry colleagues expecting their free breakfast.”
“So, you feed everyone, then? Not just strange women having a breakfast crisis?” I teased as we walked together to the exit. He held the door open and followed me out into the crisp, January sunshine.
“No, but I couldn’t call myself a gentleman if I didn’t step up to help a lady in need.” His smile was polite but a little more restrained now, foreshadowing the distance that would separate us all too soon.
“Well, thank you again. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re very welcome. Have a great day.”
“You too.”
I gave him a shy little parting wave as we headed in opposite directions down the busy sidewalk. The giddy sensation I’d felt in his presence slowly dissipated, and by the time I reached my car, I was shaking my head at my own behavior. A hot guy had shown me a small kindness, and I’d turned into a starry-eyed teenager. Good grief. I sat in the driver’s seat, allowing the interior to warm up a little, and after a moment, I remembered my earlier curiosity about the napkin he’d put in the small paper bag.
When I peeked inside, my lips curled upward again, and I reached in to retrieve the white business card. I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or wary that he’d been able to sneak it in so skillfully, but my smile vanished as I read the silver-embossed text.
Hayden Forrester
Forrester Hotels, Inc.
Holy shit.
Two
Hayden
A sucker for a damsel in distress?
Had that really come out of my mouth? I snorted in disbelief as I pulled my car into the reserved space and killed the engine. Never in my life had I been attracted to a woman who fit that description, but I’d sure as hell been attracted to her. And I hadn’t missed the way she’d been looking at me. The feeling had been mutual, that much I knew for sure.
What would she think when she found my business card in her bag? Would she call or email? Maybe just text? Or would she ghost me altogether? God, I hadn’t even asked her name, and now I was kicking myself for it.
A few employees greeted me as I made my way up to my office, but my mind was still on the beautiful woman from the bakery. With my head lowered to search my wallet for a credit card to hand the cashier, the first thing I’d noticed was the pair of absolutely perfect legs standing next to me, and my appreciation had only increased as I’d followed them upward. Her smart little skirt and blouse had hugged her curves in a way that was flattering but modest enough for a professional setting.
I’d had only a moment to take in the delicate features of her profile when she’d turned toward me, and the sight of her wide, green eyes had filled my chest with an odd, buoyant sensation. The feeling had only intensified when she’d given me that adorably flustered smile, and every smile I’d brought out of her after that had felt like a gift. Her chestnut hair had fallen sleek and straight over her shoulders, and when we’d stepped out into the morning sunlight, it had gleamed with hidden facets of red and gold.
The elevator chimed as the heavy doors slid open, distracting me from my thoughts of the sweet-faced brunette. My assistant, Susan Cantwell, wasn’t at her desk yet, but I hadn’t expected her to be. She’d texted this morning to warn me that car problems were going to make her a little late and that she wouldn’t have time to pick up the breakfast order for this morning’s meeting.
I’d been a little irritated at the unexpected change in my workday routine, but I couldn’t really be angry with Susan. It wasn’t like she’d done it on purpose. I was just relieved she wouldn’t be missing work altogether. This meeting would probably take all morning, and I needed her to be here for it.
Once I’d delivered the box of food to the conference room, I went to my office to get myself organized. Our newest construction project had gotten a little off track, and I was eager to make sure everything was back on point. Hiring Rowan Pierce Construction had been a no-brainer. Not only was RPC the right company for the job, but the CEO, Eli Brighton, had been one of my best friends for many years. The lead coordinator who’d originally been assigned to the project, however, was most certainly not right for the job.
I had no idea how Dionne Davis had advanced as far as she had at RPC. She behaved like a horny teenager around every man she came into contact with, especially out at the build site. From what I’d heard, the foreman had complained numerous times about her habit of disrupting his crew, and when I’d had the misfortune to meet the woman in person, I was on the phone with Eli not five minutes after prying her painted talons off my biceps.
I blamed myself for the fact that the whole situation had gotten so far out of hand. This mess probably could have been avoided if I had taken the time to meet with the RPC coordinator at the very beginning, and I was determined not to repeat that mistake. To that end, I would be directing much of this morning’s meeting personally and making the acquaintance of the new project coordinator, Gemma Kirkwood. Eli had sung her praises and promised that she was exceptionally good at her job, but I’d yet to do more than exchange a few emails with her. I didn’t much care who she was, so long as she kept it professional and met the deadline.
A commotion from outside my office made me look up from the computer screen, and my assistant appeared in the doorway, looking frazzled and apologetic.
“Mr. Forrester, I’m so sorry—” I held up a hand to stop her.
“It’s fine, Susan. These things happen. No big deal.”
Her visible relief at my response made me feel a little guilty. Had she been expecting me to be a tyrant about it? Granted, I wasn’t the most easy-going boss, but I didn’t like to think my employees were afraid of me.
“My car is already on its way to the shop, so I shouldn’t have any trouble making it on time tomorrow. My husband gave me a ride in,” she explained with a nervous smile.
