Famously Mine: A Contemporary Romance Box Set Read online

  “Charlieeeeee, I’ve got cornetti,” Finn crouches near the bed and holds up a bag of Italian pastries, “and coffee.”

  I smile drowsily at him in the dark hotel room. I must have overslept. Which makes perfect sense, given all the thoroughly wonderful things we did to each other last night. I glance at the clock, then blink in confusion. It’s 6 a.m.

  “Finn, I love you,” I say, and his smile is brilliant. “BUT WHY THE HELL AM I AWAKE?”

  Finn’s grin turns wicked, “Because. We have someplace to go.”

  I look at him suspiciously, “Where?”

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  I roll over and hide my head under the pillow. He snatches the pillow and throws it across the room.

  “FINN! YOU’RE HORRIBLE.”

  “Yeah, but I’m your horrible person. Come on.” He steals the bedding, then gets momentarily distracted by my naked body.

  Sensing weakness, I run my hand slowly up my stomach, stroke my breast, “Come on, Finn. Come back to bed. We can have a lazy morning, drift off into sleep. And then in a few hours we can have sex like normal people once the sun is actually up.”

  He looks at me with longing. And then he shakes his head, at first reluctantly, but then stubbornly, “No. No we need to go.”

  “You’re turning down sex?”

  “This is more important,” he says.

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Finn?” I ask, and he tosses me my clothes, followed by the bag of pastries, which hits me in the face.

  “Come on,” Finn says. “We’re burning daylight.”

  “THERE’S NO DAYLIGHT YET.”

  But I’m awake, and the cornetti smell amazing, and this is clearly important to the weirdo I’m in love with, so I get dressed, bundle up in one of Finn’s coats, and chug coffee as he leads me down to the lobby and out of the hotel.

  We catch a cab, and Finn tells the driver to go to a park we used to hang out at, with a great view of the Golden Gate Bridge. I look at Finn, curious, but he doesn’t elaborate.

  We ride there in silence. The city is dark with morning fog, but it’s easing toward a lighter grey that means the sun will rise soon.

  I reach to my left and take his hand. He runs a thumb over the back of each of my fingers, hesitating on the ring finger. When a glance up at him, he’s vibrating with happy, nervous energy.

  Ok, this is weird.

  The cab gets to the park, and we hop out. I toss my empty coffee cup, and Finn takes my hand again. Without talking about it, we walk to our spot.

  Chosen for its stellar view, relative privacy, and the heavy old picnic table where Finn carved our initials after our first kiss.

  Well, more like after our seventh. Once we got started, it took us a while to stop.

  I sit on the table, and Finn moves to stand between my legs. He cups my face, his eyes suddenly serious. “I love you,” he says.

  “I know,” I say.

  “No, I mean … God.” Finn kisses me, fierce and tender. His heat spreads through me, and I slide my hands up his back, urging him on, but he steps away.

  “I told you the last time I had a kiss like that I bought a wedding ring,” he says.

  “No offense, Finn, but I don’t want to hear about another woman right now,” I say, reaching out to catch his collar and tug him back toward me. Back where he belongs.

  He lets me pull him in, but he doesn’t kiss me. “It was you, Charlie.”

  I stop tugging stunned, “What?”

  He digs in his pocket, and pulls out a simple, chased silver band. “I wanted to ask you to marry me. I went to your parents to get their blessing and they … well, pointed out all the ways your life would be worse if you left school at eighteen to marry an unemployed musician. And well, they weren’t wrong.”

  I’m floored. I cup his cheek, “Finn.”

  He fiddles with the ring, flipping it back and forth between his fingers, and I feel like my heart is rising and falling with each twist of the ring.

  Why is he telling me this now? And why did he bring the ring?

  “The thing is, I think I could give you a good life now. And hell, even if I couldn’t, you’re not going to let anyone stand in your way. So now there’s no reason not too …” he flips the ring.

  The sun begins to rise around us.

  “Finn. What are you saying?”

  He takes a deep breath, then squares his shoulders, and looks me straight in the eye, “That this ring is yours. I know it’s too soon to ask you to marry me, which is why I’m not asking. I’m just telling you, this is where I am. I want to marry you. Have pretty much since the first time you kissed me. So whether or not you ever want that too, I’m yours. In pretty much every way a man can be. But I’m done carrying this ring. It’s yours now.”

  He presses it into my palm.

  “Wear it, don’t wear it. On a necklace, on your other hand. I’m just saying, it’s yours. I’m yours. However you want me, for as long as you want me. So let me know if you ever get to the point where you want marriage. Because I’ve been there for ten years. But I don’t want you to feel rushed, or trapped, or pressured, or …”

  I slide the ring onto my left ring finger.

  Finn’s breath catches, and he looks up at me, eyes bright with painful hope, “Do you … do you mean that?”

  “Marry me, Finn Ryan,” I say, throwing my arms wide as the dawn breaks around us. “Make me the happiest woman in the world.”

  He laughs, and kisses me, and I kiss him back, and when we break apart, his eyes are bright, and he swipes a tear from his cheek.

  “Challenge accepted,” he says, cupping my face. “I’m never leaving you again.”

  “That’s convenient, because I’m never letting you leave again.”

  Finn leans in to kiss me, then smacks himself in the forehead, “Shit. I was supposed to do this part first.” He pulls out a folded paper from his back pocket and passes it over to me.

  It’s a bunch of legal jargon in tiny font about rights and royalties. I look up, confused, “What is this?”

  “I listed you as a co-writer, on all the songs you helped write for my new album. You’ll get a small payment up front, and nothing’s guaranteed, but if they sell half as well as my other songs, it’ll be more than enough to fund your project with the adopted families—”

  I launch myself at him, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he staggers a bit, surprised, before he kisses me back with everything he has.

  He’s perfect. Sarcastic, romantic, clever. Rockstar. Fallen angel. First love. Last love.

  Husband.

  Mine.

  “So you’re taking my name after we get married, right?” I ask.

  He laughs, “You can fight Bridget for it.”

  I shudder, and he laughs harder.

  “I think you could take her. I think you could take anyone you wanted to.”

  Finn kisses me slowly, like we have all the time in the world. Which, I guess we do. So we touch and caress and taste each other, until my lips are swollen, and he’s hard as a rock.

  Finn groans, then laughs. He sets me down, and holds out his hand. “Come on, Charlie. I need breakfast, we need to tell our families, and I need to fuck you senseless. Not necessarily in that order.”

  So I take his hand, and we do.

  Just not necessarily in that order.

  Read the next book in the series…

  Famously His Baby: A Billionaire Boss Romance Secret Romance

  Famously His Baby: A Billionaire Boss Secret Romance

  He came over to fix a lightbulb.

  We ended up breaking the bed.

  Don’t tell anyone, but I’m knocked-up.

  By my uber rich boss,

  Who also happens to be my brother’s best friend.

  Yeah, I like a quiet life…

  Working for Wade St George, billionaire genius

  Was supposed to be my ticket to a drama free existence.

 
Hooking up with him definitely was NOT in the job description.

  It’s electric when I’m with him,

  Sneaking around, stealing moments just for us.

  Did I mention his forearms?

  What is it about guys who roll up their sleeves like they mean business?

  Gets me every time.

  But he’s 100 percent off-limits.

  My brother would wring his neck if he found out.

  I’m not sure he wants a ‘real’ relationship.

  Maybe keeping me a secret is all he wants.

  Well I’ve got my own little secret,

  That’s growing day by day.

  And he’s the one person I can’t tell.

  1

  Wade

  I’m knee-deep in shitty code when the phone rings. Theoretically, I shouldn’t be hunting down errors like this anymore. After a decade of planning, work, and luck, St. George Enterprises is the biggest video sharing platform after YouTube.

  But I’ve got a meeting coming up with our biggest, newest partner in a few days, and there’s an issue with the file compression that my project development team hasn’t solved yet.

  They could solve it. If I let them. But sometimes the way they fix things is like listening to a singer go flat. There’s only so much of it I can take before I start to twitch.

  Besides, what else do I have to do on a Friday at 5:45 p.m.? It’s not like I have some hot woman with a wicked smile waiting for me at home.

  I don’t even have a dog.

  Truth be told, I haven’t dated anyone seriously since a pregnancy scare and a cross-country move threw cold water on my last relationship. We were good together on paper. But the visceral relief we both felt when we found out she wasn’t pregnant made us both realize we needed a hell of a lot more than “good on paper.”

  I just don’t know what that more is.

  The phone keeps ringing.

  Weird. Normally the secretary gets it.

  Then I remember: I still need to replace my secretary. Fabian was best secretary I ever had, and I was thrilled when he agreed to follow me to the new North Carolina branch. Unfortunately, barbecue and sweet tea did not agree with the health-obsessed California vegan, and Fabian transferred back to Silicon Valley a month ago.

  I give up and answer the phone. “St. George Enterprises, Wade St. George speaking.”

  “Wade! My man! It’s hard to track you down.”

  I relax into my chair, grinning. I’d know the sound of that voice anywhere. It’s Duke Harrington, one of my best friends. He’s in New York now, so we only see each other two or three times a year, but they’re the best weekends of my year.

  “Sorry about that. Some paparazzi assholes got a hold of my cell number, and I had to get a new number. I guess I forgot to mention it.”

  “I can’t believe you literally just ‘New phone, who ‘dis?’ed me,” Duke says, and I laugh.

  “So what are you calling about?” I ask, glancing at the clock. It’s almost six, so I hit save and close out. I try to model good work life balance for my employees by leaving on time. Of course, I just go home and work more on my laptop, but they don’t need to know that.

  “Can’t a guy just call his best friend?” Duke asks.

  “On his cell phone? Yes. On his work line? No.”

  Duke laughs. “Fine. You caught me. I need a favor.”

  “Anything,” I say.

  “You might want to hear what the favor is first,” Duke says cautiously. “It’s about my sister.”

  “Stella?” Stella Harrington’s always been a bit of a wild child. Wearing a black suit to her debutante ball, ditching med school to join a rock band and go on tour across the country, making out with unsuitable men. That type of thing. She’s a hellion, but she’s basically a good kid.

  Well, not a kid now. I’m 35, so she’s … Jesus, Stella Harrington is in her thirties.

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  “Oh, she’s fine. She’s actually … better than she’s been for a while. She moved back to North Carolina. Doing the whole clean slate thing.”

  I glance at the computer, wishing I hadn’t closed it out. I forgot how long it takes Duke to get to a point. He grew up in the kind of Southern household where it was considered crude to just get to the fucking point.

  “You’re saying she’s in town?” When I was opening a branch of the company in Winston-Salem, I considered a lot of factors. Talent pool. Taxes. Real estate.

  I did not consider the fact that moving back to my hometown meant I may be called upon to do favors for prodigal little sisters who also moved back home.

  “Do you want me to check in on her or something?”

  “I want you to give her a job.”

  “A job?” I ask. I glance at the empty secretary’s desk just outside my door. Stella wasn’t known for her tact, but maybe she’s changed. “What are her professional skills?”

  “Drumming. Passing the MCAT. And pissing off our parents.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can she type?”

  “Probably. Yes. Definitely.”

  I sigh. “We’ve got some data entry positions that have been open for a while. Tell her to call HR and list me as a reference.”

  Duke breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Wade. I owe you one. The next time you’re in New York, I swear, I’ll set you up with someone fabulous.”

  “That would be a better offer if I lived in New York.”

  “See that’s the difference between you and me,” Duke says, and I laugh and hang up.

  As I step outside and breathe in the sweet, tangy spring air, I’m feeling pretty good. I’ve got a good company that’s about to grow in a big way, now that I’ve signed a three-year contract to be the exclusive streaming platform for Home Sweet Home Entertainment, North Carolina’s answer to the Hallmark movie channel. I’m out of the Silicon bubble, in a place where a man can breathe again. And since moving home, not a single paparazzi has pointed their zoom lenses at me.

  And I helped out one of my oldest friends.

  Duke is pretty much the only reason I had any fun in high school. My mom was stressed and broke all the time, and I liked people better if they were on the internet. Rich, popular, football-playing Duke was the one who dragged me out of my room and made sure people knew I was funny, and I knew they were nice.

  So, getting to a place in my life where I can help Duke? That feels like a bigger accomplishment than when I was on the cover of Wired.

  I whistle as I walk to the car. I can’t wait to take little Stella under my wing.

  A week later I walk into my office to see a pink-haired babe in a fitted black zip-up hoodie and a black pencil skirt sitting at my secretary’s desk. In California, that would be conservative attire, but I’ve been back in the south just long enough to get used to slacks and flowered dresses.

  Pink Hair pops up and holds out her hand, rushing at me like she’s a football player and I’m the end zone.

  “Hi, Wade, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. I know it’s been a while, but I promise I am waaaaaaay more mature than you remember, and you will not regret it.” She beams up at me, hand extended.

  It’s the smile I recognize first. Stella Harrington has a smile that would make a toothpaste commercial feel inadequate.

  Her smile wavers, and I realize I’m being rude, so I grab her hand and shake it.

  Her calloused palm isn’t what I expect. Or rather, it’s not what I expect based on the Stella I was remembering. It feels exactly right for the woman standing in front of me.

  “Great to have you on board,” I say, and I mean it. “Do you want me to show you where data entry is?”

  “What? Oh! No, I’m not doing that. When I did the interview, and Miss Em learned more about me, she decided I’d make a much better administrative assistant.”

  “Administrative assistant?”

  “It’s what you should be calling your secretary. I think that’s probably why you
haven’t been getting many applications. It signals a certain kind of corporate culture that isn’t necessarily in line with what most tech industry professionals are looking for.”

  She beams up at me, and I blink.

  It’s her first day, and Stella already talked my stodgy HR administrator into a new job title. It’s possible Duke has seriously underestimated his little sister.

  “Right. Uh. Well. Just let me know if you need anything—”

  She laughs gaily, and in that laugh is the trill of a thousand southern belles. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. But I’m the one who should be asking if you need anything. Oh!” She suddenly blushes. “One moment.”

  She turns around, and hastily sheds the black hoodie. When she turns back to me she’s tugging at a gray silk turtleneck sweater that clings to her like a second skin.

  I do my best to ignore the fact that Stella Harrington has the kind of curves that would convince a man to fight his way across a crowded bar, just for the opportunity of being shot down.

  “Sorry about that. I, uh, I’m still getting used to the office dress code,” Stella says, sounding uncertain for the first time in the conversation, and I remember how nervous I was the first time I went into a tech office to pitch a project for funding. I’d walked in wearing a suit and tie to show I was worth taking seriously, only to find that the people sitting across the table from me were dressed in hoodies and jeans.

  “No worries. Dress codes are a bitch,” I say, startling a smile out of her.

  It’s not her razzle-dazzle smile. This one’s soft, and crooked, and reaches her eyes, and if I were on a date, it would make me lean across the table and coax her to tell me more.

  But we’re not on a date. We’re in my office at 9:00 a.m. She works for me. She’s Duke’s little sister. Any of these would be enough to have me viciously squashing that impulse, but the combination of all three has me backing into my office like the coward I am.