Love's Chance Read online

  Love’s Chance

  By

  Angela Kay Austin

  Dedication

  When they said, “Now, send us your dedication.” I thought, this should be easy. Goodness, I was wrong. Of course, you don’t want to forget anyone. This is my first published work and so many have supported me in different ways along the way.

  Writing can be such a solitary thing. So, when you have people around you that offer support and feedback, you cherish each and every one of them. Throughout my writing experience, I’ve been fortunate to have family and friends that have understood that regardless of whether or not I made a sell of one manuscript that writing was important to me. They read every poem, blog post, short story, or novel, and offered me their opinions on the stories I tried to bring to life.

  I don’t think any number of thank yous can express how grateful I am to have had the men in my life to craft Chance O’Malley after, and the women to shape into Sinclair Mosley. Thank you: Ulysses, Velma, Austin, Clara, Christopher, Gary, and Felicia. Thank you to the ladies of Washington Romance Writers critique group. Thank you to my editor, Carrie RO, you cared as much about my manuscript as I did, and Bernadette Smith for catching everything we missed. I have to thank LaVerne Thompson. I don’t think she knows how much of a mentor she’s been to me. If I’ve forgotten anyone, I apologize. Thank you to every one of you for being generous enough to offer your time in support of me and my dreams!

  And, finally, thank you to Lea Schizas and Red Rose Publishing for giving me this opportunity. You’ve allowed me to realize one of my childhood dreams.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Love’s Chance by Angela Kay Austin

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  Publishing with a touch of Class! ™

  The symbol of the Red Rose and Red Rose is a trademark of Red Rose™ Publishing

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  Copyright© 2010 Angela Kay Austin

  ISBN: 978-1-60435-665-6

  Cover Artist: T D McKinney

  Editor: Carrie RO

  Line Editor: Bernadette Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Red Rose™ Publishing

  www.redrosepublishing.com

  Forestport, NY 13338

  Thank you for purchasing a book from Red Rose™ Publishing where publishing

  comes with a touch of Class!

  Love’s Chance

  By

  Angela Kay Austin

  Chapter One

  Sinclair Mosley searched the sea of faces in front of her from her position behind the podium. Linen tablecloths covered twenty or so tables crowded between dark draped windows and fabric covered walls. The tables were occupied by the a-list of Carni’s Foods: president, executive vice presidents, senior vice presidents, vice presidents, directors, mangers and so on. Somehow, she’d stumbled onto the perfect answer to all of her problems. She would work for two years for one of the largest grocery retailers on the east coast. In front of her were all of the people she’d needed over the past six months and would continue to need for the next year and a half in Pennsylvania. She noted the normal reactions: disinterest, sleepiness, and admiration. Bodies shifted for comfort at overcrowded tables. Diners vied for elbow room. Silverware scraped against dinnerware as guests poked at half eaten cold chicken, limp asparagus, and tasteless mashed potatoes illuminated by melted candles.

  Her attention was drawn to the Pacific-blue eyes staring at her from a roomy table up front. She sipped from her water glass, relaxed her breathing and calmed her thoughts. He smiled and nodded, she continued with her presentation.

  At its conclusion, she fielded questions regarding projected sales, product selection, and sales promotion. Once the last question was answered, she walked off the stage toward her small overcrowded tabled nestled among the others.

  The crowd thinned as the night progressed, she’d said good night to all of her staff, her table was empty, but Sinclair didn’t want to leave until her V.P., Daniel Houser, left for the night, and it didn’t seem like he was leaving anytime soon. She glanced at her watch. It was 11:30 p.m. At 6:30 a.m. she had a meeting scheduled to review her t-shirt sales before she flew to Vegas for a week. Closed eyed, she covered her mouth and yawned.

  “Tired?”

  Sinclair opened her eyes, and stared into Chance O’Malley’s watery blue gaze. Dressed in a simple black suite with a crisp white shirt, and a thin black tie, Chance O’Malley was perfect.

  “Yeah. Aren’t you? If I knew we would be here this long, I would’ve brought my notes with me for our meeting tomorrow.”

  Chance pulled out a chair beside Sinclair and sat. He leaned back and rested his arm across the back of her chair. His thigh touched hers underneath the table. “Your presentation was really good. I think you were the only one who actually kept to the time limit.” He ran a hand across his military hair cut. “How long was Raquel up there? Forty-five minutes.”

  She could feel her cheeks redden due to his nearness. “I think so.”

  Chance’s look fixed on something across the room; he shifted in his seat. His body leaned closer to hers. “So, when are you leaving? I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She followed his stare. Raquel Dickinson, Bakery Category Manager, stalked in their direction. Her broad, angry movements destroyed the effect of the body hugging dress she wore. Reddish blonde hair flowed like untamed fire over bare shoulders.

  Sinclair searched the room for her boss, Daniel Houser. She caught a glimpse of his back as he and his wife slipped out of the dining hall. As the breath escaped her, her shoulders slumped. Not so much as a pat on the back or job well done. For some reason, he spent as little time as possible around her. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he definitely was not the ‘go to’ guy in case of emergency. “It looks like I can leave at any time.”

  Chance stood, and pulled out Sinclair’s chair. “Let’s go.”

  Raquel reached their table before they could leave. “Calling it a night so early?”

  He stood between the two women, and reached for Sinclair’s hand to help her stand. “Yeah Raquel it’s been a long night, and I’ve got a meeting in the morning.”

  Raquel leaned around Chance. “Sinclair, do you mind if I walk out with the two of you?”

  “Of course not. Are you ready?”

  Chance released Sinclair’s hand, but walked closely behind. “Raquel, where did you park?”

  She snaked her arm around his. “Next to your truck.”

  “And Sinclair what about you?”

  “I am on the other side of the lot. You really don’t have to walk me all of the way.”

  “Sinclair, Chance and I would not dream of letting you walk to your car alone.” Raquel rubbed her hand up and down Chance’s arm, and looked up into his eyes. “Would we Chance?”

  Chance stopped underneath the awning in front of the banquet hall. “Sinclair, wait here. Come on Raquel.” Chance and Raquel walked into the night toward their cars.

  Sinclair didn’t
wait; she headed in the direction of her car. Footsteps behind her caught her attention.

  “Sinclair. Stop.” Chance’s voice was stern. He blocked her path. “I asked you to wait.”

  “I know, but I didn’t want to be any trouble. You and Raquel…you seemed—”

  “We seemed what? If you have a question, ask it.” His stare was amplified by his silence.

  She had questions, but they didn’t matter. She shook her head from side to side. “No. It’s really none of my business.”

  “None of your business?” Chance walked slow and close.

  “No. You and Raquel have your own thing.”

  “We do have a history, Sinclair, but—”

  Sinclair stopped at her car door. “But it’s none of my business.”

  Chance stepped in closer. “What if I want that to change?”

  She took a step back. “It couldn’t”

  He stepped back, and stared. “It couldn’t or you wouldn’t let it?”

  “Chance, I can’t.” She turned to open her car door. “Thanks for walking me to my car.” She stepped back to open the door, for a moment her body fit into his. She slid into her car, and shut the door behind her.

  He tapped on the window, and waited.

  The window’s hand crank squeaked as the window lowered.

  “Tomorrow at 6:30 a.m. or do you want to push it back?”

  “No let’s not change anything.”

  “Okay.” Chance, turned and walked away.

  Sinclair navigated the dimly-lit maze of cubicles. She darted around a forgotten potted plant as she neared her destination. She paused and dabbed at her moist cheeks with the back of her hand. She’d overslept. At 6:45 a.m. she was fifteen minutes late for her briefing.

  She burst into Chance office; one of her honey-golden locs flopped into her eye. “Chance, sorry I’m late.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I just got here myself.”

  Unlike normal, a patchy beard veiled his usually clean-shaven, chiseled jaw-line. Dark circles shadowed his blue eyes. Faded blue jeans and a wrinkled ill-fitting sweatshirt rounded out his morning look. It would put off anybody who dared approach him. Maybe it would scare off one of his particularly clingy strawberry blonde fans. She had no reason to think it, but she did anyway.

  The night before had once again been filled with thoughts of him. His touch. His smell. Those things her body and mind knew, well. And with that information, her mind created its own wonderful simulations of what the rest would be like. She didn’t know she could be so creative.

  Reports review meetings gave her a reason to stare. The changes she’d approved produced low sales with one item, t-shirts. Reporting the sales to her boss at the next sales meeting was her responsibility as Category Manager.

  She presented Chance with her peace offering—luke-warm brown water masquerading as coffee. “I grabbed coffee for you from the vending machine.”

  His long, pale fingers brushed across hers when he took the cup from her hand; the styrofoam cup nearly vanished in his grasp. A wonderful warm tingle spread from her hand up her arm across her chest and through her entire body. With each curl and sip of his coffee his bicep flex and tighten his sleeve. How could this man be so sexy at 6:45a.m., with no effort?

  “Thanks.” A warm easy smile softened his angular features, and replaced his tired expression.

  “It’s the least I could do since you agreed to meet me at such a crazy hour. I’m sorry I needed to have the meeting so early, but my flight leaves just after noon. I need to input all of the changes, make some calls, and get to the airport in time.”

  His palm rubbed against the back of his head, he yawned. “I keep telling you it’s not a problem. So, what do we have?”

  The stack of papers in her hand rustled, as she pointed at a number on the page she was reading. “This report you pulled says the shirts are selling in the college towns.”

  Chance dragged his chair across the green carpet closer to her. He read the numbers her natural nails pointed out to him. “So, this one is an easier fix than the others.”

  “Looks that way. Thank goodness.” The list of universities she handed Chance was based on a previous report he’d run. After a few keystrokes another report printed. The sales across the chain on the items on the report were perfect. She’d be able to recover sales by the end of the quarter. “This looks good. I can add these vendors and load up with more of the product branded with some of these larger colleges and universities. We should see a lift almost immediately.”

  “Your meeting is next week. We should have enough time to pull new numbers.”

  “Chance, you’re a lifesaver. I wish that they would let me access this stuff. Then I wouldn’t have to bother you. I don’t know what I would do without you?”

  “Sinclair, I am here whenever you need me, but I do know what I would do without you.”

  His grin intrigued her. It hid a secret only he knew the answer to.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Sleep later.”

  Hearty and warm, his laughter overtook her. In a dark, empty office building Sinclair found herself having more fun than she’d had since moving to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania six months before.

  “Well, because of you now I can leave for the General Merchandise conference in Nevada without worrying so much about my numbers while I’m gone.”

  “That’s why I’m here. Do you have a ride to the airport?”

  “Taxi.”

  “I really don’t mind driving you.”

  “You help me out so much. I don’t want to bother you with stuff like this, too. The taxi is fine.” She pushed her chair away from his side.

  “Michael Dickinson invited me to the tradeshow this year. So, it really wouldn’t be a bother. I’d just end up at the airport early.”

  “Michael wants you to come? Why,” asked Sinclair. At least there would be one friendly face in Vegas, but this conference was for category managers and buyers. Category managers. She might as well have slapped her hand against her forehead. Of course, Raquel. “Oh, I forgot.” She didn’t mean to let it slip out, but it did.

  “What?” Chance’s jovial mood became stoic. “What do you mean you forgot?”

  She stared.

  He waited, but for a moment, neither said a word.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because of a project we’re working on. For some reason, I can’t seem to get out of it.”

  “Is that the only reason?” Apparently, she couldn’t control her big mouth.

  He stood. “Say what you mean?”

  Sinclair walked toward his office doorway. “Nothing. Never mind.” She had no reason to ask. That was established the other night.

  He walked toward her; she couldn’t move. He reached around her, and the door behind her closed. “I tried to explain things to you last night.”

  Palms up, she placed them on his chest to keep space between them. “I’m sorry. Really. No explanation is needed.” Nervous energy or excitement, she wasn’t sure which surged through her whole body. She didn’t know what was going to happen or what she wanted to happen.

  His one hand covered both of hers. “You act as if you’re afraid of me.” The other lay flat against the door behind her. “Are you?” His breath caressed her cheek as he leaned in closer.

  Breathlessly, she responded, “No.”

  “Then why are you running?”

  She freed one of her hands, and searched for the doorknob. “I’m not. I just want to work.”

  He stepped back. “Work only.”

  Sighing heavily, she replied, “Yes. Work only.”

  He returned to his desk.

  “Chance.”

  Silence was her only response.

  “Chance, please understand.”

  “I understand Sinclair. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you in Vegas.” He dragged his chair back behind his desk, sat, and busied himself with something on his computer screen.

  “Okay, I
guess I’ll see you in Vegas.”

  “Yeah, you will.”

  Six hours later, barefoot and worn out Sinclair walked through her seventies era hotel room aimlessly. Maybe she should’ve taken Chance up on his offer to ride with him to the airport because her taxi arrived twenty minutes late. She had been forced to sprint through the airport to make her plane. Today was the first time she didn’t regret living in central Pennsylvania: small airports, no carry-outs, techno music, peanut shells on the floor of dance clubs and all. If she lived anywhere else, she would’ve been watching her plane take off without her.

  Curled up on her king-sized metal canopy bed, she decided to check her Blackpeoplemeet.com email. Without her permission, her girlfriends had signed her up and paid for a year in advance. Initially, she’d refused to check it at all, but after nearly six months and not one good date, she gave in. Although the site was Blackpeoplemeet.com she’d been contacted by a lot of guys that were not black.

  They’d signed her up to meet Black guys.

  Her cell phone vibrated across the slate top of the metal dresser. She placed her laptop on the mattress beside her, and sprang off the bed to catch it before it went to voicemail.

  “Hey, Kendra. What have you been up to?” Sinclair plopped back onto the bed; hit mute on the television remote, and stared at the images on the screen.

  She’d known Kendra Jones since freshman year of college. Their dorm rooms were across the hall from each other. Kendra had coaxed her into joining a group called Black People United. They participated in every protest and sit-in they could find.

  “Nada much. I called your house? Where are you? On a date?” asked Kendra with excitement in her voice.

  “If you thought I was on a date...why did you call? You could’ve been disturbing my groove.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Kendra with sarcasm in her voice.

  “Anyway, I was just about to log onto Blackpeoplemeet.com.”

  “It’s about time you started checking that site. Have you found any good ones, yet?”