July (Calendar Girl #7) (14 page)

Figuring I’d found out soon enough, I went over to my bag and pulled out my stationary.

Anton,

How does a person thank someone for helping them deal with a trauma? It’s not like I can go to Hallmark and pick out a card that says, ”Hey, you helped bring me back from the ledge. Thanks buddy!”

Honestly though, you handled me with care and respect, the way a true friend would. Sharing your history with me, allowing me to share my experience with you saved me in ways I cannot express. I’m thrilled that you worked out your business and personal relationship with Heather. She’s a beauty with a ridiculous work ethic. You’ll never be able to pay her what she’s worth because even you don’t have that kind of money. Just make sure you pay her back in praise and love for a job well done. Even hard-assed managers need a pat on the back once in a while. Especially when they are from your best friend.

The video experience was one I’ll never forget, but the memory I’ll hold most dear was our motorcycle ride. Pure thing of beauty. Thank you for sharing your toys with me. ;-)

I know this next song is going to set the world on fire. I’ll buy it the minute it goes live.

Until next time.

Your Lucita,

~Mia

Heather -

Meeting you was a gift. I hope you know that no matter where I am, I’ll always be your friend. Call, text, bug me as often as you’d like and I’ll do the same. Why? Because that’s what friends do! I look forward to hearing about all the shenanigans Anton puts you through. I’m also glad you worked things out with one another. Best friends, the kind that last a lifetime, always find their way back to one another.

Good luck in the new job!

Your friend,

~Mia

On that note, I gripped my suitcase handle, left the key to the apartment on the table, locked the door and left. Anton and Heather thought they were meeting me here in two hours, but goodbyes aren’t my thing. I prefer to fly off into the sunset to my next destination knowing that the next adventure is just around the corner.

I’ve taken back my life, and I feel good about the decisions I’ve made, where I am and what my future holds. The possibilities are endless, especially as I imagine my movie-making surfer in a pair of swim trunks, sand around his feet and stuck to his ankles waving me into the open expanse of the Pacific.

Time to go home…at least for a little while.

Mia’s journey continues in August Calendar Girl.

Excerpt from August Calendar Girl (Book 8)

I arrived at the airport with a crick in my neck and a heavy heart. Leaving Wes to come to Dallas to meet with my new client did not go over well. He’d wanted me to stay, take the money he kept offering and call it good. Stubborn man could not accept that I needed to do this. Pay this debt to Blaine as much to save my dad as to save myself. Finish one thing from start to finish and come out the victor. Knowing that once, and for all, I was the owner of my destiny. Every decision I made from here on out was because I made it. Me.

It was my journey and I intended to finish it. Did I want it to cost my relationship with Wes? No, not in a million years. However, he needed to cool his jets and understand that not everything was about him. About the way he sees things. It’s not as easy as just handing someone a cool half million and all the world’s problems were solved. We were still new. Learning one another. In that newness, somehow he’d staked his claim and moved my ass in. Worse was, I let him.

Without any real fight I’d packed my tiny shit-hole apartment up in Los Angeles, stored my boxes in one of his five car garage bays, and set a box in my old room yet to be unpacked, of my prized possessions. Really all the rest of my crap could disappear and the items in a small two foot by two foot box held all that ever mattered to me. Not wanting to waste the little time we’d had left with one another, I didn’t ask about adding my stuff to his home, making my mark the way a woman normally would. Maybe I too needed the time to realize that I’d technically just moved in with Weston yet planned to continue my job for the rest of the year. Not exactly something you wanted to tell your friends and family about your new girlfriend.

My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I walked hollowly out of the airport and along the sidewalk muttering to myself when a warm hand curled around my bicep and stopped me. I looked up, and up, and up until the rim of a Stetson cowboy hat blocked the sun and my eyesight adjusted. Pale green eyes came into view. So pale they were the color of a green amethyst, much like my own. Damn near exactly like my own. Weird. A smile slipped across a rugged square stubbled jaw. White teeth gleamed as he said something but I didn’t hear it. Too lost in my own thoughts. Golden blonde curls of hair could be seen at the back of his neck proving whatever was under that hat was unruly, likely curly, and needed to be cut.

“Mia? You’re Mia, right?” the man said but the rumble in his voice hit my heart and squeezed. Not with desire but a faint hint of something else. A familiarity stole across my senses, like a long lost dream that you had and remembered when you were awake, but couldn’t place the pieces appropriately. “Sugar, you okay?” Another large hand came to my other arm and held. I looked at both his huge hands. The nails clean, cut straight across the top as if he’d recently cut them.

I stepped back but he clasped my arm tight. “I’m uh, okay. Sorry.” I shook my head. “Do we know each other?”

His grin widened. “No, but over the next month I reckon’ we will know one another mighty well. I’m Maxwell Cunningham. Max for short.” He held out a beefy hand. The callus’s rubbed along my palm, scratching the tender flesh sharply. He wore a yellow polo shirt stretched tight over a broad muscled chest if the indents through the fabric were any indication. The trim around his bulging biceps could separate and tear at any moment. With the shirt, which incidentally looked really good on his frame, he’d paired dark Wranglers complete with a silver belt buckle that was at least three inches wide by two inches tall and had a gold star in the dead center. His feet were covered in a pair of dusty rust colored cowboy boots that matched his belt. My guess, he’d made an effort to match them. As I took in his attire he took in mine. Those green eyes so like my own scanned my simple sun dress and sandals. My hair was loose and black curls were flowing everywhere.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice coming out gritty as if he’d said the words but hadn’t meant to. His eyes were haunted, wounded in a way I wanted to reach out and give him a hug. Why I had that desire, especially after Aaron, I didn’t know.

I looked around at all the people passing by and gripped my sundress just to have something to do with my loose hand. The air between us was uncomfortable, thick, filled with things unsaid. “Um, thank you.” I returned, thinking he was probably waiting for me to say something. When you tell a woman she’s beautiful, and you tell her in a way that looking at her gutted you, a response of some kind was mandatory.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just your pretty,
real
pretty, and even though I seen your picture, I wasn’t prepared for the living, breathing thing. Hot damn, that didn’t come out right either.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at his feet, a scowl marring his plump lips.

“Sir, this your truck?” An airport security type man wearing a fluorescent vest pointed at the Silver Ford F-150 interrupting our awkward conversation.

“Yeah, some kind of problem?” He asked.

The man nodded. “Yeah, if you don’t get a move on their will be. You’re clogging up traffic. Get going.” He gestured once more to the truck.

“Oh shoot. Sorry. Mia, this way.” He picked up my suitcase, opened the quad cab door, and tossed it in. Then he opened my door and held out his hand. I looked down at the hand as if it was dipped in acid. “Mia, Sugar, I’d never hurt you. I’m a little out of sorts but if you come back to the ranch, we’ll get you set up and Cyndi will make everything better.” He offered a small smile and kept his hand out.

When I put my hand in his I felt that weird sensation again and something nudged at the frail edges of a memory. It was just on the surface, like when you can’t recall the name of a song but you just know what it is and it’s on the tip of your tongue.

I stepped into the cab and sat down.

“Who’s Cyndi?”

He smiled huge, the big megawatt smile that again, was unnervingly familiar. I know I’ve met this man before. Had to. Maxwell barreled his large form into the cab behind the wheel, put it into gear, checked his mirror, and zoomed out.

“Cyndi’s my wife.”

Continued in August Calendar Girl. Available now for purchase.

Books and Coming Soon by Audrey Carlan

The Falling Series

Angel Falling

London Falling

Justice Falling

Trinity Trilogy

Body (Book 1)

Mind (Book 2)

Soul (Book 3)

Calendar Girl Serial

(A twelve month serial. New installments will be released every month throughout 2015)

January (Book 1)

February (Book 2)

March (Book 3)

April (Book 4)

May (Book 5)

June (Book 6)

July (Book 7)

August (Book 8 - Estimated Release 8/2015)

September (Book 9 - Estimated Release 9/2015)

October (Book 10 - Estimated Release 10/2015)

November (Book 11 - Estimated Release 11/2015)

December (Book 12 - Estimated Release 12/2015)

The Indulgence Box Set
- (Released 6/30/2015)

“A million words of romance” box set that has something for everyone. Fifteen bestselling authors with fifteen
full length
novels all compiled together to give every romance reader something they are looking for.

To my editor
Ekatarina Sayanova
with
Red Quill Editing, LLC
, I’m incapable of telling you how much your edits and thoughtful consideration about every facet of Mia’s journey means to me. You are one of a kind lady. Thank you. Red Quill Editing, LLC is presently accepting new clients. (www.redquillediting.net)

To my extraordinarily talented personal assistant
Heather White (aka The Goddess)
, we’re going places. The year of all good things is not over yet my love. Hold onto your hat. Love you always doll-face. And I hope you enjoyed Heather Renée loosely based off your awesomeness!

Any author knows they aren’t worth their weight unless their story is backed by badass betas. I have the best!

Jeananna Goodall
- My pre-reader and beta who keeps me grounded. You have become such an integral part of the process. I hope that never changes. All my love lady.

Ginelle Blanch
- My girl, my Gin. Thank you for making me look good. Love you to the moon and back.

Anita Shofner
- Finding pesky errors is one of your many talents. I’m beyond thankful you share that with me.

Rosa McAnulty
- For saving my ass with all the Puerto Rican style Spanish in this installment. Thank you for making sure I didn’t look like an idiot.

To
Sarah Saunders
, you are there when I need you and that’s all that matters to me. Thank you dear friend.

Thank you to the ladies at
Give Me Books
and
Kylie McDermott
for spreading this book far and wide into the virtual social world! They do amazing release day blitz and are very affordable. Look them up on Facebook.

To the Audrey Carlan Street Team of wicked hot Angels, together we change the world. One book at a time. BESOS-4-LIFE lovely ladies.

About Audrey Carlan

Audrey Carlan is a multiple times Amazon and Kobo bestselling author. She lives in the sunny California Valley two hours away from the city, the beach, the mountains and the precious…the vineyards. She has been married to the love of her life for over a decade and has two young children that live up to their title of “Monster Madness” on daily basis. When she’s not writing wickedly hot romances, doing yoga, or sipping wine with her “soul sisters”, she can be found with her nose stuck in book or her Kindle. A hot, smutty, romantic book to be exact!

Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated and feeds the soul. You can contact Audrey or her personal assistant Heather White below:

Email:
[email protected]

Personal Assistant:
[email protected]

Facebook:
www.facebook.com/AuthorAudreyCarlan

Website:
www.audreycarlan.com