Always His: (Second Chances #3) Read online

  Always His

  A Second Chance Romance

  Amelia Wilde

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  There’s more where that came from…

  Claim Your Free Book

  Dirty Rich

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Like What You Just Read?

  About Amelia Wilde

  Chapter One

  Samantha

  The downtown corridor springs to life before my eyes, all of it exactly as I planned: the benches midway down each block, their curved backs beckoning, the flower beds bursting with early summer color, the new streetlamps that will cast a lovely glow in the evenings, the wide sidewalks for pedestrian access that will boost foot traffic to the shops on Main Street.

  “Damn. That looks awesome.” My voice is barely above a whisper, because it’s not in at Ryder & Bloom, one of the Nation’s Premier Landscape Architecture Firms. Still, it’s within my rights to appreciate the results of several weeks of kicking ass on this project. Carson City, an hour north of here and in the middle of nowhere, is going to have a nice Main Street. It’s going to be so revitalized.

  “Sam?”

  I spin around in my chair to face my boss, Michelle Ryder, who also happens to be one of the partners in the firm and my personal career idol. At fifty, she’s chic and fashionable without appearing to care if anyone thinks she is, and her take-no-prisoners attitude has won us more than one contract that otherwise would have gone to one of the many other firms in the city.

  “I was just finishing up rendering for Carson City. See anything you want to change?”

  I ask the question casually, but everyone in the tiny firm knows that it’s far easier to ask Michelle if she wants any changes made when when she drops by. I learned that lesson the hard way two years ago. I had sent some drawings to a senior associate for final approval without one of her once-overs, and it became a major deal—people staying late, there were a bunch of extra meetings, the whole tamale.

  I won’t make that mistake again.

  Michelle comes over to stand beside my chair. I suppress the urge to leap to my feet, even though it’s like sitting in a queen’s presence. She peers down at the screen, then leans in and uses the mouse to zoom the image out. My heart starts beating faster. One word from her and it might add hours to the project.

  There’s a heavy silence, or maybe it just seems that way to me. I scoot slightly to the left in my chair, making sure there’s enough room for Michelle in front of my station. I redirect my focus to a legal pad lying on the side of my desk, trying to appear as if I’m scanning over a list of things I had written down, even though I’m trying to decode her expressions out of my peripheral vision for any clue as to whether—

  “Excellent work, Sam.”

  My chest floods with warmth at her praise, but I hold myself in check. But… The “but” never comes. Instead, Michelle leans a hip onto my desk and crosses her arms over her chest. “This is final, then. What else do you have to finish up this week?”

  “Just a few things for the arboretum.” The local university has contracted with us to redesign the parking area at their arboretum, one of the most famous in the nation. At least, that’s what’s printed on the sign posted out front.

  She nods, her gray eyes flinty. “Pass that off to Jason. I need you on something else.”

  I raise my eyebrows and lean forward a little in my seat. “Were there changes on the Thompsonville Memorial Park?”

  Michelle’s mouth quirks in a smile. “No. We landed something bigger than Thompsonville.”

  I smile back at her. “What is it?”

  “It’s something I think you’ll be interested in.”

  “Don’t toy with my emotions!” I put my hand dramatically to my heart and close my eyes like I’m genuinely suffering with this wait. Really, I’m excited…because Michelle wouldn’t be talking to me if I wasn’t going to be pretty heavily involved.

  “Pack your bags, because you’re going home.”

  I open my eyes and stare at Michelle, my mouth opening and shutting and it takes a moment for any sound to escape. “Wait…what?”

  “We got Cerberus.”

  “Really?” My voice goes a little too high. Cerberus Cement is a plant a few miles outside my hometown of Lockton—just far enough outside of it that they can pretend it’s not actually in the town, but close enough to employ a good tenth of the able-bodied men who live there. We sent a team up for a site visit a couple of months ago, and I thought we only had an outside chance on landing the bid.

  Michelle smiles at me, her teeth a brilliant white. “Yes. And it turns out that you were instrumental to us getting the contract. They were very impressed with your work on the prospective designs.”

  I smile, but there’s a strange tightness in my face. It’s not that I don’t love where I came from. My parents still live there, when they’re not at their condo in Florida for the winter.

  I straighten my back. I’m missing a key piece of information here.

  “Is this just another site visit?”

  Michelle shakes her head. “We’re going to need you to be there for at least a few days, maybe a week. The owner wants to meet with a representative to finalize the plans. I want you on it.”

  I take a deep breath, my stomach knotting. Staying in Lockton for a week increases the chances of running into—

  “Thank you so much, Michelle,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “I know how important this is.”

  She beams down at me, like she’s just given me a lifetime achievement award. “I don’t have to tell you that this is a coup for our firm.” Then she glances around and lowers her voice. “Especially because of the potential for further contracts.”

  “They have other properties in Lockton?”

  “Edison Calley, the owner of the plant—you know him.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s assuming that I know him because Lockton is a small town, but it’s not like the upper crust ever spent much time schmoozing with firm members of the middle class like my parents, or my sister and I.

  “I know of him.”

  “He’s really…” She purses her lips, choosing her words carefully. “Maximized his fortune in recent years. He’s got production facilities all over the country.” Mi
chelle gives me a meaningful look. She doesn’t have to say any more.

  “Got it. When do I leave?” I’m looking at her, but I’m not really seeing her. Thinking of home makes me think of…him. And everything that happened. His voice cuts into my thoughts. Oh, my God, Sam, what’s happening—can you stop it?

  “You’ll head up on Friday for a meet and greet.” She cocks her head to the side. “At maximum, I’d say you’ll be back here next Thursday.” Then she pats my shoulder and steps away, turning her head to say one last thing over her shoulder. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” I say, lamely.

  Less than a week.

  I should be able to survive this.

  Chapter Two

  Beckett

  “Jacobs! What the hell are you doing in there?”

  I pound on the door to the bathroom stall where I know the newest guy on my team is hiding out. The asshole was supposed to be out here ten minutes ago, and everybody’s waiting on him to turn in his lock-out card. We had to stop production late last night and clean off two of the lines, and now they’re back on, the high-pitched whine permeating the entire building. It’s nothing compared to the low, incessant rumble of the kiln. I hear that shit even when I’m not at the plant. Even when I’m fucking dreaming.

  He comes out of the stall so fast that he runs into me, stepping toward the sink like a man possessed.

  “Jacobs, what the fuck? Did you—”

  I catch a glimpse of his face in the mirror, and it’s white as a damn sheet. The water runs, he twists his hands under the stream, and then he rips a length of paper towel from the closest dispenser.

  “Are you…deaf?”

  He turns around, and the asshole grin dies from my face. Something is seriously wrong with this guy.

  “I left my lock-out card up on the catwalk.” The words don’t come easy, and his pale eyes dart from one side of the room to the other. He’s trying his damnedest to look at me, but the only thing he can do is look for an escape route.

  “Shit, Jacobs, it’s not the end of the damn world.”

  He swallows hard, and that’s when I notice that his hands are trembling around the paper towel. “I can’t go back up there.”

  Well, shit.

  Dave Jacobs isn’t the kind of guy I would take to be afraid of heights. He’s about my size—he’s just transferring in from the plant downstate—but something has him spooked out of his mind.

  I open my mouth to tell him to get over himself, but that look in his eyes stops me.

  Right—his wife just had a baby a couple weeks ago. Three weeks, maybe. That’s why he’s here in the first place, because her mom is here and can help out. Looks like he’s been up all night anyway. I might be the world’s worst human being, but I can’t kick him when he’s down.

  “Look.” I glance at the clock on the wall and bounce my company-issued ear muffs against my knee. “Stay in here. I’ll get the fucking thing. Which catwalk?”

  He looks me in the eye, a faint trace of color returning to his cheeks. “Red.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  I don’t have time to be running up to the red line catwalk for Jacobs, but what the fuck other choice do I have? It’s that or wait for him to get his nerve back, and that’s not going to happen without a stiff drink or five. Which would be highly against regulations. Then again, so is leaving your lock-out card anywhere but on your person.

  I put the ear muffs back on and head back over to the elevators, hauling ass to the catwalk access.

  “Hey!” The shout comes from behind me and sounds vaguely like the foreman, Ward, but I ignore it. He tries one more time before I’m gone. “Taylor!”

  When I started here three years ago, my steel-toed boots dragged me the hell down climbing these stairs. I’d thought I was in shape from the time I’d spent in the gym when I worked a less taxing job, but the first week kicked my ass. I broke a sweat just walking around in the boots and the heavy clothes. If I was up all night with a baby, like Jacobs, it would probably feel like the same damn thing. Add in a fear of heights you usually try to ignore, and it’s a recipe for puking your guts out in the bathroom and forgetting shit you’re never supposed to forget.

  My boots clank against the metal stairs with every step, but the sound is muffled by the two layers of ear protection and the constant racket of the preheated rock, crushed and tumbling, through the kiln. Up at the top, I plant my feet in the center of the catwalk and look down its length.

  There’s no lockout card up here, and it would be damn obvious.

  I take a few steps, scanning more closely. Did Jacobs clip it to something? If so, what the hell did he clip it to? Why did he unclip it from his belt in the first place?

  There’s no fucking point in answering any of these questions, so I just go back to looking. Below me, between the catwalks, the conveyor belt hums as it carries rubble toward the preheat tower.

  I take one last look. I guess Jacobs was mistaken, which means I’ve hauled myself up here for nothing.

  I’m turning around to leave when I see it. It is right in the middle of a catwalk—but it’s the catwalk for the blue line, which is at least eight feet away from where I’m standing.

  Well, screw this.

  I should go all the way back down to the other access point and climb all the way back up, but I’ve got Jacobs waiting in the bathroom, Ward probably on his way up here to find out what the hell I’m doing, and somewhere Jacobs’ wife is waiting for him to get home. I’m never going to know what that’s like, but I bet it’s pretty fucking pressing for him right now.

  So instead of doing the right thing, according to regulations, I go to one of the gaps in the catwalk. There’s a matching one across from it on the blue catwalk. I don’t even think about it. I step to the edge, twenty feet above a running conveyor belt, and jump.

  A two-second flight through the air, and my boots land solidly in the middle of the blue catwalk. My heart thuds once against my rib cage, then it settles back into its regular rhythm.

  Five steps, and I’ve snatched up Jacobs’ lock-out card.

  I’m at the threshold when Ward bursts onto the red catwalk. His eyes go wide, then they narrow, and by the time he turns all the way around, I’m already gone.

  The leap, the heights…it doesn’t make any fucking impression, because it’s moments like this that I know.

  I’ve known ever since she left me. Or I left her. Or we both turned our backs and left each other.

  I have nothing left to lose.

  Chapter Three

  Samantha

  It’s high noon on Friday when I pull onto the access road for Cerberus Cement. I wasn’t here for the site visit, but it’s a long road by the lakeshore and I’ve driven here before. Anybody who learned to drive in Lockton has driven this dirt road a million times.

  It’s not going to be a dirt road for long. Cerberus, in tandem with the planning going on at the firm, has worked out a deal with the township to have the whole thing paved as part of the landscaping project.

  At the end of the road, there’s a little guard station with a gate, and I pull up next to it and climb out. The guy inside looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

  “Hi.” He looks out at me through the open window, smiling. It’s a mild day toward the end of September—gorgeous, actually—but my stomach is in knots just from driving through town. It’s not even like he lives here. I don’t know where he lives, but it’s probably not here. Why would he stay?

  “I’m Samantha—”

  “Sam Kennedy!” Guard Man says, a wide grin stretching across his face. “I thought that was you.”

  “I’m sorry, I—” The smile on my face has to be the most awkward expression ever to have graced the planet.

  “It’s me, Eddie.” He gives his own chest a good-natured pat. “Eddie Morrison.”

  My brain finally computes the years since high school and Eddie’s face, and it clicks into place. “Oh, Eddie. Je
sus. I didn’t recognize you!” Eddie Morrison is the younger brother of Jessica, a girl I went to high school with. “How’s Jess doing these days? I haven’t heard from her in…” I can’t remember the last time I heard from her, aside from keeping up with her on social media. I’m drawing a complete blank on her last post, her last picture…

  “She’s in London.” Eddie nods. “Into fashion. I don’t get it, but—”

  “That’s right.” Jessica was always obsessed with the big cities on the coast, the annual fashion weeks, the designers. It makes perfect sense that she went into the fashion industry, and perfect sense that she doesn’t have time to post every detail of her life on social media. I run a hand over my hair, smoothing out a few flyaway strands that must have escaped on the drive. “Hey, Eddie, I’m here for a meeting with Mr. Calley. The woman from the front office told me I should check in with you for a temporary gate card.”

  “Got it right here.” Eddie lifts up a yellow plastic card on a lanyard and hands it over to me with a grin. “Now, all I need from you is a signature.”

  He passes a clipboard with a sign-in list on it through the window, and I write my name down along with the date and time. “Do I need to sign this every time I visit?”

  “Just this once.” He takes the clipboard back and puts it on the desk. “Nice to see you, Sam.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other a lot over the next week.” Great. That doesn’t sound like I’m hitting on him or anything. “I didn’t mean—”

  He shakes his head. “I know what you meant. You have to get to your meeting—I’ll raise the gate this time to let you through.”

  Back in the safety of my car, I feel free to roll my eyes at myself. It’s like being in Lockton has stripped away all my usual professionalism.

  Once I’ve pulled in and parked in the parking lot, I pull out a little bag of makeup from my purse for a quick touch-up of my face. I take in a deep breath, smile in the rearview mirror to make sure I don't have any lipstick on my teeth, and then grab my purse and scoot out of the driver's seat. I shut the door behind me and take a moment to smooth my black slacks and straighten the sapphire blue top that brings out the brilliance in my eyes to make them look damn amazing. A quick glance at my watch lets me know I have ten minutes to spare before the start of my meeting.