Hooked - Accidental Read online

  Hooked & Accidental

  C.C. Piper

  © Copyright 2019 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  About the Author

  C.C Piper is the collective pen name for two young guys who happen to absolutely love romance. The pair have been reading romance novels for years and will rarely be seen without a romance novel in their hands, or on their Kindle close by.

  After swapping notes, the pair decided to try their hand at writing their own romance novels. Over the last few years the duo have been working tirelessly to improve their writing skills and to publish unique and enthralling stories that readers can really connect with.

  Here’s a link to our Facebook Group if you want to interact with us on a daily basis and find out when our new books in the Dark Billionaire series and beyond are being released:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/ccpipersreadergroup

  Contents

  Hooked

  About the Author

  1. Roxanne

  2. Jaxson

  3. Roxanne

  4. Jaxson

  5. Roxanne

  6. Jaxson

  7. Roxanne

  8. Jaxson

  9. Roxanne

  10. Jaxson

  11. Roxanne

  12. Jaxson

  13. Roxanne

  14. Jaxson

  15. Roxanne

  16. Jaxson

  17. Roxanne

  18. Jaxson

  19. Roxanne

  20. Jaxson

  21. Roxanne

  Epilogue

  Accidental

  1. James

  2. Emma

  3. James

  4. Emma

  5. James

  6. Emma

  7. James

  8. Emma

  9. James

  10. Emma

  11. James

  12. Emma

  13. James

  14. Emma

  15. James

  16. Emma

  17. James

  18. Emma

  19. James

  20. Emma

  21. James

  22. Emma

  23. James

  Epilogue

  Hooked

  About the Author

  C.C Piper is the collective pen name for two young guys who happen to absolutely love romance. The pair have been reading romance novels for years and will rarely be seen without a romance novel in their hands, or on their Kindle close by.

  After swapping notes, the pair decided to try their hand at writing their own romance novels. Over the last few years the duo have been working tirelessly to improve their writing skills and to publish unique and enthralling stories that readers can really connect with.

  Here’s a link to our Facebook Group if you want to interact with us on a daily basis and find out when our new books in the Dark Billionaire series and beyond are being released:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/ccpipersreadergroup

  1

  Roxanne

  After wiping down the long glossy rosewood bar, I lifted my left foot to relieve the pain and pressure of standing for so many hours straight, then did the same for my right. It was my little trick to get through the night; working three jobs and going to school at the same time was not for the faint of heart.

  Since this was Saturday, I’d already served as a hostess from eleven in the morning to three this afternoon over at the Heard Dat Kitchen, a hole in the wall greasy spoon located in a strip mall across town. The restaurant served Southern homestyle cooking and desserts, and while it didn’t look like much with its ads for liquor, money orders and cigarettes hanging over the awning at the entrance, the tasty buffet food more than made up for it.

  I only carried out my hostess duties one day a week, so I couldn’t complain. I needed all of my jobs just to keep my head above water. Still, sometimes I dreaded Saturdays. They tended to be not only my longest day, but also my most tiring.

  My gaze flew over the portraits of important figures from New Orleans, the always running ceiling fans and oaken tables, the dark exposed beam ceiling and the domed bar behind me, filled with a kaleidoscope of liquor in clear glass bottles. Music played from the surround sound speakers, the accordion, fiddle, steel guitar, harmonica and bass identifying it as regional to Louisiana.

  Bar Fantastique was a decent tavern as the French Quarter went. A mix of tourists and locals frequented the place, and I only rarely received a pinch on the ass for my troubles. Most wanted me to lend them an ear while they called me honey or sweetheart. Whether with or without the Cajun accent, the presumption of such men rankled.

  Good thing those honey or sweetheart commenters offered up the biggest tips.

  I’d often been subjected to a horrendous number of up and down looks over my time here, some of which were the undressing me kind, but I’d grown used to such irritants. Bartending wasn’t the worst occupation I’d ever held. Hell, it wasn’t even the worst of the jobs I held right now. Besides, I’d do whatever I must to support Callie, my beautiful little girl.

  It still amazed me how someone so small could own such a huge chunk of my heart. The moment she swam into my world, everything flew upside down, but my love for her was immeasurable, unconditional. Which made me wonder why my own mother had been so blasé about her own parenting style.

  Leona Miller could be unpredictable at the best of times and downright selfish at the worst, but I tried to forgive her for that. She was, after all, the only parent I had. Still, I’d never been able to count on her. I could have used more support and stability at the beginning when I was a nineteen-year-old mom myself. But oh, well.

  Wishing and a quarter would get you twenty-five cents every time.

  It had been a busy night, but things seemed to be settling down. The other bartender on duty, a nice clean-cut blond guy named Craig with a penchant for burly biker dudes, tended to squelch some of the more ridiculous comments.

  Having a man around, gay or straight, helped to keep the tipsy in line. It even helped with the fall-down drunks. If there was a male behind the counter, that meant I wouldn’t have to drag my own five-foot seven-inch self out to deal with any problems.

  My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, and I retrieved it. I recognized the number, even though I’d never saved those specific digits into my contacts list. The caller didn’t leave a voicemail, just like usual, but I didn’t need a voicemail to know who this was. This call came from my other “boss”, the one I preferred not to talk about. I told Craig I was taking a break and slipped outside into the back alley so no one else would be privy to our conversation.

  The voice on the line was ancient sounding, weathered by age and who knew what else. Not that I’d ever ask. The woman on the other end of the line would be unlikely to answer honestly, even if I did.

  “Have another job for you tonight,” she said, her tone one hundred percent business.

  I’d already been on my feet all day and half the night, and I was so weary I weaved when I walked, but personal property taxes and daycare didn’t pay for themselves. It’d be worth it. This boss, the woman known only by the slightly ludicrous title of the Wish Maker, had come through for me with work when no one else had a few years ago.

  Her substantial paychecks had not only kept me and my baby off the flag
stone streets, but one of her two-hour jobs paid five times what an eight-hour bartending shift did.

  Even if they did make me feel scummy.

  I imagined this was how exotic dancers must feel sometimes. There was nothing wrong with what either of us were doing, but there was a stigma I couldn’t avoid feeling, anyway.

  “When can I pick up the payment?” I chewed on my pinky nail.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Just text me the time and address, then.”

  No one but my best friend and roommate Raina LeBlanc knew about the Wish Maker and her extra “jobs”. Raina worked here at the Bar Fantastique with me, keeping her shifts opposite mine so she could watch Callie when I couldn’t. I’d been looking so forward to cuddling with my four-year-old soon even though I knew she’d be asleep, but sometimes, you just had to suck it up.

  I drove my beat-up Volkswagen Beetle from the bar to the stately manor house of my client, which while opulent and expensive, still gave off that strange mothball smell some of these houses seemed to grow like a fungus. After two hours that felt more like twenty, I went home, glad to be done for one more night.

  Anxious to see Callie, I hurried into her tiny lace-covered bedroom, taking in all the pinks and purples enveloping the space. She lay there in silent repose, and I peered down at her, feeling so much love I thought my heart might burst.

  Callie looked like a carbon copy of her father. Yes, she had my narrow nose and bow-shaped mouth, but the rest of her was his. If they were to ever be side by side, there was no way he could ever deny her.

  Not that them being side by side was ever likely to happen.

  I knelt over my daughter so I could kiss her cherubic cheek. Whatever had happened between her father and me – or hadn’t happened – Callie was perfect, an absolute angel. She proved to me that no matter how I felt or who I was, goodness still existed in this world.

  Someday, if the fates were kind, I’d discover someone to have companionship with, a real connection. I didn’t really need romance and fairy tales, I didn’t even believe in them anymore, but having someone there to share the load with would be helpful. Not that I didn’t adore Raina. I did. If not for my best friend and roommate, I wasn’t sure I ever would have survived being a single mom.

  But I couldn’t ask her to play babysitter forever. I knew her devotion to our friendship was hampering her life, especially any chances at finding a man or bettering her own career. She’d made room for Callie and me, set her goals and opportunities aside to help us.

  Raina had been my rock, a stable anchor when both my mother and Callie’s father had failed me.

  Yet, it wasn’t fair to her.

  I owed her in a very big way. And I needed to figure out how to repay her, to balance the scales back out again.

  I promised myself I’d figure out a solution to my problem. Callie would be going to kindergarten soon, and I planned to enroll her in any after-school activities they provided so she’d be not only set up academically but socially as well.

  I’d give my daughter anything and everything. The whole world, if I could. My eyes and nose stung with a sudden onslaught of emotion, and though I managed to suppress my sobs, my tears streamed down my face unchecked. I didn’t want to fail my daughter. I couldn’t.

  Raina appeared behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. Her support was enough for me to pull myself together. With more effort than I’d have liked to admit, I straightened again. I must be overtired. I’d been dealing with this for over four years now, this feeling of being overwhelmed. But when you’re a single mom at twenty-three, such things are inevitable.

  I slipped back out of my daughter’s door, heading for our kitchen and the coffee maker within it.

  It might have been three in the morning, but I still needed to study for my nursing class.

  2

  Jaxson

  I was back home. Good ole New Orleans, Louisiana, USA. I might’ve felt better about this except for the circumstances. My father was gone. Dead. An aneurism at the ripe old age of forty-nine. So now, I’d been promoted by proxy to the head of Liddell Enterprises, our family’s international tech firm. I’d been away for over four years in London, and this wasn’t what I’d imagined as my return.

  Not exactly a happy homecoming.

  Of course, a happy homecoming was probably never on the cards for me, anyway. I hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place. But then, when you’re the only son of a wealthy industry leader, sometimes you don’t get to choose your own path. I certainly hadn’t. In my more whimsical moments, I wondered if my parents had laid down a plan for me and set it in stone while I’d still been an infant. It felt that way.

  I’d grown up hearing phrases like “family honor” and “do your duty”. Reputation was everything to the Liddells. Well, reputation and tradition. Despite becoming obnoxiously affluent due to his entrepreneurial pursuits, my father had insisted I go to the same public high school he’d attended here in the Crescent City. One where he’d been a basketball star and athlete extraordinaire. He must have thought the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree. That I’d be the same big man on campus that he’d been.

  Yeah, not even close.

  I’d been a skinny kid, small for my age. My mom had more kindly said that I was a late bloomer, and that had wound up being true. But when I first entered my freshman year, I was picked on and bullied mercilessly. By guys twice or three times my size, too. It wasn’t a confidence booster. I asked to go to a different school, to be privately tutored, anything to stop the daily beatings. But instead, my dad had hired a physical trainer.

  So, on top of my studies and being bullied by every Tom, Dick and Harry with a chip on his shoulder, I got my ass whooped by my trainer five times a week, as well.

  Good times.

  Things cruised along much the same until my sophomore year. That year, Roxy Miller started at my school. She was stunning but quiet. At first, I thought she’d kept to herself because she was shy, but I was wrong. She might have held herself back out of caution, but she was no shrinking violet. Under those long chestnut locks and seafoam green eyes, she was made of steel. Tough as nails. She wouldn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit, male or female.

  I fell in love pretty much instantly.

  We became inseparable. Those three years with her were the happiest of my life. We made all these grandiose plans for our future. Where we’d get married and go on our honeymoon. What kind of house we wanted to live in. What we’d do. How many kids we’d have. The whole nine yards.

  And then, we graduated. Within twenty-four hours, I found myself in the United Kingdom, expected to run an entire office by myself. I hadn’t even turned nineteen yet. I’d tried to contact Roxy to tell her what was going on – to apologize profusely for my abrupt departure and to bitch about my parents running roughshod over my life, as usual – but I didn’t receive a response. I left voicemail after voicemail. Text after text.

  I thought it must be a mistake in the beginning. Roxy wouldn’t avoid me or stop taking my calls. She loved me; I knew she did. I considered the fact that England was so far away from New Orleans that maybe it was a communications issue and kept attempting to reach her.

  For a week, every free moment I had was spent on the phone. But then her cell didn’t go to her voicemail. It gave me a disconnected message. Freaking out, I called her mother’s phone, but that was disconnected too.

  Maybe her mother had messed up and forgotten to pay their bills. I knew her mom to be a bit flighty. More than a bit, actually. So, I sent Roxy a letter. And another. She had to respond to that. Writing notes back and forth had kind of been our thing.

  We’d leave them in our lockers for each other. We’d leave them in one another’s textbooks or in other hidden spaces only we knew about. I left some tucked into her pillow in her room and between the crumbling brick wall that separated her trailer from her neighbor’s in her delipidated trailer park. I knew she’d write me back.

  But she
didn’t.

  After six months, I had no choice but to come to a painful conclusion. She’d either given up on me or cut me out of her life. I must’ve been wrong about her, about her feelings for me. She didn’t care about us like I did. She didn’t love me. She couldn’t have or she wouldn’t have thrown everything we’d built together away.

  Despite my parents’ disapproval of our relationship, I’d fully intended to marry Roxy. To share my life with her. We spent the weekend before graduation at an independent jewelry store, and she saw a ring that made her whole face light up. Afterwards, I went back without her to purchase it. I wanted to be ready to properly propose. But I was never given the chance. She didn’t want to speak to me, and that must have meant she no longer loved me.

  Everything between us had dissolved into nothing. It must be over, I thought.

  And, it was. Just like that. I spent the next four years in England busting my ass to learn the ropes. Thankfully, Miles, my typical stiff-upper-lipped Brit of a personal assistant was willing to show me the way. With his blunt but not unkind manner, he took the time to teach me what I needed to know to succeed in my new position, something I was relatively certain my dad set me up to fail in.