This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.
Copyright © 2015 by Olivia R. Keane
PUSH by Olivia R. Keane
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Published by Swoon Romance
Cover designed by Deranged Doctor Designs
Cover copyright © 2015 by Swoon Romance
To Mr. K. -
Thank you for always being the leather to my lace.
Chapter One
Charlotte Flynn, better known as Charlie, pulled up to the house at ten minutes to midnight, rested her head briefly on the steering wheel, and sighed. The date with Denny tonight had been a disaster. What in God’s name was I thinking? She cursed under her breath. What made her think a thirty-year-old, balding accountant who drove a beat up Ford Escort would be a match? It was that blasted ‘unique’ dessert course at dinner the other night. Her older sister, always one to follow trends, decided ordinary fortune cookies wouldn’t be good enough for her dinner party celebrating her engagement, so she hired a fortune cookie maker whose specialty was psychic fortune cookies. Instead of those little scraps of paper with prophetic statements and winning lottery numbers, the clairvoyant cookie person asked for guests’ names and then conjured a personal prophecy and tucked it into the homemade cookie.
Charlie thought the cookie was delectable. It was the shockingly on the money observations and silly prediction for her future that left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. The psychic’s handwritten message had her pinned correctly, but the part about falling for a man whose initials were DRP was not as easy to swallow. She crumpled her future in her hands and tossed it at Michaela, laughing at the preposterous idea.
Yesterday, the idea seemed less comical and more like fate when she collided with one Dennis Richard Petersen’s shopping cart at the grocery store. What could the chances be? Denny seemed sweet and charming, and when he asked her for a dinner date, Charlie found herself saying yes to his invitation and giving into fate or perhaps well-timed desserts.
However, the cookie clairvoyant’s newfound credibility vanished ten minutes into her evening with Denny. His nose began to drip when the server brought their plate of nachos as an appetizer. Charlie politely offered a tissue from her handbag, but Denny declined, insisting it was just a sniffle. A sniffle? What kind of grown man refers to postnasal drip as a sniffle? The kind of man who still lives at home with his mother. To make matters worse, Denny’s nose kept dripping. Perhaps his initials were “DRIP,” she mused. It would have suited him better.
When Denny wanted to extend the date a bit longer by going bowling, Charlie made a polite excuse feigning the need for rest because she had an early day at the office tomorrow. Denny looked at her quizzically. She stuck to her story, ignoring the fact that Friday night was blurring into Saturday, and she did not work weekends. Charlie tried to exorcise Denny’s nasal accent from her brain, but he just kept talking.
“Sooo … Charlie, when can I see you again? Tonight … damn. It was pretty great, am I right?” He had winked and Charlie’s skin crawled.
“No. No, Denny. And hell no.” Charlie had blurted, bile rising in her throat as Denny had wiped his nose with his wrist.
“Oh, come on, bae. Let me rock your world,” he had cooed in between sniffles.
Denny had leaned in, and Charlie could smell the sausage from the pizza he had recently. “Denny you should know I’m about to puke all over you, so I’d back away if I were you.”
He had blanched and stepped back.
“And for the record, I’d rather staple my head to the tablecloth than have you rock my world. Not going to happen. Not ever.” She had said through clenched teeth as she stalked out of the restaurant.
Now that Charlie was home, all she wanted to do was cry. Freaking drippy Denny. Freaking liar fortune cookie. Even fate couldn’t turnout right for Charlie.
Opening the door of the house she shared with her sister, Charlie yawned and stretched like a cat that had slept in one spot too long. The exhaustion she felt was more than physical. Treading water in the dating pool brought on emotional fatigue as well. After Griffin her studies became her priority. She may have sacrificed a decent social life to late night study sessions in the University library, but for Charlie graduating with honors in both History and English was a fair tradeoff. Her dating life might be a mediocre mess, but she was happy to land a job with the prestigious Pearse Publishing House, no small feat in this difficult economy and without any connections.
In the past six months, Charlie had developed a decent rapport with the editorial staff. The Pearse brothers ran their family-owned publishing empire using a hands-on approach. Middle brother Kellan, who ran the Pittsburgh office, relished his role as editor-in-chief. Charlie often emailed him her thoughts on manuscripts that caught her eye. Kellan recognized her potential right away. He had flagged certain manuscripts, encouraging her to read them and provide not only research-based feedback, but also give her editorial impressions.
Charlie had a meeting with Kellan last week, and he discussed the prospect of her moving up into another position.
“It’s time to move you to a new position, Charlie,” Kellan had told her. “Let’s get Human Resources started on the paperwork next week.”
The possibility of gaining more responsibility at work was the silver lining in her otherwise lackluster life. As she climbed into bed that night, she found herself praying for the three-day weekend to pass quickly.
***
Tuesday morning after Labor Day arrived as both a blessing and a curse. Charlie sat in the parking lot of Pearse Publishing arguing with her sister.
“What do you mean you set me up on another date?” Charlie shrieked into her cell phone.
“Please? Aaron planned it before I knew I would have to go out of town on business. You were supposed to double with Aaron’s friend and Aaron and I. Aaron thought you two would be the perfect match,” Mikki, short for Michaela, begged her younger sister.
“Mikki, every time you set me up on a date it is always a disaster! In fact, all of my dates lately are disasters. I think I am just going to give up and become a nun!”
Mikki’s laughter rang in Charlie’s ear. “Sister Mary Charlotte? You couldn’t possibly become a nun. You own entirely too many killer shoes to become a nun!”