Betting on Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Betting on Love

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press

  Tempest had very little chance of winning this. It was a fool’s bet. She had to do so much to win, and her success depended on an unknown factor—the enemy Leonard Allred. And Blair had to do nothing. This was where Tempest would usually negotiate a better deal. But she wanted to do something stupid and rash. And risky. She calculated risk all day at work—used to calculate risk. But she didn’t take any of the risk herself. She saved her pennies and walked the careful path forward, far from the edge. All that had gotten her was laid off. And not often laid.

  Tonight she wanted to fly. To hell if she crashed.

  Betting on Love

  by

  Mary Beesley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Betting on Love

  COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Mary Beesley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Jennifer Greeff

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Edition, 2021

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3557-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3558-2

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Doug

  For going all in with me

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to Wild Rose Press, to Josette Arthur and the entire team for believing in my book and being great to work with. Thank you to my husband for being a big nerd and teaching me what an actuary is and for taking me to Dallas. Thank you to Katherine for reading my early drafts. Thanks to Amy for loving the Astros and catching my typos. Thank you to my critique partners. And most importantly, thanks to God for inspiring me to start writing fiction, for gifting me the perseverance to improve, and the creativity to spin a compelling story.

  Chapter One

  The Bet

  The risk was low, the reward potential high. If Tempest talked to him, what was the worst that could happen? Maybe he’d be rude or think she was an annoying groupie gold-digger. The best-case scenario? He’d fall in love with her at first sight. She was maybe a little in love with him already, and she’d only gotten a good look at his backside.

  Leonard Allred stood directly in front of her in line at the juice bar. The genius had invented the software program that made her job as an insurance underwriter so much easier. Almost so easy it wasn’t fun anymore. Tempest had never seen him in person before, but she recognized his face from previous internet searches. She pulled her phone from her leather tote and googled him quickly to make sure. Definitely the same guy as the image search, but he was even hotter in person. Leonard Allred had moved his billion-dollar company, Red Rocco, from Palo Alto to Dallas two years ago, but to see him right here in Highland Park. At her juice shop. Swoon.

  She pretended to look at the menu as she studied him. He was half a head taller than her five foot ten inches. Classically handsome, dark wavy hair, and hooded eyes. Brains and beauty. How annoying. Unless he was into her. But what could she say to him? Tell him she was an underwriter? A beneficiary of his creation?

  Before she could decide, he stepped up to the counter and ordered a Protein Lovers smoothie and a Love Your Grains bowl. Someone was hungry. And why was he here getting his own breakfast? Didn’t he have an assistant, or three, to do his errands?

  He stepped away from the counter, making space for her. Disappointment panged when he didn’t look at her. In her fluster, she stammered through her simple order, a green drink for her sick colleague. The juice was already made, so she had no excuse to loiter after her purchase. He stood near the window, his face tilted toward his phone. Her tongue lay heavy in her mouth. No charming ideas on how to talk to him came to mind. Feeling like a major wuss, she left the store. Blair would have said something to him. Her best friend would have spoken the moment she recognized Leonard Allred. Completely disappointed in herself, Tempest drove out of the parking lot. She squinted at the store windows, but she couldn’t see him. She’d lost her chance.

  ****

  “And how are we feeling today?” Tempest asked Fred, the coworker who’d been blowing his nose like a disgusting trumpet every three minutes yesterday. She’d timed them like a labor nurse watching contractions. She’d also showered the second she got home from work and had three cups of echinacea tea. She could not live through that again.

  “Much better,” Fred said. “Thanks for the tip about the honey lemon tea and the Epsom salt bath.”

  She set the bottle of green juice on his desk. “Don’t think about how it tastes. Just throw it back. The ginger might burn a little going down, but I promise it will help.”

  He scowled at the brightly colored bottle, but he picked it up anyway. “I trust you. And thanks.”

  Gratification lightened her step as she strolled to her corner desk. Today was a good day. She hadn’t talked to Leonard Allred, but she’d still seen him, the sun had broken through the clouds pestering Dallas all week, her remedies were helping Fred, and in a few hours, she would review her latest fantastic work reports with her boss. Good. Day.

  She spent the morning, her best working hours, analyzing the data and risks for new applicants. They’d been using Leonard Allred’s software, Red Rocco, for six months now. The program not only took into consideration the applicant’s submitted information, it crawled through the internet for hidden risk. Tempest used to double-check all the quotes manually, but when the software proved as good an analyzer as she, she cut out that step. Now she rarely had to do the tedious analytical work herself.

  Every ninety minutes, she obeyed the alert she’d set on her watch. She stood, stretched, and did one loop around the office to get the blood moving. Fred gave her a cheerful thumbs-up on her way past. He reminded her a little of her father, large-jawed, honest, and lacking humor.

  Standing at her desk, she pulled her hands behind her back, her arm muscles lengthening. As she twisted her torso, the pink macaroni necklace hidden under her shirt shifted between her breasts. She had to wear it until Sunday—the terms of the bet she’d lost. Turned out coins could be balanced on their sides. She had no idea why she always agreed to these stupid bets with Blair. Actually, she did know. Blair Stickley was fun. Blair Stickley was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

  At twelve thirty, she ate her chickpea and kale salad. It was a little wilted. Typical Friday lunch problems. On Sundays, she made five salads for her weekday lunches, portioning them out into matching glass containers. The quinoa with black beans and orange zest was her favorite. She�
�d make that next week.

  She sat as close to the kitchenette window as she could, letting the sliver of sun caress her face. Her two favorite colleagues ate at the table with her, but she had a hard time listening. She wasn’t interested in a nephew’s bout of chicken pox. Didn’t they have a vaccine for that now? The coworkers didn’t need her words anyway. They were both talkers.

  Tempest thought about her meeting today at four thirty. Was it weird to have it scheduled just before closing time? She usually did her quarterly reviews on Monday mornings. She’d been working with the company for five years now, since she was twenty-three. The next step was a big one. Actuary. She got a hit of excitement just thinking about it. With this new software, Red Rocco, doing so much of the computing, she was itching for more responsibility, more of a challenge. If she kept on her trajectory, she’d be an actuary by this spring. She grinned at the sunny sky.

  Damn, she loved her job.

  ****

  “Fired.” Tempest threw her tote bag on the couch as she stormed into her house. “I got fired.”

  “Okay, honey,” Blair said, coming around the island in the kitchen with her hands up in a calming gesture. The apartment smelled like caramel. Pots and bowls littered the counter.

  Tempest’s chest heaved up and down as she jerked open the buttons on her suit coat. Of course she’d dressed up for her meeting—dressed for success. Bah. She tossed the coat on the couch, her pasta necklace coming free and smacking her in the face with the motion.

  Blair’s brows bunched as she watched the blazer crinkle in a heap.

  Tempest usually hung her clothes neatly as soon as she got home, but today she didn’t bother with the coat. What did it matter if it wrinkled now? She didn’t take out her lunch box and put it in the dishwasher. She didn’t need it clean by Sunday. She wouldn’t be packing lunch salads for work next week.

  “I’m unemployed.” Tempest sulked past Blair and slumped onto a counter stool. It sounded so much worse when she said it out loud. She inhaled the inviting scents of vanilla and roasting sugar. An amber liquid simmered on the stove. “What are you making?”

  Blair walked back to the pot and stirred. “It’s apple cake with—”

  “Can I have some?”

  Blair opened her mouth, closed it.

  Treats before dinner wasn’t Tempest’s order of things. But screw it. Today had already gone to crap. She made a pass-it-over motion with her fingers.

  “It’s almost done. Talk while I finish.” Blair stirred boiling butter.

  “They laid off three underwriters. That’s all of us except Fred Burns because he’s been with the company the longest. At least that’s what they say. And I can’t really argue with his years of experience, but just compare our numbers. I’m better than he is. That’s a fact.” She exhaled so hard her cheeks ballooned out. “But he’s got a penis and a birthday before 1990.”

  “That pisses me off,” Blair said with the appropriate amount of verve.

  Tempest poked at a spill of flour on the granite. “Stupid Red Rocco software took my job.”

  “I’m sorry, Stormie.”

  “And you know what’s ironic?”

  “No. I don’t.” Blair dumped powdered sugar in a bowl.

  “I saw Leonard Allred this morning. I stopped to get Fred some juice for his cold. Last time I ever do something nice for that coughing fart again.”

  Blair snorted.

  “And Leonard Allred was in line in front of me.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  Tempest cringed.

  “You didn’t even talk to him.” Blair whisked the hot caramel into the sugar with pointed aggression.

  Tempest flared. “I’m glad I didn’t. Can you imagining being all gushy and starry-eyed to someone just hours before they destroy your life?”

  The mixture in Blair’s bowl turned a fluffy amber. She spooned out a dollop and handed it to Tempest. “What does it need?”

  She licked the frosting. Sugar and salty butter hit her tongue like a drug. “A bigger spoon.”

  Blair grinned, the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks crinkling. She cut a piece of cake, put it on a plate, and topped it with a generous layer of frosting.

  “You’re taking advantage of my weakened state.” The forkful of food garbled Tempest’s last words.

  “I’m healing your soul.”

  “This is the opposite of health—”

  “Let’s not talk about nutrition right now.” Blair cut herself a piece. “Or ever.”

  “Oh.” Tempest groaned as heaven saturated her tongue. “It tastes so good. So, so good.”

  “We can always talk more about that.”

  Blair’s dream was to open a treat shop one day. They’d discussed it at length but hadn’t decided exactly what she’d specialize in yet. She loved making it all: pies, cakes, candies, cookies, chocolates. She was working for SMU campus catering while she was deciding—and saving up the money. Although Tempest knew the saving part wasn’t going as well for Blair as the fantasizing part. Tempest figured she had plenty of time to convince Blair to open up a salad place instead. She hadn’t made any progress in that direction so far.

  She shoveled the last third of the cake into her mouth—she could get a lot in there at a time if she wanted. Thanks to her dad, she had a long jaw and wide lips. The dessert was gone. And with it, all the brief comfort. “What am I going to do now?” Her voice turned shrill. “This was not part of the plan.”

  “First step.” Frosting flicked onto the counter as Blair held up a spoon. She leaned over and licked it off before focusing back on Tempest. “We’re going out tonight. After we finish our first drink, we’ll come up with step two.”

  “Yes. Good. But we’re going to the Honor Bar. I think this cake needs to be followed by a French omelet.”

  “It can stand on its own,” Blair muttered as she took a pile of dishes to the sink.

  ****

  Two hours later they walked into the hip downtown restaurant. Blair wore a short yellow dress that accentuated the richness of her skin, her remarkable curves, and the gold highlights in her riot of curly dark hair. Tempest, in her black mourning clothes, felt like an empty garment bag next to her friend.

  Blair got a genuine smile from the bartender as she ordered their drinks. Of course they didn’t have a reservation. Of course it was busy.

  Loitering near the bar, Tempest sipped her gin and hoped some of these seats would vacate pronto. She drank faster as she replayed the scene with her boss. The compliments that carried the poison. She’d been an asset to the company. She was a great worker, a team player, reliable, and responsible. But they just couldn’t keep her on. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Red Rocco was to blame. She imagined Leonard Allred at the juice shop this morning, shiny hair, chinos fitted nicely over toned legs. He was so easy to hate right now. Her grudge mixed well with the alcohol warming her belly.

  “It’s empty.”

  Blair’s voice broke through the fog, and Tempest stopped sucking air from her glass.

  Blair took Tempest’s drink, trading it for a fresh bee’s knees from the bartender. Gin with lemon and honey was Tempest’s favorite. There went another fifteen dollars. She should really stop. She didn’t have a job. No more paychecks. She had six months’ salary in the bank, but that was her savings. Her fingers clutched the glass as her logical mind tried to command her to put the drink down. She lifted it to her lips.

  “They’re leaving.” Blair sauntered to the end of the bar and snagged two stools.

  Tempest slid into her seat. “I should probably eat something besides sugar and alcohol.”

  “We are missing fat.” Blair glanced down at the menu. “Crispy chicken sandwich for me.”

  “Always,” Tempest said, because fried chicken was one of the areas Blair was entirely reliable.

  Blair checked out the crowd while they waited for their food. She’d been on-again, off-again with DeShawn for a year, but they were
off right now. Tempest hadn’t had a boyfriend for nineteen months. Hadn’t been on a third date in nearly as long. But tonight she didn’t even look around. She stared, unseeing, at the TV. Some football team was playing another football team. Usually a little alcohol loosened her up, made her laugh like a hyena and become way more fun than usual. Not tonight. She could feel herself close up, her edges folding in.

  “Come on, Stormie,” Blair said after swallowing a handful of fries. “It’s going to be okay. I would die for your resume and your brains. And your savings account.” She gave Tempest a sideways grin. “You’ll get a new job in a blink.”

  “Not with Red Rocco plowing the field.”

  Blair opened her mouth, but only a puff of air came out.

  A drop of condensation ran down Tempest’s drink. Her voice was hollow. “Instead of salivating over Leonard Allred this morning like a pubescent, I should have spit at him.”

  “That would have been so much more mature.”

  She ignored the sarcasm. “I can’t believe I thought he was attractive.”

  “I can’t either. When I saw him at the event we catered on campus last week, I was not impressed.”

  Tempest snapped to attention, her defenses flaring. She lifted her phone and pulled up this morning’s search of images of Leonard Allred. She clicked on a well-done head shot. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t like this.”

  Blair plucked the phone from her hands. “Oh. That’s him?”

  “Who were you picturing?”

  Blair zoomed in on the tan face and dark eyes. “I definitely had the wrong guy. I saw this hunk at the event too, but he wasn’t acting conceited or famous at all. He even talked to me.”

  “Don’t make him a nice guy. He’s not a nice guy. He’s destroying American jobs.”

  Blair tapped the screen with her thumbs. “It says here his company employs twenty-four hundred people.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  Blair slid the screen back to the picture, stroking the man’s smooth cheek with a sparkly gold fingernail. “His side.”