Read Having Fun with Mr. Wrong Online
Authors: Celia T. Franklin
Tags: #Women's Fiction,Contemporary
Having Fun with Mr. Wrong
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The sky had suddenly darkened, and rain came
down in sheets. A loud clap of thunder rattled the glasses hanging from the bar. The sound startled her.
But the thunder wasn’t the real cause of her shock. A man wearing a hoodie paced outside the window. She caught his eyes glaring at her.
Dear God.
Guido. What the hell? He’d followed her.
Marc looked up from his phone. “Is something wrong, Carmala?”
She flashed a glance at Marc and then to the window.
He followed her gaze. “Who’s that guy? Is he someone you know?”
Carmala’s face burned with embarrassment. Guido was
such
an asshole. She cleared her throat. “Actually, he’s, er, my boyfriend, Guido. He expected me home. Ah…I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, don’t apologize to me. Should we invite him in?” Marc glanced at his watch. “Actually, I have to scoot. I have a date with my wife. But I think we’re about through here. If you have any further questions, give me a call.” He motioned to the waiter for the check. “This is an exciting opportunity for you. You shouldn’t hesitate to take it.” The waiter produced the check. Marc examined it and inserted money in the bill folder.
“You’ll make the right decision, Carmala—about the job. Call me if you need me.” He kissed her cheek and quickly exited the bar.
Stunned, Carmala sat there for a moment, feeling miffed and mortified. How could Guido embarrass her this way in front of Marc?
Praise for Celia T. Franklin
“Like great chocolate, I simply could not stop devouring Celia T. Franklin’s new book,
HAVING FUN WITH MR. WRONG
, which explores the complexities of relationships and life. Mah-velous.”
~Vicki Batman, author of Temporarily Employed
Having Fun
with Mr. Wrong
by
Celia T. Franklin
Fun with Mr. Now Series
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.
Having Fun with Mr. Wrong
COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Celia T. Franklin
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
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Mainstream Women’s Fiction Edition, 2015
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0456-4
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0457-1
Fun with Mr. Now Series
Published in the United States of America
Dedications
First to the Palm City Word Weavers
At times I went home crying from those meetings
on Thursday night, but, overall, I learned and
those critiques made this story better.
To Candy Lyons
Thanks for the professional help and encouragement.
To my wonderful CP’s and beta readers,
whom I thank because without you this book
would never have been published.
Thank you to my wonderful editor at The Wild Rose Press, Roseanne Armstrong, the one who made The Call after numerous tries with multiple publishing sources. Roseann saw the value and shared the vision I had for this story. With her patience, sheer thoroughness, and numerous rounds of edits, we were able to pull together a polished to the max piece. I am eternally grateful to Roseann and though we kidded often about The Movie, you never know, we might just get that call as well, and I shall consult with her when that time arrives! And a big shout out to the staff at The Wild Rose Press for their professionalism and expertise.
To Randy
Dare I forget you, thanks for slugging my manuscript
to the fire department, sneaking all those big print jobs,
and reading material you would never voluntarily do
if it hadn’t been that you loved me.
And lastly, but most importantly,
to my mom, God rest her soul,
who told me time and time again that I can do
whatever I put my mind to.
Well, Rita Lucente, you were so right! Here’s to you.
Chapter One
He answered on the third ring.
“Guid, are you busy?”
“I’m never too busy for you, babe.”
Carmala Rosa’s heart fluttered at the sound of his sexy tone. Guido Cortollo, the boyfriend she loved but sometimes loathed, was one-hundred-percent hot Italian. She imagined his well-developed biceps flexing as he held the phone to his ear. And in this mid-September Manhattan Indian summer heat, she pictured the sweat dripping down his neck, causing his tight T-shirt to stick in all the right spots.
The sound of machinery running in the background at his construction site jolted her back to the moment. “Sounds like you are.”
“Ah, these guys are just cutting the drywall. I’m putting new electrical wiring in at the downtown Emerald Hotel. But I have a minute. What’s up?”
Carmala stood to peer over her cubicle. Satisfied there was no one eavesdropping, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s Steve. He’s putting the pressure on me to get this job done. I got here early and worked through lunch, but I’m flustered and can’t concentrate. I’m embarrassed and pissed at having to report to him, especially since he’s passed me over and got the promotion to manager.”
“Give him what he wants and let the cards fall where they will. You know you got it, babe.”
“I guess so.” She fumbled with her worksheets.
“How about I cheer you up with a special dinner tonight? Turkey lasagna with a nice bottle of chianti.”
Her rumbling stomach reminded her she needed to get something to eat. The people at Banter Androson & Co. made her so nervous she’d often work through lunch to catch up on her assignments. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to make a difference. No matter what did, she was just an average player.
“I suppose I can skip the diet tonight. I’ll be at the apartment by seven.”
“All right, see you then.”
Carmala’s apartment was, on a good day, a half-hour subway ride downtown from Banter’s midtown office. Guido had the key, but he didn’t live with her.
“Carmala, are the Ross spreadsheets done yet?” Steve Colby poked his head into her cubicle.
Carmala jumped. Did he hear her?
She’d die if he’d got wind of the conversation she just had with Guido.
“I’m almost ready, putting on the final touches.” She gave him her most confident smile.
“How much more time do you need?” He glanced at his watch.
“I’ll bring them to you in a half hour.”
Steve sighed, visibly disappointed, and leaned in farther. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I need to get everything to the managing partner by five.”
“You can get started on these.” Carmala handed the schedules to him, except for the last one. She was still working on that. “Wait. I have to copy a few things so I can work up the final schedule. I’ll run everything into you in five minutes.” She took back the schedules and rustled through them.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it.”
Of course, he’d do the rest of the schedules.
Damn!
Why didn’t she have them done when they should have been, first thing in the morning? If he did the summation, she knew he’d make sure to point out to the partner that
he’d
completed it, instead of her. With her recent lackluster reviews, she had cause for concern.
“Okay, Steve.” Carmala reorganized the material and handed it to him, careful not to show her slip in confidence. “Here’s everything, plus the supporting documentation you need. I’m sure you’ll find it satisfactory.”
“I’m sure I will.” He took the information and gave her a smug smile as he turned on his heel toward his office.
Yup, that was right.
His
office. Carmala stared at the fabric walls of her tiny cubicle. Correction.
Borrowed
cubicle. Banter allowed their traveling public accountants to wrap up or plan assignments in the home office. When she came in from the field, she had to grab whatever cubicle was available. The cubicles were barren, with gray fabric walls and fiberglass desks, sitting in grid-like fashion on the twenty-sixth floor. Under the harsh fluorescent light, without a window in sight, she imagined herself in a corporate prison. She had to walk across the entire floor to catch a glimpse of the outside world. She longed to have a picture of her boyfriend or her cats at her desk, but only staff with permanent offices, like Steve, had that privilege.
Damn!
Banter named the sterile environment the “home office,” but it had to be the farthest thing from
home
she could get.
Four years ago, she had left her close-knit family, who lived within a ten-block radius of each other in South Philadelphia. Everyone back home believed she’d achieved great success with her job in the Big Apple. If only they knew how inadequate she felt. Or that she’d been passed over for promotion and didn’t quite fit. So, no, she probably wasn’t much of a success.
****
After her yoga class, Carmala grabbed the first express subway train to her downtown apartment. The damned elevator in her apartment building was out again, so she had to trudge up six flights of stairs. So much for maintaining her relaxed state of mind.
“Babe, I’m so glad you’re home early,” Guido called out from the kitchen as she walked in her door. “How was yoga?”
“After another harrowing day at work, I needed it.” Breathless and hot from the climb, she unbuttoned her lightweight overcoat, pulled it off, and threw it and her briefcase on the couch. On her way to the kitchen she glanced at her surroundings with a touch of pride. Her cozy one-bedroom apartment filled with Mom’s and Grandma’s handed-down antiques crammed in every nook and shelf available welcomed her home. Mom’s handmade lace curtains adorned the windows of the living room. The apartment was small, but heck, she could make it into a two-bedroom by opening the pull-out couch. Not bad for living right in Manhattan.
“I made the lasagna with fat-free cheese.” Guido opened the oven door.
She peered over his shoulder and saw the dish bubbling with a nice crust. He removed the tray and set it on the counter to cool. A whiff of the tangy sauce hit her, and her mouth watered.
“It smells delicious. I’m glad you’re using fat-free cheese because, except for the six-flight jog up the stairwell, I didn’t do any cardio today.” She slipped out of her suit jacket and climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Guido had set the table with her good china, cloth napkins, and long, red candles that cast an inviting glow on the tiny eating area.
Hmm.
The setup was a bit elaborate. What was up?
When he produced a full glass of red, she took a generous sip, enjoying the sharp taste of her favorite wine. She refused to feel guilty for drinking tonight. Her five-day workout regimen was more than enough.
“We’ll get the cardio in tomorrow night, unless you plan to blow me off for a client.” He play-pouted his sensitive and irresistible full lips, melting her cares away. No matter what happened at the office, at least she had this gorgeous, caring man to come home to. And she needed to remember that when he annoyed her with his possessive behavior.
“It’s never a blow-off, Guid. You know that.” She got up, walked over to him, slid her hands around his waist, and kissed his neck, taking in his musky scent.
He turned to kiss her, and just the feel of his full lips against hers ignited her soul. He gently moved her aside and shifted to the counter to chop veggies for the salad.
“You do blow me off.” Guido produced a half-kidding look of warning.