A Good Time Read online

  Also by Shannyn Schroeder

  MORE THAN THIS

  A Good TIME The O’Learys

  SHANNYN

  SCHROEDER

  eKensington

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Shannyn Schroeder

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Quinn’s Irresistible Chocolate Cake

  Teaser chapter

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  To Paly, you are a great critique partner.

  Thanks for reading this more times than any person should have to.

  Acknowledgments

  This book was definitely a labor of love. I wanted to tell Indy’s story, but she is the hardest character I’ve written. That difficulty meant that this book was drafted and then rewritten multiple times. First, I want to thank Lani Diane Rich, who pointed out that the book didn’t work because I kept breaking my character. I learned so much from her. Next, I want to thank my critique partners and beta readers. Paly, Cynthia, and Ryann, this book wouldn’t be if you hadn’t read through and given me awesome advice. To my agent, Fran, and my editor, Peter, thanks for loving my work. Finally, I want to thank my son for teaching me that there is more to video games than blowing things up and shooting.

  Chapter 1

  Tequila was not her friend. Indy Adams couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that one simple rule last night. The drumbeat behind her eyeballs was a blatant reminder. When the guys at the bar offered her a shot after closing, she hadn’t seen the harm.

  Too many shots and a crappy night’s sleep later, she regretted every sip. She got out of her car and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. If she’d planned better yesterday, she wouldn’t have had to get up early to come to the office now.

  She pulled open the door, and a waft of expensive perfume smacked her in the face and clogged her throat. Indy swallowed the gag and faced the exiting clients with a perfunctory smile. The woman clicked by in her Jimmy Choos, followed by her husband and Indy’s colleague Susan, real estate superstar.

  Indy ducked into the office hoping to avoid a conversation with Susan. The clock on the wall showed an hour until her meeting with Griffin. He’d finally decided to start his house hunt. Correction, his mansion hunt. The thought of selling a million-dollar house made her giddy. Her giddiness almost made her forget the hangover.

  She knew Griffin had hired her only because his best friend, Ryan, was marrying her sister, but she’d take any connection she could. She’d met Griffin casually on several occasions, usually at Ryan’s bar, but he’d put off the search and seeing houses for months.

  “Indy,” Susan said from behind her.

  Shit, she really wanted to escape without this. Every conversation with Susan bordered on hostile.

  “I hear your big client is finally ready to buy. I’d started to think you’d made the whole thing up.”

  After locating the codes she’d left tucked in her desk, Indy faced Susan and her usual pinched expression. “No, Susan, I don’t have to make up clients.”

  “Well, after you gloated about how much money this one would bring in, you dropped off the map.”

  “Well, I’m here, and now I’m off to show houses.” She waved the paper and turned to leave. She wouldn’t admit she’d gone back to waitressing because she needed the money.

  “You’re not going to show a house to a millionaire looking like that, are you?”

  Indy stalled in her tracks and turned cautiously.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why you don’t attract more affluent clients? You don’t play the part. You have to act as though you belong in their world and you”—she paused and pointed at Indy’s outfit from shoulder to hem—“clearly don’t.”

  “What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?” Sure, she wasn’t as buttoned up as Susan, but she wasn’t dressed for clubbing either.

  “You look a little trampy, ready to flirt with whomever comes your way.”

  Heat crept up Indy’s neck and burned her ears. “I don’t flirt with clients.”

  Susan arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m friendly. You might want to try it sometime.” Indy shoved through the door. Anger gnawed her nerves like fire ants. She didn’t need to flirt to get the job done.

  Once in her car, she studied her clothes. Would Griffin not take her seriously because of how she dressed? Her stomach gave a little squish. She couldn’t honestly answer the question. Griffin had always flirted with her, but he flirted with everyone in social situations.

  She checked the time. If she hurried, she could stop at home to change.

  Forty minutes later, racing to get to her appointment, Indy felt a little panicked.

  “I hope the man who invented pantyhose died a slow and painful death,” she cursed. It must’ve been a man, she thought as sweat snaked down her back and nylon suffocated her thighs. The damn air conditioning in the car had stopped working, and she hadn’t planned to fix it yet since fall had supposedly arrived. Unfortunately, the Chicago weather didn’t agree.

  The remnants of her hangover made her regret the decision.

  She whipped into the circle drive of the first mansion and saw Griffin’s silver Jaguar already parked. Double damn. She parked behind him and got out. Her ten-year-old Taurus sagged sadly behind the Jaguar.

  I am so out of my league.

  She tugged at the collar of her blouse. Her skirt skimmed the backs of her knees, reminding her of church clothes. At least she was ready if the heat really did kill her.

  Griffin still sat in his car. The Winnetka house stood in front of her with a gorgeous, wide, pillared front porch. Selling a house in the wealthy Chicago suburb would be her first.

  Looking at the Jag, she couldn’t quite reconcile the image of Griffin hanging out, drinking beer at his friend’s bar with the millionaire video-game developer. Indy threw back her shoulders and faked confidence as best she knew how.

  She paused en route to his car. The door swung open and Griffin unfolded himself from behind the steering wheel. He wasn’t just good-looking; he was drool-worthy.

  His perfectly styled dark hair slicked back from his face. His jaw was surprisingly smooth. He usually sported a dark five-o’clock shadow, and she’d figured it had been intentional.

  He spoke into his Bluetooth headset for another moment, acknowledging her with a slight wave of his hand. His finely tailored suit revealed a fit body: broad shoulders and trim waist. He shed his suit coat and rolled his sleeves in concession to the heat, which should’ve made him look relaxed, but his face was solemn. She preferred him in jeans and a worn T-shirt, drinking a beer at O’Leary’s.

  Ending the call, he tossed the Bluetooth in the car before closing the door. Indy approached with her hand extended. “Mr. Walker, nice to see you again. I’m sorry I’m late.”

  He grasped her hand and tugged playfully. “Call me Griffin. I’m not looking for a dog and pony show, Indy.”

  She liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “I’m simply greeting you th
e same way I’d greet any client.”

  He removed his sunglasses and made no attempt to hide his appraisal of her. She’d been scrutinized by worse. His expression held a hint of laughter. After raking his gaze over her, top to bottom, he smiled. Small lines fanned from eyes nearly as dark as his hair. The act removed the stiff businessman, and he became a drinking buddy. “I’m not any client. We’ve known each other for months. We’re friends.”

  Her tense muscles relaxed a fraction. Their previous encounters had paved the way for a friendly acquaintance. He followed her to the house. Even in her two-and-a-half-inch heels, she had to look up to meet his eyes.

  As she opened the door, chilly air brushed over her heated skin and caused a shiver. “Would you like a tour, or just want to wander?”

  After she asked, she looked at the décor and cringed. The owners hadn’t wanted photos of the interior posted online. Now she knew why. Everything was white.

  Griffin’s phone rang. He checked the screen and ignored it.

  “You can take that if you need to,” she offered. “I can wait.” She wanted to have a few minutes to cool her body.

  He stood in the middle of the foyer and turned in a slow circle. “No, I’ve seen enough. Where to next?”

  Indy’s stomach flipped. “You don’t want to see other rooms?” she asked carefully.

  His eyes locked on hers. “No.”

  “I realize the color scheme . . . or lack of one might be a turn-off, but that’s paint and carpet.”

  “What else do you have?”

  She fumbled with the clasp on her portfolio and pulled two listings from the pocket. “Here are the other two I told you about. We can go to whichever you like next.”

  “Let’s try this one.” He tapped the top page.

  “Okay. Follow me.” She exited the house. Excitement and optimism seeped from her pores like sweat. She’d hoped for a quick sale.

  The next two showings went the same. Griffin walked in, looked briefly, and left. In the driveway of the third house, she said, “Maybe if you tell me a little more about what you do want, I won’t waste your time looking at houses that don’t work.”

  His broad, charming smile creased at the sides of his mouth and showed the hint of dimples. “You showed me exactly what I asked for. I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep you posted if I find other listings that might suit you.” Disappointment gripped her.

  “How about dinner?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Can I take you out to dinner?”

  She pulled her lips into a firm, businesslike smile. So much for friendly acquaintance. “I’m involved with someone, and I don’t date clients.”

  So what if Richard had started out as a client. He’d bought before their first date.

  He stepped closer, picked up her left hand, and looked pointedly at her ring finger. “We already covered that I’m more than a client; we’re friends.”

  “We might be friends if you’d stop flirting with me.”

  “Flirting is something we both excel at. Besides, how serious could your involvement with your married boyfriend be?”

  Quinn and her big mouth. She’d definitely have a talk with her little sister. She bit her tongue for a second and thought of Richard. “There’s enough seriousness in life without me adding to it.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she feared she’d given him ample ammunition.

  She tugged her hand from his grasp and twitched at his thumb’s caress across her knuckles. Little jolts of pleasure shimmied up her arm. Damn, she hated the effect of charming men. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t immune. He released her hand and moved to his car without another word. His phone rang as he drove off with his engine purring.

  Kind of like her nerves.

  Griffin had all the markings of a rich playboy. He was charming and arrogant, and women swooned at the sight of him. But she wanted only one thing from Griffin Walker: a big, fat commission.

  A block from the last house, she pulled over. The itchy pantyhose drove her crazy. She opened the door and looked up and down the street. Not a soul in sight. Reaching under her skirt, she tugged the nylon from her body. Once she dragged it to her thighs, she sat on the edge of the driver’s seat and rolled the pantyhose down. A slight breeze kissed her skin, and she sighed.

  Just as she pulled them off and stood barefoot on the street, a revved engine caught her attention. The silver Jaguar pulled up beside her. Could the day get any worse?

  “Everything okay?” Griffin asked through the open window.

  “Yeah.” She balled the nylons into her fist and stifled a laugh. She didn’t care enough to be embarrassed, but she scrambled for an excuse.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I pulled over to take a call.”

  “With no phone?” His gaze raked down her body again and stopped at her bare feet. “And no shoes?”

  She sighed and held out her pantyhose. “You caught me. I couldn’t wait to get out of my pantyhose. The heat was strangling me.”

  His laugh echoed on the empty street, and relief washed over her. Her own smile followed. If Richard had caught her stripping off her pantyhose on the street, he’d be mortified.

  “Next time, leave them at home. Your legs are sexier without them.”

  “Flirting will get you nowhere,” she said, and leaned against the door. Even to her own ears, her remark sounded hollow. The air-conditioning tickled her arms and she repressed a shiver.

  One eyebrow rose above his sunglasses. “When something interests me, I go after it.”

  “Even if it’s unattainable?”

  “Nothing is unattainable.”

  She straightened. “We’ll see.”

  He slid his glasses to the top of his head. Dark brown eyes bore into her and no longer held amusement. “Be warned. I always get my way.”

  He pulled away. She wanted to be pissed, tried to feel indignant and angry, but failed. She would do whatever was necessary to make Griffin Walker happy.

  The office door flew open. Griffin looked up from the file to meet his publicist’s eyes. Kendra was one of few people who would enter his office unannounced. Some days she stopped in to say hi. Today she looked pissed.

  “What’s wrong now?” He settled back in his chair. Every time she had that look, he imagined lightning bolts shooting from her spiky blond hair.

  “What’s wrong? Didn’t we spend hours talking about your image and how you appear in the press?”

  “Yes.” It had been the longest afternoon of his life. Almost as bad as the time Sister Mary Bridget lectured him about how resolving a problem didn’t involve fists.

  “Then what is this?” She slapped the society page of the newspaper on his desk. “A reporter? Not your smartest move, Walker. Especially with the mom brigade downstairs telling the world you’re bad for their kids.”

  “Huh?” He’d already managed to avoid the rally point for whichever parent group hated him today. Every few months, a group showed up at his office building and picketed. He never thought creating video games would be so controversial.

  He focused on the picture and smiled. “That’s Moira O’Leary, Ryan’s sister. She wasn’t a date; she just wanted to get into the benefit.”

  “But now you’re linked to a reporter, someone looking to make a name for herself.” She slapped a second paper down. Kendra had a flair for the dramatic. The headline read THE BOSTWICK CHARITY: AN INSIDER’S VIEW.

  Moira had gotten a byline in the Times. His chest filled with pride, as if she were his sister. “So? I got her in the door; then I left.”

  “You were photographed with her, and then she wrote the story. If that’s not bad enough, they have another picture of you with a senator’s daughter.” She tapped a small photo on the bottom of the page.

  “This is an old picture. I haven’t seen Ashley in over a month.” He pushed the paper toward Kendra.

  Kendra growled
. “You don’t get it, do you? This is how people see you—different women at every turn. You can’t commit, you’re not loyal, you’re not trustworthy.” She drummed her fingers on the photos.

  “That’s bullshit.” He flicked the paper away and stood to pace.

  “We agreed absolutely no politicians.”

  “Who her father is shouldn’t matter. She wanted a good time.”

  “Which is even worse. We talked about this. Given your history, we don’t want anyone to dig. The story is going to come out sooner or later and we need to be prepared for it, but we don’t want to offer up fuel. All we need is one person to link you to political families.”

  Griffin didn’t respond. Kendra was right. His past would come back to bite him in the ass. Too bad he hadn’t been smart enough to hire someone like Kendra ten years ago. “I never did anything wrong.”

  She inhaled a slow, deep breath. “Look, I know it’s bullshit. It doesn’t matter if you were right or wrong. All that matters is how people perceive you. I know you, and I know what you want to accomplish. You’re a good man, but it’s not me you have to convince.”

  “So I’m supposed to give up my social life?”

  Kendra laughed, the sound tinny and hollow. She excelled at her job, so he never knew when she was being genuine.

  “Like that would happen. Discretion, Griffin. Don’t date the flighty socialites who enjoy posing for the society page. Keep your social life out of the limelight. When people Google you, this is all they see. We need to change that perception.”

  He shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Fine. I get it.”

  She moved to stand next to him. “That’s what you said before. The idea for your foundation is fabulous. The program will make a huge difference in the lives of those kids. If the public doesn’t trust you, you might as well keep throwing money in and nothing more.”

  “It needs to be more.”

  “I understand,” she said, her voice soft. “It will be, but you have to believe in me. I know what I’m doing.”

  He thought of his own childhood and what a program like this could’ve done. Money alone couldn’t make the differences he wanted.