Chance on Love Read online

  Chance on Love

  by Vristen Pierce

  Published by Enrapture Press, 2014.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  CHANCE ON LOVE

  First edition. January 14, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Vristen Pierce.

  Written by Vristen Pierce.

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  The End

  To Elizabeth Boyce and Codi Gary...

  You're two of the most kickass women ever. Thanks for being my beta buddies, and letting me warp your minds with my special brand of crazy.

  Chapter 1

  Being shoved, blindfolded, out of a nice, warm room, into an icy blast of wind kind of sucked. Stumbling down a long, bumpy road, she knew there were obstacles in the way, but she couldn’t really avoid them—because she couldn’t see. The road would eventually end sometime, somewhere, somehow.

  Details? Who the hell knew? She couldn’t see what was ahead. Oh, and those obstacles? They were huge, gaping potholes. Only, they were full of shit. Not figurative stuff—actual excrement. The only true relief would come when the road ended, and she didn’t have to walk anymore.

  This was, basically, Stephanie Love’s view of life.

  And today, she’d had the pleasure of falling into yet another pothole.

  She wanted nothing more than to soak in a relaxing, hot bath after having the day from hell. Work could be stressful on the best of days, but when a huge corporation was taking over the station, the word “stress” didn’t even begin to cover it.

  As Assistant News Director at KMLP Channel 6, she’d been on the fast track to having a shot at the News Director title and now all that might be down the drain. Her fate rested solely in the hands of people she’d never met—folks who didn’t give two craps about her dreams and ambitions.

  Yeah, life had taken a turn for the worse; in other words, she was right where she’d always been.

  She climbed the stairs to her boyfriend’s luxury condominium as the bitter January wind whipped across her face, stinging her eyes. The only bright spot to this miserable day would be spending time with Clay. After only seven months of dating, she could already see that the man had potential. The idea of marriage was abhorrent to her, but she was open to the possibility of them maybe—perhaps—one day living together.

  He wasn’t like the losers she’d been with in the past. And at thirty-three, she’d already had way more than her fair share.

  She hated Valentine’s Day with a passion, but this year would set a precedent. She not only had someone—she had a great someone. All those bastards who said it would never happen could just suck on that.

  Stephanie unlocked the door to the condo and entered. “Clay?” God, she hoped he was there. A night of take-out alone at her place didn’t seem particularly appealing. She checked the kitchen and dining room before heading upstairs. The bedroom door was ajar so she pushed it the rest of the way open. “Clay, are you in—”

  Oh, the fucker’s in all right. He was inside a giggling, bosomy brunette.

  Jumping at the sound of Stephanie’s voice, he sprang away from his playmate. The nameless woman promptly stopped the giggling, and covered her bare breasts with her hands as he pulled the sheet over their lower halves. He looked at Stephanie with wide, fearful eyes.

  “Steph, baby, I can explain.”

  Struggling to keep her breathing even, she stared at the traitorous louse. He could explain? Too bad the only thing on Stephanie’s mind was how she could explain leaving behind a corpse with its no-longer-giggling former lover.

  What’s her name would undoubtedly point the finger of justice straight at Stephanie. She’d probably love to see her go down for what should really be justifiable homicide—that bitch.

  “Your name?” Stephanie asked, oddly calm, with her eyes still fixed on Clay’s pathetic face.

  “Huh?” the brunette asked.

  Stephanie’s gaze shifted to the naked woman. “Your name,” she repeated.

  The brunette cleared her throat. “Um...” She glanced at Clay, as if for direction, before looking at Stephanie again. “Donna?”

  Stephanie arched an eyebrow. “You asking or telling?”

  The woman squared her shoulders. “I’m Donna.”

  “Okay, Donna, I’m about to be nicer than I usually am by giving you an amazing opportunity.”

  Donna drew her perfectly groomed eyebrows together. “An opportunity to what?”

  “To get the hell out of here.” Walking to the foot of the bed, Stephanie placed her palms on it as she leaned in. “Because the shit’s about to hit the fan.”

  Clay eased off the bed and groped around on the floor for their clothes. “Uh, yeah, you might want to go,” he said, throwing a wrinkled dress Donna’s way. He slipped his boxers on before giving Stephanie an earnest look. “Please, hear me out.”

  She ignored him. “Time’s ticking, Donna. What’s it gonna be?”

  The woman made the wise choice to wrap herself in the sheet and slide off the bed. Clay tossed her underwear at her. She grabbed the skimpy lingerie, and her dress, before scurrying off to the master bathroom.

  Stephanie crossed her arms and pinned Clay with a death glare. “You slimy son of a bitch.” She’d never been accused of being a delicate flower, even on one of her kinder, gentler days. Surly was about as good as it got with her, really. And shit like this was the reason why.

  People were, in general, disgusting. As soon as you lowered your guard, they were ready, and more than willing, to pounce. She’d had her share of being screwed over, of being hurt. This was the end of the road.

  Clay took a hesitant step toward her. “Steph, look, I never planned this. You have to believe me.”

  She nodded. “Well, as long as it was a spontaneous boning rather than a planned one, that sheds a whole new light.”

  “Listen to me,” he pleaded. “She came over to help me with a project—”

  Stephanie scoffed.

  “A work project,” he continued, “and we had a little wine. Things got out of control, I admit that.” He took another step.

  “You really should think about how close you want to get to me right now.”

  He froze before putting his hands up. “We can get past this. It was a mistake, a one-time thing. It will never happen again, I swear!”

  The bathroom door opened and Donna peeked out.

  Stephanie glanced at her watch. “You still got time.”

  She bolted from the room.

  “Don’t bother locking up,” Stephanie called. The only reply was the sound of the
front door slamming.

  Clay sighed. “Can we just sit down and talk, please?”

  “You can’t be serious. You cheat on me and now you want to nonchalantly discuss it over tea?”

  He frowned. “It doesn’t have to be tea, for God’s sake, Stephanie. There’s still some wine—” He clamped his mouth shut.

  The man had balls. She briefly contemplated clipping them off with a rusted pair of gardening shears before dismissing the notion. Instead of working on the news, she’d be the news. “I shouldn’t have to say this, Clayton, but since I now realize you’re not the brightest bulb around, here it is. We’re over.”

  “Babe, please, give me another chance.”

  She tossed his house key on the bed. “I won’t be needing that anymore.” She glanced around. “Where’s mine?”

  He made no attempt to retrieve her key.

  Stephanie shrugged. “I’ll change my locks.” She turned and walked toward the bedroom door, stopping next to the tall, mahogany chest. As she eyed the antique lamp on it, she was rather proud of herself for keeping her calm when normally, names would have been taken and asses kicked. Well, she had taken names.

  She would go now, leaving both her dignity and Clay’s face intact. As long as he kept his mouth shut, this might work with a minimum of drama. But no.

  “This is really your fault anyway.”

  That did it. She ripped the lamp from its place on the chest and whirled around, propelling it at Clay’s head. It shot like a missile in the air, only missing his face by mere inches—and that was because, wine or not, the bastard had the reflexes of a cat. He ducked just before the lamp smashed against the wall behind him.

  He looked wildly from Stephanie to the jagged shards on the floor. “You could have killed me!”

  She tilted her head. “I could have, huh?”

  Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. “That thing cost over eight hundred bucks, I’ll have you know.”

  “More than Donna then?”

  His mouth dropped open.

  Smiling, she headed for the door. Oh, the lamp was the least of Clayton Morrison’s worries. She wasn’t done with him yet. He was about to learn a hard lesson.

  Nobody fucked with Stephanie Love.

  Chapter 2

  Stephanie strode into the station and headed straight for her office. Her coworkers were accustomed to the lack of pleasantries. For the most part, they stayed out of her way. She wasn’t into idle chitchat and gossip. Do the job and go home—wash, rinse, repeat.

  Most saw her life as bleak and monotonous, and maybe it was. Nevertheless, it was also safe. She’d thought she’d finally found a ray of light in Clay and look how that had turned out.

  Yeah, she’d just keep truckin’ right along with her bleak, drama-free existence, thank you.

  Out of her many coworkers, there were only two she looked at with anything other than disinterest or contempt. One of whom was the woman who had the pleasure of having been Stephanie’s closest and, really, only, friend since high school—Amber Keegan.

  And not one minute after Stephanie had ensconced herself within the wonderfully solitary confines of her office, Amber made her irritatingly perky appearance.

  The door swung open and she bounded in, all smiles. Her raven-black hair, pulled into a high ponytail, swung from side to side.

  “Ever hear of knocking?” Stephanie turned on her laptop and dropped down on her uncomfortable chair.

  “Yeah,” Amber said, brown eyes sparkling, “but I never cared for it.”

  “Apparently.”

  “I have great news!” Clasping her hands beneath her chin, she bounced up and down on her four-inch heels. “Guess.”

  Stephanie just looked at her.

  “Come on,” she pleaded. “Please?”

  “I don’t feel like—” She may as well give in now or else this pain would never end. “You won the lottery.”

  “Nope.” Amber smiled. “I’m gonna need you to guess again.”

  “And I’m gonna need you to kiss my—”

  “Hey now, watch it.” Amber gave her friend a serious look. “Buck up, buttercup. Whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “‘Buck up, buttercup’?”

  “Yeah, you’re meaner than usual and that’s saying something,” she said, taking a seat. “What happened?”

  “Clay turned out to be a cheating asshole. What’s new with you?”

  She gasped. “What?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie said casually, “I caught him banging some chick named Donna.” She thumbed through the files on her desk.

  “You poor thing.” Amber leaned forward. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie said dryly, “I’d love to rehash the experience over and over.”

  Amber put her hands up. “Fine, just know that I’m here if you need to vent.” She sat back. “Besides, everything happens for a reason. You and Clay obviously weren’t meant to be, but now that leaves you free to find the right man.”

  Amber, God love her, was a downright ball of sunshine and rainbows. One of those eternally optimistic, naturally cheerful people, she was always quick with a smile and a kind word. The woman had never met a stranger.

  How the hell they had ever managed to get along, let alone become besties, was beyond Stephanie’s understanding. Unlike most people, though, Amber had a good heart. Still, Stephanie wasn’t in the mood for any of her rah-rah bullshit.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled. “What’s your great news?” She suddenly perked up. “Did that broadcasting company decide to leave us alone?”

  “No, they still plan to give this station an overhaul.”

  Stephanie’s shoulders slumped.

  “But guess who’s being considered for anchor?” Widening her eyes, Amber pointed to herself as her mouth dropped open.

  “Congratulations,” Stephanie said in a flat voice.

  “Come on, Stephie Baby,” Amber said, using the nickname that had annoyed Stephanie for well over a decade. “This is fantastic! You know I’ve wanted to make anchor for years.”

  That was true. Amber had switched career tracks from behind the scenes to wanting to be in the spotlight. She’d been a reporter for a couple of years now, and was chomping at the bit for her chance to shine. Stephanie softened—as much as she ever did. “You definitely deserve it.”

  Amber gave her a big smile. “Well, thank you. You’re probably up for a promotion, too.”

  “Yeah.” There was a good possibility she’d be promoted right out the door. Super.

  “The interim General Manager is coming today to meet everyone and get a feel for the place. He’s supposed to discuss all of the upcoming changes—promotions and whatnot.”

  Stephanie bit back a laugh. Interim, hell. He wasn’t going anywhere. She’d known assholes like this one was bound to be. A little taste of power was all it took—no way was he giving that up. “Where’s Kenny?”

  As the other person that Stephanie actually cared about at the station, Kenneth Thomas had been the News Director for years. He was skillful, commanding respect without being overbearing. She’d looked up to him ever since he’d first been a producer. He’d taken her under his wing and showed her the ropes, without ever making her feel like a nuisance. When she’d been the low woman on the totem pole, no one had given her the time of day except for him. She’d never forget that.

  If anyone was overdue for a promotion, it was Kenny. Ideally, he would become GM and Stephanie would get his former spot as News Director.

  Ideally.

  Things had a way of not working out for her, however, so she was bracing herself.

  Amber shrugged. “He’s around here somewhere.”

  “I need to see him,” Stephanie said, heading for the door. They had to formulate a plan. They’d close ranks on these corporate assholes, let them know they couldn’t just barge in and change everything—no matter how much money they had.

  Some peop
le still had journalistic integrity. Not many people, but some, damn it.

  Amber’s high heels clicked loudly against the floor as she rushed to catch up. “Corporate will be here any minute,” she whispered furiously.

  “Screw corporate.” She quickened her pace, leaving Amber behind. Before she could knock on Kenny’s door, it opened.

  A black man with an imposing build at six feet, three inches and the body of a former football player, Kenny had a serious demeanor, but still managed to give off a friendly, approachable vibe. “Hey, kid.” He nodded his head in the direction from which she’d just come. “Let’s go.”

  Stephanie frowned. “Where?”

  “Meeting.” Kenny started walking so she had no choice but to follow him or be left behind. His bald head glistened beneath the overhead lights as they made their way to the large conference room.

  Tugging on his arm, she hurried to keep up. “We need to talk.” She leaned in. “Get a plan together.”

  He gave her a little smile, and shook his head. “No time, kid. There’s never enough time,” he muttered, pulling the conference room door open for her and waiting until she entered ahead of him.

  She didn’t have a chance to wonder about the cryptic comment. Amber pulled her down by the arm, and she landed unceremoniously on the chair next to her.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” she gushed.

  Kenny had a seat on the other side of Stephanie as the room buzzed with quiet energy. There was an odd blend of anxiety and excitement in the air.

  Stephanie leaned toward the anxiety end of the spectrum. Pfft. Leaned.

  She was all the way on that end.

  The conference door opened, and three men entered to stand in front of the room. They looked to be in their mid-seventies to eighties. Great. If she even had a job after this, she’d be taking orders from someone’s great-grandpa.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the apparent alpha of the elderlies said, his voice resonating with prestige and certainty, “as you all know, there are big changes coming to KMLP. Overseeing those changes will be a new General Manager. Mr. Wilkerson didn’t, ah, quite work out.”

  A tiny smile played at her lips. That was an understatement. Wilkerson had gotten shit-faced at the Christmas party and proceeded to talk major crap about the network with which KMLP was affiliated. His major mistake was forgetting what kind of business KMLP was—someone had videotaped his little tirade, and the recording found its way to the head honchos.