Her Kensington: A British Billionaire Romance (The Cocktail Girls Book 2) Page 11

  I’ve got so many people to thank for both this book and His Manhattan. Firstly, Frankie Love and the other Cocktail Girls authors. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have happened. I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to take part in the Cocktail Girls series. It’s been such fun working with you all on our collaborations, and I’m so excited about what we have coming in the future. All of you have made such a difference to my writing career and the way it’s heading.

  Michelle, my incredible alpha reader, thank you for sticking by me while I fought my way through this sweet and romantic story, even though you were desperate for some grit and angst.

  My amazing beta readers, Deanna, Helen, Lindsay and Tracy. You guys really kept me going with this one and I can’t thank you enough for encouraging me and giving me a kick up the arse when I needed it.

  Evelyn, my awesome editor who puts up with my horrendous typos and bad grammar without complaining…too much!

  Of course, my husband and my beautiful daughter. Without your support, none of this would be possible.

  And last but definitely not least, you, my readers. Thank you for loving Summer and Harrison and asking for more. Thank you for picking up my books, sharing them with your friends, and writing reviews that blow me away. THANK YOU!

  Have you met the rest of the Cocktail Girls?

  His Old Fashioned by Frankie Love

  His Mimosa by Jamie Schlosser

  His Irish Coffee by Jessica Lake

  His Whiskey Sour by Kim Loraine

  His Champagne by Dori Lavelle

  His Manhattan by Tracy Lorraine

  His Blushing Bride by Emilia Beaumont

  His Perfect Martini by Angel Devlin

  His Long Island Iced Tea by Roxy Sinclaire

  His Hurricane by Alexis Adaire

  His Sloe Screw by Alexandria Hunt

  His Vegas Bomb by Derek Masters

  His Redheaded Slut by Vivian Ward

  His Gin and Juice by Alexx Andria

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  About the Author

  Tracy Lorraine is a M/F and M/M contemporary romance author. Tracy has just turned thirty and lives in a cute Cotswold village in England with her husband, baby girl and lovable but slightly crazy dog. Having always been a bookaholic with her head stuck in her Kindle, Tracy decided to try her hand at a story idea she dreamt up and hasn’t looked back since.

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  Also by Tracy Lorraine

  Angel Series

  Falling for Molly: Part One #1

  Falling for Molly: Part Two #2

  Falling for Abbi #3

  Falling for Beth (An Angel Series Novella)

  Falling for Emma #4

  Falling for Connie #5

  Falling for Lilly #6

  Falling for Taylor #7

  Falling for Nicole #8

  Chasing Series

  Chasing Logan

  Ruined Series

  Ruined Plans #1

  Ruined by Lies #2

  Ruined Promises #3

  Never Forget Series

  Never Forget Him #1

  Never Forget Us #2

  Everywhere & Nowhere #3

  The Cocktail Girls

  His Manhattan

  The Halloween Honeys

  His Sorority Sweetheart

  Second Helpings

  Cheeky Trifle

  Read Beth for FREE!

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  Sneak Peek

  Ruined Plans (Ruined #1) by Tracy Lorraine

  Ruined Plans

  Prologue

  New Year’s Resolutions

  1. Spend less time working

  2. Visit Aunt Addy

  3. Date nights

  I pick up the piece of paper that flutters to the floor as I attempt to clear my desk for the night. Sitting back in my chair, I stare down at the words I wrote only a few weeks ago.

  I glance at the time on my computer screen to see it’s almost 8pm on Valentine’s night, and here I am still in my office with mountains of work to do. I guess that explains how well number one on the list is going. Actually, it pretty much answers all three. I think in the last six weeks I’ve spent more time in the office than ever, so even thinking about planning a trip to see Aunt Addy hasn’t happened. And as for date nights, code for attempt to sort out my shitty marriage—I just didn’t want to write that down—that’s the reason I’m finishing up early for the night. My assistant poked her head in just under an hour ago to say she was leaving and I placed a takeaway order so I could surprise my husband and make some kind of effort. It is Valentine’s day, after all.

  I go down to the ground floor of the office block we work in to collect my delivery before heading straight up to the top floor to my husband’s office.

  We’re both lawyers for his family’s company. I’m pretty sure it should excite me; after all, it’s what I spent years studying for. Here I am, a high-flying lawyer for a renowned company in the middle of the city, married to the boss, living in a gorgeous penthouse apartment only five minutes from here.

  I fucking hate it. All of it.

  It hasn’t always been this way. At the beginning, I thought I was living the high life: hefty pay checks, designer clothes, meals at any swanky restaurant I wanted, and a husband every woman in the office wanted a piece of. That all soon wore thin once I was promoted—not because I married the boss though, I’d like to add. I started working longer hours and all the benefits I enjoyed before were pushed aside to spend more hours in the office. It’s pretty shit. Then Edward’s dad retired, leaving him in charge, and our marriage took even more of a backseat.

  “Good evening, Addison.”

  “Evening,” I say when I see Greg, one of the security guards in reception. “Shouldn’t Mr. Boss Man be taking you out for some slap up meal?”

  “You’d think, right?” I reply as I wave my takeaway bag at him.

  “Enjoy,” he says with a wink as I head back towards the lift.

  I sail straight to the top. The building must be practically empty seeing as it’s Valentine’s day so my journey isn’t interrupted by anyone wanting to join me.

  There’s no one to be seen as I walk down the corridor past the giant offices. It looks like the rest of the management has some kind of work life balance.

  The glass wall that allows everyone to see into Edward’s office has been darkened but I don’t think anything of it. I shove the handle down and fling the door wide open.

  “Surprise,” I announce happily, but my mood changes when I see the reason for the blacked out windows.

  My husband’s behind his desk like I expected, but rather than going through case notes he’s currently balls deep inside my PA, who’s bent over his desk.

  He sees me, his eyes widen in shock, and he stops moving as he stares at me. It’s clear she has no idea I’ve just interrupted because, without opening her eyes, she moans, “Eddie, keep going…so close.”

  Eddie? Who the fuck does she think she is? My husband hates the name Eddie.

  I stand there staring at the scene in front of me for a few more seconds as something inside me explodes. I want to say it’s devastation, anger even, but I’m pretty sure it’s the tingling of freedom.

  I drop the bag of takeout on the floor and, with one last look at my cheating prick of a husband, I make my way
out of the Chapman-Webb offices with every intention to never walk through the front door again.

  Ruined Plans

  Chapter 1

  “My brother’s an arsehole.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say, tapping the glass containing my dirty martini against my best friend’s.

  Juliette and I met at university. We were both studying law and started off in the same halls. We clicked instantly. Looking back on it now, I think it may have been because we were both doing something that wasn’t our choice. I’d never voiced the fact that I didn’t want to be a lawyer, and neither had she, but I think we both knew.

  “I feel totally responsible for all this. I pushed the two of you together.”

  “Don’t,” I warn. “It’s not your fault he can’t keep his dick to himself, and it’s also not your fault that we haven’t really been working for a while,” I add, because I’m not sure I can really blame him for what he did, knowing what our marriage has been like.

  “When was the last time you two…” she trails off, choosing to use hand gestures instead of words.

  “No idea.”

  “NO IDE—”

  “Mummy, can I have some juice?” Sophia shouts, interrupting Juliette’s shock.

  Unlike me, since graduating with a first, Juliette’s never worked a day in law. Actually, she’s never worked a day full stop, but that’s beside the point. She met Hugo during our second year and, not long after graduation, discovered she was pregnant. She’s been a stay at home mum since. They now have three terrors who run her ragged most days and are polite little angels when their dad appears after long hours crunching numbers. It’s pretty amusing to watch.

  “Sorry, what were we saying…Oh yeah. You can’t remember the last time?”

  “No. I told you things weren’t great.”

  “I know, but there’s not great and then really not great.”

  I just shrug at her. What does it matter now, anyway? The damage is done and I get to start over.

  “Do you really have to leave?”

  “I do.”

  Juliette’s face drops. I’m gutted to leave her. We’ve practically lived in each other’s pockets since university. Shit, we’ve been sisters for the past three years, but I can’t stay for her. It’s time I did something for myself for once.

  “I’m going to miss you so much.”

  “I’m going to miss you, too. But I’ll be back to visit, and you can come out to me. The kids will love it with the beach and the countryside. You might actually wear them out for once,” I say with a laugh.

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “Only on the phone briefly to tell him I was leaving. He begged for me to stay, told me he was sorry, that we could work it out, but it’s too late. He needs to face up to the fact that his cheating was the final nail in a practically sealed coffin already. We were never going to work, and him begging is just embarrassing, really.”

  Juliette gives me a sad face but doesn’t say anything. I think she knows what I’m saying is true. She must have been able to see that we weren’t working together.

  I’ve just finished my drink when my phone rings, alerting me the taxi’s outside.

  “Time to go,” I announce, getting up from Juliette’s sofa.

  “You really have to?” she asks again.

  “Yes. I’ll ring you when I’m there to let you know I’m safe.”

  “Okay,” she says as she pulls me into a tight hug. “KIDS, come and say goodbye to Aunt Addy,” she hollers in my ear.

  Once my luggage is in the boot of the taxi, I settle myself in the back seat and wave at Juliette and the kids as the driver pulls away. I blink back the tears stinging my eyes at the thought of leaving them and focus on where I’m going.

  I’m going home.

  I’m going back to Ireland.

  I was twelve when Mum moved us after falling in love with Michael. I didn’t appreciate how much I loved Ireland until I was dropped in the middle of the crazy city that was London. Michael had everything Mum was looking for: money and the promise of a good life. I’ve no idea who my dad is. Mum got pregnant after a night out and nine months later, there I was. I never went without as a kid, but things weren’t easy and Mum was always on the lookout for a shortcut. She decided at some point the best way out was to find a man—a man who had a good job and a load of money. I’ve no idea where she met Michael; we’ve never had the kind of relationship where we talk about that kind of stuff. We get on fine but we’re very different. She always wants more, no matter how good her life is, whereas I don’t crave all the drama and fuss she does. Although I haven’t had it for a long time, I think a simple life is exactly what I need.

  I want to spend time in a place I can call home. I want to read a book, watch a film, have an afternoon nap just because I can. I want to walk on the beach in the rain and sit in a cafe and enjoy a coffee with a pastry without feeling guilty about my carb intake. Mostly though, I want to have time to bake. I want to make cakes, biscuits, quiches, anything…and I want to have people eat them and enjoy them.

  I get settled on to the plane and pull out the new diary I bought in the airport. I destroyed the last one in the wood burner that was in the flat. In the five years we’d lived there, we’d never once started a fire. It was one of the things I felt I should at least do once before leaving, so I used my diary full of my work notes to start it. It was a freeing feeling, sitting there watching my old life go up in flames.

  I’d done as I said when I left work that day. I never returned. I emailed in my notice the second I got home, followed by another to get the divorce in motion.

  I open the diary and flick through the pages until I find the end of February. Pulling the pen from the elastic on the side, I pop the top and get ready to write.

  The Plan…

  1. Find somewhere to live

  2. Look for business opportunities

  3. Focus on me

  It’s the 29th February. The perfect day to find myself a little bit of Irish luck.

  I press the doorbell down and look around the familiar street. Aunt Addy lives in what I remember as her parents’ house. They both died last year and she decided to move into their small two bed bungalow, which was just a few streets down from where I’d grown up.

  From the moment I landed, I felt like I was home. Then, the second I got a whiff of Irish air, I knew I’d made the right decision coming here. Gone was the grimy London smell, and in its place was a freshness I can’t even begin to describe. To me it’s the smell of the future; the smell of endless possibilities and a new life.

  “Addison!” Aunt Addy squeals when she opens the door. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “I wanted it to be surprise,” I say as I look at her. Yes, she’s a little older than when I last saw her, but other than that, she looks exactly as I remember. Her ash blonde hair is straight and to her shoulders with a cute little fringe. She’s wearing the same jeans and shirt combo that I’m sure are the only items of clothing she owns, and as always, she has a couple of strands of thread hanging from her hair, some fabric thrown over her shoulder, and a row of pins across the front of her shirt.

  “Well, I’m surprised,” she says with a joyful laugh. “Come here.” Aunt Addy opens her arms wide and pulls me to her. She holds me for the longest time and I’m more than happy to be in her welcoming arms.

  “Come in, come in. I’ve not long boiled the kettle.”

  I drop my bags in her small hallway before following her down to the kitchen. She deposits the fabric over the back of one of the dining room chairs before walking over to the kettle.

  “Tea?”

  “Yes please. White, one sugar,” I say, just in case she needs reminding. It’s been years since we’ve spent any actual time together.

  “Exactly the same as your mum; I remember, sweetheart.”

  I sit and watch as she makes the tea and arranges some biscuits on a plate. Aunt Addy’s my g
odmother. Her and Mum grew up together and were inseparable throughout their childhood and early adult years—until Mum left, really. When Mum found out she was having a daughter, she said she didn’t even consider a different name for me. I’ve always loved spending time with her. Unlike my mum, who’s a little highly strung, Aunt Addy’s very down to earth. Nothing’s ever too big a problem or too much effort. She takes everything at the right pace and I’m pretty sure she’s never made a rash decision in her entire life.

  While my mum dropped out of college to have me, Aunt Addy trained as a seamstress. She’s made all sorts of incredible outfits over the years. When I married Edward, I told him that she was going to make my dress. When Aunt Addy’s daughter Kayleigh and I were little, she used to allow us to play with her fabric and we’d dress ourselves up as brides. I remember her telling us that when the day came, she’d be honoured to make our gowns. I think I was nine and Kayleigh seven at the time. Edward didn’t have much of an opinion about anything to do with our wedding, and even less when it came to my dress; I think he just shrugged at me and continued with whatever he was doing.

  I didn’t think anything of it until I got a phone call from his mother a few weeks later telling me how I couldn’t possibly not wear a designer gown. I argued the best I could but I wasn’t stupid enough to really believe I had any sort of voice when it actually came to my own wedding plans. They were funding the event so they got the final say.