Push (Bound #1) Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2015 by Olivia R. Keane

  PUSH by Olivia R. Keane

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Swoon Romance

  Cover designed by Deranged Doctor Designs

  Cover copyright © 2015 by Swoon Romance

  To Mr. K. -

  Thank you for always being the leather to my lace.

  Chapter One

  Charlotte Flynn, better known as Charlie, pulled up to the house at ten minutes to midnight, rested her head briefly on the steering wheel, and sighed. The date with Denny tonight had been a disaster. What in God’s name was I thinking? She cursed under her breath. What made her think a thirty-year-old, balding accountant who drove a beat up Ford Escort would be a match? It was that blasted ‘unique’ dessert course at dinner the other night. Her older sister, always one to follow trends, decided ordinary fortune cookies wouldn’t be good enough for her dinner party celebrating her engagement, so she hired a fortune cookie maker whose specialty was psychic fortune cookies. Instead of those little scraps of paper with prophetic statements and winning lottery numbers, the clairvoyant cookie person asked for guests’ names and then conjured a personal prophecy and tucked it into the homemade cookie.

  Charlie thought the cookie was delectable. It was the shockingly on the money observations and silly prediction for her future that left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. The psychic’s handwritten message had her pinned correctly, but the part about falling for a man whose initials were DRP was not as easy to swallow. She crumpled her future in her hands and tossed it at Michaela, laughing at the preposterous idea.

  Yesterday, the idea seemed less comical and more like fate when she collided with one Dennis Richard Petersen’s shopping cart at the grocery store. What could the chances be? Denny seemed sweet and charming, and when he asked her for a dinner date, Charlie found herself saying yes to his invitation and giving into fate or perhaps well-timed desserts.

  However, the cookie clairvoyant’s newfound credibility vanished ten minutes into her evening with Denny. His nose began to drip when the server brought their plate of nachos as an appetizer. Charlie politely offered a tissue from her handbag, but Denny declined, insisting it was just a sniffle. A sniffle? What kind of grown man refers to postnasal drip as a sniffle? The kind of man who still lives at home with his mother. To make matters worse, Denny’s nose kept dripping. Perhaps his initials were “DRIP,” she mused. It would have suited him better.

  When Denny wanted to extend the date a bit longer by going bowling, Charlie made a polite excuse feigning the need for rest because she had an early day at the office tomorrow. Denny looked at her quizzically. She stuck to her story, ignoring the fact that Friday night was blurring into Saturday, and she did not work weekends. Charlie tried to exorcise Denny’s nasal accent from her brain, but he just kept talking.

  “Sooo … Charlie, when can I see you again? Tonight … damn. It was pretty great, am I right?” He had winked and Charlie’s skin crawled.

  “No. No, Denny. And hell no.” Charlie had blurted, bile rising in her throat as Denny had wiped his nose with his wrist.

  “Oh, come on, bae. Let me rock your world,” he had cooed in between sniffles.

  Denny had leaned in, and Charlie could smell the sausage from the pizza he had recently. “Denny you should know I’m about to puke all over you, so I’d back away if I were you.”

  He had blanched and stepped back.

  “And for the record, I’d rather staple my head to the tablecloth than have you rock my world. Not going to happen. Not ever.” She had said through clenched teeth as she stalked out of the restaurant.

  Now that Charlie was home, all she wanted to do was cry. Freaking drippy Denny. Freaking liar fortune cookie. Even fate couldn’t turnout right for Charlie.

  Opening the door of the house she shared with her sister, Charlie yawned and stretched like a cat that had slept in one spot too long. The exhaustion she felt was more than physical. Treading water in the dating pool brought on emotional fatigue as well. After Griffin her studies became her priority. She may have sacrificed a decent social life to late night study sessions in the University library, but for Charlie graduating with honors in both History and English was a fair tradeoff. Her dating life might be a mediocre mess, but she was happy to land a job with the prestigious Pearse Publishing House, no small feat in this difficult economy and without any connections.

  In the past six months, Charlie had developed a decent rapport with the editorial staff. The Pearse brothers ran their family-owned publishing empire using a hands-on approach. Middle brother Kellan, who ran the Pittsburgh office, relished his role as editor-in-chief. Charlie often emailed him her thoughts on manuscripts that caught her eye. Kellan recognized her potential right away. He had flagged certain manuscripts, encouraging her to read them and provide not only research-based feedback, but also give her editorial impressions.

  Charlie had a meeting with Kellan last week, and he discussed the prospect of her moving up into another position.

  “It’s time to move you to a new position, Charlie,” Kellan had told her. “Let’s get Human Resources started on the paperwork next week.”

  The possibility of gaining more responsibility at work was the silver lining in her otherwise lackluster life. As she climbed into bed that night, she found herself praying for the three-day weekend to pass quickly.

  ***

  Tuesday morning after Labor Day arrived as both a blessing and a curse. Charlie sat in the parking lot of Pearse Publishing arguing with her sister.

  “What do you mean you set me up on another date?” Charlie shrieked into her cell phone.

  “Please? Aaron planned it before I knew I would have to go out of town on business. You were supposed to double with Aaron’s friend and Aaron and I. Aaron thought you two would be the perfect match,” Mikki, short for Michaela, begged her younger sister.

  “Mikki, every time you set me up on a date it is always a disaster! In fact, all of my dates lately are disasters. I think I am just going to give up and become a nun!”

  Mikki’s laughter rang in Charlie’s ear. “Sister Mary Charlotte? You couldn’t possibly become a nun. You own entirely too many killer shoes to become a nun!”

  Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. Her sister always knew how to break her foul mood. “Fine, but if this one is anything like that guy that ‘accidentally’ bumped into me at the grocery store, I will get back at you. Remember what I did to you the last time you screwed me over?” Charlie entertained thoughts of secretly replacing her sister’s non-fat creamer with the full fat, sugar-laden version and watching her sister stress out over the unexplained weight gain at her wedding dress fitting.

  She rummaged through the glove box, found a notepad, and quickly scrawled down the restaurant name and address. Before she could get the name of her blind date, Mikki ended the call.

  ***

  Charlie’s Tuesday had a case of the Mondays and not in a Charlie sort of way. She lived her life in a series of predictab
le motions. Charlie always arrived at work a half-hour.early. She always worked through lunch. She always started her day with a coffee from Starbucks. The barista wagged her order out the drive-through before she voiced it into the speaker. Her routine was the same day in and day out. Just not today. Charlie slipped into her cubicle twenty-eight minutes later than usual. She sipped her now lukewarm Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte as she waded frantically through the morning emails.

  Charlie stumbled across one flagged as urgent. It was for the entire office. Reading it, her dreams of moving out of the Research Department died a quick, painful death. Are you kidding me? After losing a contact lens, dropping my earrings in the garbage disposal, and arguing with Mikki over another forced fix up, the last thing I need is a career-killing email like this! Her boss, Kellan Pearse, the man who saw her potential and promised her a new position, transferred to the London office.

  Pearse Pittsburgh Staff:

  Pearse Publishing is restructuring the way each office does business effective immediately. We have expedited the change in direction of this office, and as a result, Kellan Pearse will now be serving Pearse Publishing in our London offices. His replacement will work closely with each of the Pittsburgh departments to ensure as smooth a transition as possible …

  She skimmed the rest of the email, bristling at the idea that Kellan’s younger brother would replace him in this office. In addition, all office promotions were on hold until further notice. Charlie, you’re an asset to our operations he said. Promotion is just around the corner he said.

  Loud shouting snapped Charlie out of her whine and cheese party. Peering over the top of her cubicle, she spotted a looming figure of a man storming his way through their Research Department. He was wildly waving a sheaf of papers above his head in his right hand. The glow of the florescent lighting reflected off the large gold signet ring he sported on his right hand.

  “Who did the research on Susan Ainsworth’s Daughters of Rome?” His voice was rough and angry around the edges. Charlie cringed and sank back down into her chair. Her name was on the research he held in that stack of papers, but she certainly wasn’t going to help him out by fessing up to being the unlucky researcher about to get an earful.

  Charlie assessed the current situation as hopeless and murmured a quick prayer to Saint Jude, but he must have been out to lunch because soon the man, whom she could only guess was her new boss, hovered near her desk. He was close enough she could smell the scent of his spiced cologne. Moments seemed to pass as she sat transfixed by his angry, yet handsome, countenance.

  The rumors about him being attractive were spot on. He was tall, gorgeous, and apparently entirely evil. At this moment, the youngest Mr. Pearse was the most self-important, pompous man she’d ever encountered. Charlie’s mind wandered momentarily as she thought of the gossip that circled him. She shook those inappropriate thoughts from her head and regained her composure.

  Suddenly, as his gaze met hers, and his eyes grew dark, a jolt of bravery sent Charlie bolting up out of her chair. Smoothing out her pencil skirt as she rose, she spoke to him. “Mr. Pearse, instead of barreling through this department and causing a scene, you should have looked to the last page of the research for a name and saved your full wrath for that person.” Pearse glared at her, making any bit of bravado Charlie had crumble. Shakily, she offered, “I’m Charlie Flynn. I did the research on Ms. Ainsworth’s novel.” Her voice trailed off as her new boss moved in closer.

  Charlie glanced up. He was glaring at her all because she was doing extra work. She looked away, deliberately not staring at the way his charcoal suit coat fit across his broad shoulders. She tried not to notice that incredible hair. What did the women in the break room call it this morning? Fuckable hair. According to their tales, it had earned its title. The image of him tangled in hotel sheets flickered briefly through her mind.

  Of course, he had to go ahead and ruin it by opening his mouth.

  Pearse scoffed. “Ms. Flynn is it? You can’t be serious. You’re just a research assistant. You dared to call some of the author’s information into question?” His voice echoed loudly through the ghost town that was the Research Department. Like prairie dogs on the Great Plains, her coworkers had popped back down into their cubicles at the first sign of danger.

  Charlie tried to phrase her response carefully. “If the author had bothered to consult Google—at the very least—as her point of reference, she would have found a more logical history of Rome than what she offered.”

  “And what about these notes, Ms. Flynn?” He waved a piece of paper in front of her face.

  His gesture only served to embolden her. It was as though he was waving a red flag in front of an angry bull. Charlie straightened her back and set her shoulders. “It is a list of suggested reading. Ms. Ainsworth clearly needs some assistance with her research on ancient Rome before revising and resubmitting the manuscript.” Softening her tone she said, “I thought she might like to rework the story. The plot was engaging even though the research was lacking.” Charlie gazed into a pair of piercing blue eyes.

  The youngest Pearse brother’s face contorted into something resembling a cross between a sneer and a smirk. “Oh, I see. So you’re an editor now, is that it?” Several eavesdropping coworkers gasped.

  Charlie lowered her gaze, unable to meet his any longer, and whispered, “No, certainly not. I was just trying to help her after trashing her research.”

  “Let me see if I am getting this correct. You read the complete manuscript of what you need to research and yet were still able to submit your analysis on time?” His voice was glacial like his eyes.

  Pearse watched intently as she finally conceded the upper hand in the conversation.

  “I am sorry,” Charlie said with a hint of bite. “I was just trying to do my job properly. Kellan always asked I read the full manuscript to get a better understanding of the story. I also find Ms. Ainsworth’s book enthralling, and I don’t want to be responsible for a rejection letter.”

  Pearse considered her then, tilting his head. “So even though you ripped Ms. Ainsworth’s research to shreds, you agree with the editor who sent their recommendation to my desk?”

  Charlie mustered her confidence and looked back up at Mr. Pearse. “Oh yes. It was absorbing. I found myself not being able to put it down. If you didn’t know much about history or the region where the story takes place, you could easily enjoy the novel.” Charlie winced, wishing she could edit her last words. Surely those comments wouldn’t sit well with the youngest Mr. Pearse.

  He raised an eyebrow and laughed uproariously, winking at Charlie. Charlie’s eyes widened as she watched him turn away and out of the Research Department. She loved immersing herself completely in a manuscript. It helped her get a feel of the reasons behind why an author used a specific reference. She knew she probably overstepped her bounds with her new boss. He wasn’t anything like his brother. She would have to curb her enthusiasm for getting into the manuscripts so deeply.

  Charlie found it difficult to concentrate on the current manuscript on her desktop as she replayed her first run-in with her new boss. He would be the perfect man if only he kept his mouth shut. She rifled through the back of her desk, certain she had some duct tape stashed there that she could put to good use. Anticipating the fallout from her skirmish with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Domineering would be grave, but she was shocked to discover an email from him awaiting her.

  It taunted her as she toyed with the roll of duct tape. She swallowed hard, dreading the inevitable. Certain she had put the last nail in the coffin of her brief career in publishing, she muttered, “Oh God, what have I done?”

  Clicking the email open, she discovered not a chastisement, but directions on what he wished her to work on next. She had to read it twice to make sure it wasn’t a joke.

  Ms. Flynn:

  Since you are so industrious and seem eager to prove yourself, I am going against my better judgment and following Kellan’s advice where yo
u are concerned. I would like to see the full research reports for the Clarke, Jacobsen, and O’Hare manuscripts on my desk by five today.

  I also want you to prepare a detailed presentation for me on the inconsistencies in Ms. Ainsworth’s research that I can show the acquisitions department. I expect you in the conference room at 8 AM Wednesday morning ready to present it.

  If you want take on more responsibility, you need to prove to me you can handle the workload.

  Pearse

  ***

  As everyone filtered out for lunch, Charlie remained chained to her desk. A second cup of coffee and a few leftover fortune cookies she swiped from her pantry this morning would have to suffice. Normally, she would heat up leftovers or go out with a few other Research Department people to grab a quick bite, but time wasn’t on her side today. She glanced briefly at her watch, noting she only had five hours to complete her tasks.

  Her cell phone danced across her desk as she broke open the last of the cookies. It was Mikki.

  “Hey, Sis, so are you ready for tonight?” she asked.

  “Ready for tonight? No, I think I am going to have to cancel. This is the day from hell,” Charlie apologized.

  Mikki quizzed her. “Day from hell or boss from hell? Aaron mentioned that your new boss man might be a tad bit demanding.”

  “Oh, my God, Mikki, you’ve no idea. I am under a tight deadline, and if I hope to get out of this research dungeon, I need to prove myself. I’ll be pushing it to get out of here on time, but I’ll try. After today, a night to unwind might be just the thing I need,” Charlie explained.

  “It will be great, Charlie. He will be great. I pinky promise.”

  Fidgeting in her chair, the phone slipped from her hands. She bent down to pick it up and noticed a run in her stockings. “And on top of everything else, I’ve managed to snag my new stockings. Now I will have to go back home and change before I endure episode two of ‘“Yes, this is your pathetic love life.” There was no response from the phone. “Hello? Mikki, are you there?”