Vicky

Thick red curtains crash to the stage, and Henry and I leap to our feet, clapping. Latrisha springs up on my other side. She sticks her fingers in her mouth and gives an earsplitting whistle.

It was an amazing show, a super funky musical adaptation of Shakespeare in Love. Carly got the part of Lady de Lesseps—a huge feather in her cap for her age. She even got a duet, which was heart-stoppingly beautiful, though I might be biased.

After several long minutes of applause, the leads come out, two big Broadway stars. They take their bows, and then the supporting cast all run out, including Carly, who catches my eye and grins wide before taking her bow, holding hands with her scene mates.

The curtain goes down one final time, the lights go on, and we make our way to the aisle—slowly.

It’s Locke night at the show, meaning Locke Worldwide bought out half the tickets for employees and vendors as a way to support the show early on. Brett’s idea.

Things are better with Brett. I came around to forgiving him—it was right around when we got back to the States, once Carly finished her school term in London. I know he was fighting for the company, not unlike Henry. And Brett’s going to be family now—Henry and I got engaged over Christmas.

Henry was slower to forgive, but they’re on good terms again. Back to their golf and scotch and strategy walks around Battery Park.

Henry shakes hands, kisses cheeks, and remembers names left and right. And I love him like crazy for it.

“Vonda!” Mandy comes and squeezes my hands. She’s in a dazzling green dress. “Your sister! So good.”

I thank her, grinning like a proud parent.

Other Locke employees are there, as well as some of Henry and Brett’s society set, complimenting my sister. Renaldo asks about Smuckers and I confide that he’s home resting up in preparation for a long day at the Sassy Snout groomer.

A woman comes up to me wearing a Smuck U necklace—I put them up on Etsy and they’re a huge hit. It’s fun to be back to jewelry designing.

We also bought the Southfield makers space and we’re making it bigger and better. I got my area back. Right next to Latrisha.

Coming back to New York publicly as Vonda was a revelation. Naturally, I didn’t want to. I dreaded the attention. Even after the Woodruff scandal broke, even after having long talks with Henry—he felt certain the attention wouldn’t hurt this time—I just didn’t want it.

But I wanted to be with Henry, wanted to return to New York. The London share studio was on its way by the time Carly finished high school. I had a great person to run it. So we packed up our flat and I steeled myself and we flew back on Henry’s jet.

He set up a press conference for the day after we returned.

I wasn’t so sure about that plan, but I trusted his experience with the paparazzi. “Feed them a nice meal and they won’t go following you for crumbs,” he said.

So I steeled myself. I might have even put on a dark sweater set and slim skirt. “No!” Carly cried, tugging at my sweater. “Noooooo!”

I grinned and hugged Carly to me. But I needed body armor. Something to cover my heart.

I stepped out in front of the cameras with Henry, holding his hand in a sweaty death grip, waiting for the insults, the onslaught of hurtful questions. Braced, steeled, pulse racing like I was entering a war zone.

The battle never came.

It was just waves of goodwill, stunning and warming me. People empathizing with me. Apologizing. It was beyond cathartic.

I can’t count the number of people who have come up to me since I got back, telling me their own stories of not being believed, of being scapegoated, pilloried on social media.

None got to the level of national shaming I did, but I also know that when it’s happening to you, it feels like the whole world is doing it. Sometimes I know I’m the only one listening.

We finally reach the chandelier-draped lobby. There are vintage posters all around. People are happy—buoyant, even, from the show.

I’m pulling forward but Henry tugs me back and spins me into a corner, hands curled around my waist. He kisses me hard. “That dress. God, need you so bad,” he says. “You’re beautiful. You’re like a firebird.”

I grin and nip his lip. I’ve let my hair go back to red, and my dress is bright orange. Fire doesn’t burn me anymore.

“Need to strip you out of it,” he grates in a voice that has me wishing that lobby-to-limo teleportation was a thing.

“Need to get you out of that wristwatch,” I say.

He pulls me in more tightly against the powerbrokery hard body that I love.

We do eventually get out of there, but not to the limo. We sneak around the dark side of the building to the cast exit and wait for Carly, which involves making out like teenagers. And then he pushes back into the bricks and fixes me with a serious stare.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of wonder. “So much.”

I gaze up at his beautiful face and lopsided dimples that I like to kiss. “I love you, Henry.” And the stars in the night sky seem to brighten behind him.

I’m going to be honest—the stars up there still make zero intelligible pictures as far as I can see. But the picture Henry and I make together means everything to me, lines scribbling between our hearts to create an amazing new world.

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Thank you for reading! I hope you love Henry, Vicky, and Smuckers as much as I do!

And the best thing you can do for them is to spread the word—I so appreciate it when people leave reviews or tell their friends.

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Ready for more sexy fun? (…and maybe even a cameo from Smuckers?)

The Billionaire’s Wake-up-call Girl is out July 9th!

When my manager assigns me the task of finding a new wake up call service for our CEO, I think, how hard can this be?

Answer: practically impossible. It turns out that no wake-up call company in the world will take him on as a client. They’ve all had enough of his surly personality.  

So in an effort not to lose my job, I secretly start making the calls myself, every day at 4:30 am sharp. OMG yes you read that right—four freaking thirty in the morning.

Confession: I’m not the nicest wake-up-call girl at that hour. Hello! Who wakes up before the roosters are even crowing? Luckily he doesn’t seem to mind my get-your-ass-out-of-bed attitude.

Day by day we’re becoming closer, and the calls start turning hot, like pay-by-the-minute hot and oh-so-wild. Snuggled under the covers with the moonlight streaming in the windows, we divulge our secrets to each other, but the one thing that he can never find out is that the sexy vixen who wakes him up every morning is just the lowly assistant who wears frumpy dresses. I can only imagine his disappointment.

Now he wants to take me out on a date and he’s scouring Manhattan to find me. He’s an overachieving billionaire bent on a mission. How much longer can I keep up this charade?

Or turn the page for a sneak peek!

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