Avoiding Mr. Right
A Walk on the Wild Side Novel
Book Two
C.J. Ellisson
Red Hot Publishing
P.O. BOX 651193, STERLING VA, 20165-1193
First ebook Edition June 2013
Copyright 2013 C.J. Ellisson, All Rights Reserved
Edited by Tina Winograd
Cover Design by Kim Killion, HotDamnDesigns.com
ISBN 9781938601156
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication
may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in
any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise),
without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher
of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the
products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to Marianne Morea and T. Lynne Tolles. Your work is more than
worthy—and soon the world will know it. Never give up!
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Acknowledgements
Bonus Excerpt from Suddenly Beautiful, by Boone Brux
SB Chapter One
SB Chapter Two
Chapter One
Carla
“Casual Sex,” I say, twisting the phrase so it sounds like a bad thing. “There. I said it.” I
to hold her penetrating stare any longer, I reach for my tepid chai latte, grateful
it’s tasty even cold.
“I know you think I’m being a shrewish bitch, Carla. But it’s for your own good.”
Heather picks up her favorite vanilla cappuccino and takes a drink.
“And why is that, exactly?” Regret gnaws at my stomach. Why did I let myself get dragged
into this conversation during my lunch hour? “Sure, you found your great ‘one-and-only’
guy, but I don’t think that’s going to happen with me.”
Heather ignores me and taps her finger on the small sheet of paper on the table between
us. “Next one.”
Geez, this feels like a one-woman intervention, and despite the jokes I could make
over that realization, I’m really not enjoying it. The pleading on her compassionate face has me glancing at the slip of
paper once more. “Friends with Benefits. Oh, come on, that too? I kind of like that one. Makes it much easier to stay friends
when the guy winds up being dumb, but not bad in bed.”
Heather’s mouth sets in a firm line and I plow ahead to the last item on her unhelpful
“list” of what she sees as my love life faults. “Avoidance of Intimacy. Seriously? You think I do all this crap?” A knot of anxiety sits in my throat. “I’m
not a fun-loving chick all the time, you know. I have been searching for the right
guy.” The right guy who’s perfect in the sack and magically disappears before dawn.
“Just haven’t found him yet.”
“Really?” she counters, showing a touch of backbone my once-shy friend didn’t have
a month ago. “And none of them were worthy of your time after you slept with them, huh?”
A grimace twists my face and I try to smooth my features. “It’s not like that—I swear.”
Secretly I fear it’s exactly like that. And what the hell does that say about me? That I’m a slut? I’m not. I
like sex but I don’t sleep with just anyone like her darned unasked for list of faults
implies. “They weren’t good matches for me.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Why are we discussing this…,” I gesture to the paper between us, “list of yours? I’m a careful woman. I always make sure they use a condom. My instincts
are good. I’ve never been in a situation I couldn’t handle. What happened to make
you think I needed—no wanted—your input in my love life?”
Heather’s strength deflates and I feel like I’ve kicked a puppy. “It’s because I care
about you, Carla, and want to see you happy. You keep up with this casual approach
to relationships and you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”
A snort erupts from me. “Like that’s a bad thing? I’m not afraid of being alone. In
fact, I’m quite all right with it.” I resist the urge, just barely, to throw her words
from a few weeks ago in her face. She was the one afraid of winding up alone and eating microwave meals-for-one her whole
life. Not me. Never me.
My goal has always been to find an exciting, independent man—one who’s a great lover
and wants nothing emotional from me in return. I gaze out the window of our favorite coffee
shop, staring at the pelting rain washing the city streets. Maybe my relaxed attitude
would be better suited in Europe. Seems like the Puritanical ideals of America are
still going strong, no matter how much women struggle with equality. If I were a guy
no one would bat an eye at my desire for a lover with no emotional attachments weighing
us down.
An exciting man who’s good in bed. That’s not too much to ask is it? We’re in “the
city that never sleeps” for crying out loud. There’s got to be a few guys who learned
something in the sack since college, right? Maybe I can find one who isn’t emotionally scarred
from a long-term relationship and where the woman taught him a thing or two. That would be hitting the relationship
lottery in my book.
Don’t forget good looking, great body, successful career, a big dick…
Yeah, a girl can dream, right?
Aware I need to get back to work, I glance at my watch then gather the remains of
my meal. We say our goodbyes and I race into the rain, pulling up the hood on my stylish
raincoat for the three-block trek to the office.
Heather likes to forget—I’m not like her. I’ve always known what I want in my life
and in my bed. She and Tony met at the exact time she was ready to blossom. My sexuality
bloomed a long time ago and I quickly became disappointed with the unknowledgeable
lovers I invited into my bed. Hell, when the first few trysts were a let down, why
go back for more?
It’s pretty sad, really. They all appeared to be so promising during our initial dates.
Despite Heather’s list making me sound like a “good-time girl,” a phrase I hear a
lot from my mom, I actually practice a lot of decorum when choosing a lover. They
&n
bsp; all have ambitious careers, their own apartments, aren’t married, and know how to
treat a lady with manners. I don’t have a set laundry list of physical attributes
the guy has to have, but I do want a man who cares enough about his health and appearance
to not be slovenly or obese.
Unlike Heather, I never sit on the sidelines waiting for life to come to me—I actively
seek adventure and always will. Who says a woman needs a man to be happy? I’m happy
as I am on my own. And I intend to keep it that way—not hung up on a guy like my mom
was with my dad. When he left us, she was devastated and it changed her outlook on
life forever.
Avoiding large puddles and dangerous sidewalk grating, I wish I would’ve changed out
of my heels before dashing off to meet Heather. A short woman like me learns the benefit
of being on equal eye level in the advertising world. Doesn’t hurt that I look great
in them, too.
The awning to my building appears and I gratefully step under it and push back my
hood. I unzip the coat and flap the sides, knocking off moisture before entering.
“Hey, Carla,” a masculine voice calls from the doorway.
I look up to see one of the company accountants holding the door for me. “Thanks,
Andrew.” I step through, avoiding eye contact with him.
He’s tried to make casual conversation with me for months, and I’m always polite but
careful not to lead him on. I mean really, he’s an accountant. Could a job be more unexciting? Just stick him in an IT position and buy him a ticket
to the next Trekkie convention in town.
One thing I’ve learned while shopping for an exciting man—I won’t find one in a humdrum
job like his. I’m not saying Andrew is boring, he seems nice enough. But his job sure
as hell is unexciting, which decreases his chances of being a stimulating guy by eighty
percent.
While we walk across the lobby to the elevators, I sense him fidgeting beside me,
perhaps too nervous to talk. I smother a smile at his awkwardness. Honestly, he’s
not bad looking—no beer gut and he dresses okay. Maybe I should hook him up with Katrina
from yoga class. She’s been on the prowl for a decent man.
He clears his throat as we step into the elevator. “Do you have time later to talk
about the Stringer account?”
My ears perk at the mention of my largest client. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
The doors whisk closed and we ascend to our floor. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was looking
over the latest numbers and think I’ve found a way to free up some advertising money
in their budget that isn’t working where it is now. Might help you up-sell them to
a larger ad space in the areas that are working.”
“Sounds good.” I smile, the first genuine one to grace my face since I met Heather
for lunch. “Your cubicle or mine?”
His blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he returns my smile. “Come to mine, I’ll show
you the spreadsheets.”
Hours later I hang up the phone with Jennifer Stringer, the owner of the largest independently
owned fabric distributor in the legendary New York garment district. She was thrilled
with Andrew’s findings and eager to pour fifty thousand more into the current advertising
campaign. We helped to increase her business twenty percent in the last three months.
Satisfaction for a job well done warms me, filling me with a sense of completeness
like no encounter with a man ever has.
A sigh escapes as I relax into my chair. Damn, talk about a long week. It’s Friday
and after five. I stifle the urge to chant TGIF and log off my computer, eager to shake the stresses of the week from my shoulders.
IMs flew around the office ten minutes ago and people are gearing up to meet at the
bar down the block for drinks. I freshen my lipstick, straighten my desk, and grab
my bag. Andrew stands the same moment I do and our eyes meet across the cubical walls.
“Are you going tonight?” I ask him.
Interest lights his eyes. “Yup.”
He runs a hand through his short brown hair, the gesture making him appear more confident.
Too bad he’s boring, he’s almost handsome. “Great, I owe you a drink for that tidbit
you shared after lunch.”
A small smile turns up his mouth as he walks down the opposite aisle toward the door.
“Just one? Could have sworn my ‘tidbit’ helped you make your monthly quota a week
early.”
I laugh at his ballsiness. “Maybe I’ll buy you two. But don’t get your hopes up.”
A spark ignites in his blue depths as his gaze travels up and down my length. An awareness
tingles through me and I can’t deny, he looks different, somehow. He’s only a few inches taller than I am in heels, which makes him a couple
of inches shy of six-foot. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal corded forearms
with a light dusting of hair. With warm heat banked in his gaze, his average looks
jump a thousand points.
I brush off the sudden interest spiking in my gut. I can’t let an office romance begin
to brew. I told Heather I wasn’t doing any of the things she accused me of. No matter
how much I might wish otherwise, I highly doubt a co-worker with benefits is much different than the friends with benefits on her sheet.
As a large boisterous group of our co-workers join us in the elevator, I resolve to
steer clear of any temptation offered by Andrew at the bar. No way in the world could
he be a good match for me.
Chapter Two
Andrew
Bodies press against Carla, shoving her closer to the bar as she tries to leave the
stool. I reach out an arm to protect her from the worst of the crush. “Carla, let
me see you home. You shouldn’t make your way alone.”
Her buzzed smile and feeling-no-pain expression is a sure sign we should have had
dinner when the bartender offered menus an hour ago.
“No worries, Andy. I’m good.” She stumbles and lands face first against the broad-chest
of a nearby guy. The grin on his face shows he’s not angry at her slip.
“My…you’re big,” she says while pushing blond bangs out of her face. “Want to help
me get a cab?”
Anger boils close to the surface at the mere thought of the curvy blonde going home
with this meathead. I will not stand here and let her make a poor choice when she’s
been drinking. The large man opens his mouth to respond, then catches sight of what
I hope is a nasty look on my face. His smile dims as he looks back to Carla. “Maybe
next time, sweetheart.”
I nod my thanks while trying to steer my more than tipsy co-worker out of our company’s
favorite after-work bar.
“But, Andy,” she whines, “he looked hot. Lemme get his number.”
I take a firm hold on her arm and gently maneuver her toward the door. “You’ll thank
me later.”
The cool late spring air smacks us, jolting me with a much-needed surge of energy.
Hopefully, it will have the same affect on Carla. “But, he looks like a real man,” she says, with a pointed look my way.
I ignore the brush of annoyance I feel at her implication I’m not a real man. Where