Loving Mr. July Read online

  Loving Mr. July

  Title Page

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Loving Mr. July

  By Margaret Antone

  Copyright 2011 De Vries Creative LLC

  Cover copyright 2011 by De Vries Creative LLC

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Loving Mr. July is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  For my first readers, Kiki and Renee. Thanks!

  Chapter 1

  “No. No. No! You’re supposed to be my Mr. July!” Cynthia Rowe yelled the words as she squashed the newspaper in disgust.

  “What’s going on?” Sharon Newberry, her business partner at Grandma’s Antiques, came running into the loft office.

  “Mr. July has up and gotten engaged. How could he do this to me?”

  Sharon sat down in a chair and blew out a breath. “What the heck are you talking about? I practically had a heart attack running up those stairs. I thought it was something serious.”

  “It is serious. It’s a disaster!” Cynthia wailed. “I’ve got three weeks to get all the photographs for the Business Hunks of San Diego calendar done, and now my Mr. July is engaged. How am I supposed to replace him in three weeks? It took me months to find these guys. Let alone convince them to do it.”

  “I don’t understand. So he’s engaged, so what? Does that mean suddenly he can’t take his shirt off and flex a few muscles for charity?” Sharon picked up the paper. “Who is he marrying anyway?”

  “The point is they are supposed to be bachelors. It plays into the whole fantasy thing and drives up sales. And he’s not a fantasy if he’s already taken.” Cynthia’s voice rose with each sentence. “Couldn’t he have waited just a little bit longer?”

  “So ask one of the guys at the fire station.” Sharon replied, her nose deep in the paper. “They are always good eggs about doing stuff like that for charity. Remember the hottie who came in last month when that old lady fainted in the store? He’d be great for it.”

  Cynthia whipped the newspaper out of Sharon’s hands. “What part of business hunks don’t you get? As hot as Sam is, he doesn’t fit the bill.”

  Sharon stared at her. “You’re on first name basis with the firemen now too?”

  “We did firemen two years ago.” Cynthia tried to act nonchalant but couldn’t help the smug tone from creeping into her voice, just a little. “Sam was Mr. October.”

  “What was I thinking?” Sharon let out a little half-laugh while she shook her head. “He is male, why wouldn’t you know him?”

  “Not nice.” Cynthia tried to glare at her, failing when the giggle came out. “Can I help it that I’m a connoisseur of the male form?”

  “Aren’t connoisseurs supposed to be discriminating?”

  “It means an expert judge,” Cynthia replied, tilting her head down so she could look at Sharon over her cat-eye, rhinestone-studded peeper glasses. “Which I consider myself to be. And which is why it took so long to get these guys together for the current calendar.”

  “C’mon. There’s got to be one more guy willing to take his shirt off for charity that could qualify as a businessman.”

  “But it’s more than that, Sharon.” Cynthia couldn’t keep the slight note of panic from entering her voice. “There’s a whole fundraising event wrapped around this thing. The calendar was just the start. They’re supposed to put together a fantasy weekend, at their own expense, to be auctioned off at the Bocher Foundation Ball. They take the women who make the winning bid at the auction on the weekend with them. That’s why the men had to be single, good looking, wealthy, and pass a background check.”

  “Yikes. I see why you’re having the panic attack. But surely we can come up with one more name.”

  “It’s going to take a miracle at this point.” Cynthia laid her head down on the desk. “I should have stayed in bed this morning.”

  Sharon laid a hand on Cynthia’s arm. “I’ll try to help. I know how much that charity means to you.”

  “Uh, bad time?” Sharon’s husband, Blake, stood in the doorway holding two steaming cups of coffee. He looked hesitant about coming in any further.

  “Cynthia lost Mr. July,” Sharon told him. “And she needs a new one, fast.”

  She signaled for him to come inside the office and accepted the coffee with one hand. The other hand she slipped around his neck, pulling him in for a nuzzle.

  “Come again?” Blake wrapped an arm around Sharon, giving her a quick squeeze and held the second cup out to Cynthia.

  “You’re a god among men.” Cynthia glanced up at Blake through her fringe of bangs. She took an appreciative sip and looked over at Sharon. “If you ever get tired of him, can I have him?”

  Blake turned a little red and tried to get back to the subject. “So what was this about Mr. July?”

  “The Bocher Foundation’s charity.” Sharon said. “Cyn’s on the board and in charge of the Hunk of the Month calendar. Only Mr. July had the audacity to get engaged.”

  “Ah.” Blake’s face still registered confusion, but had the look of a man who knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  “So now she needs a new one.” Sharon continued, playing with Blake’s wedding ring. “Know anyone who’s single, rich, gorgeous, in great shape, and willing to shed his shirt to pose for a good cause?”

  “You forgot to mention willing to supply a fantasy weekend at their expense and pass a background check all within the next few weeks.” Cynthia added glumly, frowning down at her coffee.

  “The Bocher Foundation, as in the children’s abuse charity?” Blake reached into his pocket to silence his ringing cellphone. “Isn’t that the one Kurt just got RentBro involved with? Did you hit him up to be in the calendar?”

  “Your illustrious brother turned me down in no uncertain terms. Twice,” Cynthia said. “He was the first person I thought of when our committee came up with the idea last fall. ‘Not a chance in hell’ were his exact words, I believe. I tried again after I found out that he’d picked us as your company’s charity to foster for this year. No dice.”

  “Seems to me that he’s not leading by example the way a true RentBro executive should,” Blake drawled, a hint of a smile on his face. “The guidelines at our company for the yearly charity foster pick call for more than just monetary donations. Employees are supposed to get involved as much as possible.”

  “Kurt told me it wasn’t a dignified way to represent RentBro,” Cynthia said.

  “Dignified, my ass.” Blake snorted. “More likely he’s embarrassed by the
little donut he’s developed in the last few months wining and dining clients.”

  “Donut? Give me a break. He works out at my gym. Women can’t take their eyes off him,” Cynthia said.

  Herself included, but she wasn’t about to admit that out loud. And it wasn’t just his face, unbelievably handsome with strong chin and dimples, despite a nose that had obviously been broken at some point. And it wasn’t his gorgeous surfer-dude, blond curls, or even his killer six-foot plus and muscular hard body. No, he oozed charisma with no apparent effort, collecting admirers wherever he went. So much so that she’d always been contrary around him. Which totally wasn’t her style. But she wasn’t going to examine that too closely.

  “And if he’s got a donut anywhere on him, I must be carting around the entire donut store,” she added aloud.

  “Even if he did, couldn’t you just stick a prop in front of that region? Or Photoshop him?” Sharon leafed through the previous year’s calendar. “Like take this guy. He’s standing behind the car door. How do we know if he’s got abs or not?”

  Blake peered over Sharon’s shoulder. “That’s Ralston Hardy. I play golf with him. Nice guy, but don’t think he’s all that athletic otherwise. Probably why they stuck him behind the door. Maybe he can give Kurt some pointers.”

  “Why are we even talking about this? He’s not going to do it,” Cynthia said. “He’s made that exceedingly clear.”

  “Sure he is.” Blake gave Cynthia a mischievous smile. “And I’m going to guarantee it right now.” He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and punched a speed dial.

  Cynthia looked over at Sharon and raised one eyebrow.

  Sharon shrugged and mouthed, “Don’t have a clue.”

  “Hey Ethel?” He got only the two words out before he had to pause. “Yeah, I heard the phone ringing. I just stopped by Grandma’s Antiques for a minute. You’re right, I should have called to let you know I’d be late. I’ll be into the office in fifteen.” He winked at Sharon. “I know, I know. I’ve become a slacker since I got married… Yes, you deserve a raise... No, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  Cynthia made a gagging sound.

  He grinned unabashed at her, motioning for a pen and paper, while continuing to listen to his longtime and rather ancient assistant. “Okay, got it. I’ll head straight over to building three for the staff meeting as soon as possible. But in the mean time, have you sent the company newsletter out yet?”

  Blake scribbled a few notes on the paper and shoved them into his pocket as he waited for Ethel’s answer. “Good, because I need you to pull the employee interest story for this week and replace it with another.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Kurt toweled the sweat from his eyes and headed for the company locker room. In his view, there was nothing like a game of volleyball at lunch to clear the mind. And he was going to need a clear mind for the meeting he had scheduled for this afternoon—presenting the monthly report to the board of directors. God how he hated that part of his job—the endless questions, the squeezing for their pound of flesh to protect their interest. Given, without the venture capital most of them represented, there would be no RentBro, Inc. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  “Good game.” Mario, his communications director slapped him on the back as they entered the locker room. “Haven’t seen you out there for a while. Guess you have to get in shape for the new gig, huh?”

  “New gig?” Kurt only half registered the teasing tone to Mario’s voice, his mind preoccupied with the presentation he needed to give to the board.

  “Got courage, that’s all I can say.” Mario grabbed at a roll of his own stomach. “Given my wife, Stella’s, cooking, there’s no way I’d offer to do that calendar. But you do what you do for a good cause, right?”

  Kurt had his shirt half way over his head before Mario’s words sunk in. He whipped the shirt off the rest of the way to stare at Mario. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s not like it’s a secret anymore.” Mario looked up from the bench where he’d been untying his shoes. “Ethel put it out in the company newsletter today. Way to set an example to the team. I’ll bet employees are going to come out of the woodwork to support the Bocher Foundation now.” He gave Kurt a fist bump to the arm before he headed off to the showers, calling over his shoulder with a chuckle. “Better start doing some crunches though. Women go for that six pack thing.”

  Kurt watched him walk away with a sinking feeling in his stomach. His preoccupation dissipated in a hurry while he hunted for his smart phone. A quick search of his email brought up the company’s internal newsletter. Kurt scanned all the stories. All the same content that he’d approved yesterday.

  Except.

  ‘Our Own CFO, Kurt Renton, Doing His Part for This Year’s Foster Charity.’

  The headline, in larger font than usual, crossed the entire top section of the newsletter employee interest page. Phone in hand, Kurt sank onto the bench beside the locker to read the rest.

  Our own CFO, Kurt Renton, is to take one for the team by posing for San Diego’s Business Hunks of the Year calendar. Go Kurt! The yearly calendar and the associated ball produced by the Bocher Foundation raised almost a million dollars last year for child abuse services in San Diego County. Let’s all get involved and see if we can’t help the foundation raise more money than ever this year.

  He was going to kill Blake.

  And Sharon.

  Blake may be his only brother and his best friend, and Sharon, as Blake’s new wife, the sister he never had, but he recognized their hand in this caper. And knew why they had done it.

  Cynthia.

  Who was Sharon’s business partner and her best friend. And a thorn in Kurt’s side ever since they’d met. No one ever had gotten under Kurt’s skin like Cynthia. Which is why he’d flat out refused to even consider the calendar, good cause or not. But now Blake had effectively twisted his arm with no way out.

  “Shit.” Kurt tossed his cellphone back into the locker. He glanced at the clock and realized he was now going to be late for the board meeting.

  “Shit. Shit.” He headed for the showers at a jog. He was under the spray when it hit him. The board members all received that newsletter. And he would be ribbed mercilessly. “Shit. Shit. Shit!” Kurt pounded the shower stall harder with each word.

  “You okay in there?” Mario’s voice came over the noise of the water.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” He yelled back. He sighed and muttered, “just great.”

  Kurt finished his shower and rapidly dressed, all the while mulling over his options. Which weren’t many considering how Blake had forced his hand. He had felt a little guilty when Cynthia first asked him to be in the calendar. It wasn’t that he didn’t think the charity deserving. He’d personally picked it for RentBro’s yearly charity foster selection, after all. And posing for the calendar wasn’t that horrible. Although with Mario’s crunch comment in mind, he looked down at the extra five pounds he’d added over these last busy months. Yep, those would have to go, and fast. He had his pride after all.

  No.

  He had to admit to himself it was Cynthia that had held him back. He got along with just about everyone. Never even considered why. He liked people and they liked him right back. Women especially. He never had to work all that hard at it. Which is why Cynthia was such a puzzle to him. From the moment they had met prior to Blake and Sharon’s wedding, she seemed to dislike him. And for the life of him, he didn’t get it. It irritated him. He found himself wanting to change her opinion to the better. And that made him even madder.

  It wasn’t as if she was model-gorgeous, after all. In fact, even though she was always meticulously and impeccably dressed, with her short blond hair usually styled to the nines and pretty face perfectly made up, she was sort of ample in the size department. Yet she intrigued him. He’d seen the way she acted around Blake and Sharon and it was completely different. She was the laughing, life of the party, who seemed to ge
t along with everyone else, especially the men. So why dislike him?

  Yep, they were all going to pay, but Cynthia most of all. If he was going down for this one, he was taking her with him. And he knew exactly what he was going to do.

  Chapter 2

  Cynthia unwrapped the last Delft platter from the shipping box and set it on the counter, marking it off on her inventory list.

  In her humble opinion, Sharon had gone a little nuts on the last buying trip. The Delftware was great and all, but between that and the Majolica, Grandma’s was rapidly running out of shelf space to display pottery. They had already filled most of the china hutches out on the sales floor. Which was going to be a major pain when someone wanted to buy the furniture, but she and Sharon didn’t really have a choice. And for some odd reason, pottery had become one of the biggest income makers.

  Go figure.

  She straightened to stretch her sore back. Her feet hurt. Her manicure, that had been perfectly ‘Passionate Pink’ this morning, was now distinctly lacking both passion and pink. She sighed. And for the umpteenth time that evening wondered why their twenty-something assistant couldn’t have picked another weekend to go off on a self-discovery quest. There were piles of packing paper littering the floor, boxes to break down for recycling, and data to enter into the computer. And for this, she’d toiled for two years in pursuit of an MBA.

  She wanted to go home and drink a glass of wine. Or two.

  Now.

  Only her electronic calorie counter told her she hadn’t worked out enough to make up for that almond croissant she had nabbed from the bakery on the way into work. Shoot. When was she going to learn that it was a lot harder to work it off her butt than stick it in her mouth?