Rogue Acts Read online

  Rogue Acts

  Molly O’Keefe

  Ainsley Booth

  Andie J. Christopher

  Olivia Dade

  Ruby Lang

  Stacey Agdern

  Jane Lee Blair

  Contents

  About Rogue Acts

  Molly O’Keefe

  Make You Mine

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Thank You

  Also by Molly

  About the Author

  Ainsley Booth

  Personal Audition

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Thank You!

  Other Books by Ainsley Booth

  About the Author

  Andie J. Christopher

  Brand New Bike

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Thank You!

  Also by Andie

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Olivia Dade

  Cover Me

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Also by Olivia Dade

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Ruby Lang

  The Long Run

  About This Book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Ruby

  About the Author

  Stacey Agdern

  Never Again

  About This Book

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Also by Stacey Agdern

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Jane Lee Blair

  His Neighbor’s Education

  About This Book

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thank you!

  Also by Jane Lee Blair

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  When resistance turns to action, love always wins. Seven new romances for readers who love as hard as they believe.

  Make You Mine

  Molly O’Keefe

  About This Book

  Jay Schulman has been in love with Maggie Perkins since the moment they met in college. He's never said a word - not when she got married or when her husband died. But Jay has come to his breaking point and he has a choice: walk away from the love of his life. Or take a chance and make her his.

  1

  Lloyd’s occupied that sweet spot between dive bar and shithole.

  The twentysomethings that had taken over all the other good drinking spots in Hell’s Kitchen had so far stayed away from Lloyd’s, so no one was wearing suspenders, and the Waylon Jennings on the sound system was unironic.

  The bar was sticky. The beer was cheap. The bottles of the good stuff on the top shelf were covered in an inch of dust.

  But the best part was the television over the bar that only played ESPN. Never CNN.

  So no one ever, EVER knew who he was here.

  For all of those reasons, it was Jay’s favorite bar.

  He shoved open the door with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, and the string holding the bell over the door chose that moment to give up the ghost. The bell fell down, bouncing off Jay’s head and shoulder to the floor.

  Jesus. Really?

  “What’d that bell do to you?” Lloyd asked from behind the bar.

  “I don’t know,” Jay said, picking it up and setting it on the end of the bar. “What the hell did I do to it?”

  “Same thing you did to that asshole on CNN?” Lloyd asked, and Jay glanced at the TV.

  Of course. Of course tonight they’d changed the channel.

  He looked over the dozen or so people in the bar and about three-quarters of them started clapping. The rest of them grumbled into their beer, shooting him sideways glances.

  Seems about right, he thought. Consistent with polling numbers.

  Or maybe the people clapping just liked seeing brawls on TV.

  He lifted his hands to the people clapping, trying to shush them. When that didn’t work, he ignored them.

  The Jameson shot and the Bud chaser were waiting for him at his seat at the corner of the bar.

  “On me,” Lloyd said. “I been waiting a long time for someone to punch that asshole in the face. How’s the hand?”

  Jay put his hand on the wooden bar, opening and closing his fist. “Hurts like hell,” he said. The knuckles were scraped up pretty good, not so much from the punch but from the fall.

  What a clusterfuck. What a fucking clusterfuck.

  “Here.” Lloyd set a plastic bag filled with ice next to the sweating bottle of Bud, and Jay put it over his knuckles, wincing at the sting. The Jameson’s went down nice and hot, and the Bud cooled it right off.

  “Another?” Lloyd asked, not even raising his eyebrow. Another reason why this place was Jay’s favorite. When a man came in to get good and drunk, Lloyd didn’t pass judgment. He greased the wheels. Sometimes he put a glass of water on the bar next to the shot. Sometimes he put a cheeseburger down instead of a shot.

  But no judgment.

  The same again was set up in front of him.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” Lloyd asked.

  “You’re making conversation now?”

  Lloyd shrugged. “Don’t have to. It’s just not every day my best customer punches a man out on national TV.”

  Jay put the cold bottle to his face and closed his eyes. “I just couldn’t listen to him talk anymore,” he said.

  “Bishop was saying some vile shit.”

  He was. He was saying vile shit.

  About Maggie.

  And saying vile shit about Maggie was what that guy did. Bishop’s whole fucking reason for being was to split such razor-thin hairs, to use all this misogynistic language without actually ever calling her a slut. Or a bitch. This dog-whistle bullshit.

  Most days he could handle it. Most days…

  Just not today, it would seem.

  “Is he gonna press charges?” Lloyd asked.

  Jay laughed. “No. But he’s probably going to sue the fuck out of me.” The Jameson went down smooth as silk again, and he thought maybe he should put the brakes on this night. He was feeling wild and reckless.

  He didn’t need to be drunk on top of it.

  Maggie, he thought. And then again. Just her name.

  Maggie.

  Years ago, just thinking her name was a spell, and it would conjure up images of her hair and the way sunlight w
ould turn it to fire. He’d lose valuable working minutes to long contemplations of a joke she’d made in some meeting or class. The length of her legs when she put on a skirt.

  The way she looked at her wedding.

  Thinking her name always led him down a rabbit hole of memories. Sly little fantasies. Dark dreams that did him no good.

  He’d trained himself to stop. To just think her name and nothing else. Not her eyes, the shape of her hands. Her laugh after a glass of wine. It took about twenty years, but he’d gotten pretty good at it.

  Maggie. Full stop.

  “Hungry?” Lloyd asked.

  “No.”

  “Eat anyway.”

  Jay laughed and rubbed a hand over his beard and up into his hair. He needed a haircut. Maggie had been on him for days about it, but things had just been so busy.

  He had the sneaking suspicion he was going to have all the time in the world now. Nothing but haircuts and day drinking.

  “Steak and a Caesar salad.”

  ‘We don’t have a fucking Caesar salad,” Lloyd said. “And we don’t have steak. That joke is stupid. Stop wanting shit you can’t have.”

  Jay laughed. A sharp hard bark.

  If only.

  “Burger, then.”

  Lloyd went to go yell at the cook in the back.

  Jay’s phone was in a constant state of buzz, and he took it out of his pocket in order to turn it off. He tried not to see, but the screen full of messages was impossible to ignore.

  The clip was going viral. Of course.

  Every producer he’d worked with for the last twenty years was trying to get him on their show.

  All of which he’d expected. The second he’d curled his hand into a fist he’d known what would happen. He’d done it anyway. After all these months on the campaign trail, he’d been unable to stop it.

  At the top of his phone’s battered screen was a text from Dad.

  That’s my boy.

  For the first time all night, Jay smiled.

  Thanks Dad, he typed back. I’ll call you tomorrow.

  He pressed the off button and then set his dark phone facedown on the bar.

  The TV above the bar was still on CNN, and Anderson Cooper was currently showing the clip of the Wolf Blitzer roundtable. Jay’d been a pundit on talk shows for years. Political analyst. A voice from the left. He gave good sound bites. Since he’d become Maggie’s campaign manager, he didn’t go on as much. But he’d made an effort for this Wolf Blitzer thing.

  Because of Bishop.

  Because someone had to shut that asshole down. Put him in his place. Roll him like a bad dog.

  At the time, with his fist meeting Bishop’s previously unbroken nose, he’d felt pretty good about it. He still did. But the repercussions were coming.

  The producers had managed to convince Bishop not to press charges. Without a doubt the weasel was going to sue, but assault charges were the least of Jay’s concerns.

  “Can we turn this off?” he asked. His face was all over the screen, his fraying temper so plain it was embarrassing. He looked like a goddamn cartoon with smoke coming out of his ears.

  But the superior look on Bishop’s face still had him smoldering.

  He was going to be sued. He’d undoubtedly lose his job.

  Still not what he was worried about.

  Maggie.

  Full stop.

  On the screen Bishop was really winding up, his smug face hitting optimum smug, and Jay already knew how this ended, and so he stood up, grabbed the remote from behind the bar, and changed the channel.

  There were a few grumbles from the crowd gathered there, but he turned on ESPN and more people were appeased than not.

  He was preoccupied by his beer and his television, and since he’d taken care of the bell over the door there was no warning.

  Rick, in a black suit, followed by Jack and Grey, swept into the bar.

  “Oh, shit,” Jay muttered and pushed the shot glass forward to Lloyd so he could refill it.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Lloyd asked, pouring a stream of Jameson’s while watching the three bodyguards take positions around the room.

  “My boss is here,” Jay said and threw back the whiskey.

  Maggie.

  2

  Jay heard Jack say “All clear” into the comm unit in the sleeve of his jacket and he closed his eyes. Bracing himself.

  He remembered, in the split second after Jack said those words when he’d first stared bracing himself to see her.

  College probably. Ethics and Policy class.

  The one they’d had with Ben.

  The Monday after the party when she’d made her feelings clear.

  When she chose Ben.

  That was the day he started bracing himself. Started trying to protect his pride. His heart.

  He smelled her perfume, felt her in the movement of air at his shoulder. The ripple of awareness over his skin.

  “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” she said to Lloyd and sat down.

  On the far side of the bar there was a murmur of recognition but that was all. The Lloyd’s clientele was not particularly interested in the female candidate for governor of New York.

  He was interested. And thanks to the shots and the blood-pumping violence of the day, he was particularly interested in the female candidate for governor of New York.

  He took her in in pieces. A small treat for a shit day.

  It might, he thought, be the very last time. Melodramatic, but whatever.

  He looked at her hands. Her right hand, folded over her left. She didn’t wear her ring anymore, hadn’t for at least three years. The nails were trim and clean. She used to bite her thumbnail down to the quick, a bad habit that got ironed out when Ben became mayor.

  She was wearing her favorite red suit. The one with the thin black belt.

  It was Jay’s favorite, too. Because it was sexy. The best kind of sexy. Restrained. Polished. He was wound up, so he imagined, for just a moment, slipping that black belt loose. Undoing those buttons down the front. Revealing what it was Maggie wore under the sexy jacket.

  Of course she would be wearing that suit today.

  “This looks like your kind of place,” Maggie said, touching her fingertips to the tacky wood. “You always liked a sticky bar.”

  “Used to be your kind of place, too,” he said and sipped his beer. The drinks had gone right to his head. And he was going to be stupid, he could feel it.

  “A million years ago,” she said quietly.

  She titled the bottle of beer to her lips.

  “You’re supposed to do the shot first.”

  “I know what you’re supposed to do. But it’s not quite what I should do, is it?”

  “No one’s watching.”

  He sensed more than saw her glance around, confirming that no one at Lloyd’s had their phone out, directed toward her. No one was looking at them out of the corner of their eye. The folks at Lloyd’s had their own troubles.

  Quickly, she downed the shot.

  “Oh my,” she breathed, and he smiled before he could stop himself.

  “You going to look at me?” Maggie asked.

  I am. I’m just…bracing myself.

  Jay didn’t say that, but he did swivel on his stool to face her.

  Maggie Perkins.

  Candidate.

  Former First Lady of New York City.

  His best friend.

  The love of his goddamned life.

  She looked tired. Everyone looked tired. The election was days away.

  But she was still so beautiful. Her skin was clear, her blue eyes bright, her brown hair coming loose in pieces around her face. When he’d met her she wore glasses and had a slight underbite, but all of that had been fixed when Ben started becoming a political sweetheart. Like the nail biting. And the dive-bar loving.

  But she still had her round cheeks and the quiet, thoughtful intelligence that illuminated her entire being. It was tempered
now, sharper since she took up the mantle of public service.

  She was statuesque, tall and broad shouldered. Maggie looked like a woman you could trust. Put your faith in. She looked strong and capable and smart. Kind.

  Beautiful. So damn beautiful she broke his heart.

  “How was the dinner?” he asked.

  “I’m not here to talk about the dinner.”

  “Humor me.”

  “You don’t care about the dinner.”

  “I care about the Longshoremen’s Union.”

  “I have their support. Sean Peace will make a statement tomorrow.”

  He exhaled. That was good. That was really good.

  “Jay,” she said. Her voice still carried a little of the Lackawanna accent when she got tired. Or frustrated. Or was letting her hair down.

  She was currently doing all three.

  “Yeah.”

  “I have to fire you.”