A Sun So Bright (Reigning Hearts Book 3) Read online

  A Sun So Bright

  Reigning Hearts – Book Three

  KG FLETCHER

  Copyright © 2019 Kelly Genelle Fletcher

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7320240-5-2

  Printed in the United States of America.

  **FAIR WARNING: This book contains scenes of detailed intimacy and liberal use of profanity. It is intended for readers 18+**

  A Sun So Bright

  Reigning Hearts – Book Three

  A Sun So Bright is part of the

  ~Reigning Hearts ~ collection.

  Each book in the series is STANDALONE

  * Run to the Sea

  * Stars Fall From the Sky

  * A Sun So Bright

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  For a complete list of KG’s books visit: www.kgfletcherauthor.com

  Edited by Vicky Burkholder

  Cover art by Bookish Gals

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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  Dedication

  For Steven.

  “Who, being loved, is poor?”

  ~Oscar Wilde

  Chapter One

  It was supposed to be a night of glitz and glamour, champagne, and music. A time to come together with friends, reminisce about auld lang syne and ponder days gone by. But Fiona Merrill wasn’t having it at the private New Year’s Eve party. The live band was too loud, and her head ached from overindulging in one too many glasses of pink bubbly.

  With a heavy sigh, she cupped her chin with her hand and leaned her elbow on the white tablecloth, drumming her perfectly manicured nails across her cheek. The music pulsed, and the stage lighting lit up the crowd in bright colors as energetic couples danced their asses off on the parquet floor. Her long-time friend, Petra, snuggled up to her filthy-rich husband, dirty dancing near their group of friends. Her pregnant belly barely showed in the glamorous burgundy-sequined evening gown she wore, and she glowed in her husband’s arms under the lights. It seemed like everyone in the ballroom had much to celebrate and look forward to in the coming year – everyone, except Fiona.

  That should have been me, she absentmindedly thought. The pang of jealousy often hit her at the most inopportune times. Her focus was laser sharp as she longingly watched Petra’s every move.

  Fiona’s life was nothing to celebrate as of late. With everything that had happened in the past year, she had absolutely zilch to look forward to. Her future was about as bright as a burned-out lightbulb. It was as if Cupid had ditched her once and for all, the on-going dating drought getting on her last nerve.

  Sure, she had been on a few dates over the past year, including a set up with one of Petra’s cousins. The geeky, overweight financial planner was her date to Petra’s huge wedding last spring. What a colossal mistake! It was the first, and the last time Fiona would ever let her friend set her up again. On top of that, the familiar single men in her social circle seemed to be afraid of her newly acquired financial status. And she knew she was hard to please. Of course, it didn’t help that she still compared every man she encountered to her ex-boyfriend, Thomas Capshaw.

  Thomas.

  The thought of him made her audibly sigh. She royally fucked that one up, for sure. Before things with her and Thomas ended, she was never one to look back and wistfully ponder auld lang syne. But since things went south almost two years ago with her breakup, and then the sudden death of her beloved father, all she seemed to do was brood over the “what-if’s”, and “if only’s” driving her crazy with regret. The hardest part was learning on social media that Thomas had recently become a father. One of her friends sent her a screenshot of the post asking if she knew. No, she didn’t and would have liked to have kept it that way, thank you very much. The posted pictures of his baby girl dredged up all her old feelings. Oh, how she wished she could talk to her father about it. But he was gone. The men she so fiercely loved were both gone.

  “Why the scowl?” Petra asked. Her husband, Frank, held her by the elbow and helped ease her into a chair. “Are you okay?”

  Fiona watched as he kissed his wife’s cheek and mumbled something about going to the bar to get them all another round. The party was in full throttle, ramping up for the midnight countdown, which made her head throb even more.

  Sitting with her back erect against the uncomfortable chair, she twirled a long string of pearls hanging off her neck around her index finger and fibbed. “I’m bored, Petra. I don’t know why I let you talk me into coming out tonight. Everyone here has a date or has paired off. It’s embarrassing.”

  Petra huffed. “Well, you could have had a date too. But no, you won’t let me set you up anymore—”

  “Justifiably so!” Fiona tersely interrupted. “Never again. Especially after your wedding and setting me up with Dick—”

  “Danny,” Petra corrected, shaking her head as if she’d heard this all before. “And stop being so grumpy. Dan is a great guy!”

  “If you like fat-asses,” she mumbled.

  Petra’s shoulders slumped, and she sighed. “Seriously, Fiona. You can be a real bitch sometimes.” Linking her fingers together, she leaned forward with a softer tone. “You need to start moving on with your life. I know the holidays have been hard for you.”

  Fiona shifted, uncomfortable with the conversation, and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Why can’t you enjoy other people’s company without judging them so harshly? Huh? Why do you always have to bring the party down? It’s New Year’s Eve in New York City,” Petra continued as if trying to cheer Fiona up. “Do you know how many people wanted an invite to this exclusive party? Do you know how lucky you are?” Her dark eyes sparkled, the glow of pregnancy enhancing her exotic beauty.

  Fiona knew her friend was trying to help. And she was a lucky heiress being in one of the most elite social circles in the city. But still, she felt anxious and unsettled, ready to move on to something new and exciting. She chalked it up to the holidays and missing her father something terrible. Or maybe she was just hormonal? Having grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth, she never wanted for anything—until now. She desperately wanted her father back. And if she was real with herself, she admitted she also wanted someone special in her life–someone who would be there for her during her ups and downs. The loneliness this past year was debilitating. But there was no one—not even the faintest blip on the horizon. Where was her forever when she needed him most?

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to rain on your happy little New Year’s parade,” Fiona spat, knowing she was intentionally ugly toward her friend. She couldn’t help it, her tendency to lash out at those she loved a horrible side effect of her unhappiness. It didn’t help that several of her so-called friends flat out ignored her during the most uncertain time of her life. No one coul
d blame them. She had turned into a straight-up bitch, and she was tired and mad. The coming year, which should have been full of promise and goals, weighed heavy on her. Standing, she smoothed the expensive fabric of her designer gown.

  “Where are you going? Frank will be back in a minute with more cocktails.”

  “I need to go.” Picking up a crystal flute, she threw back the last of her champagne in one gulp.

  “What? No. Don’t go,” her friend pleaded. Her perfectly groomed eyebrows creased with worry, and the gigantic diamond on her left hand winked in the pulsing party lights as if taunting her.

  Air kissing Petra on both cheeks, Fiona offered her a weak smile and held her by the shoulders. “The thought of the clock striking midnight and not kissing anyone isn’t that appealing. If I leave now, I can make it back to my apartment in time to see the ball drop on TV.” She picked up her vintage Chanel clutch. “You and Frank have a wonderful night. And I’m sorry I’m such a bitch.” Tears threatened to surface as she gritted her teeth to keep them at bay. Fiona didn’t want to go home, but she needed to get out of there, the music and coupling too much.

  Petra shook her head. “You sure you won’t stay? Frank can kiss you too…”

  Fiona laughed, thankful for the ridiculousness of her remark. “That’s okay. He needs to save all his kisses for you, darling.” Turning her back on the table, she started to make her way through the dressed-up crowd, not even bothering to say good night to her other friends.

  “See you next year!” Petra humorously shouted over the thumping music. Without looking back, Fiona waved a hand over her shoulder, tempted to shoot her the bird.

  Once outside the ballroom, she made her way down the long hallway to the iconic lobby of the midtown Manhattan hotel, not sure what to do next. The bitter cold of last week’s Christmas snowfall lingered and seeped in through the front doors as the bellmen efficiently greeted last-minute patrons. Her high heels clipped across the marble floors as she walked toward the coat check near the impressive lobby bar. Festive partygoers crowded around the stools in front of the rich mahogany wood, and the backlit wall of shiny expensive liquor bottles beckoned her to stay for one more drink. The big-screen TV broadcast the live bash going on in Times Square several blocks away as partygoers anticipated the famous ball drop. Looking around, she noticed that there was no one parked near the intimate fireplace opposite the bar, and the plump armchairs looked especially inviting after sitting on a less-than-comfy dining chair all evening.

  Fiona puckered her lips to the side and decided to order a final glass of champagne before she hailed a cab home. Fuck the ball drop. As miserable as she was, she didn’t need the television reminder that another bleak year had passed by in a haze of depression with nothing extraordinary on the horizon. As she eased herself into the overstuffed chair with her back to the big screen and bar, the delicious warmth from the gas fireplace swept across her exposed skin, making her exhale noisily.

  “What can I get you, Princess?”

  The comment immediately made her scowl, the low timbre of the male voice causing her to jerk her head away from the soothing flames. No one called her Princess except for her father, the pet name creating a cacophony of emotions to swell in her heart. When her eyes landed on the man ready to take her order, she lifted her chin and glared, her lips pressed into a thin line, prepared to tell him off with certain profanity. But before she could utter a word, his azure gaze and chiseled features that were somehow familiar took her aback.

  The man was undoubtedly handsome, wearing black dress pants and a white shirt that outlined his bulging biceps. He offered her a tired smile and slight nod, as if eager to please. “Can I get you something from the bar?”

  Fiona licked her lips and averted his attractive gaze. “Champagne,” she mumbled, wracking her brain to place him and smoothing her hands across her lap to get a grip from the onslaught of emotions.

  “Champagne, it is.” He paused as if a thought crossed his mind. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  Fiona flicked her head toward him again, her shoulder-length blonde hair bouncing perfectly in the process. Being a socialite in one of the most expensive cities on the planet put her in contact with loads of people, and since her father’s untimely passing, she had met a multitude of his business associates. Although the man looking down at her was indeed handsome, conversing with a waiter was not something she made a habit of doing. She watched as his brow knit, and he seemed genuinely perplexed, trying to place her. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember where she might have met him.

  When she didn’t respond, he knelt next to the chair and rested his thick arm on the fabric. Recognition finally crossed his face, and he nodded with glee. “I remember now,” he grinned.

  Fiona cocked an eyebrow, determined not to come undone. Either the universe was playing tricks on her, or she had lost her mind. Surely, she would have remembered a man as fine-looking as him.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” Already buzzed from the earlier champagne at the private party, her fuzziness wasn’t helping matters. In her hazy state, her focus shifted to the man’s desirable mouth, merely inches from hers. She watched in awe as he licked his lower lip before he grinned again. As her own lips parted in a slow exhale, she randomly wondered what it would feel like to kiss him, to press her mouth against his warmth...

  “You were pretty drunk the night we met. And I recall it was from all the champagne you drank. You certainly have an affinity for the stuff,” he teased.

  Fiona’s daydream imploded as her focus shot to his eyes and shifted to a cold stare. His remark caused a flare of anger to ignite in her belly. “I beg your pardon?” she spat, sure he had her mistaken for someone else. How dare he insinuate she had been drunk? There wasn’t ever a time in her life that she had been publicly intoxicated. Did he truly know who she was, or was he one of the thousands who saw the article and pictures in the New York Times covering her father’s passing? No wonder she didn’t dare go out for months, the barrage of paparazzi and news coverage overwhelming her.

  The flames from the fireplace seemed to dance in his mesmerizing blue eyes as he palmed his chest. “I’m the bartender from that party you attended at the Cipriani Club a while back. You needed some help finding your way to the lobby that night, remember?”

  In a flash, distorted memories from that unfortunate event came rushing back. That was the night of her father’s private celebration party for his architectural firm, Merrill-Seagram-Oliver; the night they were supposed to commemorate the colossal contract her then-boyfriend, Thomas Capshaw just landed. That was the night she drank herself into oblivion after Thomas famously greeted her and proceeded to break up with her on the balcony. She hadn’t been back to that stuffy establishment located in the heart of the New York Financial District since. The attractive bartender currently squatting next to her armchair had been her knight-in-shining-armor, helping her drunk-ass-self to the lobby without causing a scene. Yep–there was that one time when she was undoubtedly, publicly drunk.

  Fiona quickly gathered her wits and stood. “Forget the champagne. I need to go.”

  The man immediately stood and seemed to block her escape between the chairs with his impressive stature. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to conjure up bad memories, especially on New Year’s Eve. My mistake.” He gestured to the chair. “Please. Sit back down and enjoy the fire. I’ll be back with your drink—on the house.”

  Fiona swallowed, giving the man a hard glare as she tried to figure out his intentions. His olive-branch of a glass of expensive champagne was tempting, and she was desperate to drown the memories of her father and Thomas. When she lowered herself back into the armchair, he offered her his most brilliant mega-watt smile yet, causing a fluttering of butterflies in her tummy.

  “Fine,” she huffed, trying to maintain her composure. Her one-word reply made the man chuckle.

  “I’ll be back before you know it, Princess. Hang tight.”

  Before
she could scold him for calling her that name again, he had already turned and headed toward the bar. Her eyes trailed down the man’s spectacular backside, causing her to sigh. Shrugging, she leaned back into the plump cushion. At least the sights were a little more exciting outside the ballroom party and having a handsome man call her “Princess” wasn’t the worst thing that could happen on New Year’s Eve. Or was it?

  Chapter Two

  With a definitive pop, Chris Ballard opened a brand new bottle of expensive champagne and filled a crystal flute to the rim. The bar hummed with excitement as the countdown on the television hit the five-minute mark.

  “Yo, Chris! Leave that open. I got a table of four needing a round for when the ball drops,” his co-worker, Jimmy requested from across the bar, his New York accent distinct.

  “You got it,” Chris replied, balancing the singular full glass on a silver tray. He was anxious to get back to the pretty blonde. He usually worked at the Cipriani Club three nights a week and was only helping out at the ritzy hotel last minute for the holiday overtime. The high-class bartending world was small and unique in the city that never sleeps, many drink-slingers and mixologists moonlighting at more than one establishment, especially during the numerous Christmas and New Year’s celebrations. Chris was happy to help, especially knowing that the New Year ushered in some much-needed time off. He was anxious to get out of town, and back to the crumbling farmhouse he was refurbishing in Cold Creek, a few hours outside the city. He’d been working on this house project for the better part of a year and was looking forward to some time away from the hustle and bustle of the concrete jungle. He’d earned it.

  “Here you are.” Placing a cocktail napkin with the hotel’s signature logo on the small table in front of the woman’s chair, he effortlessly set the glass down without spilling a drop. Tucking the tray under his arm, he waited for a response.