4.3
-
6,585 ratings
A marriage-of-convenience spicy standalone romance from the New York Times bestselling author of Archer's Voice.
Some vows are meant to be broken, but others are worth risking everything for…even your heart.
Kira Dallaire is desperate. She must get married, and fast, to access the inheritance her late grandmother left her. Otherwise, she'll find herself at the mercy of her wealthy, abusive father. With little money and even fewer options, she uses her quick wit and impulsive heart to come up with a plan.
Grayson Hawthorn is losing hope. A convicted felon with limited capital and dwindling resources, his vow to resurrect his family's struggling vineyard seems destined to fail. That is, until a young woman enters his office with an outlandish proposal―a win-win business marriage he can't refuse.
But what begins as a temporary arrangement soon threatens to become more, as vibrant, spirited Kira challenges detached, arrogant Grayson to want more from life. To want more for himself. As their wills clash and fiery passion ignites, the two realize that sometimes the past creates walls too difficult to climb, and lies and deception rarely precede a happily ever after.
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ISBN-10
1728285089
ISBN-13
978-1728285085
Print length
416 pages
Language
English
Publisher
Bloom Books
Publication date
July 03, 2023
Dimensions
5.25 x 1.04 x 8 inches
Item weight
12.8 ounces
ASIN :
B0BPMZB8TW
File size :
2453 KB
Text-to-speech :
Enabled
Screen reader :
Supported
Enhanced typesetting :
Enabled
X-Ray :
Enabled
Word wise :
Enabled
About the Author
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven. Mia can be found online at www.miasheridan.com
CHAPTER ONE
Kira
“Never fret, my love, the universe always balances the scales. Her ways may be mysterious, but they are always just.”
—Isabelle Dallaire, “Gram”
In a long history of bad days, this one was at the top of the list. And it was only nine a.m. I stepped from my car and took a deep breath of the balmy, late-summer air before walking toward Napa Valley Savings Bank. The sultry morning shimmered around me, the sweet scent of jasmine teasing my nose. The peaceful beauty seemed wrong somehow, the bleakness of my mood in direct contrast to the warm, sunshiny day. An arrogant idea, I supposed. As if the weather should express itself according to my mood. I sighed as I pulled open the glass front door of the bank.
“May I help you?” a cheery brunette asked as I approached her teller window.
“Yes,” I said, withdrawing my ID and an old savings book from my purse. “I want to close this account.” I slid both toward the teller. A corner of the savings book was folded back, revealing numbers my gram had entered when showing me how to keep track of our deposits. The memory tore at my heart, but I forced what I hoped was a cheerful-looking smile as the girl took the book, opened it, and began entering the account number.
I thought back to the day we’d opened the account. I’d been ten, and my gram had walked me here and I’d proudly deposited the fifty dollars she’d given me for helping with yard work throughout the summer. We’d made trips to this bank over the years when I’d stayed at her house in Napa. She’d taught me the true value of money—it was meant to be shared, used to help others, but it also represented a type of freedom. The fact that I currently had little money, few options, and every material possession I owned was stuffed in the trunk of my car was proof of how right she’d been. I was anything but free.
“Two thousand forty-seven dollars and sixteen cents,” the teller stated, glancing up at me.
I nodded. It was even a little more than I had hoped. Good. That was good. I needed every cent. I joined my hands together on the counter and exhaled slowly as I waited for her to count out the cash.
Once the money was safely tucked into my purse and the account closed, I wished the teller a good day and then headed toward the door. When I spotted a drinking fountain, I turned to make a brief stop. I’d only been using the air conditioning in my car sparingly so as to save on gas and had been consistently hot and thirsty.
As the cold water hit my lips, I heard faintly from the office around the corner, “Grayson Hawthorn, nice to meet you.”
I froze, then stood slowly, using my thumb to distractedly wipe the water off my bottom lip. Grayson Hawthorn…Grayson Hawthorn? I knew that name, remembered the strong sound of it, the way I had repeated it to myself on a whisper to hear it on my lips that day in my father’s office. I thought back to the quick glance at the file my dad had slid closed as I’d placed a tray of coffee on his desk. Could it be the same Grayson Hawthorn?
I took a few steps and peeked around the corner, but saw nothing more than a closed office door, the shade on the window pulled down. My curiosity still piqued, I walked to the restroom on the other side of the corridor from the office Grayson Hawthorn occupied. Snoopy much, Kira?
Once inside the restroom, I locked the door and leaned against the wall. I hadn’t even known Grayson Hawthorn lived in Napa. His trial had taken place in San Francisco, so that must have been where the crime was committed—not that I knew what that crime might have been, only that my father had taken a brief interest in it. I bit my lip, moving to the sink and staring at myself in the mirror above it as I washed and dried my hands.
As I was leaving the restroom, a man in a suit, most likely a bank executive, entered the office across the hall. He closed the door behind him, but it didn’t click into place and stood very, very slightly ajar, allowing me to hear a few words of introductions. I paused, pulling the restroom door most of the way closed and then standing there trying to listen.
Really, Kira? This is shamefully nosy. An invasion of privacy. And worse, somewhat pointless. Seriously, what is wrong with you? Ignoring my own reprimand, I leaned closer to the crack in the door.
I’d leave this less-than-stellar moment out of my memoirs. No one needed to know about it but me.
A few words drifted my way. “Sorry…felon…can’t give…this bank…unfortunately…” Felon? Yes then, it had to be the Grayson Hawthorn I thought it was. What a strange, random coincidence. I barely knew anything about him. All I really knew was his name, the fact that he’d been convicted of a crime, and that my father had participated in using him as a pawn. Grayson Hawthorn and I had that in common. Not that it was likely my father remembered the name of one man when he ruined lives so regularly and with so little afterthought. In any case, why was I eavesdropping from inside a bathroom, trying to listen in on his private conversation? I wasn’t sure. However, an abundance of curiosity was one of my confirmed faults. Okay, enough lurking. I took a deep breath and started to exit when I heard the scraping of chair legs and paused yet again. The words from across the hall were clearer now that they had probably moved closer to the door. “I’m sorry I can’t approve a loan for you, Mr. Hawthorn.” The male voice that spoke sounded regretful. “If you were worth more—”
“I understand. Thank you for your time, Mr. Gellar” came another male voice, Grayson’s I assumed.
I caught a brief glimpse of a tall, male figure with dark hair in a heather-gray suit leaving the office and leaned back inside the restroom, clicking the door closed again. I washed my hands once more to stall, and then left the small room. I glanced at the office Grayson Hawthorn had been in as I passed and saw a man sitting behind the desk in a suit and tie, his attention focused on something he was writing.
Outside, the day had grown brighter and warmer, and I let myself into my car, which I had parked up the street. I sat there for a minute, staring out the front window at the quaint downtown area: crisp, clean awnings adorned the fronts of the businesses, and large containers of brightly colored flowers decorated the sidewalk. I loved Napa, from downtown to the riverfront, to the outlying vineyards, fruit ripe in the summer and colorful with the vivid-yellow, wild mustard flowers in the winter. It had been where my gram retired to after my grandfather passed, where I’d spent summers at her cottage-style house with the covered front porch. Everywhere I looked I saw her, heard her voice, felt her warm, vibrant spirit. My gram had been fond of saying Today may be a very bad day, but tomorrow may be the best day of your life. You just have to hang on until you get there.
I drew in a deep inhale, doing my best to shake off the loneliness. Oh, Gram, if only you were here. You would take me into your arms and tell me everything was going to be okay. And because it was you saying it, I would believe it to be true.
I leaned back against the headrest and closed my eyes. “Help me, Gram,” I whispered. “I’m lost. I need you. Give me a sign. Tell me what to do. Please.” The tears I’d been holding at bay for so long burned behind my lids, threatening to fall.
I sighed as I opened my eyes, movement in the passenger side mirror immediately catching my attention. As I turned my head, I spotted a tall, well-built man in that same heather-gray suit I’d seen inside the bank…Grayson Hawthorn. My breath faltered. He was standing against the building next to my car, to the right of my bumper, the perfect location for me to see him clearly in my mirror without moving. I slunk down in my seat just a bit, leaned back, and turned my head to watch him.
He had his head leaned back against the building behind him, and his eyes were closed, his expression pained. And my God, he was…breathtaking. He had the beautifully carved features of a knight in shining armor, with almost-black hair a tad too long, making it curl over his collar. It was his lips that were truly devastating though—full and sensual in a way that made my eyes want to wander to them again and again. I squinted, trying to take in every detail of his face, before my gaze traveled down his tall form. His body matched his beautifully dark masculinity—muscular and graceful, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow.
Oh, Kira. You hardly have time to be ogling beautiful felons on the sidewalk. Your concerns are slightly more pressing. You’re homeless and well, frankly, desperate. If you want to focus on something, focus on that. Okay, except…I was unable to drag my eyes away. What had his crime been, anyway? I tried to look away, but something about him pulled at me. And it wasn’t just his striking good looks that made my eyes linger on him. Something about the expression on his face felt familiar, speaking to what I was feeling right that very minute.
If you were worth more…
“Are you desperate too, Grayson Hawthorn?” I murmured.
As I watched him, he brought his head straight and massaged his temple, looking around. A woman walked by and turned as she passed him, her head moving up and down to take in his body. He didn’t seem to notice her, and fortunately for her, she turned, looking ahead just in time to narrowly miss colliding with a light pole. I breathed out a laugh. Grayson stood staring off into the distance again. As I watched him, an obviously homeless man moved toward where he stood, holding his hat out to people walking by. They all moved quickly past him, looking away uncomfortably.
When the man began to approach Grayson, I pressed my lips together. Sorry, old man. It seems to me the person you’re asking for help is in pretty dire straits himself. But to my surprise, Grayson reached into his pocket, hesitated only briefly, and then grabbed the bills inside. I couldn’t be sure from where I sat, but when the dark interior of his wallet flashed my way, it looked like he’d emptied it for the old man. He nodded his head once at the man in rags, who was thanking him profusely, and then stood for a moment watching the homeless man walk away. Then Grayson strode in the other direction, turning the corner out of sight.
Watch what people do when they think no one’s watching, love. That’s how you’ll know who they really are.
Gram’s words floated through my mind as if she had spoken from somewhere just outside my car. The shrill ringing of my phone startled me, and I let out a small gasp, grabbing my purse from the passenger seat to rifle inside for my phone.
Kimberly.
“Hey,” I whispered.
A beat of silence. “Kira? Why are you whispering?” She was whispering too.
I cleared my throat and leaned back. “Sorry, the phone just startled me. I’m sitting in my car in Napa.”
“Were you able to close the account?”
“Yeah. It had a couple thousand dollars in it.”
“Hey, well, that’s great. That’s something at least, right?”
I sighed. “Yeah. It’ll help me get by for a little bit.”
I heard Kimberly’s boys laughing in the background, and she shushed them, holding her hand over the phone and speaking to them in Spanish before coming back to me and saying, “My couch is always yours if you want it.”
“I know. Thank you, Kimmy.” I couldn’t do that to my best friend though. She and her husband, Andy, were squeezed into a tiny apartment in San Francisco with their four-year-old sons. Kimberly had gotten pregnant when she was eighteen and then learned the shocking news she was carrying twins. She and Andy had beaten the odds so far, but they hadn’t had an easy time of it. The last thing they needed was their down-and-out friend sleeping on their couch and putting a strain on their family. Down-and-out? Homeless. You’re homeless.
I took a deep breath. “I’m going to come up with a plan though,” I said, a feeling of determination replacing the hopelessness I’d felt all morning. Grayson Hawthorn’s face flashed quickly in my mind’s eye. “Kimmy, do you ever feel like…a path is laid out in front of you? Like, clear as day?”
Kimberly paused for a beat. “Oh no. No. I know that tone in your voice. It means you’re scheming something I’m going to try—probably unsuccessfully—to talk you out of. You’re not considering that plan to advertise for a husband online are you because—”
“No.” I cleared my throat. “Not exactly anyway.”
Kimberly groaned. “You’ve gotten another one of your spur-of-the-moment Very Bad Ideas, haven’t you? Something completely ludicrous and most likely dangerous.”
I smiled despite myself. “Oh, stop. Those ideas you always call ‘Very Bad’ are rarely ludicrous and seldom dangerous.”
“The time you were going to market your own all-natural face mask from the herbs in your garden?”
I smiled, knowing her game. “Oh, that? My formula was almost there. Right within reach, actually. If my test subject hadn’t been—”
“You turned my face green. It didn’t go away for a week. Picture day week.”
I laughed softly. “Okay, so fine, that one didn’t work out very well, but we were ten.”
“Sneaking out to Carter Scott’s party when we were sixteen—”
“Totally would have worked if—”
“The fire department had to come get me off your roof.”
“You always were such a wuss,” I said, grinning.
“The time you were home from college on summer break and hosted that Japanese-themed dinner party where we all had to wear kimonos, and then you almost killed everyone there.”
“An ingredient error. How was I to know you needed to be licensed to cook that particular fish? Anyway, that was forever ago.”
“That was two years ago.” She tried to deadpan, but I could hear the smile in her voice.
I was laughing now. “Okay, you’ve made your point, smartass. And despite all that, you love me anyway.”
“I do.” She sighed. “I can’t help it. You’re completely lovable.”
“Well, that’s debatable, I guess.”
“No,” she said firmly, “it’s not. Your father’s an ass, but you already know how I feel on that subject. And, honey, you need to talk about what happened. It’s been a year. I know you just got back, but you need—”
“Not yet,” I said softly, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see the movement from the other end of the phone. “And thank you for making me laugh for a minute there. But seriously, Kim, I’m in a very bad predicament right now. Maybe a Very Bad Idea is what I need.” I couldn’t help the small hitch in my voice at the end of my sentence. Kimberly never failed to lift my spirits, but truly, I was scared.
“I know, Kira,” Kimberly said, understanding in her voice. “And unfortunately, if you’re determined not to use any of your father’s business contacts, you might have to get a waitressing job until you figure out what you’re going to do.”
I sighed. “Maybe, but would you really want me anywhere near food preparation?”
“You do make a valid point.” I heard another smile in her voice. “Whatever you decide, it’ll always be the Kira and Kimmy Kats, okay? Forever. We’re a team,” she said, referring to the band name I’d come up with when we were twelve, and I’d devised the plan to sing on the street corner for cash. I’d seen a commercial on TV about kids who didn’t have enough to eat in Somalia, and my dad wouldn’t give me the money to sponsor one of them. In the end, we’d been caught sneaking out of the house in the very inappropriate “costumes” I’d made from construction paper and tape. My dad grounded me for a month. Kimberly’s mom, who worked as the live-in head of our housekeeping staff, gave me the twenty-two dollars I’d needed to help feed and educate Khotso that month—and then every month I couldn’t come up with the money on my own after that.
“Always,” I said. “I love you, Kimmy Kat.”
“I love you Kira Kat. And I gotta go, these boys are getting out of control.” I heard Levi’s and Micah’s squeals of laughter and shouts ringing in the background over the sound of small running feet. “Stop running, boys! And stop yelling!” Kimberly yelled, holding the phone away from her mouth for a second. “You gonna be okay tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I might even splurge and rent a cheap hotel room here in Napa and then walk along the riverfront. It makes me feel close to Gram.” I didn’t mention that earlier that morning, I’d hurriedly packed my stuff and climbed down the fire escape of the apartment my dad had paid for as he’d yelled and banged on the front door. And that now, said stuff was jammed into my car’s trunk. Kimberly would just worry, and for now, I had some cash and a partial but arguably Very Bad Idea roaming around in my head.
And in my illustrious history of Very Bad Ideas, this one might just take the cake.
Of course, I’d be thorough in my research before making a final decision. And I’d make a list of pros and cons—it always helped me see things in a clearer light. This one required some due diligence.
Kimberly sighed. “God rest her soul. Your gram was an amazing lady.”
“Yes, she was,” I agreed. “Kiss the boys for me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Talk to you then. And Kira, I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too. Bye, Kimmy.”
I hung up and sat in my car a few minutes longer. Then I picked my phone back up to do a little internet sleuthing and to find a hotel room I could afford.
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Mia Sheridan
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven. Mia can be found online at www.miasheridan.com or www.facebook.com/miasheridanauthor.
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Customer reviews
4.3 out of 5
6,585 global ratings
DonnaC
5
An emotional yet funny love/hate love story, beautifully and flawlessly written
Reviewed in the United States on September 10, 2015
Verified Purchase
Grayson’s Vow by Mia Sheridan 5 stars!!
“Desperate times…call for desperate measures. And this is about as desperate as measures get.”
Mia Sheridan has been one of my go to authors for a long time. Archer’s Voice still has an extremely huge place in my heart and in fact is one of my “go to” books, you know those books that you can read and re-read and no matter how crap you feel it gets you out of your funk. Since then, although Mia’s books have been superb, not one character has come close to MY Archer, Grayson didn’t make it, but he is a close damn second.
“Because true love is not only the flower, true love is also the thorns.”
This book was truly beautiful, another one of those soul wrenching, emotional reads that Mia seems to pen so effortlessly while interspersed with some fantastic dialogue and witty banter that kept those pages turning.
Everyone loves a broken man and believe me, Grayson is broken. Nigh on at rock bottom, his life seemingly couldn’t get any worse. Those “vows” that he made to himself…he seemingly can’t uphold, it seems life just has a way of sucker punching him one way or another, time after time. There is only so much one man can take.
Kira, the woman that is trying to make it on her own away from her fathers interference, manipulation and money. Another person seemingly hurtling towards rock bottom. She has one out, but it has stipulations.