#LUCKY (The Empire Series Book 2)

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T
his is a work of fiction
. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

T
his book is
for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language, which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

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arning
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E
very time I write a book
, novella, my own name, I am at a loss of what to say. There are so many people who were instrumental with making this novella series take off. I would be a fool not to thank the people who make any of this possible. Thank you, readers, fellow authors, friends, family, editors, photographers, models and blogs for taking a chance on me. Even though I still feel awkward saying "Author", I thank these people for humoring me with the title. Your time, generosity and encouragement on a daily basis are overwhelming.

Thank you to those readers who felt previous books deserved a one star review. It is because of you that I strive to be the best writer I can be. Your words are not hateful, as they are motivation and direction to improve upon. I choose to believe your criticism is not meant as a personal attack, but a means to express yourself for emotionally stirring characters and storylines. Call me crazy, but I see that as a win!

To my Nighthawk – Thank you for being my friend. Without you, my world would fall apart at times. The last couple of months have been brutal and your constant checking in, on a personal level, has meant the world to me. Being my PA is a perk to the friendship we share. I truly adore and love you to death. You make the hard times seem like a walk in the park.

To my three bitches – I know I thank you ladies with every book I write, but the love and gratitude I have for you is beyond just words. My world shattered this year, but it was you three that picked up my broken body and put it back together. We joke a lot, but truthfully, I do not know how I would be able to continue writing if it weren't for you ladies.

To Shauna Kruse – I simply adore you. We've had a few heavy discussions, which I never thought I would be telling my photographer. Yes, you are my photographer. I choose to believe the reason I can open up to you is due to the fact that you are a wonderful human being. This world is full of so much negativity that a few words of encouragement and support move mountains. You are phenomenal at what you do and I am in awe every time I see your portfolio.

To Brennan – Thank you for letting me pop your book cover cherry. I couldn't have picked a better model to grace my cover. I told Shauna very early on, "You NEED to get him to model. I need him on my cover!" Thank goodness for her and your willingness to take a chance. I am so proud of you. Rave on my friend.

To my editors at TCB Editing Services – You continue to surprise me with your incredible talents. Thank you for always making a conscious effort to tolerate my indecisive ass. I put a lot of faith into your services and know it will be magic in the end.

To my brother – I've never singled a family member out before simply because I wanted to stay neutral. However, I cannot publish another book without telling you what an amazing brother you are. Yes, we've had our ups and downs over the years, but hope is never lost. Times have changed. People change. I realized over the last couple of months that all the static is just bullshit and what matters in right here. Right now. I still remember when mom stuck us in matching Oshkosh b'gosh, mint green jumpers. They were heinous. Shame on mom! You are an amazing man, a fan-fucking-tastic father, and the best brother a girl could ask for. Know that I love you and always will regardless of what the future holds.

To my Ambercrombie – I'm so glad we reconnected since college. It's amazing how much you can change in the blink of an eye. Yesterday we were at RU singing and dancing to N'Sync in Muse Hall, and yet that was 15-16 years ago. What happened? How did we get so old? I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you probably needed me the most. Your struggle was silent, and I was oblivious. They say you tend to write about your own experiences, but I think they forgot to mention our friend's experiences as well. Thank you endlessly for the encouragement, support and love you've shown regardless as to how we got to where we are today.

Finally, to my husband – Words are worthless to express my love and admiration for you. These last couple of months have put life into perspective for the both of us. We've been pushed, shoved, beaten and kicked so many times by life and circumstance that the only thing that keeps me san at night when I go to sleep is you. Knowing I won't have to suffer alone, but to have you by my side to ease the pain, makes it easier to handle. I treasure every single second with you and know there will never be a love stronger than the one I have for you. FIGHT ON! WARRIOR!

“
N
ever again
,” Sam quietly mumbled to herself, pulling out the stool from under the bar. She tossed her purse on the beer stained bar, as her worn body collapsed on the seat. “I can’t believe him, and Maggie, no less! Come on, how unoriginal,” she mumbled to herself.

“The usual, Sami? Mike said, tossing a high ball in the air, and catching it before it slammed on the countertop.

“Better make it a double tonight, Mike,” she huffed from under her hands, now covering her face. She raked her hands across her expression, hoping she didn’t have to explain herself yet again. “Add a shot of tequila while you’re at it.”

“Damn girl. Bad night?” he asked, pouring her shot hastily, letting the dribbles land on the bar.

“Mike, you would say I’m an attractive girl, right?” she begged for a positive response. Mike was always brutally honest. She adored him for that.

She and Mike had been friends since childhood, but they were practically brother and sister – him being the older brother she never had.

He wasn’t bad on the eyes standing six-four, and built like a fucking freight train. To the average onlooker, Mike looked more like a bouncer than a successful Irish bar owner.

His sleeve of tattoos bulged under his black, v-neck shirt as he placed the shot in front of her.

“Sami, would you like me to be honest, or lie to make you feel better?”

“Honest. No, lie. No, be honest,” she chuckled indecisively. Throwing back the shot, she flipped the empty glass upside down, and slammed it on the counter. Mike plucked the glass up, and replaced it with her double seven and seven. She saw what Mike was trying to do. She scooped out the excessive use of ice, and glared at him to fill that bitch up with more whiskey. “Seriously? Do you really want to fuck with me tonight?”

Throwing her a dirty look while pouring more liquor, “You’re a tiny thing; you could easily stand to eat a few more burgers. Your boobs may be too big, but then again, I love them. Your ass is perky and tight, while your smile might be your best asset, along with those eyes and blonde hair. Although, right now, I would rather see those pearly whites instead of this sad bullshit in front of me. Give Daddy a grin.”

Sam threw her head back laughing at Mike’s analysis while clutching her stomach. He was being nice implying that she was that skinny. Truthfully she could stand to lose a couple pounds, but she did love her curves – plenty to grab. She definitely needed that, especially after the night she’d had.

“I never want to hear you say ‘Daddy’ again,” she gave him a smirk. “It gives me the willies. Besides, I don’t want to think of you that way, slugger.”

“What? You don’t like these pecks,” he glared at her while flexing his muscles through his shirt. She could honestly see his muscles jumping up and down as he went to town trying to embarrass her, like always.

“Sweet, baby Jesus. Stop. Please, I beg of you,” she bellowed as she shielding her eyes with her hands.

“Then tell me what’s up with you. Cory not hitting it out of the park lately?” he joked giving her a raised eyebrow.

He was such an asshole making baseball jokes. She had been dating Cory for years, lovingly standing by her man as he tried to climb the ranks to his dream of joining a Major League Baseball team. The problem – he wasn’t that good.

He thought he was the tits, if you asked him. On any given day he would ramble on about how he played ball with the likes of Ortiz and Rodriquez. Realistically, he played for a minor league team,
not
actually with the Boston Red Socks. Chicks loved him though, when he threw the professional names around. Girls flocked to him like flies to shit, and that’s exactly what he was – shit. She hated him and for her to hate someone took a whole hell of a lot of anger.

“What the fucking fuck, Mike. Can we not? I don’t want to talk about that asshole. Hit me with another seven and seven, please?” Cory was the last person she wanted to talk about right now. He had ruined everything she had built over the years - even if she was bored with him after the first three months of their relationship. She, too, was a giggly girl, flocking to his side as soon as he dropped the MLB bomb.

Sami was a naive kid when she met Cory in college. She was flattered that
the
Cory Banks wanted to be her boyfriend. All of her friends were getting married, and already having babies, barely out of college - she was left in the dust. It seemed like the natural progression for their relationship. That, and she felt like an old maid even at twenty-one, if you could believe that. She thought he had everything she was looking for in a future husband. He also had impeccable bone structure; they would have had beautiful children.

I
t wasn’t
until he started to make unplanned “training” trips three months into their relationship that she began getting agitated. She had wanted to leave, but it was Cory, fucking, Banks for crying out loud. She wished she could have said to hell with him, but as the dotting girlfriend, she supported his ass. She thought he would eventually make something of himself, but instead the only thing he was making were plans for the future, sans Sami.
What a schmuck!

She slumped over in her chair watching Big Mike walk away from the verbal assault he didn’t deserve. She was unraveling and taking it out on the one person who had always been there for her, aside from Ariel, her roommate.
What the hell is wrong with you, Sami?
Trying to think of an appropriate apology for her friend, she pulled out her smart phone to see what messages she had missed in the meantime.

Immediately she felt better once she saw a missed call from her big sis, Bridget. Listening to her message made her heart swell with pride.

“Hey Sam-Sam, just calling to check on you, munchkin’.” She always treated her like a baby, even though she was
only
four years older than Sam. She loved her relentlessly though. Their mother had abandoned them at a young age, and when her Dad died, she was her rock. Bridget, or Bee, took her under her wing and protected her like a little bird. It’s because of her that she even worked as hard as she did at Empire Magazine.

Bee owns and operates a very successful floral shop in the heart of San Fran. She always had tips, and entrusted her to take full advantage of every opportunity to skyrocket her career. It wasn’t too long ago that she referred her to one of her biggest go-to leads – Beckley College.

Sami had been struggling to book interviews lately considering the turmoil with Cory was always stagnant in the back of her mind. While Cory was working on making the big leagues, she was busting her ass to secure a steady stream of clients. She had enough to keep her head above water, but it was still a sticky situation.

Beckley was the leading fashion institute in San Francisco. When she needed a model, she called Beckley. When she needed a comment for an article, she went to Beckley. It was a win-win situation.

Sam had always admired her sister and her work ethic. She was a single twenty-something making things happen. Bee had it all together. She was smart, beautiful, and elegant and had a smoking hot, devoted boyfriend. He was suave to the core with his gorgeous looks, so, naturally, Sam was envious of her relationship.

Adversely, her little sister Maggie, was a walking disaster. Where she went, trouble followed. It was only a matter of time before Maggie destroyed things, leaving her sisters to pick up the pieces, as usual. Sam should have known better when both sisters wanted to move to San Fran, as well. Bee had a plans, Mags, not so much.

Thinking of Bee’s relationship with Kevin only solidified that hers with Cory had gone to shit. She needed to remedy this, asap!

“My sweet, loving, gentle giant, Mike. Please, come to me Big Daddy,” she swooned, as she coaxed the burly man over to her seat.

“Are you planning to apologize,” he grunted, folding his arms across his broad chest. Giving her the furrowed brow, she could see he was not in the mood to deal with her bullshit tonight.

Standing from her chair, she crossed her hand over her heart and lifted her fingers into a peace sign.

“I, Samantha Ann Reddington, do solemnly swear never say another disparaging remark to my best friend again. May forever he reign in the domain of alcohol, and by God, let him be my saving grace if I am not married by 40.”

“Cheers to that,” Mike clinked glasses with her. She truly adored Mike. They had been friends since they were kids, but the love interest between the two of them was never there. Their bond grew over the years, but never once had they ever considered anything deeper. There was always an understood connection that it felt icky to cross those lines.

“So, what’s the deal with Angela these days?” Sam asked, tossing back her seven and seven.

“Same ole’, same ole’ shit. This month she is dabbling in the art of cosmetology,” he coughed while turning around to place the half empty bottles of liquor on the lit shelves.

“Wait. Wasn’t she doing something with photography a couple weeks ago?” she asked confused.

“Um, yeah. She tends to get side tracked and flips it up once she decides she’s over it. That girl is a freaking train wreck, but I still care about her.”

"See. That's the kind of shit I'm talking about, Big Mike," she barked, starting to feel the buzz of her alcohol settling in.

"What? To have a crazy ass girlfriend?" he eyed her with a questionable look as he wiped down the bar.

"Devotion. Yes, Angela is bat-shit-crazy, but you see past her flaws and insecurities enough to support her and be there for her. Cory never did that shit for me. He was so self-absorbed with making it big; he never took the time to support my career and me. Granted, I didn't switch my careers like I switch panties like Angela, but even still."

"I guess you’re right, Sami. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before she finds her niche," he shrugged as he continued to clean.

"You. You're good, you," she said, giving her very best Robert Di Nero impersonation, even taking the time to squint her eyes, cock her head, and pursing her lips.

"You're getting pretty good at that. I may even mistake you for a comedian one of these days. Look out world!"

"Aye, she's far too pretty to be a comedian," said the sexiest damn Irish accent Sam had ever heard.

Turning around, Sam was confronted by the most attractive man she had ever set eyes on. Cory had nothing on this sex-god. Mystery man stood next to her with a broad chest, shaggy, but short brown hair, emerald eyes, and facial hair that she wanted to have buried deep in her lady zone. Mystery man had on a fitted, light colored dress shirt, and an attractive grey vest, which fit tightly across his chest. Now, not many men could pull this look off without looking like a penguin standing at the altar, but everything fit snug as a bug, and his sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose his elaborate sleeve tattoos.

The tattoos alone had her damp and pleading to see what this man had under his posh digs. He was beautiful. Her very own Collin Ferrell to gawk at. Shit, she was staring at him like a kid at the county fair looking at the bearded lady.

"Name's Declan. And you are?" he asked politely, extending his perfectly manicured hands. Shit, he has to be gay. No man is THIS put together. Oh, but that grip has power behind it.
Hmm.

"Sami," she stuttered, clutching his callused, yet oddly soft hands into her own.

"As in Davis, or is that your name," he smirked, showing off his perfect teeth.
Yum, Yum, Yummy.

She wanted to lick him from head to toe. He would taste like a dream; she just knew it.

"N…Nah…No, no" Sam was failing miserably to form any sort of coherent sentence. She closed her eyes to refocus her mind and bring her back to reality.

"It's Samantha, but my friends call me Sam, or Big Mike here calls me Sami."

She felt his hand on her chin, while her eyes were still closed. Pulling her chin up, she refocused to meet him eye-to-eye.

"Hello, gorgeous. I thought I lost you for a bit. You okay?" He was dreamy. Like, Patrick Dempsy McDreamy. Sam was giving off the worst vibe right now. She was surprised he hadn't left, mortified by her actions. "There are those beautiful eyes."

Gaga. That's how she felt for this man. She had never felt so gaga, or so affected by one man. Not even Cory got her this wet before. Believe her, he tried; he was horrendous in bed though. Even if she had given him a road map to her clit, he still would have gotten lost. GPS couldn't help that fool find the way to please her. Something told her Declan had his passport stamped and could navigate his way through in the dark. He oozed sex.

"Sam, I've had a pretty pisser of a night. Can I buy a beautiful woman, such as yourself, a drink?" He curled up on the bar stool next to her, resting his arms on the counter.

"Seems to be going around today," she said, almost inaudible.

"Bad night?" he assumed, leaning his elbow on the bar, and turning his attention, and legs, toward her.

"You have no idea." Rolling her eyes, she swiveled her stool towards him, intertwining their legs together, completely on accident.
Well, kind of.

"How about this. Why don't we drink our sorrows away tonight and say, fuck it. I only have one stipulation," he mischievously winked at her.

"I'm terrified to ask," she raised her eyebrows with a grimace worried for her impending stipulation.

"You must drink whatever I put in front of you. Deal?"

"Just as long as you don't put drugs in my drink, I think we are good," she said with a giggle, pushing her coaster back and forth across the slippery bar. She had grown up in a huge Irish family. She would bet she could drink him under the table if she wanted to.

"Deal," extending his hand, he took hers in his, shaking it, while calling over Mike.

"What's up, Boss? What can I get you?" Mike asked, giving her the atta-girl, look.

"I would like to buy this lovely woman an Irish Car bomb."

Oh Hell. She could tolerate a lot, but Irish Car bombs were the devil. Watching Mike pull the Jameson Whiskey from the shelf, she knew she was in for a treat. He poured two half shots of Jameson, filling the rest of the shot with Irish cream, and two glasses with a pint of Guinness each. Pushing it toward Declan and herself, she wanted to run as fast as she could.