Going Down Read online

  GOING DOWN

  Instalove Hearts 4

  ALLY CREW

  BRYNN HALE

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  Copyright © 2020 by Ally Crew and Brynn Hale

  All rights reserved.

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  Contact Ally for more information at [email protected].

  This story was co-written by Ally Crew and Brynn Hale. Brynn writes sweet, steamy instalove with bad boys, cowboys, firemen, military guys and more with heart and all the feelings.

  She can be found at: Amazon Brynn Hale

  Contents

  GOING DOWN- Instalove Hearts Book 4

  1. Stella

  2. Cash

  3. Stella

  4. Cash

  5. Stella

  6. Cash

  7. Stella

  8. Cash

  9. Stella

  EPILOGUE

  Apple Pie in a Mug Recipe

  Sneak Peek of EXTRA HOT- Instalove Hearts 1

  1. Callie

  Also by Ally Crew

  Also by Brynn Hale

  GOING DOWN- Instalove Hearts Book 4

  ♥ Facing off with the billionaire who's come into her town and started to steal her business, isn't her biggest issue. Falling for his smooth talk, smooth hands, and smooth moves is. ♥

  Stella

  My life is good. I love my job, my town, and my simple life. But lately, I'm missing something.

  When an out-of-towner decides to open a chain of coffeeshops and more businesses in my town-one my family built from the ground up-I'm not going to let him get away with ruining our future.

  Cash Drexel is tall, confident, and I can tell. he knows how to treat a woman right, even if I swear I don't like his advances and brazen ways.

  Will getting stuck in an elevator turn out to be the best hour of my life?

  Cash

  My position demands I never let my guard down. I'm on all the time. But my company provides a good life for so many that it's worth not having a personal life.

  It's my dream. Until I see her. Then she's my new and better dream.

  The Stone family's got a legacy here and I know I'm in for a wonderful ride when the spunky. blonde marches into my office and makes my heart race and my body take notice.

  Stella's more confident, more sassy, and more voluptuous than a dozen women, and I'm ready to make all that sass mine.

  But can I get her to believe that I'm not the enemy or will we be going down before we ever start?

  What you must know: This fast and steamy read contains over-the-top proclamations, instalove magnetism, and sweet emotional treats between a curvy woman and a rich and smooth-talking man.

  1

  Stella

  I sweep the tabletop of crumbs with five flat neat strokes and stare out the front window. My reflection bounces back a happiness that’s part façade and part routine.

  “Stella, my girl, you’re a creature of habit, just like the sun,” my dad would often say. He always used sunny adjectives to describe me—sunny smile, sunlit cheeks, ray of sunshine. However, as I wave goodbye to the last customers of the afternoon, and make my way back to the cash register, the sunny smile fades from my face and the fake happiness sinks to my gut. The feeling reminds me of the plunging sun on doomsday book covers. Ominous. Never to rise again.

  And I wonder if that same fate awaits our family café too. A venture that bears more than just the family’s name. Dad took his life savings and started a few businesses to open up jobs for our friendly community going on twenty years ago. And this café, now my baby as the manager, has become the town’s personal favorite.

  Since the very first day the open sign turned, my parents poured their heart into every frothy cup of black sunshine. And gifted their souls to make each customer feel welcome. Naturally, it was a moment of pride when my heels stepped in to assume my spot at the top, as hostess and manager.

  Six months have now passed, and the deposits are less and less each day. My coffee and espresso drinks are still to die for – as a coffee aficionado I know it, I drink them daily. My peppy spirits still draw them in. I’ve been told as much, by almost everyone - young and old, the regulars and the newbies. But that doesn’t seem to be enough to stop the grim shadows of darkness falling on our enterprise, threatening to eclipse us completely. Shadows that only seem to be getting darker, longer and more monstrous in nature—in the form of a new coffee shop—a chain store, no less.

  “Not only do we charge less… we pay our employees more!” the proprietor of the chain store had mentioned in the local paper interview.

  Ugh.

  If I could match that deal, I would. Slashing prices on the menu, upping the bonuses of the kitchen staff and gaining a lot of brownie points with clients and crew alike sounds sweet-n-swell—as long as we can keep the doors open. With our profit margins tight as it is, anything tighter means we would suffocate.

  I watch a group of people stop by to peep at the ‘deals’ on our shopfront window, and then walk past. No doubt toward the new coffee shop. With a sigh, I pick up the trays from the counter and head into the kitchen.

  Maybe I need to have a brief chat with the new café owner? Read his pulse for what the hell his plans are. He’s bought-out a shop down the road, and I heard through the small town grapevine that he plans to buy one on the other side of the community, near the highway for that traffic. I can feel the tidal wave slowly coming in, towards us. I can see it, but I don’t know if I can get to higher ground to avoid it.

  But like dad always said, “If you can’t win them with your pie, win them with your smile.” Can’t hurt to try to talk some common sense into the man. He can’t be that hardheaded not to see what he’ll do to the little guy.

  But I’ve often found common sense is something sorely lacking these days.

  I flip off the lights. I’m afraid soon it will be for the last time.

  My heels clatter against the shiny hardwood planks of the fourth floor of the most expensive high-rise downtown as I walk past a series of fancy metal sculptures. I have to cross another stretch of glitzy glass walls ten feet tall, before I get to his lair.

  Obviously, the ‘pay more-charge less’ boss isn’t going to have his office at a modest little industrial mall or the back of his shop, like we do. No, he’s going big and part of it makes me feel small. And that’s something I’ve never been. My generous curves and roundness garners a fair share of looks from men, and some from women, too. But I like my body and I won’t change it for anyone.

  Don’t like it. Don’t look.

  I’ve been too involved in my career to make an effort to find a partner in life. And I’m not sure I want to either. Life is complicated enough, adding another person into the crazy well, that might just be crazy.

  And not common sense.

  I finally stop at a chunky dark cherrywood door that screams ‘powerful’, but in very suave tones. Fuck, how could a door be so overpowering?

  Stella, for Pete’s sake, you’re 25, not 5!

  I push my shoulders back, tidying up a few golden highlights spilling over my ivory sleeves.

  This might be a dog-
eat-dog world. But sometimes, it’s the little dogs that are the toughest. Yeah, I’ve repeated that mantra a few times already. Yet, somehow, I’m edgily plucking out a mirror from my purse to make sure I don’t have bright red lipstick dots on my teeth.

  “Impressions count,” I murmur to myself, remembering my father’s sage words.

  My pupils hover over the brass nameplate. Cash Drexel, CEO. I memorize the name—not difficult, since even his name has the connotation of money built right in.

  “Cash Drexel,” I say it again, taking an odd liking to the sound of it as it rolls down my tongue. Somehow, it doesn’t fit the picture of the potbellied bespectacled honcho in the local newspaper.

  Drawing a deep yoga-styled breath in, I knock.

  For a whole minute I hear nothing back and just as I’m raising my knuckles, “Come in,” a deep voice finally responds.

  I twist the knob and enter, letting the door shut behind me quietly. At first glance, I’m struck by an expanse of the lushest beige carpet I’ve seen. And as my gaze rolls up, to the opposite end of the room—which seems far enough to be considered another continent—I spot the silhouette of a man. He looks tall against the window frame he’s standing by, his hands in his pockets, his attention to the view of the town on the outside.

  “Mr. Drexel?” I clear my throat.

  The man darts an unhurried peek over his shoulder.

  My breaths unexpectedly pause, as I’m met with a pair of caramel eyes glistening against the soft light. Damn, this man is definitely not the potbellied bespectacled honcho I’ve imagined from the papers. But, the one glance is enough to tell me he owns this place. This place, and everything inside it. Everything.

  His raven black hair is gelled back in neat strokes, and a finely-trimmed beard contours his sharp jawline, finishing off the whiskered-businessman look to perfection. Complementing those fine attributes are a set of sharp features that look like they’ve been etched by a skilled sculptor. The rest of him is quite striking too, a fit frame beneath a sublime smoky-colored suit. Double damn.

  My body tickles low in my belly and my mouth dries.

  With rampant thoughts in my head—the prepared speeches and punchlines having come to a screeching halt—my mind scrambles to come up with the first few lines.

  “I’m Stella Stone…” is all I can choke out.

  He turns around and approaches me, his loafers halting five inches from the tips of my heels. His eyes refuse to release mine. Instead, they drop down to my lips, past my neck and my curves, before flicking back up to my face.

  Shit. My breaths that’d paused a few seconds ago, come to a complete standstill now. Is this brazen greeting reserved for all female visitors who walk through that cherrywood door? Or, only for a few select ones?

  “Well, hello, Ms. Stone.” He finally removes a hand from his pocket and holds it out, as if he’d been waiting to catch that ‘out-of-breath’ response on me. “Cash Drexel.” A sleek smile tilts his lips into full and beckoning ruby red pillows.

  With no warning whatsoever a flutter goes off in my chest, the effects instantly zipping right down to my warm core. Sure, it’s the first time I’m squaring my shoulders against a CEO. But I can’t imagine feeling this way against any other man, CEO or not.

  I clear my throat. “I spoke to your sec…” The words crackle, betraying how the heat of his stares have sponged my throat dry. “I spoke to your secretary…”

  As I take his extended hand, I’m hyper-aware of how hard his palm feels against mine.

  It’s a fricking handshake -stop acting like a high-schooler.

  And that’s when I realize the handshake’s lasted a little—a lot—longer than most handshakes do. I retract my hand quickly and give my senses a hard jolt to try and recall the speeches I rehearsed. “My…my family are the Stones…” I reiterate, in case he hadn’t picked it up during my introduction.

  I wait for the hint of recognition in his smile. I see nothing. The man is a steel trap. And that’s another blow to my ego. Can’t even affect a man anymore.

  “Well, we’re very popular among the locals.” I over emphasize on the word ‘very’ and feel like I’m saying that we’re running a brothel. “We’ve invested a lifetime and our lifesavings building up this town,” I say speedily to try to counteract my faux pas.

  “I see…” He shrugs after hearing me out, clearly not all that impressed by my speech. If judging by the glint in his look, he’s fascinated by the shape of my lips rather than the words leaving them.

  I pause for a bit. He’s making me too edgy. And he’s feasting on my edginess. Somehow, I’m unable to stop him from doing either.

  Bundling up my scattered nerves, I continue, “My dad - he’s touched many lives, sponsored and shored up their businesses with funds, and made their dreams come true. His only dream is the café in town, few doors across from your brand new ‘coffee shop’.” I stick my fingers up displaying air quotes. I’m trying not to be shy about the fact that I don’t consider his “coffee shop” a coffee shop.

  I clear my throat and straighten my back, throwing out my chest in the process and I again see very little change in his demeanor. “In our family café, we remember how each one of our regulars prefers his or her unique brew, and the locals appreciate us for that. We acknowledge people for what they are—individuals. We don’t see them as numbers. Your fancy coffee shop cannot replicate that sentiment with its get-them-in, send-them-out M.O., can it?”

  His skewed smile steadily evolves into a full-blown smirk. “You don’t see them as numbers? I like numbers… especially the ones I see…” His baritone timbre dips as his eyes scan my body. “Thirty-six-twenty-four-thirty-six…am I right?”

  It’s like he’s measured right across my nipples. Around my waist. And over my ass.

  Holy shit.

  My breasts swell, pushing my nipples against the smooth silk of my bra. Fuck. I’m startled by my body’s reaction to the cocky claims, while my head’s still reeling from what I’ve just heard.

  Those are definitely not the sort of numbers I presumed we’d be discussing when I walked in five minutes ago.

  His eyes must have a lot of practice, taking measurements. I groan dismissively. What the hell was I thinking? An impulsive moment on a bad day, and I’d stormed in, unprepared and underequipped to handle the heat he’s bringing. Bad decisions aren’t good for business.

  Yet, I cannot deny the fact that somehow I’m still here, with aroused nipples, locked to my spot by the sheer force of his presence.

  And bad boys aren’t good for good girls.

  2

  Cash

  Stella Stone. She’s not the first woman to barge into my office with a long list of complaints about my business practices. But, unlike most others resorting to such gimmicks for fame, it’s obvious she’s earnestly passionate about the ramblings of her list. Passionate enough that I’d grade her a jalapeno and cayenne against a chili-meter. Fortunately for her, heat is my favorite seasoning and I can almost taste her fiery pussy on my tongue. She’s going to be my favorite new flavor.

  The bright red lipstick and businesswoman-aura might mislead some into believing she’s three decades into life, but I can tell she’s not a month past twenty-five. When pitted against me, her inexperience is clear as daylight—be it in business, or even pleasure. As a man who’s been walking this Earth for thirty-eight years and fucking for the better half of it, I know when a woman’s fighting her arousal.

  Regardless, I find her naïveté refreshing. In fact, inviting. Irresistibly so.

  Of course, it helps that during those ardent speeches about her family, her expressive coffee brown eyes fire up, matching the flaming golden highlights of her dark blonde hair. And there’s something about her peachy skin, a virginal bloom, that I imagine would feel like fresh velvet against my weathered skin.

  I did get her flustered by my little ‘numbers’ game. And that gets a chuckle rolling mentally inside of me. I could’ve been a little
subtle about it and teased the moment out, but those soft curves stirred awake a desire in me, a desire that now refuses to simmer down. That’s the spark I’ve been on the lookout for. The sort of spark that won’t settle. And nothing in two years has come close to how she’s made me feel in two minutes.

  “Why don’t we get a cup of coffee and talk this over?” I suggest, as if this were a business deal, aware the word ‘coffee’ would only grind her gears further.

  “What?” she nearly exclaims. “No.” She shakes her head. “Never!”

  In a swift move, that I hadn’t seen coming, she turns around and walks out of my office door.

  At the elevator bay, she’s pressed the button, tapping restlessly against her handbag while she waits for her ride to show up. Of course, the nervous tic stops when she hears my steps down the corridors on the marble flooring. Ostentatious and over-the-top, this building is too slick for my tastes, but it was the only place available. My customer-facing businesses take a much environmentally friendly appeal to construction. If it’s not reclaimed, recycled, or renewed, it’s not a part of one of our places.

  She whips her head my way, her curls bouncing off her shoulders. “Are you following me?”

  “Following you? Whatever gave you the idea?” I take a deliberate pause. “I’d like to go down, too.” I stress every syllable of the ‘go down’, feeling a smile ride on my lips and a rush of heat below my beltline, as an image of me on my knees, lifting her honey pussy to my mouth, flashes past my mind. Fuck it, I can’t think of anything else now. Not even the billion-dollar project I’m launching in two days will satisfy this craving. It’s animal. It’s wild. It’s happening.