Reckless: A Salvation Society Novel Read online

  Reckless

  Nicole Blanchard

  Contents

  Letter To The Reader

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  The Salvation Society

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Nicole Blanchard

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 by Nicole Blanchard

  Cover Design:

  IndieSage

  Editing:

  AW Editing, Ashley Williams

  Lawrence Editing, Emily A. Lawrence

  Proofreading:

  Lawrence Editing, Emily A. Lawrence

  Photographer:

  Lindee Robinson Photography

  Models:

  Brian Boynton & Mairi Van Dyke

  To the family you choose

  Letter To The Reader

  Dear Reader,

  I am so stoked to participate in this world and share my love of Corinne’s books and the Salvation Series with you. It’s truly been an honor to participate in this project, and I can’t thank Corinne and her team enough for all of their hard work. I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am!

  Military heroes have a special place in my heart (who doesn’t love a man in uniform?!), and I couldn’t wait to write about another wounded hero. This book was a trial of love that brought me through a difficult end to 2020.

  Reckless features a cross between the Salvation world and my own First to Fight series. In my book Warrior, we meet and fall in love with the Hart family. Reckless gives you a sneak peek into their happily ever after, many years later, and follows their daughter to California where she runs into trouble…and a swoony Hollywood heartthrob.

  Enjoy cameos from some of your favorites and a lot of twists and turns!

  So much love,

  Nicole

  Chapter One

  Phoebe

  “Take this.”

  It isn’t an abnormal occurrence for my father to thrust a gun in my direction. It is, however, odd for him to do so before I’ve even had my coffee. My immediate family, in particular, knows how ill-prepared I am to deal with their shenanigans before at least one dose of caffeine and a full meal.

  “Um, I have to catch a plane at nine-thirty. I don’t have time to go to the gun range with you,” I tell him with a lift of my brow. My hands clutch my mom’s favorite mug, which is full of coffee I haven’t even had a sip of yet.

  “This isn’t for the range,” Dad says, looking way too serious for six in the morning, which doesn’t bode well. “I want you to take it with you.”

  “Jesus, Ben, what the hell?” My mother sounds both amused and horrified as she fills my plate with eggs and bacon. It’s enough food to satiate someone with a voracious appetite . . . like a sumo wrestler. I pass some off to my brother’s plate when she isn’t looking. He grins and wisely keeps stuffing his mouth instead of getting in the middle of the conversation. I implore him with a look, but he merely lifts his shoulders in response. Naturally, that means he sides with Dad.

  The men in this family, I swear. They have testosterone and bullshit in spades.

  I turn to my father, who still holds the gun out in offering. I don’t have to look twice to know it’s the Glock 42 Subcompact .380 Auto in rose gold I’ve had my eye on. He knows how much I’ve wanted it since I tested it out and fell in love. “Yeah, Dad, what the hell?”

  My dad rolls his eyes and lifts the case he’s holding in his other hand. “You can take them on the plane if you bring them in a locked carrying case and check them into baggage. I don’t want you going to California unprotected.”

  According to my dad, if you’re not packing, you’re an idiot. But he’s a Marine, so there’s no convincing him otherwise. He likes to say I got my stubbornness from my mom, but we all know it’s from him.

  “You act as if I’m going to war. Newsflash, I’m moving to L.A. for work. Something lots of blue-collar Americans do every day. It doesn’t mean I need to arm myself, for goodness’ sake. Besides, my Florida permit isn’t valid in California.”

  “Ben, maybe you’re overreacting a little,” Mom says, putting a hand to his elbow and meeting his eyes. I soften, watching the two of them communicate an entire conversation without words. They are lucky to have that kind of connection after nearly thirty years of marriage.

  A lot of people aren’t so lucky.

  “I don’t think you’re reacting enough, Livvie,” he says in a low voice. “Do you know what the crime rate is in Los Angeles?”

  Scoffing, I say, “Don’t you think this is a bit sensationalist? You went to Afghanistan when you were younger than I am. I think I can survive in California.”

  “I’m going to put this in your suitcase. Make sure you let them know you’re checking it when you do the rest of your baggage. You can get your permit as soon as you get there to carry concealed.” Without asking him to, he retrieves my suitcase, puts the gun in its case, and secures it with a combo lock I’ve never seen before.

  “It’s too early to argue,” I say to no one in particular before drinking deeply from my coffee cup. The fact that I wanted the gun is of little consequence. When Dad gets on a tear about something, especially when it comes to his kids, it’s nigh impossible to get him to back down.

  “He just worries about you,” Mom says, bringing cream and sugar in little cow-shaped dispensers and setting them in front of me. I don’t mind black coffee but prefer it sweet and light.

  “I know that, but I’m twenty-five. It isn’t as if I don’t know how to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a while now.”

  “Of course, dear,” she answers, and I know she’s only doing that to allow me to save face.

  I haven’t been taking care of myself for a long time. Longer than I’d like to admit.

  But that’s going to change.

  Starting with this move to Los Angeles.

  As much as I love living in the town I grew up in and having my friends and family no more than an hour’s drive in any direction, I feel like I’ll suffocate if I don’t make a change. There’s nothing more drastic than quitting my long-term job and accepting an offer from a publicity firm on the opposite side of the country. It’ll be the first time since my world ended that I’m taking back my life, but I’m ready.

  Or, at least, I hope I am.

  I mentally straighten my shoulders.

  Of course, I am.

  It’s time for a change of scenery. When I first considered starting over, my number one requirement was to be somewhere near the water. A Florida girl at heart, I can’t live somewhere without beach access, and the position at CJJ Relations is perfect for me, personally and professionally. It’s an opportunity I simply can’t pass up, even knowing all I would be giving up.

  Pulling out my phone, I open my photos app and reread the job description for the hundredth time. When I applied for the unit publicist position, it had been on a whim. Sure, I have the experience—I worked my ass off to obtain a combined bachelor’s in marketing and a master’s in business administration from FSU, but that feels like years ago. I spent two years in California at a smaller PR company before returning to Tallahassee, where I landed a job at a top publicity firm until
I quit a year ago. Apprehension gnaws at my stomach. I was once successful, ambitious, and at the top of my game. Can I be that woman again?

  I guess I’ll find out.

  “Bea, don’t sweat it. You’re going to kick ass.”

  I glance at Cole, who’s still stuffing his face with both our breakfasts. You’d never guess the guy was born with a congenital heart defect. He hasn’t let it slow him down, even for a second. By the time I was born, he’d already had heart replacement surgery and hasn’t stopped since.

  A wave of affection crashes over me. I’m going to miss him. Our other siblings are in varying stages of their college education, and I’ll miss them, too. But Cole and I were always the closest since there are a few years between us and the others.

  “Thanks, loser,” I answer, which in sister speak means thank you, and I’m going to miss you. He grins around a mouth full of eggs and bacon, and I stick out my tongue.

  Mom looks at Cole and says, “Don’t make faces at your sister.”

  “You’d think we weren’t nearly thirty,” I say to him. “First Dad with the gun and macho speech, and now Mom acting like we’re kids.”

  “You’ll always be my babies,” Mom answers affectionately. “Now play nice.”

  “And to think I was feeling bad about leaving the lot of you,” I retort on my way to grab more coffee. I stand at the counter, blowing on my cup until it’s cool enough for a sip.

  “Would it be wrong of me to ask you to be at least a little sad when you’re gone?” Mom asks with a trembling smile.

  I cross to her and kiss her hair. “I’ll be sad, but just for you. The women in this family are the only sane ones.”

  Dad pretends like he doesn’t hear Mom’s comment. “Promise you’ll keep it on you after you get your permit, Firecracker. I don’t care if you don’t think you need it.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll bring it and wear it, but only if I’ll be somewhere sketchy. A gun-toting Floridian isn’t exactly the impression I want to make with my new colleagues.”

  He doesn’t seem impressed with my answer, but he doesn’t argue. “And your new apartment has security? When you get there, make sure to install a second set of locks and check the deadbolt.”

  “Dad—”

  “And carry some Mace with you, just in case.”

  “Da-ad—”

  He takes one of my hands and holds it in between his. His stern expression makes me choke back my complaints. “You have our numbers on speed dial, and I’ve got a buddy from the navy at Coronado who can come if you ever have an emergency.”

  “Dad. I’ll be fine.”

  I want to say that nothing will happen. I want to say that the likelihood I’ll ever be in an emergency type of situation is slim to none, but life has proven that to be inaccurate.

  Before I was born, Cole was abducted by our mother’s biological mom, our grandmother, who was batshit crazy. For a short time, they thought he would die because of his heart condition and fragile state. Thankfully, he was found safe, but that experience left an indelible mark.

  They’ve always been overprotective of my younger siblings and me. It’s hard to fault them for it, considering.

  It’s why I’m not too hard on my dad for being so . . . well, neurotic. My therapist says it’s his way of controlling the uncontrollable and that I should allow him to feel safe so long as it doesn’t interfere with my own sense of independence.

  “I know you will, but did it have to be California?” He says it like I decided to join the circus.

  “Dad,” I say with a little laugh, “you’ll see me at Thanksgiving. You and Mom are coming out to visit, no excuses.”

  “Fine, but none of that tofu shit.”

  “Promise,” I answer. “I’m gonna go pack. No sticking any more weapons into my luggage,” I warn before I head upstairs to my room.

  Once my things are all packed, I linger as I dress, remembering growing up in this house— the memories, the love, the heartache. I wouldn’t be who I am without this house, these people.

  But it’s time to make new memories.

  Once I’ve checked and double-checked my suitcases, I head back downstairs to say goodbye to my family. I find them waiting for me in the living room, wearing identical concerned smiles and trying not to let them show.

  God, I’m going to miss them.

  Mom pulls me into her arms first, almost upending my purse in the process. I bury my face in her hair and try to memorize her light citrusy scent. I’ll probably call her twice a day, but it won’t be the same as having her in the same town. “Call me when you land,” she orders when she’s done squeezing the life out of me.

  “I will.”

  Dad is next, and he doesn’t say anything, which is how I know how emotional he really is. He merely enfolds me in his arms for a few long moments and then kisses my forehead.

  “You’ll come to California sometime?” I ask Cole after he gives me a crushing hug. “Maybe we’ll learn how to surf.”

  “You got it. Make sure to make a lot of friends,” he adds with a playful eyebrow wiggle.

  “Creep.” I gather my things and roll my suitcases to the door. “I guess this is it!” I announce with false confidence. “I’ll call when I get there safely.”

  “We love you, firecracker,” Dad says as he takes my mom into his arms. She doesn’t cry, but her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

  “I love you too,” I answer and then add, “Bye, guys,” before I chicken out and stay in their protective bubble for the rest of my days.

  “We’re going to throw you right to the sharks,” Catherine Cole says with an easy smile. I try—and fail—to contain my admiration. Besides the fact that she’s beautiful, with long, dark hair and warm brown eyes, Catherine Cole fought her way to the top to become the COO of CJJ Public Relations. In a short time, she’s become a cornerstone in the entertainment industry. She has it all: a kickass career, a growing company, and a beautiful family.

  Essentially, I want to be her when I grow up.

  “Please do. I don’t back down from a challenge.” This is a make-or-break it chance, and break isn’t an option. I’ll prove to Catherine and my family that I have what it takes to succeed here.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Normally, I’d let your direct superior give you this briefing, but this client has been with me since I helped open the West Coast branch of CJJ, so he has a special place in my heart.” Catherine shakes her hair over her shoulders and takes two manila folders from her desk. She keeps one and passes the other to me.

  I nearly have a heart attack at the name on the label, which is embossed because CJJ is legit. Arthur Oswald. Arthur freaking Oswald. For a moment, I’m sure I’m hallucinating. Arthur Oswald hasn’t done a movie in decades. Not since his wife died of cancer, and he became a recluse—at least by Hollywood standards—to raise their two children.

  Not only am I meeting with the biggest partner at the firm on my first day, but I’m also being assigned to one of the most influential actors in the history of American film. Am I being punked?

  “Arthur is spearheading a new film based on a script he’s been working on for years. He’s nearly come to blows with many of the major studio heads. At this point, we’re thankful he’s managed to convince a smaller studio, who we also represent, to take him on.”

  “He’s directing? Will he also be starring?” I hope I don’t sound like an obsessed, star-struck fangirl. I take out a pen and paper to take notes.

  Catherine grins. “His directorial debut. That’s why this is such a big deal for him—and for us. He won’t be starring in the film, but they’ve chosen a great, if not unique, cast.”

  “I’ve seen all his films,” I admit and make a mental note to watch them again. “I’m excited to dive right in.”

  “Then you’ll be perfect for the job.”

  “You say he’s come to blows with the major studio heads? Does this mean we’ll have ruffled feathers to smooth?” I
ask as delicately as I can. I’m used to dealing with passionate, intense types. Once upon a time, I thrived on adversity.

  With a tinkling laugh, she says, “Possibly a few.”

  “Then I’m your woman,” I say enthusiastically. “I come from a large family. My mediation skills have translated well to working with . . . difficult clients.”

  I can’t help my enthusiasm. There’s a reason why I wanted to come to L.A. to work when there are publicity firms of all types across the U.S. I’ve been a movie lover since as far back as I could remember. When I was four, I was diagnosed with dyslexia. Though I went to therapy to catch up with my peers, who were already reading, movies were always the form of escapism I turned to the most.

  “Wonderful,” Catherine says with a warm smile. “As the unit publicist for the film, you’ll be responsible for working with the cast and crew throughout production to generate interest before its release. It really is an interesting position, getting to be a part of the project from its inception instead of participating after the fact. As you know, the press kit, on-set photography stills, and early coverage from the press will help direct attention and interest toward the finished product. Because Arthur and the production company are both clients, they’re all entrusting us to make this film a success.”

  “How amenable is Mr. Oswald to interviews?” I ask, already imagining how to best approach positioning his return to the industry. “I imagine everyone is curious about his vision and what he’s been up to. I know in the past he’s been tight-lipped when it comes to the press.”