If the Boot Fits Read online

  By Rebekah Weatherspoon

  If the Boot Fits

  A Cowboy to Remember

  If the BOOT FITS

  REBEKAH WEATHERSPOON

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Teaser chapter

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Rebekah Weatherspoon

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2541-7

  First Kensington Mass Market Edition: November 2020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2544-8 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2544-1 (ebook)

  Chapter 1

  Amanda McQueen opened her eyes and immediately closed them again.

  The night before must have been a dream. There was no way her friend and rising A-list actress Helene Sawyer had scored her an invite to the Vanity Fair Oscar party. There’s no way she’d let her tag along to Kata and Rina’s A-list after-party. There was absolutely no freaking way she’d run into Samuel Pleasant at both events, and surely you’d be joking if you told her that sometime in the night she and Sam had completely hit it off. And that somehow he’d asked her back to his hotel room. She’d call you a bold-faced liar—to your face—if you even hinted at the idea that Amanda and Sam had slept together and that the sex had been top tier, mind-blowing even.

  No. There was no way any of that had happened.

  But then how did Amanda explain to herself how she’d woken up, still very naked and aroused, tangled in high-thread-count hotel sheets with now Oscar-winning actor Sam Pleasant? If she wasn’t afraid of making any sudden movements she’d pinch herself. His arm was still draped over her, his fingers resting on her breast. Slowly she turned her head and looked over at him, the dim light coming from the small part in the blackout curtains making it just bright enough to see. Sam was still very much asleep, snoring softly, his dark brown cheek pressed against the white pillow.

  His skin was amazing, Amanda thought as she took in the dark lashes brushing those cheeks. She could spend all day looking at him and another night as well. Too bad she had to be at work in exactly ninety minutes. She didn’t need to look at her phone to see what time it was. Amanda woke up every single morning twenty minutes before her alarm. Call it peak readiness. She took pride in her work and the lessons both her parents had taught her. On time was late. And now, she was definitely going to be late.

  Okay. First thing, extract yourself from the bed without waking Sam up. Then flee from his hotel room before you have a chance to exchange another word. They’d agreed, no names. As if she didn’t know who he was, but when he’d asked her name in the middle of her enthusiastic rendition of the cha-cha slide, she’d played it cool.

  “Sorry, I can’t hear you. I’m dancing,” she’d said. He’d laughed. They’d danced some more and more, until it was time to go their separate ways. Or so she’d thought. It wasn’t until she’d gotten off the elevator and found him waiting right where he said he’d be, right outside of room 1020, that she’d realized this thing between them was actually happening. No, it wasn’t until he’d asked if it was okay if he kissed her, that he’d been wanting to all night, ever since she’d made that crack about doing the breaststroke through a chocolate fountain. (Listen, it was her first night out in almost six months and some very nice woman named Lisa had done a great job on her makeup. She was feeling a little peppy and loose.)

  That kiss though, the soft slowness of it that had somehow managed to work its way through the pulsing excitement of the night and of Sam’s Oscar win, she’d felt something in that kiss. It had been the only reason she’d shimmied out of the sparkling gold and silver romper that she’d scored from the Forever 21 plus-size section. The only reason she’d been glad she was still carrying the emergency condoms she always did on her boss’s behalf. That kiss had only been proof that Sam Pleasant knew exactly how to treat a woman. He wasn’t too bad at the sex part either.

  But none of that mattered now, because she had to be standing at the foot of her boss’s bed in exactly eighty-seven minutes.

  Amanda glanced toward the floor and calculated just how loud of a thud she’d make if she rolled off the bed. Her mental math told her that would be the quickest way to wake Sam up. Slow and easy would be the way to go.

  Carefully, oh so carefully, she eased to the side, pointing her foot toward the ground. When her toes made contact with the carpet, she gently lifted Sam’s hand and eased out from under his arm. She set his fingers in the warm spot she’d left behind, then quietly sat up and stood before pulling the covers back over his shoulders. She froze when he sniffed a bit, then rubbed his nose. Her heart started beating again when he rolled over and settled deeper into the sheets.

  She quickly but quietly began to search the room for her things. Her jeans and shirt were back at Helene’s house up in the Hills. She’d have to worry about that later. She grabbed her sequin jumpsuit and her silver strappy sandals, then slipped into the bathroom, dressing in record time. Her bladder was screaming, but there was no way she could risk flushing the toilet. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to be the nasty ass who peed in Sam Pleasant’s hotel room and didn’t flush. She telegraphed the message to her bladder, just wait five more minutes, then she checked her face in the mirror. Thank God her makeup was barely smudged.

  Normally she was good at being invisible. Every Hollywood assistant had mastered the skill—ever present, but never seen, never heard, and definitely never photographed. She hoped being Black, a size twenty, and not at all famous would reduce the chances of anyone noticing her walk of shame. Or should she say, strut of triumph? She’d definitely had sex with Sam Pleasant and that was worth celebrating. In any event, smudged makeup would attract someone’s attention. For now she was just your average Oscar night partygoer on their way home. With eighty-five minutes to spare before she had to be at work.

  She crept back into the room and grabbed her clutch off th
e hotel desk, then grabbed the swag bag she’d received from the only post-award-show gifting suite Helene had managed to sneak her into. No way Amanda was leaving that behind. She’d investigate the full extent of her spoils once she got home. She did one final visual sweep of the room, then fled into the morning.

  In the elevator she called for a Lyft. Jerod was five minutes away.

  In the lobby things were still quiet. No one but people like Amanda woke up this early, the first-shifters who got other people’s days started for them. Amanda would be lying if she said she didn’t find a little thrill in it. Yeah, the work was thankless, but often she was the first to witness so many things. Things she couldn’t talk about, but still, she was always in the know.

  She used the restroom, then stepped out into the predawn morning just as Jerod pulled up to the curb in front of the W Hotel.

  “Fun night?” he asked as she buckled her seat belt.

  “It was a great night. Thank you.”

  “Well, let’s get you home.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to her place in Beverly Hills. Technically it was Beverly Hills, but not the rich, fancy, big mansion part most people thought of when they pictured the famous zip code, and the adorable cottage facing the street definitely wasn’t hers. She lived in the back. She tipped Jerod in the app, then hurried inside. She had just enough time to shower and shovel down a quick breakfast before she got on with her day.

  She threw a frozen breakfast burrito in the microwave, fixed her triangle braids up in a high topknot, then hopped under the hot spray, where she scrubbed the night off her face. Quick lotion up and wardrobe change and she was almost ready to go.

  She flopped down on her bed to pull on her Converse and accidentally knocked her after-party gift bag to the floor. It landed with a sickening thud that she was sure had dented the old hardwood floors. She picked up the bag and glanced inside, just to make sure her brand-new bits of expensive swag were okay.

  And that’s when she realized her mistake.

  She’d grabbed the wrong bag.

  There was an iPhone in its crisp white box. Beside it was another box and beside that was a pristine Oscar statue.

  “No, no, no, no, noooo.” Amanda carefully pulled the beautiful golden knight out of the bag and examined the envelope that had been lying beneath it.

  Best Performance by an Actor

  in a Supporting Role,

  Samuel Pleasant, The Sky Beneath Our Feet

  “Oh my gosh. No!” This was not the time to panic, but of course she was panicking. She had to get the award back to Sam or Sam’s team, and she had to do it now.

  Amanda fell back on the bed and googled frantically, looking for the name of Sam’s agent. She knew everyone who represented everyone in prime-time TV, but film stars were not her area of expertise. Not while her boss Dru Anastasia was still employed in the world of teen paranormal dramas. It took a few clicks and swipes, but she managed to find it. John Coffey at TCA. He shared an agency with Helene. Great. She swiped over to JackRabbit, the courier app she used at least twice a day, and scheduled a pickup for right outside Dru’s apartment building on Sunset. Hopefully, Sam was a late sleeper and the missing statue would be back in the right hands before he wondered where she’d gone.

  With the pickup confirmed, she packed her bag for the day, making sure she didn’t forget Sam’s swag bag or his award, and hurried out to her midsize SUV parked out on the street.

  Traffic and the parking gods were on her side. She made it to Delightly, Dru’s favorite restaurant, and found an empty meter right in front. She ducked in and grabbed Dru’s breakfast, then booked it over to her apartment building on the west end of the Sunset Strip. She had to park two blocks away, but if she power walked at just the right speed she would be two minutes early. Dru didn’t like to see her sweat.

  She made it to the front door just as the JackRabbit driver pulled up. She handed off the heavy swag bag as soon as he rolled down the window of the white Prius.

  “Please, please, please. Get this to the receptionist and tell her it’s for John Coffey. Samuel Pleasant’s Oscar statue is in there. He lost it last night. He needs to get it back,” she said, giving him a meaningful look. There was no room for error in this delivery or both their heads would roll.

  “Oh shit,” he said, his eyes popping wide with horror. “Okay, got it. I’ll make sure I walk it right into her. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  “Thank you.”

  A smile forced her panic away as she watched him buckle the bag into the passenger seat beside him. He nodded to her with a little salute of his fingers and then pulled a U-turn back on to the street. She sent up a prayer for a safe delivery, then snapped back into work mode.

  She headed to the front door and waved at the handsome face she saw through the thick glass doors. Francesco, the doorman, buzzed her in.

  “Good morning, my Amanda,” he said with his warm accent as she nudged her way inside with her elbow. He was from New Jersey and his real name was Eric, but the tenants didn’t need to know that. The Italian lie seemed fancier. His secret was safe with her though.

  “Good morning, my love. What’s the news?” she asked as she walked to the elevator. It was their little game. Fake headlines by Francesco.

  “Hollywood starlet plummets to her death after heated affair ends in tragedy.”

  “Oh no!” Amanda said dramatically. “Give me something more upbeat tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear. Only sunshine for you from now on.”

  Amanda winked at him just as the elevator chimed. Five stories above, she quietly let herself into Dru Anastasia’s apartment. As she made her way into the kitchen, Gus, Dru’s woefully neglected Ragdoll cat, emerged from behind the island and wove his way between her feet.

  “Hello, my precious. I didn’t forget about you.” She grabbed a can of wet food from under the counter and fed the sweet creature whose body mass was 90 percent fur.

  When Amanda moved to LA five years ago she was determined to make it as a screenwriter, but that’s the thing about dreams. They rarely work out the way you want them to. She tried to work her way into a writers’ room, but something was always off. A job promised suddenly taken away, a project canceled. She’d gotten work as a production assistant and after a particularly bad day on set had her reconsidering her whole West Coast adventure, she’d met Kaidence Kener. She’d remembered her vaguely from her own brief run on the nineties beach drama Bay Guards. Her acting days were long behind her, but her daughter Dru was just getting started and Dru needed an assistant.

  Amanda had told herself the job would just be temporary, a paycheck to keep a roof over her head and food in her stomach. She made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t give up on her writing. And she hadn’t. She stole whatever moments she could, jotting down bits and pieces on her phone and on her tablet. She’d finished two more screenplays in that time, but this gig, it had turned out to be anything but temporary. Somehow, she’d become Dru’s Girl Monday thru Saturday and definitely on Sundays if they were traveling. Kaidence put her to work whenever she felt Amanda was idle, organizing her closet or researching new avenues for Dru to explore on social media.

  The money was good and it covered her health insurance, but it wasn’t her dream. One day she’d move on. She just wasn’t sure when or how.

  Her phone vibrated as she set Dru’s breakfast out on her favorite bamboo serving tray. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at the text from Helene.

  I know you’re working but text me as soon as you can. Ignacio said you he thinks you left with someone. I need deets!

  Helene added an eggplant, a water-squirting, and a peach emoji, in that order. Amanda covered her snort, then slipped her phone back into her pocket. She grabbed the tray, then carried it into Dru’s darkened room.

  “Nnhgggg,” Dru groaned as she covered her head with her pillow.

  “Good morning.”

  Dru sat up
and tossed her pillow across the room. There were still a dozen more on the bed to keep her comfortable. “What’s so good about it?” she snapped.

  “Oh, you sound so much better.”

  “And you’re too fucking cheery. Dial it back like five notches, will you.” Dru rubbed her eyes, then grabbed the remote for her curtains. Sunlight flooded the room.

  “Happiness keeps you healthy and I need to be healthy for you,” Amanda said. She was absolutely joking, but she knew her sickly sweet personality drove Dru crazy. Killing her slowly with kindness was part of her retirement plan. She set down the tray on Dru’s wide night table. “Here’s your breakfast when you’re ready. If you’re feeling up to it, Sage will meet you at the yoga studio in thirty minutes or I can call her and cancel.”

  “No. I need to go. I’ve been in bed too long. My muscles are going to atropy.”

  “Atrophy.”

  “Whatever, you knew what I meant.”

  “And I think it takes a little longer than a weekend for that to happen. I’ll text her and let her know you’re on your way.”

  “Gee thanks, you’re the best, Mandy,” Dru said sarcastically, knowing full well how much she hated that nickname. Amanda let the insult slide off her back because she knew what came next. Dru pulled her soft purple blanket up to the bottom of her chin. “Tell the whole truth. Do I look that bad?”

  “You look beautiful,” Amanda replied, and it was the truth. Dru’s stunning natural beauty was the thing that landed her on three successful television dramas back-to-back, a nearly unfathomable feat for a young Black actress in Hollywood, even if she was light skinned with green eyes. Currently she played an intergalactic vampire queen on the show Andromeda. Her character, Kalexa, was known throughout more than one universe for her stunning gaze and luscious lips. This morning, however, Her Majesty looked a little rough. Whatever bug had knocked her on her ass had done a number on her. Her edges could use a little control and her lips were dry, but most people would kill to look like Dru Anastasia even with a few bags under their eyes.