Palm Haven Shifters: Complete Five-Part Series Read online

  It had been a long flight.

  “Of course. Mr. Simons, I see you’ve requested the Platinum Suite?” She said the question more than asked it. Then the woman slid a card key over the desk.

  “You should find everything to your specifications. If not, please don’t hesitate to call concierge. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking the key without any more fanfare.

  The elevator seemed to climb at a snail’s pace. Why did they always have to put the nicest rooms on the top floor? Sure, the view was nice, but this impossibly long elevator ride just dragged on and on as Sean’s eyelids drooped.

  A quick shower, then bed.

  The elevator reached the top floor and Sean let himself into his hotel room in a blurry daze. With a massive yawn, he tossed his suitcase onto the couch and flipped on the television in the main room of the suite.

  He liked to catch up on local news whenever he got back from a long international trip. A lot could happen in the world during a fifteen hour flight.

  Luckily, he knew this particular news station played the same segment on a loop throughout the night. He’d catch it after the shower, maybe with a tumbler of scotch for a nightcap.

  The thought made him smile. The tiger inside him itched to come to the surface, stretch, and prowl — normal tiger things.

  But Sean wasn’t a normal tiger. Not that there was such a thing. All the tigers he knew were wealthy, they lived lives of secluded luxury and for the most part, seemed to like it that way.

  Again, Sean was in the minority. Being alone wasn’t his ideal situation, but he’d missed the one brief chance with his mate, not recognizing her for what she was, and he’d never find her again.

  He left the television on as he stepped into the billowing steam of the high-end shower. Hotels were wonderful for having these sorts of amenities.

  One day he’d find a house of his own to deck out with all the finest accoutrements. Maybe.

  A home seemed a little pre-emptive without a mate, without cubs — kids. What point was there in a lavish home when there was no one to share it with?

  But Sean didn’t let thoughts like that hound him often. Only when he was overtired, like now, or back around his clan in Palm Haven. Two for two.

  The Tigris Clan wasn’t tightly knit like some others, but Sean expected a visit from the Elder in the coming days. Tigers had an uncanny sense for knowing when another like them entered their territory. Elder Cunningham was no exception to that rule.

  The hot water sluiced down Sean’s body, washing away the aches and stiffness that accompanied those long trans-continental flights.

  The traveling was another thing he could live without. One day. When he had a reason to settle down.

  After a thorough scrubbing, he got out of the shower and toweled himself off, wrapping one big towel around his waist out of habit and using another ruffle through his hair as he walked through to the living area.

  A local woman is earning National recognition for her designs, and How to tell if your water is safe, right after the weather. Over to you Sam.

  Sam Sunshine — a made up television name if Sean had ever heard one — proceeded to tell the Central Florida audience about the clear sunny days ahead.

  “You don’t want to forget your sunscreen, folks,” he laughed, tossing the attention back to the plastic-looking desk anchor.

  “In local news, one woman is making big waves with her unique design sense,” the anchor said.

  Sean turned his back on the television, rummaging through the mini-bar until he found a couple of airplane-sized scotch bottles and emptied them into a glass from the cabinet.

  “When they called me, I couldn’t believe it. I think I actually might have called the person on the phone a liar,” the woman laughed.

  The glass slipped from Sean’s hand and landed right-side-up on the counter without spilling a drop of liquid. He turned, not quite believing his own ears.

  That voice. It was familiar. It struck a chord with him deep down inside. A chord that had his tiger sitting up, alert and ready.

  But it couldn’t be. After all this time.

  His eyes tuned onto the television and his heart stopped.

  She was still speaking. Saying something. But for the life of him, Sean couldn’t hear any of it. Only the deafening drone in his ears. The buzzing of disbelief and that small voice that kept saying ‘it’s not possible’.

  Soon, that small voice was tamped down by a louder, stronger voice. His tiger’s, roaring to life as all the various parts of him put the pieces together.

  He watched the segment without hearing anything the woman said. She hadn’t changed at all in the last ten years. She was just as beautiful. Confident. Scattered in the most endearing way.

  Sean found himself on the couch, remote in hand, rewinding the segment to watch it again. To watch her again.

  Emily.

  Seeing her on TV was like a blow to the gut that sent Sean straight back to that airport a decade earlier. When he was nothing. When she made him believe that he could be something.

  It took him five full viewings of the segment before he had the presence of mind to write down her information.

  And with thoughts of sleep long gone from his mind, Sean wasted no time, looking her up and sending an email. He had to see her again. Would she remember him?

  It didn’t seem possible. But maybe.

  For the first time in a long time, he was willing to allow the glimmer of hope to live and burn bright.

  Maybe was a powerful word. Full of possibilities.

  And as Sean slid into bed, surrounded by plush pillows and soft feather comforters, the only thoughts in his mind were of Emily and the last word on his lips was “maybe.”

  Chapter 2

  EMILY

  “Hi, yes, good morning, I’m trying to track a shipment,” Emily said to the customer service representative after being on hold for over twenty minutes already.

  Sonya peeked her head in and held up two steaming mugs. “Coffee?” she mouthed.

  Emily nodded and ushered her assistant — and friend — into the office with a quick wave.

  The customer service rep — an Indian woman named Jennifer — took the shipment number and Emily heard distinct keystrokes over the hum of a hundred other voices in whatever call center Jennifer was located in.

  “It appears that your shipment has been delivered, ma’am. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

  “Uh… could you tell me where it was delivered? Because it’s not here.”

  “Certainly,” Jennifer said in crisp syllables, “please hold.”

  “No no no,” Emily tried, but it was too late. The fast-paced beat of the latest pop song to top the charts was already streaming through the phone and Emily groaned.

  “No luck finding our textiles?” Sonya asked, setting the mug down on Emily’s desk.

  Emily put the call on speakerphone — at least they could both listen to the music that way.

  “Nope. I’ve been re-routed three times already. I don’t know what we’re going to do without it. This is what ties the whole thing together.”

  Sonya nudged the mug a little closer to her and Emily took the hint, taking a long swig of the hot spicy beverage.

  “Well, we might just have to re-group?”

  Emily felt herself scowl even though Sonya didn’t deserve it. “A week before the shoot? Not quite the national debut I’ve been hoping for.”

  Sonya sighed with a sad nod. “Yeah, I know.”

  The music stopped and this time a male voice spoke through the phone. “Miss Westcott?”

  Emily snatched the phone up, fumbling it in the air a few times before she managed to get it to her ear. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Our records indicate that your shipment was delivered Monday afternoon to 643 Sable St., Palm Haven, California.”

  Her jaw dropped, “Okay, well, there’s just one little problem, I’m on the other
side of the country in Florida.”

  Sonya raised a questioning brow, but Emily shook her head.

  “Look, I’m on a very tight schedule. I paid for expedited shipping and it’s not here. I need this, as soon as possible.”

  Her assistant seemed to have lost interest in the phone call and flipped on the small television in the corner.

  The man on the other end of the line seemed sympathetic and assured her they would correct the mistake.

  “I need this by Friday at the very latest,” she said, nibbling on the end of her ballpoint pen as she looked over the huge desk calendar in front of her.

  “And you’re sure, it’ll be here by then?”

  After a handful more promises — which Emily knew meant next to nothing in the real world — the call ended and she pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the beginnings of a migraine.

  “Well, how about some good news?” Sonya said, sipping her coffee while she fiddled with the television remote.

  “Oh?”

  Then Emily realized what Sonya was watching on the TV: her news segment, over and over again.

  “At least you look really hot on TV. I told you that was your perfect lipstick color.”

  Emily smiled. “Yeah, I am looking pretty fly, huh?”

  Sonya quirked a brow. “Fly?” and they both dissolved into giggles for a moment, the tension of the morning dissipating like fog under the noon sun.

  After watching the segment a few more times with Sonya’s commentary, Emily felt a little better. Renewed.

  She still thought her voice sounded weird, though.

  “You know that no matter what happens, you’re going to have a kickass spread in that magazine and people are going to be busting down your door to have you decorate their houses,” Sonya said as they finished their coffee and she collected the mugs.

  “You really think so?” Emily wished she had even a fraction of that kind of faith in herself.

  “Of course! I’ve never seen you produce anything that wasn’t amazing. It’s okay to believe in yourself.”

  Emily sent a thankful smile over her shoulder as Sonya left to wash up the dishes and sort through the chaos of Emily’s life. Though she’d done a remarkable job of organizing, it was pretty much a full-time job just to keep Emily organized.

  She’d be lost without Sonya, that’s for sure.

  One deep inhale and a moment of centering herself, and Emily exhaled, relaxing as the breath left her lungs.

  “Okay, back to business,” she said to no one, flipping open her laptop.

  23 Unread Messages

  She groaned. Half of them looked to be from the magazine’s editor, going over details of the shoot, what they expected of her and a schedule of events. Then a revised schedule. And a revision of the revision.

  Emily scanned through all of the emails, deciding that none of them were all that pressing at the moment.

  Then she reached the last message and instant ice-cold panic gripped her.

  Sean Simons — In need of your skills.

  Sean Simons? Surely not THE Sean Simons, right?

  It was a common enough name. It had to be a coincidence. There was no way the reclusive billionaire entrepreneur was really emailing her for decorating advice, right?

  With quivering fingers, she clicked on the message, read through it, once, twice, then a third time, trying her damnedest to comprehend the reality of the situation.

  “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Emily pushed back from her desk, springing to her feet to pace the perimeter of her office.

  “No, this can’t be real. I must be dreaming.” She pinched her arm hard enough that there’d be a bruise there tomorrow. Not a dream.

  Her chest fluttered with fresh anxiety and her fingers twitched and sparked of their own accord.

  By the time Sonya heard the ruckus and hurried back to the office, Emily was in full-blown panic mode, a conjured tornado casually ripping apart her office.

  “Whoa!” Sonya cried, ducking under a flying stapler while frames rattled against the wall, fell and shattered.

  “What’s going on?”

  Emily paced restlessly around the office, hugging herself, muttering nonsense and she couldn’t find the words to explain to Sonya so she just waved her hands at the laptop helplessly.

  Sonya stooped to read the message, her eyes going wide.

  “You don’t think that’s—”

  “The CEO of Simons Media International? Yes. Yes I do think that.” Emily’s words were punctuated by a potted plant being uprooted, scattering soil all over the new area rug she’d just gotten.

  She felt herself hyperventilating. Her chest rising and falling rapidly with short shallow breaths that only served to make her more light-headed.

  “Okay, first of all,” Sonya clapped and waved her hands with a look of concentration etched into her exotic features. Debris stopped in its tracks, floating midair as Sonya worked to right the damage Emily’s panicked magic had wreaked.

  “Okay, now sit down, take a few deep breaths and let’s think about this,” Sonya said, shoving on Emily’s shoulder to push her into a grey tweed wingback chair.

  She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair until she noticed Sonya’s stern look. Emily sighed. Sonya was the mother of a toddler, she’d surely outlast any temper-tantrum Emily could throw. And tantrums weren’t productive.

  “What’s there to think about? I’m already swamped, but with a client like Sean Simons… Who needs magazine exposure? He’s the next best thing to royalty. I can’t not work for him. I’d be crazy not to…”

  Sonya nibbled on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. It might not even be that Sean Simons, right? There’s nothing really in the email to say one way or the other.”

  Emily realized she was chewing her nails and pulled her hand away from her mouth, a serene look of revelation taking over for the panic, “Yeah. You’re right.”

  Then after a few more moments of silent thought. “It’s probably not really him. I mean, surely Sean Simons wouldn’t be hiring a decorator directly, right? He’d have an assistant or something to do it for him. It’s just someone with the same name or… an imposter or… someone trying to mess with me! Yeah, they saw me on the news and thought it would be fun to prank me and make me have a breakdown.”

  Sonya faltered, “Uh… I don’t know about—”

  Emily waved her off. “No, it’s okay. You’re right. It can’t be him.” She stood from the wingback chair and crossed the office to her desk, stooping over the keyboard to type off a quick reply.

  “What are you doing?” Sonya asked as she tried to scoop the plant back in its pot.

  A satisfied grin spread across Emily’s face, “Calling his bluff. I invited him for a consultation this week.”

  Sonya didn’t seem to be as convinced that this was a wise move. “You really don’t have the free time on your schedule for this—”

  Emily laughed, all too pleased with herself for not falling for the prank. “Nonsense. I’ll bet you he won’t even respond. I got worried about nothing. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Son.”

  The other woman gave her a hesitant smile and nodded as she cleaned up the mess left by Emily’s manic magic.

  Emily leaned back in her chair, reading over the email again.

  Yeah, it was going to be fine.

  Or so she hoped.

  Chapter 3

  SEAN

  Sean parked his luxury sports car at the end of a long winding driveway and dangled the new set of keys from his fingertips as he stepped out onto the gravel.

  The house was huge. Way more than he’d ever need. More than anyone would ever need. The last owner had been some big name NBA star, so every inch of the ostentatious mansion was bedecked in 24-karat gold and highly-polished marble.

  It was awful.

  But it was perfect.

  The bigger the house, the more work he’d have for Emily to do
. The more chances he’d have at wooing her, convincing her she was his mate.

  Maybe by the time she finished redesigning the palatial estate, she’d be ready to move in with him.

  That thought made Sean smile. The thought of Emily at his side. Eating breakfast together. Talking about their days. Giving her everything she wanted in the world.

  He couldn’t wait.

  Of course, Emily still didn’t know anything about it. She’d emailed him back, telling him to stop by her office when it was convenient for him and it took every ounce of willpower in Sean’s body to not drive over there the moment he got the email.

  It wouldn’t serve him well to hire her without actually having a house. So he’d immediately called a real estate agent and closed on the house in under twenty-four hours.

  “Home sweet home,” he said, walking through the big double doors — nearly ten foot high to accommodate the tall frame of a basketball player. Sean wasn’t a small man by any means, but he felt a little like Jack breaking into the giant’s castle at the top of the beanstalk.

  “It doesn’t seem to suit you,” a voice came from the shadows.

  Sean froze, honing in on all of his senses, letting his tiger spring up just below the surface to assess the threat. After a beat of silence, the surprise wore off and Sean recognized the other man’s scent.

  “Elder Cunningham. To what do I owe the honor?” It was clear from Sean’s tone that he didn’t consider the Elder’s presence an honor as much as he did an intrusion.

  The clan was weird about boundaries — always had been. Tigers liked to live in solitude and privacy, but the Elder thought it his business to have a hand in everyone’s lives.

  Sean couldn’t complain too much. Without the seed money from the clan he’d never have gotten his business off the ground. He’d have to hold his tongue and stay as respectful as possible.

  The Elder appeared from the shadows of the grand staircase, trailing a bony finger along the balustrade.

  “I wanted to be the first to welcome you back to town. I didn’t expect you’d be staying for long, but this… purchase seems to suggest otherwise?”