Rachel, Out of Office Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… The Wedding Date Disaster

  Write Before Christmas

  Her Aussie Holiday

  Fake It Till You Make It

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

  Copyright © 2021 by Christina Hovland. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover illustration and design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  ISBN 978-1-64937-122-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2021

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  This book is dedicated to all moms everywhere.

  You’re doing your best. And that’s enough.

  (You should take a nap now.)

  Chapter One

  “It’s not easy being a mom. If it were easy, fathers would do it.” — Betty White

  Rachel

  “Not like that.” Rachel Gibson shook her head even though her client couldn’t see her. “Don’t be afraid. You can’t mess it up. Do it just like I showed you. Once it’s aligned, then slip it right in. Boom. Done.”

  She glanced at the digital clock on the top corner of her laptop.

  Crap, crap, crap. She was so late. A-freaking-gain.

  She normally didn’t take clients in her bedroom, but she’d turned off the camera, so it wasn’t a big deal.

  “I think I’ve almost got it,” the deep male voice assured in a tone that was not assuring.

  Rachel stilled, took a deep breath, and did her absolute best to relax the tension from her shoulders.

  Perfection is not measured by degrees. It is created by degrees. She played the mantra over in her head. This particular adage was the extent of the philosophical genes making up Rachel’s DNA. Seeing that most of her genetics came from a family who preferred to crack jokes at inappropriate times to deflect from thoughtful conversation, it was a miracle she’d inherited any deep thoughts.

  That said, this philosophical saying was her go-to in the reality of her daily activities as the owner, manager, and only employee of her very own virtual personal assistant company. Also, as a mom to her two boys. Twins.

  Anyway, perfection was within her grasp, degree by degree—if she could simply keep her shit together.

  Or get her shit together. Either way.

  She let out a sigh, watching her client’s progress on the screen. This client was in California, so their time zones were close. Rachel was in Denver, and thanks to the beauty of the internet, she could work virtually with clients nearly anywhere. Although the new Australia client was starting to seriously cost her on missed sleep.

  “Darn,” he said. Once again, he fudged the design. Perfection would not happen for him with this graphic design lesson.

  “Just line it up,” Rachel encouraged. “Don’t overthink.”

  Most days, her uncanny ability to find solutions to client issues was outweighed only by her inability to deal with her own crap. Sometimes she even considered taking up the joke-cracking schtick that worked so well for her brothers and parents.

  “I can’t get it. I’m telling you,” he replied, frustration lacing his tone.

  Man, she did not have time for this. She had to get out the door. They’d need to reschedule for later, which stunk because she didn’t have time later.

  Hell, she didn’t have time now.

  “Okay, wait, I think I did it.” James sounded as relieved as she felt.

  Thank goodness. She glanced at his work-in-progress on the screen of her laptop. Oh, thank, thank, thank goodness. Yes, he had it. She released a long breath.

  “I can’t believe I got it.” He laughed, switching the video monitor from the graphic design program on the screen to his webcam. “You’re the best, Rachel.”

  He gave her two thumbs up.

  Even though he couldn’t see her, Rachel couldn’t help it…she smiled. One more happy client. She’d been working with him for the past hour so he could create his own graphics for his start-up company. He’d finally figured out how to copy and paste and now he knew how to move the images around. Perfection by degrees. Her motto in process.

  “I’ll practice some more and then we can chat in a few days,” he said, the pleased tone of his words causing that bloom of pride she adored so much in her job.

  “Let me know if you need anything else,” Rachel said, raising her voice into the speaker of the MacBook placed precariously on the edge of her dresser. She’d set down the computer so she could simultaneously apply her eye makeup while observing his progression on the screen.

  They said their goodbyes, and she closed the laptop. Then she yawned. Last night had been another doozy. Could she get away with crawling into bed to sleep for the next eight hours? No. She could not.

  Because the load of shit that needed to be done would not do itself.

  That was the answer to that.

  Accepting her newest client (the Australia guy) was the perfect supplement to her income. Unfortunately, she’d never been good at pulling all-nighters. Not even when she’d been an undergrad or when her twins were teeny tiny, itsy-bitsy, cutie patootie babies.

  One step at a time, one project at a time, one client at a time, she was making all the things happen all the time. After all, the difference between boiling water and hot water was only one degree.

  The difference between crossing the finish line in first place or second place was usually a matter of millimeters.

  And the difference between “horribly late” and “let’s just reschedule” was nearly always separated by Rachel’s underestimation of time management.

  “R
ach?” her best friend Molly called from downstairs. “C’mon, hustle up. We’re going to be late.”

  Yes, they were. But what was she supposed to say when James had needed an extra hour this afternoon? She did what she always did. Solved. The. Freaking. Problem.

  “Coming,” Rachel hollered, hoping her voice carried out the door and down the staircase.

  “Late,” Molly called back.

  “Two seconds,” Rachel called again. Rubbing the remnants of concealer over the dark bags that seemed to have permanent residence under her eyes, she quickly pulled her hair up into a twist, securing it with some corkscrew bobby pins her mother-in-law insisted she try.

  Former mother-in-law.

  The meemaw to her twin boys.

  The momster who usually always got whatever she wanted, even though Rachel couldn’t quite figure out how she did it.

  A quick pop on the scale on her way out of the bathroom and she’d be on her way. One swift step. She could do this. Gah. She hated this part of the day.

  She closed her eyes when the digital display blinked, and she considered whether the three cookies she’d eaten after lunch were going to prove to ruin her afternoon. Deep breath and she opened her eyes, glancing down.

  Shit.

  Damn, that thing was being a total asshole.

  For the record, she’d eat the cookies again just to spite it.

  Also, they were really yummy and a gift from a client. They’d arrived at her doorstep warm—with bonus ice cream—and what was she supposed to do? They were meant to be eaten warm. So she ate them…warm. That was what one did with divine cookies.

  “Rachel, seriously,” Molly called, but her tone sounded as though she’d just discovered the remnants of a dozen warm cookies from Heather’s Cookie Co. on the dining room table, and she didn’t really care if they were that late.

  Double crapola.

  “Don’t eat those,” Rachel shouted, grabbing her favorite sling-back black sandals on her way out of her bedroom, her toes sinking only briefly in the carpet because she was on a sprint.

  Dammit, Molly was as good as Rachel for spiderlike senses around carbohydrates and sugar. Rachel should’ve put them away. Of course, her best friend would find the residual cookies.

  But Rachel had plans for them—there were four left.

  Two for each of her boys.

  If Molly ate one, then there would be only three and that meant an argument that Rachel did not want to referee.

  So if Molly ate one, then Rachel would have to eat one, but she’d already had plenty, and she didn’t really want the scale to be more of an asshole because her best friend ate a cookie.

  That made sense, right?

  “Seriously, Molly, don’t eat that.” Rachel took the steps two at a time, skidding around the bottom of the bannister, deftly stepping over errant Legos scattered like land mines, past the corner of the office she’d set up there.

  Yes, she could cut the third cookie in half for the boys. While that might teach them a lesson in sharing, it brought more challenges and probably the food scale to get an exact weight so things were precisely fair.

  So it’d just be easier if—

  She scooted around the corner into the dining room where the box lay open on the table.

  Cookie in hand, Molly’s dark curls bobbed against the exposed pale skin of her shoulder as she turned to Rachel. Rachel, who had reached the room three seconds too late.

  Molly lifted her looked-to-be-recently-threaded eyebrows as she bit, her hazel eyes sparkling with the perpetual perkiness that had become her brand.

  Rachel made a strangled sound.

  “Wha?” Molly asked as a few errant crumbles fell from her lips.

  Rachel took a breath as her cell buzzed in her pocket.

  “Want some?” Molly asked around the mouthful of carb-laden goodness.

  Rachel shook her head, glancing at her cell. A client. She needed to take this.

  “Don’t pick that up.” Molly’s eyes turned to slits. “We’ll be even later. Not just cookie late, but client late. You know we can’t be—”

  “It’s Cassie.” Rachel stared as the number flashed on the screen.

  “Cassie?” Molly asked.

  “Client.” Cassie had a tendency to try to do things herself that she really should let Rachel handle. “It’s probably important.”

  “It’s after hours,” Molly said, totally correct in that assumption.

  Rachel bit at her bottom lip. Molly wasn’t wrong…yet…

  “That is why you shouldn’t pick it up.” Molly clearly knew better than to reach for the phone, since she and Rachel had been friends forever. But, since they’d been friends forever, Rachel knew Molly’s fingertips must itch to grab the cell and bat it out of reach. Crush it under her tennis shoe. That sort of thing.

  “It is after five,” Molly continued. “We have a Little League game to get to. Your kids and my kid are expecting us not to be late. And boundaries are important.”

  “What if the call is important?” Rachel wished she had powers of telepathy so she could reach through the signal and determine if it was something that needed to be dealt with before she picked up and made them both late. Later.

  “What’s the likelihood that it’s not something that can wait until tomorrow?” Molly asked, her tone one of soothing comfort that usually worked for getting her way.

  Molly had a knack for getting people—everyone—to bend to her will. Sometimes she used the brute force of her personality and sometimes, like now, she used a gentle touch. Molly was diverse in her manipulation techniques like that.

  She’d make an excellent mother-in-law someday.

  Rachel warred with herself and the decision at hand. If she answered the call, she’d be late, but her client would be happy. If she didn’t answer the call, she’d be only a little late and Molly would be happy.

  “My clients hire me because they know I’ll always go above and beyond.” Her heartbeat increased even as she glanced at her friend. The above and beyond thing was right on her business cards. In bold italics.

  “True.” Molly continued nibbling the cookie but kept one eye on Rachel and one eye on the phone. She also started toward the door.

  “Not answering is not going above and beyond,” Rachel declared.

  “Don’t make the boys wait,” Molly said quietly, turning to her friend. Her understanding of the battle going on inside Rachel was abundantly apparent.

  And that’s what did it.

  The boys.

  Her boys.

  Rachel wouldn’t let her boys wait.

  “I’ll just catch up with Cassie in the car on the way.” Still, Rachel had to force herself not to return the call.

  Her phone immediately rang again, as it did regularly throughout the day and often during the night, too. Since she was a virtual personal assistant, she had three large clients. In three very different time zones.

  This was her job. Her business. The thing that, aside from her children, brought her the most joy.

  Most days.

  This time, however, it was her ex calling. The father of her eight-year-old twins and the supposed-to-be one-night stand that turned into way more than either of them had bargained for.

  Mouthing, I’m sorry, she immediately pressed the phone to her ear. “Gavin?”

  Molly rolled her eyes, shaking her head, while making gagging noises unbefitting the cookie she still worked on.

  “Rach.” He did not sound like he was anywhere near the baseball field, or in a car on the way to the baseball field. No, he sounded like he was in an airport.

  A slight feeling of vertigo pulled at Rachel, like the gravitational field of the earth seemed to get stronger.

  No. He needed to be at the game. The boys were so excited.

  She grip
ped the phone in her hand and closed her eyes.

  Gavin’s a good guy. Gavin’s a good guy. Gavin’s a good guy.

  “What’s up?” she asked, hoping her perky tone betrayed the inner turmoil swirl, willing him to say he was on his way to the game to see their boys even though she knew deep down he wasn’t and she’d work her magic and all would be well. The only one who would pay the price was her.

  “Dakota has a last-minute installation in Boston,” Gavin said, obviously distracted because he was Gavin. Distracted. “We’re heading there for the weekend. I’ll be back in time to help set up for the boys’ party, but we’re going to miss tonight.”

  Yes, gravity. Her legs felt heavier by the second.

  “Gavin, they want you there.” They need you there.

  “If I could be there, I would, you know that.”

  She did. Sort of.

  He sounded genuine. Then again, he always sounded genuine. Genuine was Gavin’s thing. If Gavin had a thing.

  Dakota and Gavin had been engaged for a while. He worked tons of hours, in an office. Dakota, meanwhile, had carved out a name for herself as an artist who painted, and sculpted, a variety of animals in bathtubs.

  Yes, this was a thing.

  Dakota worked tons of hours with this gig and was, as Gavin had explained, kind of a big deal. Rachel didn’t mind her. She was nice to Rachel’s kids, and that’s what mattered.

  Meanwhile, Rachel also worked tons of hours…from her home office, so custody and the majority of childcare had been delegated to her.

  Which was fine because, as she’d insisted and they’d agreed, the boys needed her stability.

  “Rachel?” Dakota had apparently confiscated the phone from Gavin.

  “Hey, Dakota.” Rachel struggled to hold her phone and pull on her shoes simultaneously.

  Dakota? Molly mouthed rolling her eyes dramatically with more gagging sounds.

  Rachel nodded, ignoring her friend to focus on the conversation. Molly hated Dakota.

  “Gavin and I sent the boys a surprise for their birthday. It’ll be there tomorrow. I hate to ask, but would you mind—”

  “I’ll grab a video for you.” Rachel hopped to stand, mentally rehearsing what she would say to the kids so they wouldn’t feel the entire sting of this disappointment. Your dad wanted to make it tonight, but he had to go to Boston. Don’t worry, he has a big surprise for you both.