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    The Moms Place
    The Moms Place
    The Moms Place
    Ebook137 pages1 hour

    The Moms Place

    By Natalie Peck

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The Power of Advertising

    Cassi Spencer's upscale restaurant is in trouble. She needs a loan, fast, not advice to spend money she doesn't have on advertising. Especially when that advice comes from the distractingly handsome Rhys Morgan!

    Rhys Morgan likes Cassi's idea of creating a training ground to get homeless moms out of the shelters. He likes Cassi even better, and he's willing to help her...under certain conditions.

    Together, can they save Cassi's livelihood and her dream, or will everything end up as yesterday's news?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThe Electric Scroll
    Release dateApr 30, 2014
    ISBN9781940311104
    The Moms Place
    Author

    Natalie Peck

    Natalie Peck lives in Gilbert, Arizona with her family and a thousand romance novels. She enjoys dining from her good china by candle-light, especially when the special guests are her husband and children. She loves to hear from her readers, and promises to answer every email.

    Read more from Natalie Peck

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      Book preview

      The Moms Place - Natalie Peck

      A big Thank You goes out to all my loyal readers, who consistently care enough about my characters to read my books. May you long continue to enjoy.

      The Moms Place is dedicated to my oldest daughter, who is entirely responsible for the plot and final chapter.

      Chapter One

      Cassi Spencer kept her eyes on Mr. Hellerson's glasses. The lens' reflection of the shifting papers on his highly polished desktop hid his eyes. The way he casually flipped the documents around made her want to reach out and snatch them from him, while screaming at him to read them instead of using them to fan his brow. She gripped her hands tightly together in her lap to keep from translating thought to action, and to hide their trembling.

      Cassi bit her lips together, fighting for emotional control. When Mr. Hellerson turned her down, and she expected he would, she knew of only one other place to apply for funding. One of the crisis center's caseworkers had told her today of a lender, a Mr. Austin, who sometimes looked at more than columns of figures in deciding who should receive loans.

      The soft slap of the manila cover closing on the file held by sausage-like fingers refocused her attention on Mr. Hellerson. He gave her a patronizing smile, and splayed his beringed fingers flat on top of the file, as if to keep her from touching it, although once he'd turned her down, he'd have to return the folder and its contents to her. His insincere smile and deep, breathy sigh only added insult, and Cassi tightened her fingers on each other.

      Miss, ah, Spencer, he began, his bushy brows arching high above the frames of his glasses. However, ah, noble the, ah, premise for your business may be, he continued, you still need to show a profit in order to secure a loan against your prospects.

      Cassi opened her mouth to respond, but he quickly raised a hand, palm towards her face, forestalling any protest on her part.

      Were it up to me, he said, his eyes running up and down her body, I'd probably take the chance. He let his tongue slide along the underside of his flabby top lip. I do, however, have a board of directors and stockholders to answer to, and therefore, must turn down your application.

      The curl of his lip was just a shade away from a sneer, and the one hand still on her file rose until just his blunt fingertips touched the folder. If you could find a, he paused while his eyes roamed over her frame again, patron to back you for more than half of the amount you want, come back to me, and we, ah, may be able to work something out. His head tilted upward in what she felt was a superior air.

      Cassi took a deep breath to calm herself enough to speak, and decided to see if he'd actually say the word he was avoiding. Schooling her face to show confused innocence, she repeated one word as a question, watching him carefully.

      Patron? She gave a little shake of her head to indicate her supposed lack of understanding of the word.

      Yes, patron; you know, someone with money who would back your, ah, venture, but who wouldn't ask for money as repayment. Again his eyes slid her frame from toe to head and back.

      Bile rose in her throat before she swallowed it away. Dredging up a smile, she pasted it on her lips and stood, anger held in check by sheer willpower and the practice she'd had overcoming the odds which had been stacked against her since she was thirteen years old.

      Mr. Hellerson, she said sweetly, reaching for her file. I believe the word you're looking for is 'Sugar Daddy'.

      Mmmm, he said, letting the file slide from beneath his fingers with the merest of nods, his eyes sparkling with avarice.

      I don't think someone like that fits in my plans, or any legitimate business venture in which I would take part.

      She stuffed the file under her arm and reached for her purse. I'm sorry I wasted time, Mr. Hellerson.

      She turned and walked to the door of his office. Pausing just before the exit, she looked over her shoulder at him. My time, that is, not yours!

      His tone was gloating as he barked his answer. You'll not get a dime anywhere else for such a crack-brained scheme, Honey! You'll be back.

      Not before a hot place sports foot-long icicles! she snapped and swept out of his office, her whole body throbbing with suppressed rage.

      Chapter Two

      Cassi stepped off the bus and walked lightly down the rain-darkened sidewalk, stopping in front of a small and dingy brick building. The dark metal plaque next to the door announced Morgan and Associates in a dispirited sort of way. The faded blue paint was peeling from the door in long strips, a few of which were still attached.

      What have I gotten myself into? Cassi wondered. Surely any advertising agency working out of this neighborhood and in such a dilapidated building would be eager to skin every last cent from a client. She wasn't at all sure she even needed advertising, but she had an appointment and now felt committed to at least talk to the man.

      Cassi took hold of the knob in the flaking wood door and turned it gently. The knob came off in her hand. Blushing in embarrassment, she crouched down to better see what she was doing and began to thread the knob back onto the spindle.

      Growing up, she'd had several knobs like this, and knew the trick was to work gently. The worst happened, and she watched the spindle begin to slide through the hole. She tried to grab it, but was too late, and the other half of the knob fell to the floor on the inside of the door with a loud thunk.

      Undaunted, Cassi reached into her purse and pulled out a small black tool. With the ease of long practice, she unfolded a pair of pliers and proceeded to stick them into the knob hole. Just as she began to turn her makeshift doorknob, the door suddenly swung open. Her pliers were pulled from her grasp, and she found herself on her knees on the top step, in front of a pair of denim-clad legs. Surely it couldn't get any worse than this.

      Cassi looked up and up, past the finely sculpted chest and strong jaw, straight into the bluest pair of eyes she'd ever seen.

      I, ah, she scrambled to her feet and brushed off her knees. That is, the doorknob fell off, and I didn't want to be late for my appointment. She stooped and hastily picked up her half of the doorknob, offering it as proof of her story.

      The man gravely accepted her offering and then turned to the door. He removed her pliers, folding them carefully and handing them back to her with a serious look still on his face and then silently went about the business of sliding the parts of the knob back together, holding the door still by bracing it against one strong leg.

      Cassi suddenly realized where her eyes were, and wrenched them away from his thigh. She felt the blood pour into her face anew, but doubted he could see any difference in her already flaming cheeks.

      Willing her eyes to be anywhere but on his leg, she absently noted the grey-blue tee shirt clung to him like a second skin. Fascinated, she watched the interplay of muscles along his side as he repaired the doorknob with an efficiency which bespoke long practice.

      Belatedly, she realized she was staring at him again and flushed a deeper red, turning her face to the side and determinedly focusing her gaze upon a small pebble on the sidewalk.

      A low chuckle rumbled from the depths of his chest and floated on the still air to her ears.

      Don't worry about it, Miss, looking's not a crime.

      His voice was as delicious to the ear as the rest of him was to the eye, but with looks like that, he'd be spoken for, or there'd be a really good reason why. Cassi took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

      It may not be a crime, but it is rude, and I do apologize, also for breaking your door.

      His chuckle deepened into a rich laugh. Cassi stammered to a stop, not sure at all how to take this man, or what to say next. Fortunately, he picked up the conversation ball.

      The knob always falls off; that's why we have a deadbolt. My partners and I usually leave by the back door where we park, and I can't remember the last time a client actually came to our office. It's usually the other way 'round. Come on in, you must be Cassandra Spencer.

      Cassi followed him through the door

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