Heat rating – 4
Tagline
- What's a naughty fairy tale like Red Riding Hood without Red, the
huntsman, grandma and especially, the big bad wolf?
Excerpt
G rated
When the elevator doors slid
open, Red stepped into the hallway. Before her, the impressive glass and brass
doors of Hood's Chocolatier –the corporate offices of one of the country's
largest independent chocolate makers. She stepped through the doorway and
marched toward her cubicle.
Three steps from her
destination, the word, “Esmeralda!” broke the silence.
Caught! She sighed, formed a smile, and
turned. “Yes, Mother?”
“Where have you been? I've
called and called.”
“I noticed. Six voice mails
and fourteen text messages. Nothing flagged urgent. You seem fine. I'm fine.
So, what's the big deal?” She frowned. What
could be the problem? “Oh no, is it Grandma?”
Her mother threw her hands
up. “Yes!”
“What? What's wrong? Is she
sick? She didn't fall and break anything, did she?”
“She's driving me out of my
mind.”
Red bit back the sentence – Oh happy day – and instead managed to
say, “What's she done now?”
“Not here. Come into my
office.”
“Can I go put my coat and
things—”
Hearing her mother's sigh of
frustration, Red surrendered then remembered that following her mother to her
office would mean passing by the office of Stanley Parkinson, VP of Sales. She
stood a little taller, pulled in her stomach and strode near his office then
deflated at the sight of his closed door.
Red had barely stepped into
the office marked R. Hood, when her mother pushed her aside and closed the
door. “Your grandmother has booked a stateroom on a cruise ship and is taking a
man with her.”
Sensing So what?? was the wrong answer, Red let her mother vent whatever
bothered her. This day could still be saved. If her mother stayed focused on
the crisis-of-the-moment she might forget the weekly discussion of her love
life.
“A man. Did you hear me?”
“Yes, Mother.” Red unbuttoned
her coat, dropped her gloves, scarf and onto the seat next to her then settled
in the brown leather chair in front of the desk. Her mother walked around and
sat behind her large, hand carved, oak desk. It provided an imposing barrier
between mother and daughter.
“I haven't told you this
before, but your grandmother's going through your grandfather's money faster
than you can go through a tub of maple walnut ice cream after a breakup.”
“Mom!”
Folding her immaculately
manicured hands and placing them on her desk, Red's mother looked up. “Your
flight's at two.”
“Excuse me?”
“I've booked a flight to
Miami and a stateroom on The Emerald Forest.”
Red shook her head. “I can't
afford a stateroom on a junior accountant's salary.”
“The company is paying. I had
my secretary send everything to your cell. Now, you have no time to talk. Go
home, pack, find your passport and save your grandmother.”
Red's voice rose an octave, “Save
my grandmother? From what?”
R. Hood placed her fingers on
her forehead. “Save your grandmother from spending your inheritance on some
gigolo. Your grandfather built this company from nothing to a multi-million
dollar business. And he had to fight the big boys like Hersey and the Mars
brothers to do it.”
Red sighed. “I know the
corporate story, Mom. He started by making his chocolate in great grandma's
kitchen and from those humble beginnings—”
“Put you through Harvard
Business School,” snapped her mother.
“Only to be dumped in a
junior accountant's position.”
“We'll fight later. Now go.
No. Wait.” Red’s mother pressed an intercom button.
A disembodied voice
responded. “Yes, Mrs. Hood?”
“The box for my
mother-in-law, where is it?”
“I'll bring it right in, Mrs.
Hood.” A moment later, the door opened and Brittnee entered carrying a silver
box. She offered it to Mrs. Hood.
Robin pointed to her
daughter. The secretary handed the box to Red and left the office, closing the
door behind her. Red didn’t need to ask, she knew it was the box. It contained
the new samples for next year's line. Grandma Hood retained the right of final
decision on what chocolates were sold at Hood Chocolatier.
“Take those to your
grandmother. A taste of home might bring her to her senses.”
Red held back a frustrated
sigh. She didn't want to fly to Miami. If she was away, Katerina would jump at
the chance to sink her claws into Stanley. Her man, the stud, the gorgeous VP
of Sales who made her body swoon with desire whenever he walked by. The smell
of his aftershave made her undies wet. Once, she rode from the lobby to the
sixth floor with him and almost had an orgasm before the elevator doors opened.
She couldn't concede this hunk of a man to Katerina. But what could she do?
Her mother snapped her
fingers. “Why are you just sitting there? Go. Save your grandmother. Save your
inheritance.”
Bio and Where to find Daryl Devoré
Two
writers in one. Daryl Devoré writes hot romances with sexy heroes and strong
heroines. Victoria Adams is Daryl Devoré's alter ego when she's inspired to
write sweet romances with little to no heat.
Daryl (@daryldevore) lives in an old farmhouse in Ontario, Canada, with
her husband, a large salt water aquarium full of fish, a black cat named
Licorice and some house ghosts. Her daughter is grown and has flown the nest.
Daryl loves to take long walks on her quiet country road or snowshoe across the
back acres, and in the summer, kayak along the St. Lawrence River. She has
touched a moon rock, a mammoth, and a meteorite. She’s been deep in the ocean
in a submarine, flown high over Niagara Falls in a helicopter, and used the
ladies room in a royal palace. Life’s an adventure and Daryl’s having fun
living it.
Anita
