The Night We Met
Table of Contents
The Night We Met
Copyright
Also by Beth Rinyu
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Author's Note
Copyright © 2019 by Beth Rinyu
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Beth Rinyu, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover design by: Amy Queau Qdesign
Editing by: Lawrence Editing
Proofread by: Judy’s Proofreading
Formatting by: C.P. Smith
Also by Beth Rinyu
The Exception To The Rule
Drowning In Love
Blind Side Of Love
An Unplanned Lesson
An Unplanned Life
A Cry For Hope
A Will To Change
Easy Silence
When The Chips Are Down
Two Of Hearts
Straight To The Heart
A Right To Remain
Keepin’ The Faith
Thursday Afternoon
When Autumn Ends
Miss Demeanor
I’ll Be Seeing You
Find Beth on Facebook
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Chapter 1
Emme
MY HEAVY EYES pried open to the lyrics of Britney Spears’ “Oops, I did It Again” playing on auto loop in my head. When I rolled over and focused on the guy sound asleep next to me, I knew why. I promised myself no more hookups, no more turning to mush over the first handsome face I laid eyes on during an alcohol-induced night. But I seemed to remember throwing all caution to the wind somewhere around the fifth shot of tequila—or maybe it was his double-dimpled smile, his mysterious hazel eyes, and his sexy German accent. Add in the fact he was here temporarily on business, and I was sold. Can you blame me?
I sat up, raking my hand through my knotted hair, trying to retrace the memories of the night prior. I was out with my best friend, Alison, celebrating her promotion. An advancement in her career that afforded her more money than I would ever hope to see anytime soon, after quitting my dream job in the fashion industry to help take care of my mother when she had fallen sick. I had just been promoted to a merchandiser position and was filled with excitement when I got to travel to Paris and Milan for the very first time for previews of upcoming season trends.
That excitement was short-lived after my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I knew there was no way I could meet the demands of my career and at the same time be there for her and my dad. I loved my job, but I loved my family more. So, after a few failed attempts of trying to get my foot back in the door of where I once was, I was settling—helping my father run the family bar and working as a sales girl in a trendy little boutique. I was still keeping my eye out for a position without much success.
These days I was hardly the epitome of fashion, making me doubt if that once stylish girl from not so long ago ever really existed. It seemed as if my mother’s death and a horrific breakup took away everything I was once so passionate about. I was content with my choice. At least I thought I was until a twinge of regret would creep in every now and then—like last night as I celebrated Alison’s success with her. I refused to believe I was a tad jealous of my best friend who worked so hard for that promotion. So, to numb those feelings, I slammed down the alcohol, thus in turn putting myself in the predicament I was in at the moment—in the upscale Manhattan hotel room of this insanely handsome guy, whose name I couldn’t even remember.
I carefully swung my legs over the bed and stood up on shaky knees, blushing at the sight of my clothes scattered among the floor. After my customary moment of remorse for my reckless actions and usual promise of “never again,” I bent down and gathered every last item in my arms, making my way into the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face then glanced in the mirror, feeling nothing but disgust for the girl staring back at me. I should’ve known better than to go back to the hotel room of some stranger under normal circumstances. Factor in that I was totally wasted and I was gambling with becoming the next storyline for a Law and Order SVU episode. I could see it all now playing out in my mind, Detective Benson showing up at my father’s bar to break the news to him that his stupid daughter was found raped, beaten, and dead. My father would be devastated, and my foolishness would be the cause of all that sorrow. Wonder which handsome guest star they would get to play my father. Pierce Brosnan, Aidan Quinn? Okay, maybe I’ve binge watched one too many episodes, but it was totally plausible.
Who was this person I’d become in less than a year’s time? I was never this promiscuous. I was always a one-guy type of girl. Until that one guy I thought I’d spend forever with found someone new, and not just any someone—the other third of my trio. Ever since I could remember, Alison and Monica had been there for me, until the day Monica decided to be there for my boyfriend instead. Now she and he were just a bad memory. A memory that made my heart and stomach twist in unison with just the mere thought of them. I refused to become one of those women who were bitter over the hand they were dealt, so instead of drowning myself in tears and junk food, I tucked my broken heart away and drowned myself in something else—men.
Now after my third hookup in six months, I was wondering if I would’ve been better off becoming an overweight emotional wreck instead of what I was feeling like in that moment—a slut. I tried my hardest to shake off my self-loathing, certain that guy I had sex with just hours ago wasn’t feeling like a male version of a slut. Of course he wasn’t. Men who hooked up with women for a quick fling were never labeled the same as females. It was such a double standard, one I refused to fall into. If the male species could sleep with random females without thinking any less of themselves then why couldn’t women do the same?
“You’re not a slut, you’re not a slut,” I repeated as I slipped on my jeans and threw my shirt over my head. “You are a beautiful, confident woman.” I gripped the cold porcelain sink and stared in the mirror, having a hard time believing that to be true. My long, wavy hair was more unruly than usual and my mascara that once coated my lashes was settled in black smudges around my light blue eyes. So much for the positive self-affirmations the overpriced therapist I had gone to see a few months ago told me to practice every day. I knew I ne
eded to get out of that hotel room before Mr. Handsome woke up and was feeling more regret than I was after getting a glimpse of the woman he had slept with in her natural state.
Slowly turning the bathroom door handle, I peered out to find him in the same position he was in when I crept out of bed. My eyes shifted to the hotel room door then back to his perfect body once again. One thing was for sure, I did have good taste in men, even if I was sneaking out of their hotel rooms in the wee hours of the morning. Treading lightly out of the bathroom, I grabbed my purse from the chair and stilled for a split second when it fell onto the floor with a crash. Checking to make sure he didn’t awaken, I bent down to pick its contents. Heat rose to my cheeks and my stomach tightened when he stirred from the bed as I hastily grabbed handfuls of the unnecessary items I carried in that oversized bag on a daily basis, from the floor. I made my escape, getting one last glimpse of the handsome stranger lying in bed. With a deep sigh of regret, I closed the hotel room door, hoping I didn’t leave a few feminine products that may have fallen out lingering behind.
As I stepped into the elevator, the doors closed on the bad girl world I was in last night, transporting me back to who I really was—Emme Flynn: loving daughter, devoted sister, and cynical romantic.
Chapter 2
Lukas
HAD THE GIRL I’d met last night been just a dream? With no sign of her in the room when I awoke, I was beginning to think so. But the condom wrapper on the night table and the wrinkled sheets on the bed said otherwise. As I moved my head from the pillow, a pulsating pain shot up and down my neck and back to the front of my temples. Great, just what I need today of all days. Why the hell did I have to drink so much last night? I knew the answer to that better than anyone, but for now I’d make myself believe it was for lack of anything else to do. I was far from home with a job to do that wasn’t going to make me the most popular guy around. Yes, that was exactly the reason why I’d drunk far more than I should’ve and taken that cute brunette who’d been flirting with me back to my hotel room. It had nothing at all to do with my screwed-up life and the five-hundred-pound chip on my shoulder I was carrying around.
I took the first tremulous step out of bed, wishing I could jump back in and pull the covers over my head for the rest of the day. Instead, I’d more than likely be dealing with the same fake smiles I had grown accustomed to when I was in the Los Angeles office. The entire time they were kissing my ass, they were more than likely envisioning my death. I totally got it. If I were them, I’d hate my guts too. It was a game of survival and they were all just trying to win out in the end, but the bottom line was one of the offices wasn’t going to make the cut. Since the merger had gone through, there was only one base needed in the States. My job was to evaluate and make recommendations to the CEO if the West Coast or East Coast location was most beneficial to the company. Thus, in turn getting a huge promotion out of the deal while putting a few hundred people out of a job.
I entered the bathroom and turned on the shower, allowing some steam to collect before stepping in. My head immediately began to clear when I closed the glass doors behind me and the hot water began to stream over my body. What happened to the girl from last night? She had told me her name, but I couldn’t remember it for the life of me. Just as well. The last thing I needed was some needy American girl wanting a relationship just because we had one night of drunken sex. My goal wasn’t to come to New York to hook up with someone. My goal was to prove to the CEO of Möller Software that I had the backbone for the job I was set out to do. A promotion I had to prove myself worthy of, and I planned on doing just that. Take no prisoners. Don’t let my feelings for these people’s personal plights get in my way. It was all in the name of business and the big pay increase that awaited me when all was said and done.
A chill began to taint the warm calming water, breaking me from my daydreaming. I finished up and stepped out of the shower, wrapping the oversized towel around my waist. As I slathered on the shaving cream, I caught a glimpse of the time on my phone. I needed to get a move on. Unfortunately, my face took the brunt of my tardiness in my haste, losing the battle with the razor. After sticking some dabs of toilet paper on my flesh wounds, I ran some gel through my hair then grabbed my suit from the closet.
My frustration was mounting after the third attempt at perfecting my tie, finally settling on the still flawed fourth time. As I bent down to tie my shoe, something on the floor caught my eye. I crossed the room to pick it up, and the same beautiful girl I had scant memories of from the night prior was staring back at me on the driver’s license in my hand. Emmeline Flynn. What were the chances that our birthdays were on the exact same day and the same exact year? A rare smile spread across my face before I snapped out of it, grabbing my things and heading on my way. I stopped at the trash can by the door, deciding to toss the license I was still holding in my hand and be rid of all memories of her. But when I stared at the photo once again, her blue eyes spoke to me. They were the only thing I remembered from the night prior. Perhaps, I should stick it in the mail to her to save the time and hassle of getting a replacement or run the risk of someone stealing her identity.
I shook my head, surprised by my own actions when I crammed it in my wallet. I didn’t have time to debate my temporary bout of likability, a quality I hadn’t seen in myself in a long time as I closed the hotel room door behind me. For the next eight hours I needed to focus on the job I was sent to do and who I really was—Lukas Reinier: efficient, unemotional, uncompromising businessman with no room for errors.
Chapter 3
Emme
“WELL, LOOK WHO it is,” my father greeted with a hint of his Irish brogue still intact.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry I didn’t call, but I stayed at Alison’s place.” I hated lying to him, but I hated the idea of telling him the truth even more. Everything about my life was so pathetic. I was twenty-seven years old, a time in most people’s lives when they were already out on their own, and in some cases married with kids, yet here I was still living in the three-bedroom apartment I grew up in, above my dad’s bar. Another thing I had given up at the time of my mother’s sickness was my tiny, overpriced apartment in Greenwich Village.
“Jacklyn isn’t going to be in today. Can you cover her shift?” my father asked, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.
“Yeah, sure, but where are you gonna be?”
“I have a two o’clock appointment with Fred.”
Fred was my father’s accountant. I knew whenever he was meeting with him outside of tax season it wasn’t for something good. “What’s going on?”
His face reddened before turning his back to face the sink and hurling the rest of his coffee down the drain. “Just need to go over a few things.”
“What things, Dad?” I hated that he still felt the need to shield me from the truth. I had put my life on hold to help him out with the business, and I was wishing he could see me as his equal instead of his little girl.
“I need to square away some back taxes I owe, so I can make sure the liquor license renewal goes through.”
This was the first I was hearing about him owing any back taxes. When my mother got sick, he was buried in medical bills for a while, causing him to fall behind. Against his protests, I had drained what little I had in my savings account to pitch in, so as far as I knew it was all straightened out now. A knot twisted in my stomach. I hated knowing he had this added burden on his shoulders. Ever since my mom passed away, he hadn’t been the same. That happy-go-lucky Irishman everyone in the neighborhood knew and loved had lost the spring in his step. He tried to put on a good front for everyone, but I knew better. I worried about him both emotionally and physically, especially after his last physical when he was put on heart medication.
He worked way too hard, sometimes drank a little too much, and when I wasn’t preparing his meals, his diet left something to be desired. This was now an extra worry to add to his plate, but he’d rather die than give up the business he had
built from the ground up when he had first immigrated from Ireland years ago.
“It’s not for you to worry about, my sweet Emmeline.” He turned around, finally able to make eye contact with me, his complexion sporting just a slight hint of some red on his nose and cheeks. My mother would always say that my father and I were twins born years apart. In his younger years he had the same raven-colored hair as me and the same light blue eyes. Now that full head of hair he still sported was entirely gray, but he was still handsome just the same. Our similarities went far beyond looks. We were a lot alike when it came to family values as well. My father would do anything for my sister and me, and I in turn would do anything for them. When my sister got accepted into Columbia University, my father mortgaged everything he owned to the hilt to make sure she was able to follow through with her dream. She made him proud, obtaining her master’s degree and working in a job that afforded the salary that came along with that degree. My sister, Bridgette, was three years older than me and always the pride and joy of the Flynn clan. My parents never made me feel like I was inferior to her. It was my own hang-up. She was an overachiever who succeeded at everything she set out to do. She married her college sweetheart, a great guy who put her on a pedestal. She was a bittersweet reminder that some people can have it all.
“Well, Dad, it is for me to worry about. If you need help financially, I can help you brainstorm some ways we can work things out.”
He clasped his hands together, looked up at the ceiling, then made the sign of the cross. “She’s just like you, Maggie, a worrier.” It had been almost a year since my mother had passed and he still spoke to her on a daily basis. It was a habit I found endearing, wishing that one day I could find a true love like theirs.
They had met when my mother had taken her first trip to Ireland. She was eighteen and my father was nineteen. Neither of their parents thought it would last, especially once she came back to the States, but they kept in touch through phone calls and letters. When he eventually saved enough money to come and visit her, they secretly eloped, and they were together and totally in love until the day she died. He’d always say it didn’t matter how long you knew someone. It could be days, hours, or even minutes…when you find that special someone you just know it’s meant to be forever.