Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Book 0: The Ladies Who Lunch

by Sandy James

Genres: Humor & Satire; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

For the fans of Jennifer Probst, Ruth Cardello and Jill Shalvis, comes a series about love, friendship, and lunch! When life gets tough and love is hard to find, four friends take their troubles to lunch. High school teacher Juliana Kelley tells the Ladies Who Lunch that her life needs an overhaul . . . and gets a whole lot more than she wished for. Juliana has spent thirteen years in the same teaching job. She's ready to dive into a new career with both feet . . . when a run-in with the hottest man she's ever seen knocks her head over heels. But with her failed marriage to a fellow teacher fresh on her mind, Jules can't afford to lose herself in a relationship-no matter how perfect it may seem. Connor Wilson has hit rock bottom when he loses his career as a top-notch Realtor because of a large gambling debt. Now, in a small town he finds a fresh start-and a gorgeous redhead who sparks new life into him. Together they start a successful real estate company, but when pleasure sneaks into the business, they'll have to decide what they can let go . . . and what they can't live without. Word count: 75,000-85,000

Release date: July 1, 2014

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 256

Sample

One more thing. I dare you, universe. Just throw one more thing at me and…

Juliana Kelley growled as she paced down the brown terrazzo hallway of her school, tossing faux smiles at any students she passed, subtly checking their hands for hall passes. Her destination? The mailroom, situated about as far from her special education classroom as physically possible. As angry as she was, steam had to be pouring from her ears. The click of her heels echoed like a metronome, marking the time she’d spent marching these stark corridors.

I mean it this time. One more thing gets fucked up today, and I’m walking out the door.

If only it weren’t an idle threat she’d tossed around far too often. She could no sooner leave her teaching job than stroll on the moon. But after fourteen years of teaching, she no longer found joy in spending time with her students.

She was exhausted. Plain and simple. She’d been hired at Stephen Douglas High School right out of college, a wide-eyed twenty-one-year-old with a sparkling-new bachelor’s degree and ideas of changing the world of special education. She’d been at the school ever since.

Even though she was only thirty-five, she was the senior-most teacher in her department. No matter how much she loved teaching, fourteen years of working with special needs children was a lifetime, and the burnout of her chosen discipline weighed on her more and more each day.

Unfortunately, she had nowhere else to go and no skills beyond her teaching abilities. Who wanted to hire a smart-ass redhead and the volatility she brought in tow? It wasn’t as though switching to a new school would help. Besides, with her years of experience, no other school would touch her. Why hire an exhausted teacher when a fresh-faced kid right out of college could be had for half the price?

One idea plagued her thoughts, put there long ago by her uncle Francis. He’d made a nice life for himself selling real estate. Whenever he cornered her at any family function, he tried to persuade her to move to Virginia, join his firm, and peddle houses. She always listened then politely told him, yet again, that she loved teaching.

Today, she’d give him an entirely different answer.

From time to time—usually after a particularly rough group of students—she’d looked into real estate sales as a new career. An online class here. A seminar there. Her overwhelming obsession with HGTV. She’d fantasized more times than she could count of seeing her name proudly pronouncing a house for sale, or better yet, sold. But could she really leave the teaching profession, especially for something as risky as real estate, where the salary was never guaranteed?

“Hey, baby,” a familiar masculine voice called. “How you doin’?”

Juliana heaved a sigh, thinking there should be some law about ex-spouses not being allowed to work together. Ever. “I’m fine, Jimmy.” She winced the moment the old nickname slipped out, knowing how he’d react.

“Jim!” He fisted his hands at his sides instead of hitting the wall. At least he was finally learning to control his temper. If he weren’t one of the best wrestling coaches in the state, the administrators probably would’ve fired him years ago. “It’s Jim now. Only boys are called Jimmy.”

Then grow up and I’ll stop calling you that. “Sorry. Old habits. Blah, blah, blah.” She dismissed her slip with a wave of her hand. Plucking the pieces of mail from her tiny box, she tried to get the hell out of there before her ex could start a real conversation. She’d had little enough to say to him when they’d been married a good ten years ago. Now he grated on her already-frayed nerves like a loud dentist’s drill.

“Hey, wait.” Jim hurried over and grabbed her elbow. “I wanted to ask you somethin’.”

She glared down at his restraining hand, refusing to respond until he took the less-than-subtle hint and let go.

As always, he was slow on the uptake and pressed on. “Heard you were going to the mixers at Bayside Church.”

“And that’s your business because…?”

He ran his hand over his balding head, a trait that had only developed in the last year but was rapidly overtaking him. “I just… you know… figured if you needed some male companionship—”

She snorted a laugh. “Oh, Jim. I’m not even letting you finish that sentence because you know damn well I’ll slap your face if you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

It wasn’t the first time he offered to service her like some male escort, but in the mood she was in he was going to be the lightning rod she unloaded all her anger on. She needed to get away from him before he became her “one more thing.”

Robert Ashford stopped at the door, his gaze shifting between the couple.

The cavalry!

“Looks like I’m interrupting something,” he said with a note of laughter in his voice.

“Not at all,” Juliana replied. She tossed him a grateful glance.

Jim left the workroom, huffing and puffing as he mumbled under his breath.

“Thank God,” she muttered, flipping through the mail and tossing almost all of it into the trash. Most were flyers trying to sell teachers overpriced products they didn’t need.

A waste of trees.

“He still hovers, doesn’t he?” Robert fished his own mail out of his cubby.

“My fault for working where he works. After the divorce, I should have left, but…” She shrugged. “I liked it here.”

“Liked?”

Robert was astute. Always had been. He knew people, something that had helped him earn a huge following for the custom homes he built as a second job. Why he still worked as a shop teacher was beyond her. He had to earn a hell of a lot more money moonlighting.

“Yeah, liked. Feeling the burnout bad lately,” she said.

“Kinda early in the year, isn’t it? I mean, we’ve got a while before summer break.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive that long.”

He leaned back against the worktable. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Um, ask me something?” The day had held nothing good in store for her, and Robert’s tone made her wary.

Then his smile helped her quickly relax. “Easy there, Jules. You’re thinking too hard.”

“Probably because Jim just tried to proposition me.”

Robert chuckled but shook his head. “I’m not thinking of asking for a date or anything. I mean… you’re a mighty pretty lady, but I go for blondes who don’t have quite as much fire as you do.”

“Well, then. Ask away.”

He stepped over to the door and glanced up and down the hall as though he wanted to make sure they had privacy. That action put her right back on edge. What was so shocking he couldn’t ask in front of other teachers or any boss who’d actually taken a moment to come out of his office?

“I’m going to a real estate seminar Friday. Thought you might want to come along. You’re thinking about getting outta here, right?” Robert asked.

“How’d you know that?”

“C’mon, Jules. You’ve got ‘runaway’ written all over you. I’ve been here every bit as long as you have. I’m sick and tired of it, too.”

She leaned back against the table next to him, sagging to the side so her shoulder pressed against his. She allowed herself the comfort of his touch, the assurance of a friend. What she really wanted was someone tall, handsome, and warm so she could lay her head against his shoulder and let him take a little of the weight of the world away. Not that she wanted another husband. But she missed masculine attention, hence the singles’ mixers that had yielded nothing. Not even an interesting date.

Her fault for living in Cloverleaf, Illinois—translated “Nowhere, USA.”

“At least you have something to fall back on if you leave,” Juliana couldn’t help but point out. “What do I have?”

“You’re selling yourself short. You’ve got one really big asset. You’re a born salesman.”

Exactly what her uncle Francis always said. “Did I hear you right?”

“If you heard me say you’re a born salesman, you did,” Robert replied. “I’ve seen the way you get all those kids and their parents excited about the European trips. They aren’t even your students.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, knowing how difficult it would be to take special needs kids to Europe. The biennial overseas adventures gave her a chance to get to know more of the school’s student body. “Most of the kids on the trips are from the honors department.”

“Those tours cost a pretty penny, but you always take at least a dozen kids with you.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

Sure, the trips were expensive, but the benefits to the kids—the historical sites, the visits to museums, experiencing other cultures—were well worth the cost.

Robert was right. She had to sell people on the idea to get them to pony up the dough. “I sold women’s clothing in college,” she said.

“See?”

“My uncle is a Realtor. He’s always trying to recruit me.”

“Serendipity?”

“Maybe. So you really think I could sell houses?”

“Absolutely. I’m taking control of my own life. I’m building these great houses—”

“They’re gorgeous, Robert. Absolutely gorgeous. If I were rich, you’d be building one for me.”

“I do believe that’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.” His smile made her smile in return. “I’ve been thinking for a long time, why shouldn’t I profit by selling those houses, too? As it is, some Realtors pocket seven percent of the profit that should be mine.”

“Makes sense,” she said.

Real estate.

Suddenly it felt as though the universe had sent her a sign: her restlessness and her feeling that her life at the school was coming to an end; Robert echoing Uncle Francis, both pushing her toward something she thought she might enjoy doing; the timing of the seminar to learn even more about selling homes as a career. All of it had to be more than mere coincidence. “When did you say the class was?”

“Friday. Six o’clock. I could swing by and pick you up.”

“Who’s teaching this ‘class’?”

“Max Schumm.”

“Oh, the guy from Schumm Homes. They pretty much sell every house in Cloverleaf.”

“Then he should know what he’s talking about. And look at it this way—if we sign up for the class online, they’re buying dinner for up to fifteen people. Last I checked, only eight slots were filled. The class is at Byran’s Steakhouse.”

“Isn’t that the restaurant at the Ramada?”

“That’s the one. A steak dinner is worth the twenty-buck fee and an hour or so of your time, don’t you think?”

Pushing away from the table, Juliana gave Robert a smile. “Pick me up at five forty-five.”

* * *

“I’m thinking about trying something new,” Juliana announced when she sat down at the lunch table.

Her three friends, the women she’d shared her lunch and life with for so many years, all turned curious eyes in her direction.

Mallory Carpenter was the first to speak. “Something new?” She stirred her microwaved soup as she eyed the sack Juliana had dropped on the table. A year younger than Juliana, Mallory was a beautiful woman with brown hair that barely brushed her shoulders and brown eyes that held both intelligence and warmth. “No more yogurt and salad?” she asked.

Juliana fished out her lunch, setting the mentioned items in front of her. Strawberry cheesecake yogurt and a tossed salad. “Nope. Guess again.”

Bethany Rogers took her turn, her big brown eyes bright and her typical smile lighting her round face, a face framed by a mop of brown curly hair that reached her jawline. “Um… not going to the mixer on Saturday this week?”

“Strike two.” Juliana glanced to Danielle Bradshaw, arching an eyebrow. “Care to take a turn?”

Danielle blew a raspberry and then grinned. Blonde and blue-eyed, the woman was a no-nonsense realist whose disposition kept her feet firmly on the ground. “I suck at guessing games. Besides, we’ve only got twenty minutes left to eat. I’d rather you tell us, ’cause you seem pretty excited, which means it must be something good.”

Now that she’d decided to explore this new path in her life, she was anxious to share it with her friends. Learning to sell real estate might seem like a pipe dream, but the more she thought about it, the more Juliana began to believe she might have found her bolt hole, her escape route from the hell that the school had become.

Yet she suddenly realized what she could lose.

The Ladies Who Lunch.

The four friends had given their ragtag group that name. Even other teachers called them that now, the way they used the name always seeming a bit envious of the closeness the women shared. It was no wonder they were close. They discussed everything from horrible love lives to Mallory’s heartrending battle with breast cancer. They were survivors, every single one of them.

And that was what forced Juliana’s honesty. If she was thinking of jumping ship, her friends deserved to know. “I’m thinking about getting the hell out of this place.”

Mallory stared at her, blinking several times as her gaze searched Juliana’s. “This isn’t just blowing off steam because of a bad day.” A statement not a question. Mallory knew her far too well.

“No, it’s not. I’m just so…tired.”

“You’re a special ed teacher,” Danielle said. “It’s no wonder. I mean, we all deal with kids, which takes a toll. But the kids you see? Shit, Jules, I think you’re a candidate for sainthood.”

“She’s right,” Bethany insisted. “I might get some bad things tossed my way, but I’ve never had to change a student’s diaper or help one into a padded area while he flipped out.”

Juliana shrugged. “It goes with the job. I could have chosen something else, but I wanted to work with special needs kids. I always figured they needed me.”

Mallory was still staring holes through her. “So what’s the plan?”

“Robert’s taking me to a real estate seminar.”

“Real estate? Interesting.” Bethany took a sip of her soda. “You know, that might just work for you. You’re a born salesperson.”

“That’s exactly what Robert said.” And Uncle Francis.

The universe was definitely sending her a message.

“Well, think about it,” Bethany continued. “You’re gorgeous. That red hair, those green eyes. When you put on a business suit, you look like you could take on corporate America and win. You show someone a house, you’ll have them buying before they see every room.”

Bethany’s eternal optimism was a blessing. While that trait sometimes bordered on naïveté, this time it helped Juliana feel stronger about risking a change. “Thanks, Beth.”

Beth saluted her with a mock toast of her Diet Coke.

“You haven’t mentioned this to the principal yet, have you, Jules?” Mallory asked.

“I’m not that stupid,” Juliana replied. “Besides, it’s just a seminar. Who knows if I’ll even decide I want to give it a whirl?”

“You can use summer break to get a good start,” Danielle said.

Juliana nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. I’ll just head to the seminar with Robert, see what Max Schumm has to say, and—”

Mallory choked on her Diet Cherry Coke. “Did you say Max Schumm?” The anger in her voice came as a surprise.

“Yeah, why?”

“Ben hates that guy.”

Ben. Mallory’s husband. The two of them had a bit of whirlwind romance that started when he renovated her house, which turned into true love when they connected at the Bayside mixers.

If only Juliana could be so lucky to land a hunk like Ben Carpenter. “What happened that made Ben hate him?”

“Schumm screwed up the paperwork on the house he sold when he got divorced. Cost Ben a pretty penny to get things straightened out. The lawyer told him Schumm doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”

“Then why is he head of the biggest real estate firm in Cloverleaf?” Juliana asked.

“Because there’s not much competition,” Mallory replied. “The other firms are national chains, and you know how tight-knit this town is.”

“Always use a local,” Danielle said, stating the town’s informal motto.

“Look,” Juliana said. “I’ll go to the seminar, find out what I need to do to get licensed, and see if I can stomach Max Schumm. Then I can make some hard choices.”

But did she have the stomach to walk away from her career and risk starting over?

Connor Wilson leaned back in his chair and waited for the presentation to start. Not that the seminar was going to change his mind about facing this new real estate market solo. He was there strictly for research, learning everything he could about the competition.

He’d made this move to such a small market for all the right reasons, and there was profit to be had here. He could smell it as easily as a pig sniffing for truffles.

Max Schumm. Cloverleaf’s number one Realtor. He held court near the front of the conference room, close to the table his assistants had piled with swag—calendars, pens, refrigerator magnets. Not a surprise that his office staff, his minions, were all women while his Realtors were mostly men. He counted only two ladies in the bright blue Schumm blazers, and every advertisement he’d checked contained listings by males.

The town and the surrounding counties were ripe for the picking.

Time for the king to get knocked off his throne.

Glancing around the three big, round tables set with six places each, Connor sized up the people who thought they might have the chops to sell homes. A pitiful lot it was. He’d dismissed each and every one, noticing Max doing the same thing as he appraised the newbies. The only person Max kept staring at was Connor, probably because he knew a true salesman when he spotted one.

Perhaps he even recognized him from his past. Indianapolis wasn’t a huge market, but it was somewhat close and Connor had been well known there. Two years away wasn’t all that long to distance himself from making sales or getting new listings. Their paths might have crossed on a long-distance move, although he was sure he’d have remembered a man like Max. Damn if the guy didn’t look like an eighties game show host, from his oversprayed hair to his fake tan to his far-too-white teeth.

What Max didn’t know was that Connor had no intention of becoming part of Schumm Homes. While Max would undoubtedly make him an offer of employment, there was only one firm Connor intended to work for—the newest agency in town.

Wilson Realty.

The time for the program to begin came and went, causing him to make a mental note, matching the information he’d already gathered. Tardiness was one of Max’s sins. He had others, but the most mentioned was his disregard for other people’s time.

Just as Max stepped closer to the podium, talking in low tones with the Ramada’s technical advisor, a kid who had to be right out of college, a couple appeared at the double-door entrance.

Connor caught and held his breath when he saw the woman.

Hair the color of a setting sun—the most gorgeous shade of natural red he’d ever seen. It was long and down, bouncing around her shoulders in wavy cascades. She wore a perfect black dress. Not a slutty “little black dress” but one that would work fine for business and pleasure, with a square neck that showed a hint of generous cleavage. She was curvy without being too curvy. Her legs seemed to go on forever, and the black stilettos were enough to finish him off.

He was no longer thinking about Max Schumm or real estate or the Cloverleaf market. Connor wasn’t going to be paying an ounce of attention to anything anyone had to say tonight. Not with the redheaded vision heading right for his table. Too bad she was with another guy, because there was nothing he wanted more than to take her home.

It had been a long time since he’d felt such a swift and severe attraction. The closer she drew, the harder his heart pounded. Since the last empty seats were at his table, it was a given she and her escort were going to sit next to him.

“Mind if we sit here?” she asked, her husky voice hitting him right in the groin.

“Um, no. Go ahead.” Then the blood started flowing back to Connor’s brain long enough for him to remember his manners. He stood up and pulled out the chair for her, drawing a lopsided smile from her escort, who hadn’t made a move to help.

She dropped a rather large black purse on the floor, sat down, and smiled sweetly over her shoulder as Connor pushed her up to the table. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Her perfume drifted his way. Something light yet sensual. Hell, everything about her was sensual. She moved like a feline, all sleek lines and confidence. He wanted to sweep the gorgeous creature into his arms, carry her up to his third-floor room, and make love to her until they both collapsed in sated exhaustion. He let a light chuckle slip as he wondered what she’d say if he up and told her exactly what he was thinking.

She tossed him a charming smile, but he couldn’t enjoy it because he was too busy looking to see if she or the guy who’d escorted her to the table wore a wedding ring.

Neither did, and Connor did a mental jig. He wasn’t leaving without this beautiful creature’s phone number.

Maybe his fresh start in this new place was truly going to be his salvation. Maybe he could really leave his past behind and forge a new life here after all. Maybe a leopard could finally change his spots.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt the confidence and purpose that had been missing for far too long. He would make a life for himself here, earn a decent profit, and maybe get back to the world of the living.

Only time would tell.

* * *

Juliana’s hopes fell with each word out of Max Schumm’s mouth. What he was proposing was a sales position where she’d slave away for him, selling real estate yet giving back far more in commission than she thought necessary. All for the privilege of being able to use his logo and wear a tacky blue blazer. The way he parceled out office space was ridiculous, and although he was the number one Realtor for miles around, she couldn’t help but think there had to be someone with more warmth and personality than the rather cardboard Max Schumm.

Dinner had been a steak that was about the size and consistency of a hockey puck, a baked potato, and a bowl of tossed lettuce. The only drink provided was water. Twenty bucks didn’t buy much anymore.

Then Max had proceeded to tell them how lucky they all were to even be considered as one of his representatives. On. . .