Her Greatest Mistake Read online

  Her Greatest Mistake

  Copyright © 2019 by Eve L. Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Copyright infringement is against the law, please do not abuse the hard work of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines within this book are created by the authors imagination and are used fictitiously.

  Editorial services provided by Helayna Trask with Polished Perfection.

  Cover design provided by JJ's Design & Creations; jjsdesigncreations.wixsite.com/mysite/services-pricing

  Cover Photo provided by Wander Aguair Photography: www.wanderbookclub.com

  Cover model: Zakk Davis

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Note from the Author

  Foreword

  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

  From the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Indian Summer

  Cole

  Dark Heart

  Unbroken Bonds

  Dark Soul

  Into Darkness

  For The Win

  About the Author

  For my three special ladies, you keep me going with your passion, pep talks, support and love. Renée, Amber and Julie, thank you for allowing me to be a crazy insecure fool and thank you for loving the words.

  And for my Mr M. - well you know why - I tell you every day.

  I have tried to stay true to the locations and landmarks of Denver, Colorado. Any error that there may be in my descriptions, is entirely mine and my inability to research properly. I always love my research of Colorado, especially Boulder and Denver. I will get there one day - and I will explore and fall in love with it as much in reality as well as virtually.

  Please note that any deviations that there may be from the city or surrounding area are to fit in with the story.

  I am a British author and although I have tried to make this story as universal as I could, there will be some British spelling, phraseology, and terminology that I can’t (and won’t) eradicate from my writing and I am ok with that, I hope you are too.

  This book continues on from the short story ‘Book Covers & Coffee’ which was in a New Year’s Eve anthology. If you have already read the short story, please note that the first seven chapters of this book are the story from the anthology, with little changes.

  If you remember the story, skip to Chapter 8, but if you want to appreciate the story as a whole, then please read from the beginning.

  Whichever path you choose, I hope you enjoy!

  Sometimes, the mistakes you make

  in the heat of a stolen moment

  become life’s greatest rewards.

  EVE L. MITCHELL

  I waited patiently in line as it shuffled forward. I glanced up, noting that I was now about four from the front, before quickly returning to my book on my iPhone. I’d left the e-reader at home, the battery dead because I’d forgotten to charge it. After placing my order, I took my place beside the other patrons who stood waiting miserably. They were probably wishing wholeheartedly—as I was—that Monday hadn’t come again and that it hadn’t arrived wet, windy and freezing.

  As someone pressed their way past me to get to the condiment station, I shifted automatically to the side, narrowly missing their dripping umbrella. In my attempt to avoid the offending object, I bumped into the body behind me and turned swiftly to mumble an apology.

  He was wearing high visibility waterproof clothing—how I missed him was an attestation to the misery of the weather, the crowded coffee shop and the overall suckiness of Mondays. His grunt was either in acknowledgement of my apology or life in general. Without looking up, I turned back around, ready to return to my book. Another body pressing past to get to the condiment stand had me stepping back again. Mr High Visibility shifted, and I slipped into the small space he left. I glanced up when I heard the barista call a drink order and then dropped my head when I saw it quickly claimed. Another body jostled past me, swiping me with their wet umbrella. I glared at their retreating back, and this time I caught the side profile of Mr High Vis. He was leaning against a pillar as he waited like the rest of us, for his beverage of choice.

  Oh my God.

  I felt my brain stutter as I stared at him. He was completely oblivious to me, thankfully. I looked back at my phone and flicked to the front of my book and stared at the cover. I sneaked a glance back up at him and back at the cover. Same brown hair, cut close on the sides and back, but long on top. I frowned. His would be styled like the book if he weren’t sporting hard hat hair—the hard hat currently held in his hand as he waited. I glanced back at the book cover. Same sculpted cheekbones, jaw, and straight nose. Same five o’clock shadow. I bet his eyes were also brown, like melted chocolate. I sighed and I glanced up at him again. He rubbed his hand over his jaw as he yawned and stretched, and I caught the hint of tattoo ink on his arm, as his waterproof coat sleeve fell back a little. I ran my eyes over his frame; he was tall and broad. I flicked my eyes back to the topless male on the cover of my book, whose broad shoulders and tight abs with an intricate side tattoo stared back at me.

  It was him?

  No, you’re an idiot, the model of the cover of the book you’re reading is not in a coffee shop in high vis waterproof clothing. In December. In Denver. Working on a construction site. No, don’t be stupid, Jemma.

  I looked up again. He was looking back at me. Shit. I felt myself flush.

  He shifted his feet until he was closer to me. “See something you like, or were you wondering where I shop?” His tone was light, his smirk playful, but his eyes were hard.

  My face blushed scarlet, nonetheless. “Um, you, um…look like someone I know,” I mumbled.

  “Course I do.” He snorted a laugh as he stifled another yawn, leaning back against the pillar—his conversation with me obviously done.

  “Okay, so I don’t know them,” I blurted out. I took a step towards him. I think I was more surprised than he was. I held up my phone and showed him the cover of the book. “You’re the spitting image of the cover model.”

  He glanced at me and then at my phone. Then, frowning, he looked closer at the phone. Reaching out, he took it from me. I went to protest, but he peered at the cover.

  “That’s complete bullshit. I’m way better looking than this guy, and I have better tattoos.” He handed the phone back to me.

  Clearly, I was dismissed once again. “Well, I haven’t seen all your tattoos to compare.”

  You know when you hear people say that they wish the ground opened up and swallowed them? I always internally roll my eyes, thinking nothing could be so bad that would warrant such a dramatic resp
onse. However, in that moment, in that coffee shop, with Mr-High-Vis-Chocolate-Brown-Eyes looking at me in surprise, I did indeed wish the ground would just open up and swallow me down in one gulp.

  His burst of surprised laughter strangely made me tense rather than relax me. After a moment, I grinned at him in response and then was once again knocked to the side when someone passed me in their quest for milk. He steadied me as I glared at the offender’s back.

  “You’re far too small to be in the line of fire. Here, stand there.” He moved me into his spot and stood protectively in front of me.

  “I’m not small,” I grumbled, defending my five-foot-four height.

  “Yeah, you’re a real life giant.” He turned to me again and took my phone from me, regarding the cover again. “This guy’s ridiculous. Those abs are obviously photoshopped.” He was looking at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his comment.

  “You’re probably just jealous.” Seriously—who was this sassy miss?

  His grin was infectious. “No, you can tell by the lighting. The shadows are falling from left to right as is depicted on this cover from the way the moonlight is hitting the trees, see?” He waited until I nodded in agreement. “Then why are this guy’s abs shadowed from right to left?”

  “Well, wouldn’t they be convex or something?” I was staring too hard at my screen, trying to see what he was saying.

  “What?”

  “You know, don’t they like, stick outwards when they’re like, that ripped or…” I glanced up. He was staring at me. “What?” I asked him.

  “Are you serious?” He was looking at me like I was an alien.

  Did I just say convex? In regard to someone’s abs?

  “Jemma? Chai tea latte.”

  I turned to the barista who had just shouted my order. I could almost see the shining armour of my saviour. I turned back to Mr High Vis. “That’s me.” He was still staring at me in confusion. “Yeah, so…bye,” I muttered. Turning, I grabbed my drink and practically ran out of the shop.

  Power walking in the rain with a burning hot drink is not to be recommended. My office was on the corner of Seventeenth Street and Glenarm Place, a brown brick building of ten floors and multiple tenants. My office was on the sixth floor. I got to the office, soggy, minus half a drink, and still burning with humiliation. Nadine, my co-worker, looked at me as I placed my chai tea latte on my desk and then flung my coat off.

  “Jesus, Jemma, Monday’s already kicking your butt, huh?” she joked as she watched me set myself up at my workstation.

  “Don’t even go there.” Her eyebrows rose. I groaned. “I just made a fool of myself in the coffee shop.” I switched my laptop on and then looked at her. She grinned back at me. Her naturally curly black hair was glossy, hanging in perfect curls around her heart-shaped face. Nadine leaned back in her seat, her shirt tightening over her ample chest.

  “What did you do? Tell me you had a quickie with the cute barista you’ve been pining over for an eternity?”

  The mouthful of chai tea latte I had just taken sprayed over my monitor. Nadine’s howling laughter gained everyone’s attention in the office, and sure enough, her hilarity therefore drew Mr Adams’s attention. He walked over to us as Nadine leaned back in her chair, glaring at him as I mopped up my desk.

  “Girls,” he greeted. His chin wobbled as he peered at us over his half-moon glasses. “Jemma, you look”—he paused, as his most recent Equality & Diversity course he’d been sent on had left him more confused than ever—“damp?”

  Nadine snorted, and I glared at her as I ran my hand over my ponytail, the ends slapped wetly against my shirt. “Morning, Mr Adams. It’s wet out there,” I offered by way of explanation. Nadine rolled her eyes at me behind his back.

  “Yes, well, it’s December in Denver. Keep the noise down; the men are working.” He instantly winced and hurried away before Nadine launched into a tirade or, more likely, Human Resources overheard him.

  “He’s such a prick,” she muttered as she watched him scurrying back into his office. She turned back to me. “So what did you do?”

  I related my morning encounter to her. Nadine was delighted.

  “Let me see the cover,” she demanded, leaning forward over my desk. I showed her. “Holy shit, Jemma, what kind of books do you read?”

  “Ugh, it’s not what you think,” I protested. “Half-naked men on covers sell books. It’s not what you think,” I reiterated as she continued to stare at me doubtfully.

  “And he looked like that?” Nadine looked at me. “The guy in the coffee shop? Looked like this hottie here?”

  “I swear he was his spitting image. I couldn’t believe it.” I looked at the cover again and got lost in the model’s beautiful brown eyes…and okay, maybe his stunning body.

  “And you told him? You? Miss-I-wouldn’t-say-boo-to-a-goose told him you hadn’t seen all of his tattoos to compare?” Nadine questioned.

  I winced as Nadine quoted my words back to me. “Yeah. I did. Then I said that abs were convex, so shadows would be different, but thankfully, my drink order was called, and I ran out of there.”

  Nadine was laughing again. “Well, he knows your name, so hopefully you will see him tomorrow.” She moved back to her own desk.

  “Why would I see him tomorrow? I go to the same coffee place every day. Trust me, I would know if he did.” I sighed as I looked at the cover model one more time.

  Nadine shrugged. “Yeah, but you’ve given him something to go back for.”

  I sighed once more as she focused on her monitor. It was okay for Nadine. She had no trouble attracting men; with her naturally curly hair, gorgeous russet skin tone, and curvy figure, she had men chasing her daily. If she didn’t get their attention with her looks, her natural confidence captured their interest instead. I, on the other hand, was the complete opposite of Nadine. I was small in stature, slight of frame, and my skin tone was the colour of milk. My hair was a deep chestnut brown, long and poker straight—a sacrifice to a demon goat god wouldn’t get a curl into this hair. I had been sorely tempted to try such extreme measures when I was younger. Where Nadine had curves and curls, I was straight and narrow. Everything about me was straight and narrow. Moral compass included, I thought wryly.

  “The incredibly good-looking guy is not coming back into the coffee shop on the off chance that the probable crazy cat lady is there to compare him with imaginary men, Nadine. Get real.” I gulped more chai tea latte, grimacing.

  “How long are you going to drink it for?” Nadine asked as she watched me.

  “Until I convince myself it’s really good for me and I like it,” I mumbled in reply, swallowing down another mouthful.

  “You know what else is good for you?” Nadine grinned at me.

  I started shaking my head at her as her grin grew more wicked. “Don’t…” I warned, fighting back the grin. “Do not say sex in coffee shops with strangers.”

  “I was going to say coffee, but if you wanna go there…I am all over that idea instead.” She leaned forward in her seat, propping her chin in her hands eagerly.

  “No! Work. We are going to work.” I turned to my screen and pretended to ignore her.

  “You used to be more fun,” Nadine muttered, and then she froze. “Jemma, I didn’t mean…” she trailed off.

  “Don’t worry about it, I know what you meant.” I flashed her a quick smile. “Nadine, it’s fine, I know you didn’t mean Tim.”

  She nodded once, and her head went down. Well, that was one way to get her to focus on her work, I contemplated.

  Nadine kept her head down for a good fifteen minutes—which I think was a record. Then she made us both a cup of tea, and her chatter picked its pace up at the same acceleration rate as a Formula 1 car getting off the grid. I carried on with my work as she filled the morning with her conversation that ranged from celebrity gossip to reality TV, real life drama and Twitter wars. I nodded when she paused for breath, but this was really a limited audience participation
morning—for which I was grateful.

  Despite my assurances, her comment had smarted a little. Tim, my ex-fiancé was a very recent ex-fiancé. Two months ex to be exact. Two months the relationship had been over for me, but for Tim, the relationship had been over a lot longer, as his new relationship had been going strong for about four or five months. I still hadn’t managed to pinpoint exactly when the affair had started. Was it an affair if he had already decided he didn’t love me anymore? I still spent too much time wondering about that. Did it count? If one person had stopped caring and already moved on, was it still cheating? I was pretty sure it was, because he had still been sleeping in our bed, he had still been living in our apartment.

  I had been setting the dinner table when he came home from work, put his laptop case on the chair, took off his tie and very quickly drank a glass of wine. I had chastised him for not waiting for dinner. Tim had told me he wasn’t staying for dinner, he said he had a friend waiting outside. He then proceeded to tell me he was in love with someone else. He had been seeing her for a while and was leaving me for her, and could he have his ring back?

  I remember I stood there with the pre-packaged salad, feeling numb, struggling to process what he was saying. Tim had held his hand out, and I remembered I had stood staring at it. He had asked me again for his ring. Then I had laughed at him, telling him no. I invited him to leave. I hadn’t raised my voice. I hadn’t cried. I hadn’t broken.