The List

Revised Edition Copyright © 2019 VELVET VAUGHN LLC

ISBN: 978-1-7335126-8-8

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Visit Velvet’s website at www.velvetvaughn.com and her Facebook Fanpage at www.facebook.com/authorvelvetvaughn.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my parents for your love, guidance, and unwavering support. Your examples of hard work, honesty, generosity, and faith have been the foundation of my life. I could never have done this without you. I love you both.

Acknowledgments

I would like to sincerely thank the members of my Velvet Vaughn Street Team who help spread the word: Cindi R., Debbie M., Gary A., Karen D., Karen J., Lisa B., Tammy T., Lisa B., Sharon W., Paulyn A, and Shelley C. I’m so thankful for all of you and truly appreciate your support. I would also like to thank my social media guru, Kristy O.

And as always, a huge thank you to my mom. I couldn’t do this without you!

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

About the Author

Prologue

October 29, Ten Years Ago

Okay, Jac, your turn. Who are the five guys you want to sleep with?

Jacqueline ‘Jac’ Sera chewed her thumbnail and pondered the question. Stalling, she prompted, Reread your list, Tasha.

Natasha ‘Tasha’ Sparks’ eyes lit with excitement as she consulted her paper. Keith Mosey, Heath Williams, Ted Harmon, Carl Gray and… Natasha’s hand covered her mouth, muffling her first choice.

No fair, Tasha, Nicole Southern complained. What happened to Brad Pitt? Are you changing your list?

Maybe, Tasha retorted mulishly.

Nicole shoved her backpack off the bed, plopped down next to Tasha, and rolled her eyes conspiratorially at Jac across the room. Together for the first time since college separated them, the three girls were lounging in Nicole’s bedroom discussing their two favorite things: reruns of the television show Friends and boys.

The last episode they watched of their beloved sitcom centered on the sextet’s quest to name five celebrities they wanted to sleep with. Natasha, Nicole, and Jac decided to create their own lists. They would each name five guys but couldn’t include a boy they had dated, and each girl would be allowed two celebrities. Then they would place a bet on who would be the first to hook up with one of the men they selected.

Okay, Tasha, you can switch since Jac is still deciding, Nicole offered magnanimously. Who’s your top pick?

Tasha’s chubby cheeks flushed crimson, enhancing the sparkle in her green eyes. She twisted a strand of curly brown hair around a finger—a sure sign she was nervous. Promise not to laugh?

Tasha, Jac soothed, we would never. We’re best friends.

Yeah, Nicole echoed. Spill it.

What are you guys doing? Can I play?

Nellie Smart, Nicole’s fourteen-year-old stepsister, skipped into the room. Nicole openly loathed her stepsibling, and she huffed loudly in annoyance.

Nellie, however, idolized Nicole and her friends and always tried to tag along. Blue-eyed and blonde, Nicole was outgoing, a cheerleader. Nellie was shy and introverted, with mousy brown hair and glasses. Jac felt sorry for the younger girl and tried to be kind. Jac even sat with Nellie at lunch once or twice. But the nicer she was, the more Nellie clung like a used Snuggle sheet. Jac’s charity strained her friendship with Nicole and forced her to keep Nellie at arm’s length. It wasn’t easy. The girl was doggedly persistent.

Go away, worm, Nicole barked.

Undaunted, Nellie flopped on the futon next to Jac and peeked at the paper on her lap. What list is that, Jac? Can I see? Nellie reached for the sheet.

Jac glanced from Nellie’s eager face to Nicole’s thunderous one. Hatred narrowed her friend’s eyes, and the rage was aimed directly at her. Jac flipped the pad against her chest, hiding it from view. Nellie’s mouth opened on a sharp inhale. Jac knew she was being mean but hardened her heart and stuck her ground.

Nicole flew from the bed and yanked Nellie by her sweatshirt. She growled, Get lost, and added a shove. The younger girl went sprawling face-first to the floor.

But I want…

Scram.

Nellie cast one last look at the other girls and burst into tears as she crawled from the room.

Jac’s heart was breaking. She couldn’t stand to see the young girl hurting. Maybe it would strain her friendship with Nicole, but she would seek Nellie out and apologize.

God, what an annoying brat. Nicole shot one last scornful glare at Jac. Then, as if she’d flipped some internal switch, her mood changed from furious to cheerful in the blink of an eye. Who’s the new hunk on your list, Tasha?

Astonished, Jac shook her head. Nicole morphed from Dr. Jekyll to Ms. Hyde and back to Dr. Jekyll within sixty seconds. She slid a peek at Tasha, who was too busy scribbling on her paper to notice.

Remember, you promised not to laugh. Tasha averted her eyes, sucked in a breath, and blurted, Danny Martin.

Danny Martin, Jac and Nicole squealed in unison, the earlier tension forgotten. Nicole doubled over while Jac fought her reaction. Stop it, Nicole, she chastised.

You said you wouldn’t laugh, Tasha accused.

We’re sorry, Jac apologized. We didn’t know you had a crush on Danny.

Forget it. I’m changing back to Brad Pitt. Tasha dragged the eraser across the paper.

Jac drilled Nicole with a stern look. Don’t change it, Tasha. I think Danny is a sweet guy.

You would, Nicole muttered under her breath.

You think so, Jac? Tasha’s bottom lip caught between her teeth. He’s cute, isn’t he?

Yes, Jac answered truthfully. The best way to describe shy, studious Danny would be cute…as a puppy dog or a kewpie doll. Poor guy had been voted ‘Most Likely to Become a Priest.’

Clearly bolstered by Jac’s approval, Tasha clapped her hands, a broad smile splitting her face. Your turn, Jac.

Jac doodled on her paper and mulled over her list. She didn’t need five slots. Only one man merited the honor in her eyes. Playing along with her friends, she scrawled four other names and tapped the paper with the pen. Okay, I’m ready. She announced her choices. Ty Baxter and Caleb Flynn had been two years older than the girls, and Riley Henderson was the high school football captain. Jac added him, knowing he was untouchable. He’d been practically engaged to a girl from a rival school for two years.

And your celebrities? Nicole prompted in a bored tone.

Jere Lipton. The other girls twittered their agreement of the hunky soap opera star while Jac’s mind drifted back to a warm summer evening nine years ago, a night that changed her life forever. She recalled the dark-haired boy who pulled her from death’s cruel grip and, in the process, irrevocably stole her heart.

Blinking to clear the memories, Jac announced, My final pick is Matt Dianetti.

The Miami Knights quarterback? I wish I’d thought of him, Tasha squealed.

Me, too, Nicole decreed.

Jac absently rubbed the spot on her cheek where Matt’s lips had touched all those years ago. Although she’d washed her face a million times since then, she could feel the warm brush as if it had happened yesterday.

Chapter One

May, Present Day

Are you kidding me?

Jere Lipton glanced balefully at the rear-view mirror of his gold Porsche 911 Turbo. Flashing red lights illuminated his prized possession’s sleek leather interior. One more speeding ticket and he would either have his license revoked, or he’d have to attend traffic school. Freaking great.

Heaving a sigh, he eased to the side of the narrow hillside road and threw the car into park before flipping open the glove box. He jumped at the loud rap on the window and pushed the button to lower the glass. The registration is here somewhere, Officer. He tossed papers aside. Is this—

Step out of the vehicle.

Confused, Jere focused on the cop, and his eyes locked on the black gun pointed directly at his face. Papers fluttered from his grip. Look, I might have been speeding a bit, but—

"Step out, sir. Now."

Okay, okay, Jere huffed, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing open the door. The cop kept the gun pointed firmly at his chest but stepped back to allow him to exit. Suddenly nervous, Jere surveyed the dark, deserted highway. A sharp jab in the ribs brought his gaze back to the cop. He flashed a dazzling smile. My name is Jere Lipton, and I’m an actor. You can call my agent, and he—

Put your hands in the air and move around the vehicle.

What’s the problem, Officer? Can’t you just give me a ticket or something and let me go? They stopped at the edge of the pavement, the sheer vertical drop of a rocky canyon mere steps away. The only light in the moonless night came from the headlights and rotating bulbs on the police cruiser. Absently, Jere noticed it had no insignia on the side. I know I was speeding a little, but—

Turn around and put your hands behind your back.

No cop should be allowed to treat a tax-paying citizen this way, he groused as he followed instructions. He winced when the cop bound his wrists together with some kind of plastic band.

The silence was unnerving, and Jere twisted to face the cop with a pleading look. Panic zipped through his veins, and despite the cool evening breeze, sweat trickled down his spine.

You’re right. No real cop would be allowed to treat a tax-paying citizen this way. Now get in the car.

Jere assumed the cop meant the police cruiser and headed for it, but the cop shoved him forward to his Porsche. Confused, Jere awkwardly stumbled to the driver’s seat. The cop removed a small flask, and the unmistakable smell of gasoline filled the interior. Hey, what are you—

The cop lifted the gun and slammed the butt into Jere’s forehead. His world went dark.

#

Jac meandered around the glittering blue pool, inhaling the familiar chlorine scent and savoring the comforting fragrance. Overhead lights flickered off the surface and danced across the white-tiled walls. Dragging her foot through the water, she smiled as the tepid liquid glided smoothly between her toes. She stopped, dropped her towel, and executed a flawless dive into the Olympic-sized pool.

Jacqueline Sera had come home.

She moved effortlessly beneath the azure water before surfacing and gracefully stroked through the waves. When she reached the other side, she paused and gripped the tiled edge. Hard to believe she’d once been deathly afraid of water. Now she couldn’t imagine her life without it.

After a fateful summer twenty years ago when a calm lake almost stole her young life, she learned to swim and took to it like, well, a fish to water. Her dad installed a pool in their backyard, and she practiced until she made the high school team. Her record-setting talent led to a collegiate scholarship, and she barely missed making the Olympic team, an injury slowing her down.

Jac rolled her long-since-rehabilitated shoulder and pushed off the wall. Her arms arced through the water, her legs kicking in her wake. She swam another twenty laps before climbing the metal ladder and toweling off. Tossing the damp cloth at the hamper, she padded to the women’s locker room to shower. Heck, she could have gone to the men’s, she mused. After all, she practically owned the place.

After rinsing off the chlorine, she donned her power blue business suit and applied makeup with a light touch. One last meeting with a room full of stiff bankers, and she hoped to secure the funding needed to put down a bid. The neglected club had languished on the market the past three years, garnering a few nibbles but no serious buyers.

Jac was serious.

If everything went according to plan this afternoon, she would walk from the bank directly to the real estate office to put in her offer. If accepted, and she was optimistic it would be, she’d fly back to California, quit her job, pack up her belongings, say goodbye to her friends, and head east.

The old saying was wrong. You could go home again.

Chapter Two

August

That’s not acceptable. Matt Dianetti shoved a hand through his short, dark hair. Pain began to pound behind his temples. The mother of all headaches was building, gathering steam. That deadline passed two months ago. The job gets done by the end of this month, that’s another two and a half weeks, or you’ll never work for Dianetti Development again. Do you understand? Good. He slammed down the phone.

Matt paced to the mahogany bar and poured steaming coffee into a cup. Tipping the mug, he smacked his lips as the scorching liquid burned a trail down his throat. He carried it with him to study a picture of Dianetti Development’s first property—the classic Majestic Hotel in Indianapolis. The design had been his father’s early work, and he still considered it his masterpiece. Matt spun around and stared at the papers strewn across the conference table. The construction company he hired to build their latest venture—a luxury hotel and upscale boutique in downtown Indy—was months behind. Having learned from experience, he padded the actual deadline, anticipating unforeseen delays that occurred with every project. However, the date rapidly approached, and advertising was already in place. An opening gala was scheduled with invitations sent weeks ago. The mayor even RSVP’d her attendance. The project had to finish on time.

Sighing, he stuck a finger in the knot at his neck and loosened his tie. Pulling out a chair, he plopped down to face the mound of paperwork. People questioned Matt’s hands-on approach when he could turn the work over to subordinates. He had enough money to last a dozen lifetimes, thanks to a ten-year pro football career that included two Super Bowl wins and five Most Valuable Player awards. Matt had endorsed countless products over the years. He’d ensured he believed in what his face and name promoted. If the product or service was inferior, he didn’t back it.

With his first significant NFL check, he established a foundation to benefit underprivileged and ill children. His mother chaired the program, and they generated enough capital to hire a staff and full-time fundraisers. He still made several appearances to increase funds and gave a hefty yearly donation.

Matt never dwelled on the late hit in the fourth quarter of his third Super Bowl, the one that shattered his leg and ended his career. Instead of living off his laurels, he packed up and moved home to take over his father’s business. Having worked at Dianetti Development during the off-season, the move had been a natural one for him and the company. His father devoted his life to making it the most successful and respected property development business in the Midwest—and had succeeded. But he was tired, and Matt’s mom wanted to travel. Louis Dianetti turned over the reins six years ago, and Matt hadn’t looked back since. Despite the hassles, he loved his job.

Thirty minutes later, the tinny ring of his cell phone jarred him from his work. No doubt another excuse from one contractor or another. Sliding his pen behind his ear, he snapped open the phone. Dianetti.

Hi, Daddy.

Matt’s expression relaxed, and his voice softened. Hi, princess. How was school? Are you home?

No, I rode with Cindy, but she got sick and left early. Marcy offered me a ride, but her driving scares me, Daddy.

I’m on my way. He was already shrugging into his sport coat and stuffing papers into his briefcase. How about we stop and get a pizza on the way home?

That sounds yummy, Lauren Dianetti concurred. But I don’t want to take you away from work if you’re busy.

Never too busy for you. Besides, I’ll take what I can get, especially since you rarely have time for your old man anymore.

Dad, you know that’s not true. Lauren chuckled.

Matt flicked out the lights, waved goodbye to his very pregnant secretary, Jane, and headed to the parking garage as he continued to speak with his daughter. It’s a beautiful day. He tugged the loosened tie from around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. How about an evening picnic on the boat?

Matt and his daughter had spent hours on Lake Monroe fishing, swimming, and having fun over the years. When Lauren started high school, their trips became less frequent with all her extracurricular activities. Matt treasured the time he got to spend with his only daughter.

I’d love to. Can we take Murphy?

Okay, but he’s not getting my food, Matt joked.

Lauren giggled. They both knew he was just as guilty as she was of feeding table scraps to their feisty black lab. He punched the remote and opened the locks on his Range Rover. I’ll see you in a few minutes, princess.

I’ll be by the gym, north side.

After disconnecting, he tossed the cell on the console, donned his sunglasses, opened the sunroof, and headed to pick up his baby girl.

#

Jac slammed the door and settled the pizza on the passenger seat. An enticing aroma filled her Jeep when she propped open the lid. Her eyes drifted shut, her stomach rumbled, and she couldn’t resist swiping a piece of her favorite food, a luxury she rarely allowed herself. She relished the first bite with gusto and then recalled her surroundings. Wiping sauce from her chin, she watched a black Range Rover pull up to the curb, and a tall, dark-haired man step out. He wore a plain white oxford shirt with the cuffs rolled to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. The forearms attached to a mighty fine body. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean midsection and nice, tight buns. Yum. Forget the pizza. She wanted him.

The man stretched and glanced around. His brows tilted, and as if in slow motion, he turned until their gazes collided.

A hunk of pizza lodged in Jac’s throat.

The man with the fabulous forearms and to-die-for body was none other than Matt Dianetti, her lifelong crush.

The slice slipped from her boneless fingers and splattered on her shorts. Shifting lower in the seat, she watched him shake off the confusion. He rounded the SUV and—wait a minute. She bolted upright. Who was the blonde? Matt slung his arm around the woman and held the door open for her to enter the pizza shop. Jac’s shoulders slumped. With a disgusted groan, she pulled the slice from her leg and winced at a clump of cheese clinging to her shorts.

Shoot. She snatched a napkin to mop the mess. It shouldn’t bother her to see Matt with a woman. He had to be married by now. Not that she thought she had a chance with him. Except for one brief encounter twenty years ago, she’d never even spoken to him.

Sighing, she started the engine, pressed the accelerator, and motored away.

Chapter Three

October 1

Riley Henderson downshifted his ancient Ford as he headed to his second job at the only gas station and convenience store in town. He’d only managed one hour of sleep after working all day on the county road crew. Riley yawned. His formerly athletic body now sported an additional fifty pounds, and his once plentiful mop of brown hair receded as quickly as his waistline expanded.

For the thousandth time, he wondered how his life had deteriorated to this. He’d been a star athlete in high school, destined to attend a Division II or III college, until the fateful night when he knocked up his girlfriend in the back seat of his souped-up Chevy Nova.

The head cheerleader at a rival high school, Penny, had been gorgeous, stacked, and every man’s fantasy. He didn’t know then that she was also whiny, nagging, and as damn fertile as a rabbit.

At the ripe age of eighteen, all his dreams had been shot to hell as if he’d gone one round with an AK-47 assault rifle—and lost.

Riley felt trapped, defeated. Once, his future had been filled with big plans. A career in the NFL. Fame. Fortune. Now, never-ending misery and crushing hopelessness accompanied his daily existence.

Slamming on the brakes, he jerked to a stop behind the store and wearily wiped a hand over his face. He never understood why a town this small needed a store that stayed open all night. He was lucky if he saw another human his entire shift. The owner had mounted one security monitor facing the cash register and installed a panic button under the counter. Riley snorted at the thought. Although the owner activated the panic button, he’d never bothered to hook up the camera.

Shuffling to the refrigerated cooler, he jerked open the handle and swiped his usual bologna and cheese sandwich and Coke. Carrying the snack to the stool behind the counter, he plopped down and flipped on the small TV. He turned to an old sitcom rerun.

He’d just popped the top on the soda when a loud crash sounded outside. What the…? He dropped the sandwich and wiped his hands together. Pushing through the storage room exit, he scanned the area darkened by the moonless night. A metal trash can rolled slowly to a stop, scattering refuse across the lot.

Damn cats. He scooped up the spilled garbage with the lid, slammed the top down, kicked the can, cursed under his breath, and headed back inside. When he returned, the show was over, replaced by an infomercial. He plunked down and ripped off a bite of sandwich, his eyes straying back to the picture. The camera zoomed in on a busty brunette wearing