Take Hold of Me Read online

  Take Hold of Me

  A Hold Series Spin-off, Book 1

  Arell Rivers

  Contents

  Intro

  Thank you!

  1. Wills

  2. Emilie

  3. Wills

  4. Emilie

  5. Emilie

  6. Wills

  7. Emilie

  8. Wills

  9. Emilie

  10. Wills

  11. Wills

  12. Emilie

  13. Wills

  14. Emilie

  15. Wills

  16. Emilie

  17. Wills

  18. Emilie

  19. Emilie

  20. Wills

  21. Emilie

  22. Emilie

  23. Wills

  24. Wills

  25. Emilie

  26. Emilie

  27. Wills

  28. Emilie

  29. Wills

  30. Wills

  31. Emilie

  32. Wills

  Epilogue: Emilie

  Look for…

  Excerpt: No One to Hold

  Chapter 1

  Dear Reader

  Gratitude

  About the Author

  Connect with Arell

  Other Books by Arell Rivers

  TAKE HOLD OF ME

  Book 1 in A HOLD SERIES SPIN-OFF

  ARELL RIVERS

  Copyright ©2018 Tarnished Halo Publishing LLC

  Published by Tarnished Halo Publishing LLC

  2018 Edition

  ISBN digital: 978-0-9982844-8-4

  ISBN print: 978-0-9982844-9-1

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means including, without limitation, by any electronic or mechanical means such as information storage and retrieval systems—with the exception of short segments for reviews—without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  2018 Edition License

  This e-book is licensed for personal enjoyment. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each such additional person. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Editing: Sarah Murphy

  Proofreading: Virginia Tesi Carey

  Formatting: Jennifer Jakes, The Killion Group, Inc.

  Cover design: Cassy Roop, Pink Ink Designs

  Author photo: Elzbieta Kaciuba Photography LLC

  For Grandpa, in heaven

  * * *

  The first strong, silent man in my life.

  He had a dry wit and a heart of gold. I miss you.

  Intro

  She has a body that needs guarding. He has the muscle to do it ... but he’s moved on and refuses to look back.

  * * *

  A Woman Fighting to Stay on Top

  After a decade as a supermodel, a younger version of me is scooping up my contracts. To regain my status in the industry, my agency devises a strategy—which so happens to require a bodyguard. And I know the perfect guy for the job: Wills Sumner, the man who saw beneath my veneer. Who currently is evading my texts like a Parisian taxi driver in the rain.

  A Man Surrendering Hope

  I need to start over. Watching my partners die on the job cemented my belief that I'm toxic. So, with the money from that fateful gig, I buy my sister’s gym. At least I can honor her in death—considering I failed to step up when she was alive. Now, if only the French beauty Emilie Dubois would lose my number.

  * * *

  Emilie is fixated on having me at her side. I'm resigned to doing one final turn and escaping with my heart intact.

  But neither of us expected to be stripped bare … In the end, she may be the only one who can Take Hold of Me.

  Thank you for taking the time to select Take Hold of Me out of all of the books available to you. This story challenged and surprised me in so many ways ~ I really hope that Wills and Emilie steal your heart the way they did mine.

  * * *

  Rock on,

  Arell Rivers

  1

  Wills

  I hook my index finger inside my collar and pull. Two hours sitting at this imposing conference table is more than enough to last me the rest of my lifetime. My eyes flick to the check with more zeros in it than I’ve ever seen, signed by my former client, the rock star Cole Manchester. “Seed money,” he’d called it. “Use it to buy a gym and start over. You deserve this, and it’s the least I can do to say thank you for saving our lives.” I’d rather have my partners back.

  I slide Cole’s check to the attorney.

  He verifies the amount against the contract, nods and hands it over to my brother-in-law. “One more thing. David asked that I add another provision to the contract. He would like the effective date of transfer of Complete Gym to be extended thirty days. This means that instead of your taking over tomorrow, Wills, you’ll assume possession next month.”

  My eyebrows raise as I look at David.

  He answers my silent question. “Complete is like my extended family. They rallied around me when we got the news about Addie. I haven’t been able to find the words to tell them I’m leaving, and I need this extra time to make sure everyone understands.” He pushes the check back to me.

  I hold up my hand to stop its progress. “Keep it.”

  The money never felt like mine, anyway. Letting go of it doesn’t bother me. The extra thirty days, however, that bothers me. What am I going to do with myself for thirty whole days? I can’t stay still. The demons that haunt me would play three-dimensional chess in my head.

  “I’d like to start the transfer of Complete now. We don’t have to make any announcements or anything, but people can get used to seeing me around the gym.”

  David clears his throat. “Of course. But, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep a low profile until the sale is public. I’ve scheduled a Summer Competition for next weekend, and I promise to let everyone know then.”

  I swallow over my distress and tip my chin toward him. I can’t force him to give me the keys sooner, and he needs to do this in his own time—I only wish his time was now.

  After signing what feels like a million documents, the attorney shakes our hands and leaves us in the conference room. I extend my hand to my brother-in-law. “I’m glad I was able to buy you out. This way, I can carry on the work you both started.”

  Dropping my hand, he responds, “Thanks. This is the right thing for me to do, even if it feels like I’m losing her all over again.” Using the palm of his hand, he rubs his cheek.

  Burying these painful memories, as per usual, I raise my chin. “Want to grab a burger?

  He tugs at his blazer. “Sure.”

  We head over to a local hangout, which is bustling with the Tuesday afternoon lunch crowd. Luckily, we snag the last booth. After the server brings our beers, I ask, “Have you decided where you’re moving yet?”

  David lifts his beer to his lips, then puts the bottle down. “I put an offer down on a house in Charleston.”

  My hand stills mid-air. “I thou
ght your family is in Montana. Figured you’d go back there.”

  He takes a swallow of beer. “They are. They want me to move back home, but Addie and I spent so much time there visiting. I’ve talked it over with my therapist and decided that I need to go somewhere that I’ve never been. I’ve heard good things about Charleston, so I figured it was as good a place as any to start over.”

  I rub the back of my neck at his mention of a therapist. I don’t see the value, but his seems to have helped him. “I’ve never been to that city either. But I hope you find what you’re looking for there.”

  We clink the necks of our bottles. He’s a good guy, David—my sister adored him. I get the feeling he hasn’t truly forgiven me for her death, though. And why should he? It’s not like I have. Or ever will.

  “Did your condo sale go through yet?”

  I place the bottle down on the table. “Yes. I signed a lease for an apartment near Complete yesterday. I want a fresh start, too.”

  Our oversized cheeseburgers arrive—mine with a side of fries, onion rings for him. David takes a bite of the burger and comments, “Heart attack on a plate, that’s what Addie would call this.”

  Swallowing a mouthful of fries, I reply, “I kept explaining to her that it hits all of the food groups—vegetables, protein, carbs, oil and dairy.” I lift the burger to my mouth. “The perfect meal.”

  He snickers. “I tried that tact once. She wasn’t convinced, although she always brought me an In-N-Out Burger for my birthday.”

  “That was Three.” My nickname for my sister rolls off my tongue as if she’s sitting next to me. I add more ketchup to the pool already on my plate. “She’d debate a point forever, but then indulge your preference in the end.”

  In no time, our plates are cleaned. But I still need to ask David one thing that’s been bothering me for years. I may not have another chance. “You don’t have to answer me, but I’ve been wondering if you know why she decided to stay in the reserves instead of getting out when her enlistment ended? I asked her at the time, but she never gave me a straight answer.”

  He swallows his last onion ring and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “She loved it. She loved the camaraderie and sense of purpose. Even when I was out and we started Complete, she felt it was her patriotic duty to serve one weekend a month.” He finishes his beer. “And your father played his role, as you well know.”

  I clench my jaw. Yes, I do know, all too well. When I refused to join the Marines right out of high school like he and his father did—like my sister did—the dynamics around the house changed. Not that they were ever great before I dropped out of college and got certified as a personal trainer. When a client, Nolan Kates, saw me handle some unruly gym members, he thought I’d make a good bodyguard. His suggestion struck a chord with me and, after taking classes in personal security, I ended up working for his PI firm. Not that my father thought too much of that career, either.

  “We knew her unit could be called up to go to Afghanistan, but she joined the reserves anyway.” He crumples up the napkin. Head turned, he says, “Hey, I’m grateful for the Marines, though. I never would have met your sister if we weren’t stationed together.”

  I raise my beer to my lips but place it on the table without taking the final swallow. “I wish I had gone into the Marines. Then she wouldn’t have felt compelled to join up, and she would be here today.”

  “You don’t know that. Addie was feisty. She probably would’ve joined for the sole purpose of competing against you.” His right lip curls upward.

  “You’re probably right,” I say without conviction. Having her death on my conscious is a lasting ache that hurts more sharply than the prick of the tattoo I got in her honor two years ago.

  David brings his arms up and reaches under his shirt, then takes off a silver chain. No. Not a chain—it’s Three’s dog tags. He looks at them and closes his fist. “I need to move on with a clean slate, Wills.” He extends his hand to me. “Here. I want you to have these.”

  I suck in a breath. My eyes bounce from his now-opened palm to follow a tear rolling down his cheek. I shake my head, unable to speak.

  “Please. I want you to have them. Addie would want this.”

  I swallow over the lump lodged in my throat. “Thanks.” Reaching out, I take the chain and put it around my neck, allowing it to fall under my shirt. My hand pats her dog tags that now rest on my chest.

  After a minute, he signals for the server to bring our check. “This is on me.” He offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Looks like I have a big check waiting for me.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but the intense look on his face makes me say instead, “Thanks. When we’re done here, want to go to Complete?”

  David pulls out a light brown leather wallet with the Marine Corps logo on it. After he extracts some bills, he glances at his watch. “Can’t. I have to get back and walk Gemini.” Three was Gemini’s handler. Injured when she was killed, David was able to adopt the military working dog and spoils him rotten. Not that I blame him.

  Fishing into my pocket for my keys, I reply, “You go do that. I think I’ll see what I can do at Vets for Military Dogs.” I’ve been volunteering at this place—a charity that fosters injured military working dogs until they’re ready to be adopted—for years. There’s always a dog that needs his belly rubbed.

  As we’re exiting, my cell beeps. My stomach contracts when I see that “Emilie Dubois” sent me another text. To complete my self-inflicted torture, I open it, shake my head and put my cell into my back pocket without responding, just as I’ve done with all of her texts. I’m no good for the French supermodel—not the same man I was before I had to kill Cole’s crazy stalker. Not that I ever was good enough for her. Besides, we never did much but talk and share a couple of kisses. I vault in my Jeep, blasting rock music to drown out my jumbled thoughts.

  I’m going to make you proud, Three.

  No more deaths. I rub my bicep, which hosts my newest tattoo honoring my fallen partners, Jared and Roberto.

  Thirty days will fly by, right?

  And the one thought that swirls around the most—How can I keep my distance from Emilie now that she’s living in LA?

  2

  Emilie

  I suck on my bottom lip and look anywhere but at my rep, Stacy. It is as if the ultra-sleek conference room of Price Modeling Agency has expanded five times over, making me feel like a bit player in my own life.

  “It’s their loss,” Stacy says while flipping through some papers on the stainless-steel table. “The lingerie made by Oh-Snap! is geared toward the younger set anyway.”

  What I believed to be long-buried feelings of rejection bubble to the surface. I have been a “supermodel” for the better part of the decade, but now I remember how it feels to be knocking on doors that no one answers. Every muscle in my body tenses. This is the fifth contract in a month that went to Geonna Broz. The teenage model from Croatia has leapfrogged from unknown to in-demand with her win on a star-making reality television show.

  What was Stacy trying to imply with her remark that Oh Snap! is geared toward a younger set? I raise my chin. My body is lingerie ready. I refuse to be washed up at twenty-five. Maybe I can….

  Memories surface of the one and only time I tried to direct my career. Before I was discovered, I selected a photographer to do my portfolio without telling anyone. What an unmitigated disaster. The belt around my dress constricts, causing my breath to bottom out. Never again. I sag into my white leather chair. Better let the Agency handle this. They know best.

  After taking a deep yoga breath, I stop worrying my bottom lip and ask, “Any response back from the new fashion house?” The house has made a big splash with investors, and landing the coveted spokesmodel position would be the biggest get of the year. I want that role. Especially since buzz on the street is that Geonna also is in contention.

  Stacy’s short bob bounces when she shakes her head. Touching her pregnant belly, she resp
onds, “Not yet, but I’ve been in touch with them and they seem very interested. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back.”

  I lean forward and nod. “Merci.”

  Her cell phone rings and she raises a finger in my direction as she stands. I overhear the word Ratatat before she waddles out of the conference room. My heart rate picks up its pace. The magazine has decided to have a model instead of a musician on its cover for the first time in history, and I am on the short list. Then again, so is Geonna.

  Alone in the conference room, frame after frame of magazine covers featuring the Agency’s clients look back at me from their hallowed placement on the walls. Covers with “Emilie Dubois” in all capital letters, collected over the past decade, take up a fair amount of wall space. I skim over mine in favor of several showing my friend Val Balewa, the “Nairobi Goddess.” She smiles with her signature “come hither” look, meaning she was thinking about her teacup puppies. We all have our tricks to channel the right mood for the cameras. I usually think about Paris after a spring rain.

  Shaking my head at memories of Val with those dogs that go with her everywhere, my body relaxes. Modeling is my life. I am still in-demand. I search the room and finally find the only remaining cover featuring my mentor, Lizzie Chase. Growing up in the industry, she was the model I—and every up-and-comer—strived to be. While I still value Lizzie as both a model and astute businesswoman, many others see her as a has-been whose time it is to get out of their way. Is this how Geonna sees me now? My breath stutters. The Agency grew its name because of Lizzie, and now she only has a single spot on its wall.

  My eyes stray to the sleeve of crackers Stacy abandoned to take the call. What would it be like to be so in love with someone that you want to start a family together? I try to banish the thought from my head. Even though plenty of models have families, now is not the time for me to panic out of fear of rejection and disappear on maternity leave. Motherhood isn’t a likely option anyway, considering my total lack of a personal life. No time for that.