Fool for Him (Foolish at Heart Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  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-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Epilogue

  Fool for Her

  Also by R.C. Martin

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 R.C. Martin. All Rights Reserved.

  Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Untapped Publications, Ltd, 3208 Oakes Mill Place, Castle Rock, CO 80109.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales or events is coincidental.

  Cover Design by Cassy Roop at Pink Ink Designs ©2020

  Preface

  Every once in a while, I pluck one of my books off the shelf – or open it on my phone – and either skim through my favorite parts or read the whole thing from cover to cover. Each time I read a book from my backlist, I always pick out things I could have done better.

  As an author, as an artist, there’s always something to fix. And yet – going back and revisiting old characters, I also realize there is a certain beauty and purity to the stories I have written. They are a snapshot of who I was and what I was capable of in the moment I crafted them. Every novel I have reread, picked apart, and enjoyed – I understand they are untouchable. Not because I already published them; not because I don’t have the time or desire to fix them; but because to go back feels like cheating. That is – for every story except for one.

  When I reread Fool for You, I put it down with a nagging feeling that I hadn’t done it right. I remembered the experience of writing that particular story. Quite vividly, actually. As the person who dreamed up Teddy and Judah, I knew who I wanted them to be; and on paper, they fell short. I had fallen short.

  Of course, my first thought was – I can’t rewrite them. That’s not how it works. But then, months later, I still wanted to. It still felt worth the time and effort. It felt like the integrous thing to do. So – I toyed with the idea. Then I wrote an outline. The excitement that followed was undeniable. It was obvious I was doing the right thing. Now that it’s all said and done – I’m without a doubt I needed to try again.

  For those of you who read the original Fool for You – don’t feel robbed, like you’ve bought a book you’ve already read. The journey you’re about to go on is similar, but not the same. These characters are more than you remember, because they are finally who I intended them to be. And for those of you who are meeting Teddy and Judah for the first time – I hope you fall in love with them. This is a project that means a lot to me, and I’m so glad you picked it up.

  Happy reading!

  R.C.

  Dedication

  To Teddy and Judah – because they deserved better.

  Prologue

  Assholes aren’t born, they’re made.

  I tried to relax as I eased onto my side against the plastic covered leather of his chair. Shifting my gaze down at the lines of blue transfer ink on my pale, naked skin, I held tight to my why. I drew in a deep breath, resolute in my decision to not allow fear or regret to permeate through any part of me. This was my chance to overcome it. All of it.

  When I met him, he was already tarnished. Broken. Marred by the darkness that ravages the world like an unstoppable beast. I couldn’t begin to understand the ways in which he would use me. I wasn’t prepared for the ways in which he would destroy me.

  Justin had my love. He possessed my heart. I had given him as much as I knew to give—then the asshole took what more he wanted and left me, kicking the dust off his feet as if the particles were my remains, the leftovers in which he no longer had any interest. I couldn’t see it then, but in that chair I knew.

  As I closed my eyes and prepared for the pain, I reminded myself. I beckoned forth the truth that he had been torn apart and remade in the image of an asshole, and I was his victim.

  Where does the blame reside?

  My lids flew open when I heard the buzz of the gun, and my breath caught in my throat.

  “Try to relax.”

  I forced in a gulp of air and blew it out slowly, willing my body to surrender.

  Justin was a victim once too, wasn’t he? Then again, to say I felt remorse for him would have been a lie. I loathed him with every fiber of my being. The truth was, I had come to believe every victim had a choice—to rise or to fall. He chose wrong.

  I sucked in a breath at the first bite of pain as the needle pierced my skin, but I did not allow myself to run from the sensation. I was done running. Done hiding. Done cowering. I wasn’t him. I knew he would never likely stop running. He would never see beyond the blinders of his carnal nature. The fortress around his battered heart prevented him from embracing the purity of love. Life. Happiness.

  “You’re doing great.”

  I peeked down at the ink, my permanent reminder.

  He may have broken me; but unlike the villain who made him, he did not make me.

  I have been reborn.

  Chapter One

  He didn’t hear her as she approached his office. Immersed as he was in his notes from a vision session earlier that afternoon, there was no room for the distraction he often knew her to be. It wasn’t until she softly tapped her knuckles against the doorjamb that he became aware of her presence. His mind still coated in a fog of color pallets, he barely saw her as she took a step over the threshold of his workspace.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she murmured with a tired smile. “I didn’t want to leave without checking in. I won’t be entirely unplugged this weekend. I’m sure Mr. Dixon wouldn’t allow it even if I wanted to be.”

  Judah St. Michaels leaned back in his chair and offered Logan more of his attention. He replayed what she said and sought for the relevance of her sentimen
t. When he grasped it, his thoughts making way for all his memory held in regard to the nuisance who was Mr. Dixon, he mentally set aside his current task.

  “I know he seems impossible to please, but I put you on this project for a reason. If anyone can make him happy while maintaining the integrity of Eddalyn’s Interiors, it’s you.”

  He noticed as her smile grew a little brighter before she replied, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Ignoring whatever it was about her lips that was undeniably distracting, he reminded her, “That said, if you don’t come up with a new design for his office by Monday, he’ll be more than a nuisance—he’ll be a bulldog. I don’t want him pissing all over us.”

  “Right,” she replied with a stiff nod. “Well, I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  “Goodnight, Jude. Enjoy your weekend.”

  She turned, her fallen, blonde curls bouncing against her back as she went. The dress she wore clung to every slight and delicate curve of her toned, feminine physique. Taking in the sight of her retreating figure, Judah’s professional air dissipated as the familiar sense of lust infiltrated his mind.

  He found Logan Holloway incredibly sexy. Since the moment he laid eyes on her, more than a year prior, he’d imagined what it would be like to seduce her. In the beginning, he hadn’t been discouraged in his pursuit, regardless of their working relationship—which was meant to be temporary. Even her boyfriend, at the time, wasn’t enough to silence Judah’s attraction into submission.

  In the history of their acquaintance, she never gave in to his advances. While at one point he would have sworn their attraction was mutual, she was and still remained the only woman who had ever denied him so unequivocally. At first, this only incentivized him. Judah was not a coward to be intimidated by a challenge. Even the distance which separated the two after their first project was complete—and he obligated to return to his own office—did not alter the reality that she was not easily forgotten.

  When he made the permanent move to Fort Collins, as the newly named partner of Eddalyn’s Interiors, he found the game had changed. While he remained the same—not foolish enough to alter his perception of women and the capacity in which they fit into his life—Logan became someone else. With the surname of another, she was out of bounds. At least, Judah’s rules labeled her so. He didn’t live a life bogged down by guidelines—but the boundaries he enforced were kept close to his chest and were usually nonnegotiable.

  Though, for reasons he could not adequately explain with logic, matrimony didn’t rob him of his desire for Mrs. Holloway.

  No. She took care of that on my behalf, he reminded himself.

  Friends. That was her proposal. It had been months since she suggested the idea, and he still found himself mulling it over. A decade had passed since he’d entertained anything akin to friendship with a female. As precious as he knew them to be, he wasn’t foolish enough to push beyond the boundaries which would lead to any sort of obligated vulnerability with a woman. As far as he was concerned, under their current circumstances, it was best to keep Logan in the sphere of his mentee. Admiring her from afar couldn’t be helped.

  He was first, and foremost, a man.

  Judah’s thoughts shifted when his doorway was once more filled with a female. This time, however, it wasn’t attraction he felt—his fondness for the woman grounded in a respect far grander than any state of physical appearance could ever garner. Not to say she wasn’t beautiful. At fifty-six years of age, Eddalyn was just as elegant and regal as he always knew her to be.

  Judah was taken under the wing of the brilliant woman before he graduated from college. She had known him all his life and was convinced he possessed a designer’s eye, his attention to detail a trait she often noticed and praised. Even from a young age, Judah was aware of his preference for places that were esthetically pleasing. When the time came for him to decide his course of study, which would propel him into his professional career, he didn’t think twice about it. He knew Eddalyn’s Interiors was a reputable firm by which he intended to enter the design world.

  Contrary to what an ignorant party might presume, every position Judah ever filled for Eddalyn was earned by merit and hard work. While they possessed an identical surname, that only ever got him through the front door. For nearly eleven years, he worked tirelessly. He fought for the forty-nine percent of her company he owned, and he didn’t so much as contemplate discussing his buy-in until after he made her millions.

  When she offered him the position of managing partner, a role which required his relocation to Eddalyn’s home office, Judah saw through her intentions. Nevertheless, he agreed without argument. He knew she meant to groom him. One day, when she saw fit to retire and step down from the company she built from the ground up, it would all belong to him. The prospect of such ownership was exciting, but Judah was in no rush. In his mind, Eddalyn St. Michaels was a genius, and it was his great privilege to work alongside of her.

  “I do hope you don’t plan on spending too much more time behind that desk of yours,” she said, gesturing toward him.

  She looped the straps of her pale blue Birkin bag around the crook of her arm and then clasped her hands together. Eddalyn wasn’t a particularly tall woman, even in her designer heels. Her stature, along with her narrow build and blonde pixie haircut, provided her with traces of a youthful air. Judah would also argue her drive, her ambition, and her passion kept her as young as she wanted to be.

  “No. I’m almost done here.”

  “Good. You’ll need your rest if you’re to make our early tee time tomorrow.”

  A sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he read the quiet challenge which flickered across her blue eyes.

  With a slight shake of his head, he assured her, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Goodnight, nephew. Until tomorrow.”

  This time, as he watched another blonde retreat from his presence, he contemplated the night which awaited him. It had been a long and trying week. While he looked forward to the leisurely sport in which he would indulge on the morrow, he knew that would not sufficiently fulfill his physical needs. The release he craved could only be accomplished one way.

  Judah glanced at his work and then reached for his cell phone. It didn’t take him long to find the contact he was after. With only a few keystrokes, his invitation was sent. While he had only been in town for a few months, he hadn’t wasted time in creating a short list. When Diana replied to his message with one of her own before he could re-immerse himself in his work, he chuckled softly. He didn’t even need to read her reply to know his Friday night would, at the very least, offer him the satisfaction of satiation.

  Chapter Two

  I woke to the painfully apparent thump of my pulse as blood rushed through my brain. It was like my body wished to remind me that drinking countless glasses of cheap chardonnay with my best friend had consequences. Groaning, I rolled onto my back and covered my eyes with my forearm.

  “I had no choice,” I mumbled aloud pathetically.

  It was true. The rules of friendship forced me to do it.

  When your best friend is nursing a broken heart, you don’t let him drink alone. And when he wants to spend half the night ogling men at the bar—you stay, you drink, and you ogle.

  My stomach was empty, aside from the remnants of alcohol which sloshed around down there, and I pulled in a deep breath as I stifled another groan. I needed food—food I, preferably, didn’t have to cook. Except, as the dredges of sleep left me behind, it dawned on me that while my stomach was without sustenance, I was without a car.

  Moving to clap both hands over my face, I pictured the three of us piling into an Uber in the wee hours of the morning. Then, in spite of my circumstances, a small smile played at my lips. The thought of Andrew, who had also been coerced—by way of familial obligation—made me feel better. At the very least, I knew I would be battling my hangover in peace. Andrew had offspring who would
likely not understand there were beverages in the world which, when consumed in large quantities, required quiet mornings.

  You’re lucky we love you, Geoffrey.

  Certain my day would get no better if I stayed in bed all morning, I forced myself into a seated position. My hair, tangled from sleep, was everywhere. I ignored it as my body alerted me to an urgent need.

  Coffee.

  I forced myself out of bed and onto my feet as I made my way toward my beloved coffee pot. My apartment was pretty tiny, but it still took me almost a full minute to drag myself from one end of the unit to the other. My one-butt kitchen—as Geoffrey appropriately named it—was just big enough to fit, well, me. The cabinet space was laughable; but so were my cooking skills, so it suited me just fine. Aside from a small collection of dishes, an embarrassing amount of Tuna Helper, and oatmeal, I didn’t have much to store. Anyway, it was mostly just Mr. Coffee and me, day in and day out. He was, by far, my most prized belonging.

  Well, that’s not true. My camera is my most precious possession. I use it as often as possible.

  After I prepared my coffee to brew, I let it percolate and journeyed to the bathroom. A laugh bubbled out of me when I caught sight of my reflection. I looked a fright. Well aware that nothing would tame my long, red, wavy locks other than a shower, I tossed them into a messy bun on top of my head before I went about brushing my teeth. I felt a little more human after I washed my face.

  I consumed a couple ibuprofens with my first swig of black coffee. I knew the trek to my car would be far more pleasant without the headache, and I hoped the pills would do the trick. I usually enjoyed my dose of caffeine with a scoop of sugar and a measure of cream, but I needed the effects of the beverage to hit me—stat. A hum spilled from my lips as the hot liquid raced toward my belly, and I shuffled my way toward comfortable seating. The light which poured into the main room was overwhelming, but I forced myself to endure the vitamin D seemingly begging to be consumed.