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  FAITH IN LOVE

  Genre: Contemporary Romance

  Copyright © 2016 by C.M. Albert | Flower Work Press

  Original cover design by Zoe York

  Updated series cover by Marisa Rose Wesley of Cover Me Darling LLC

  Book Design by Inkstain Design Studio

  Editing by Erin Servais of Dot and Dash LLC

  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 now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  Faith in Love is dedicated to Derek—my best friend, my soul mate, and my unbelievably supportive husband. He is my rock, my steadfast supporter, and my partner in crime. There is no one else I would rather thrive with in this crazy journey we call life. Thank you for buying my chairs. You are my everything. In all ways, and always. Ditto.

  This story wouldn’t exist without two very important people: Melissa Foster and Stacy Eaton. I had the privilege of working with them both through my former editing business as the Grammar Babe. These women taught me much of what I know and love about well-written romances. Thank you for paving the way, showing me how it’s done, and believing in me. Nothing makes me happier than learning from truly compassionate, wickedly talented, kick-ass women.

  Speaking of kick-ass women . . . my bestie, Kenya Moore, gets a gold medal in patience as I’ve navigated this journey as an author. I have learned more from her over the past two years than I could have in ten years of doing this on my own. Her spirit and laughter are infectious, and I’m honored to share this sacred friendship with her—my writing and gabbing buddy.

  So much love and gratitude goes to my longtime editor, Erin Servais, of Dot and Dash LLC. She has been with me since day one and I pray she never tires of me. As a former copy editor I won’t put my book babies into just anyone’s hands—and hers are the best in the industry. I love you beyond words.

  A huge thank you to author and designer Zoe York for the amazing job bringing my story to life with the original cover. And an extra special tackle hug to Marisa Rose Wesley of Cover Me Darling LLC for squeezing me in and upleveling my vision and creating the newly branded covers of my Arden’s Glen Romance series, Faith in Love being book one. I simply adore you!

  A special shout out to my O.G. beta readers. I can’t thank you enough for letting me bare my soul to you and for receiving such supportive, helpful feedback. Extra sparkles and glittery love go to the first readers of this book: Heather Collea, Jen Cooper, Rorie Doty, Erin Mandell, Kenya Moore, and Becky Page.

  I’d also like to honor my late grandmother, Dorothy Arden. She would’ve been so proud of me for living my dream. I miss her every day and am still inspired by her humor and zest for life.

  Most importantly—my family. This book wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for the incredible support system I have at home. They encourage me, love me, and help me find time to write, edit, ponder, dream, and basically just make stuff up. I love you more than chocolate chip cookies or any fancy words I could ever string together and create.

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  “FOR THE LOVE of God,” Egan groaned, smashing his fist down onto the snooze button a little harder than necessary. He pulled a soft feather pillow over his head, wishing to delay the inevitable: the start of another boring day in Corporate America. He jumped when a small, feminine hand lifted the corner of the pillow, Macy peering in at him.

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Thought you had a big meeting today? I hear there’s this sexy PR babe who’s meeting with your firm.” Her blue eyes crinkled as her lips curled into a grin. They’d been friends for more than four years now; the lover thing was both sporadic and temporary. They agreed to a no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits relationship until one of them found “the one.” Egan knew Macy would be the first to go; he had no intention of ever loving again. No way. His heart would never be whole enough to love again after the devastation his family had been through.

  Egan snatched the pillow back down, wishing it would all just go away. The stress. The pain. His heart physically ached most days; he imagined it all hollowed out and barren, like a cold, empty cave. It was all he could do to get through another mind-numbing workday without losing it. Egan glanced over at Macy with her tousled blond hair and fresh morning face. She was a pretty girl, and they certainly had fun together. It would just never be more than that, for either of them. But in the meantime . . . he cast his pillow to the floor and wiggled his eyebrows in her direction.

  Macy shrieked and grabbed her pillow for cover. “Uh-uh, mister. We’ve both got to get moving this morning, and I know what that look means.” She playfully swatted him with her pillow when he rolled on top of her, but it quickly fell aside as his mouth crashed down and consumed hers. Her lips were warm and soft, inviting. His hands found her hair, and he moaned when she reached around and grabbed a handful of his naked butt, digging in her fingers as the kiss deepened.

  Yeah, this is way better than getting to work on time. Egan closed his eyes and blocked his heart, letting only his body give way to the heat of Macy’s familiar touch.

  EGAN STROLLED INTO his office an hour late. Even though it was a friendly good-morning tumble, he still took his time and made Macy feel appreciated. She was a gorgeous woman, after all. He raised his espresso shot to his lips, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smirk as he remembered the satisfied look on Macy’s face when she’d hugged him goodbye and headed two doors down to her own brownstone earlier that morning.

  Dropping his laptop bag onto his desk and setting his coffee aside, Egan picked up his work phone and dialed in to listen to his messages. The first was from his mother, frantic because she couldn’t find the dog again and Egan hadn’t answered his cell phone earlier. Egan sighed, his brows furrowing as he listened to her ramble on about where on earth Ozzie could have gone. By the end of the call she was crying, begging for him to come to the house to look for the little terrier, and Egan’s head pounded with the start of a tension headache.

  He hung up before listening to the other messages, calling his mother from the landline.

  “Hello?” she answered tentatively.

  “Hey, Mom, it’s Egan.” He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Of course it was Egan. He was her only son left. Stupid, stupid. “Sorry . . .” he trailed off, knowing there was nothing els
e to say to cover for his slip up. He could hear the soft sobs coming from the other end of the line. “Mom, I’m at work, but I got your message about Ozzie. Are you okay? Have you been taking your medication?”

  “Of course I have, dear. I just went for a little walk this morning and accidentally left the back door open while I was gone. It could have happened to anyone.”

  Egan groaned, running his hand through his short brown hair. She was getting worse; that much was clear. “Mom, where are you now? Are you at home?”

  “Of course I am. Where else would I be?” she snapped, his sweet mother gone for the moment.

  “Mom, you don’t have to worry about Ozzie anymore, okay? She’s gone, remember?” His voice caught on the word gone. He stared out his office window, tears threatening to muddle his million-dollar view of the Hudson. His mind was no longer on Ozzie but on his little brother, Declan. He remembered him not how he last saw him—rigid, pale, empty—but from the last day they spent together, listening to music on the lawn at Central Park. He could still recall the moment of peace on his brother’s teenage face as he smiled up at the sun, his feet bopping along to his favorite Flogging Molly song playing on his phone. It was the first time he’d seen Declan smile in a long time. It was also the last. That was two years ago, but it still felt like yesterday. The coffee in Egan’s stomach churned, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

  “MacGuire!” A voice boomed from down the hallway, pulling Egan from his memories as a thin veil of pain settled back over his heart. “MacGuire, where the hell are you?”

  Egan glanced down at his watch, his mother still talking to him through the receiver, though he hadn’t even noticed. “Uh, Mom, I really have to go. Can I call you back after work?” He didn’t wait for an answer but slammed the receiver down and turned to face his office door just as his boss’s thick frame crossed the threshold.

  Egan knew it spelled trouble when Reid Patterson came all the way in and closed the door behind him. Oh, shit! Egan vaguely remembered the meeting he was supposed to be at this morning. The one Macy had reminded him of in bed. He groaned. Reid would be royally pissed if he messed up this deal for the firm. Macy had a strong reputation of working with celebrities and public relations involving charitable work. She was the perfect answer to their current public image nightmare.

  “Before you say anything, Reid, I know I messed up. This is totally my fault. I fucked up,” Egan began.

  “You bet your ass you did, MacGuire. I have legal in there, the marketing team, that PR maven we’ve been wooing, Human Resources, everyone—except you. This is the third meeting this month that you’ve blown off. But this was the big one. You know how much we need a new level of PR for this campaign. Our image has been backsliding ever since the merger, and we need to get some good news out there fast. And I have you strolling in here late most days, missing meetings, holding your dick in your hands when it comes to your job—”

  “Whoa, hold on now, boss.” Egan held up his hands to his friend and senior executive. “You know damn well I’ve been doing the best I can, giving as much as I can to this job. It hasn’t exactly been the easiest few years for me, Reid.”

  Reid shook his head slowly. “I know, but it’s not enough, Egan. Not anymore. I have corporate breathing down my neck, demanding a home run with some new PR to cover all these merger-related fuckups. I have overlapping personnel. I have budgets for programs that you are supposed to be managing with funds still waiting to be dispersed through the grant programs. Your head’s not in the game anymore, Egan. You’re like a walking zombie these days, man. You come in, do what you can to scrape by, and leave. Where’s your fire gone?”

  They stared each other down, silent. Egan’s mind raced. This cannot be happening. Reid knew damn well what happened to the passion that used to fuel Egan. It died along with two of the most important people in his life.

  Egan crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers twitching. He could not screw up this job any further. He’d started at LivTech Financial right after graduating with his MBA from Wharton. His father had been a corporate investment banker with the number one bank in the US at the time. He’d pulled some serious strings to get Egan a VIP pass through the front door of one of his company’s top clients and straight into his dream job in corporate philanthropy. He’d been managing multimillion-dollar campaigns for the past six years and had earned many awards for his ingenuity in creative partnerships with charitable organizations across the globe.

  Egan swallowed hard. None of that mattered if he couldn’t do some of his own damage control. He scratched the back of his neck as he spoke. “Look, Reid, I know I messed up. Big time.” Egan paced his spacious office, nerves jumping across his skin. “I’m sorry. You know what I’ve been dealing with since Dad and Declan died. I’m trying . . . I really am. It won’t happen again.”

  He hated the look of pity that flashed across his friend’s face. But there it was. Reid put one of his meaty hands on Egan’s shoulders, squaring his body so they now faced each other eye to eye. “You have to take a break, man. You can’t keep going like this. I’ve protected you as much as I can. I don’t want to let you go, but it’s the next step. You know it is.”

  The shock and pain couldn’t have hurt more than if Reid had just gone ahead and kicked him straight in the balls. The air in the office felt thin, as if it were evaporating. He struggled to get his breathing under control so that he seemed calmer than the insane panic that was rising inside of him. “Look, it won’t happen again.”

  “Egan—” Reid lowered his normally loud voice to a whisper, aware of the people glancing in at them through the interior glass windows framing Egan’s thirtieth-floor office space. “Take a short-term leave of absence, please, for your sake. I won’t fire you—yet. Just take a personal leave and get your shit together. On a personal level, I know these past few years have been hell on you. Fuck, I couldn’t have gone through the losses you have and still be standing either. It only makes sense. You never took the time you needed to grieve. You are running on fumes, and your heart hasn’t been here in a long time.” Reid dropped his hand, shoving it into the pocket of his crisp navy suit pants. “Take six weeks. I can’t promise this exact job will be waiting for you when you get back, but it’s better than me letting you go for good right now. It’s the best I can do, my friend. I’m sorry.”

  Egan stood in stunned silence as Reid dropped some paperwork onto his desk and headed toward the door. He turned around and said, “Have these filled out by noon and your workload handed off to Estella by four. Your leave starts today.”

  Egan sank into his leather chair and spun around to face the Hudson. Thousands of people as small as ants rushed through the network of streets below him. I just lost my motherfucking job. No, not lost it. A leave. Egan grabbed his espresso and chugged the last bit before throwing his Styrofoam cup across the room and missing his intended shot into the trash can. He looked around the room that had been like a second home for the past six years, especially during those darkest first days after Declan’s death when he buried himself in his work to escape. His heart seemed to close the last inch he had left open as he picked up his LivTech pen, signed the forms, and kissed his dream job goodbye.

  CELESTE TRAILED HER fingertips along the honey-colored woodwork inside her new “outdoor” chapel. It was everything she had dreamed it would be. She inhaled, taking a moment to breathe in her deepest gratitude for the gift she’d been given when she discovered this place. The chapel would serve her clients as a safe haven to gather for rituals and prayer meetings. To meditate and search within. She could even host yoga classes and sound healings here. Celeste clapped her hands in excitement. Finally, a place to take root.

  Her phone vibrated from her pocket. Celeste held her breath as she checked the caller ID, praying it wasn’t her ex again. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the incoming Skype was from her parents. She couldn’t wait to show them her new place.

  “
Hi, Mom! Hey, Dad. You called at a great time.”

  “Hey, sweetie. Where are you?”

  “In the outdoor chapel on my property. Let me show it to you,” Celeste said, panning her phone around the octagonal space so her parents could see the amazing views of the surrounding forest through the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “It’s beautiful, Celeste. How did you ever find such a perfect space?”

  “It’s a funny story actually. Remember my old college friend, Nash Reilly? He’s the one who owns Ascension, that swanky spiritual resort in Bali, now—the one I donate my artwork to each year. He uses the proceeds from my art sales to help partially fund his Feed Hope charity. I think I mentioned that to you, right?”

  “You did. And of course we remember Nash. Who could forget the boy who almost got our daughter arrested during her last year of college?” Celeste’s mother teased.

  “It was supposed to be a peaceful protest, Mom. You know that!” Celeste giggled at the memory of marching with Nash and his Environmental Protection Club to prevent their college from tearing down several acres of forest for new construction. They’d disrupted a few classes with their impassioned chants while marching through the center of campus. They definitely got everyone’s attention—including campus security.

  “Besides, we were hardly in any real danger of being arrested. If you’ll recall, Nash and I just had to clean up trash around campus for the semester—and the joke was on them since we did it anyway as part of our club activities.”

  “Always my little activist,” her mother said, though Celeste knew there was pride in her statement. “So did you find your place through Nash then?”

  “I did. Nash had heard about the opportunity from Mitch Michaelson, another artist who used to donate his art to Nash’s charity. Mitch was a welder and used the property for local showings, but for some reason, he decided to sell. Guess I was in the right place at the right time with the right connections.”