Carried Away by P. Dangelico

 Carried Away

Carried Away by P. Dangelico
English | 2020 | Romance | ePUB | 2.8 MB

I make up stories. That’s what I do. In the shower, while I’m driving, when I’m at the movies. It only seemed sensible that I should put them down on paper…or computer screen. Romance is in the blood.

Carrie Anderson––truth seeker, storyteller, journalist-at-large––is bad at social media and great at getting herself into trouble.

When she’s fired from her dream job for an ill-advised tweet, she has no other choice but to return to the small town where she grew up with her head hung low.
It’s temporary after all. She can work at her family’s bed and breakfast, shore up her finances, and get back to her life and her home in Los Angeles.

There’s only one not-so-little problem…the grouchy ex-NHL star making her rethink what home means.
Jake Turner––great at hockey, bad at people––is not a happy man.
Haunted by his past, all he wants is to disappear into obscurity, to get away from the scrutiny of the press he’s been under since turning pro at nineteen. But when the press finds him, disappearing is no longer an option.
Worse yet, the same journalist he’s trying to avoid is making him reconsider whether being forgotten is what he really wants.

“No, umm…for good.” His eyes shift away, to the screen of his desktop computer before he can even finish the last consonant. The same combo of vowels and consonants that are, at present, echoing in my head like a death knell.

I…am…being fired.

“Are you alright?” he says an undetermined amount of time later.

No. No, I am not alright. I’m as far from alright as I could possibly be. I want to scream right now. Instead, I shove it back down and work on measuring my breathing before I faint.

The bottom just fell out of my life. I can’t afford to be unemployed. Not now. Probably not ever.

My gaze falls on the small coffee stain on the right thigh of my wrinkled pants and anger the likes of which I’ve rarely felt before rises to the surface. It’s a perfect visual representation of my life: unnoticed and under appreciated. Had I known what was in store for me today I would’ve gone to the dry cleaners to pick up the clothes that had been there for weeks because I’ve been working overtime. I would’ve worn the Nars Inappropriate Red lipstick and my Chloe suit, the one my sister bought me for my birthday, the one that makes me look somewhat like a badass bitch. And I would’ve most definitely washed my hair.

Instead, I find myself getting fired in the same wrinkled Banana Republic grey pantsuit I’ve worn all week with my hair in a ponytail because dry shampoo can’t actually perform miracles no matter what they tell you looking like your run-of-the-mill basic bitch.

A dry, nervous chuckle bursts out of me. “Why?”

As my mouth is forming that word, the answer hits me with crystal clarity. My mind conjures images of the bathroom kiss, and heat blankets my neck.

“Why what?”

“Why am I being fired?” I clarify over the grinding of my molars. Just because I’m willing to sacrifice everything for the greater good doesn’t mean I’m about to roll over and play dead on command. I want to hear it said out loud that I’m being fired over a kiss.

He makes a confused face. “For starters”––his head bobs to the left––“it was the initial tweet.”

Tweet? What tweet? Until it dawns on me, and my eyes falls shut as my insides knot.

“It wasn’t even a full tweet,” I mutter. “I only reposted my original article. It was more like a…a twit.”

“The man had just died, Carrie. You didn’t even wait twenty-four hours.”

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have tweeted the police report and mugshot, but if you don’t want that to do the time don’t do the crime.

“And I apologized––”

“After you doubled down.”

“Because people were speaking about him like he was some kind of Demi-God.”

“And to many people, he was,” he fires back, the rising volume of his voice indicating he’s losing patience with me.

An explanation is in order here. The one big story I broke, the one that earned me the job as Ben’s bitch, for lack of a better term, was a story I broke fresh out of school.

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