The Trouble With Holly (Nashville Dreamers Book 1)

  THE TROUBLE WITH HOLLY

  by

  Bonnie Blythe

  Book One of the Nashville Dreamers Series

  A Christian Romance

  Copyright © 2014

  All Rights Reserved

  Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Professional editing services by

  Arran McNicol

  Cover by Magyar Design

  Cover photos by

  © Mythja | Dreamstime.com

  © Amir Kaljikovic | Dreamstime.com

  © Jura Vikulin | Dreamstime.com

  To Diane for her friendship, inspiration, and tremendous work on this story.

  God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.

  Psalm 46:1

  Hear O Israel: the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.

  Deuteronomy 6:4

  Chapter One

  “Let me savor this moment, ladies...even if I still think I'm dreaming.”

  Holly Raleigh briefly closed her eyes. The gentle murmur of upscale diners conversing in low tones—no doubt on matters of great importance—filled her ears with sublime contentment. And the filet mignon had been divine. But the real satisfaction came from her promotion to vice president at Sargasso Music Productions. She let the notion circle in her mind like the water inside of the glass she held. Water even tasted better here—especially when sipped from leaded crystal. Yep, this is real.

  She raised her glass toward her best friends, Marisa Petropoulos and Jennifer Hart. Until now, a high-end restaurant like Morton’s had been out of her reach.

  Not anymore.

  I can't believe I actually made good. Her messed-up eighteen-year-old self flashed in her mind—a girl with a come-to-Jesus moment in the form of a negative pregnancy test that led to a vow—to leave that life behind for good.

  She released a shaky breath. And now here I am.

  “You should savor it, Holly,” Marisa said, leaning forward, her brown eyes shining against honeyed skin and black, wavy hair. “You earned it.” She clinked her glass against Holly’s.

  “Definitely,” Jen said, adding her glass to the pair. Her large hazel eyes sparkled as she shifted her glossy brown tresses over one shoulder. “Remember when we called ourselves the Nashville Dreamers?”

  Marisa furrowed her brow. “I forgot about that! It's been, what, five years since we met at that church luncheon?”

  “Yes,” Jen said. “We all came to the city to achieve our goals and now we're making good on those dreams.”

  “Speak for yourselves,” Marisa said with a snort. “My interior design job lead fell through, so it looks like I'll be doing the real estate office gig a while longer.”

  “Hey, I said making—as in it's a process,” Jen said. “It took me several rejections before getting hired on at Vanderbilt in the Peds clinic. You'll get there.” She flashed a look between her friends. “We'll all get there.”

  “Sorry to be a Debbie Downer there for a minute,” Marisa said, chagrined. “Oh, and that reminds me, my brother is applying at Vanderbilt in the IT department.”

  “Is he back from India?” Jen asked.

  “Not yet. Six more months, I think.”

  “It would be nice if we get to actually meet him one of these days,” Holly said.

  Marisa shrugged. “He's a typical nerd. Grad school then exchange work in New Delhi. I haven't seen him in ages.” She wrinkled her nose. “At any rate, today we're here for you, Holly. So proud of you!”

  “I can still hardly believe it.” Holly looked at the glass in her hand, noticing the candlelight reflecting off the facets. Ten years ago she’d said goodbye to Jimmy Duke’s errant appeal and a lifestyle of so many of the young girls in that tiny Tennessee town. When Aunt Della, a sprig on her stunted family tree, offered to send her to college, Holly had jumped at the chance.

  After college, she'd met Marisa and Jennifer, only to find out they'd all come to Nashville in pursuit of their dreams. I was closest geographically, but the furthest culturally.

  Marisa had arrived from New York to escape the big city rat race.

  And Jen was on the run from the “plastic crazies” in Southern California.

  They'd been best friends ever since. Even now when they were all busy, they still carved out a dinner together a few times a month—especially when there was something to celebrate.

  Holly thought of her years working at Sargasso Music Productions, where she'd started out as a glorified gofer. She glanced at her friends and smiled, hoping she could somehow bottle up this feeling and save it forever. “Of course, I had a little help along the way. Take you two, for instance. I couldn’t have done this without you cheering me on.”

  Marisa flipped her dark ponytail over her shoulder and returned the smile. Her shoulders had been baptized with plenty of Holly’s tears over the years. “Hey, you’re the youngest VP Sargasso Music Productions has ever had. Next stop, CEO.”

  Holly knew she should blush, but funny if the thought hadn’t already crossed her mind. Inclining her head in a gesture of humility, she sent Marisa a complacent grin. Marisa burst out laughing, seeing right through her pathetic attempt at high-class modesty.

  “At least now you'll get a little respect instead of being seen as the little errand girl,” Jen said in her comforting way. Where Marisa was filled with a restless energy, Jen was warmth and kindness galore—great attributes when working with kids at the hospital.

  Marisa’s eyes suddenly widened and a rush of color filled her cheeks. “Speak of the devil. Holly, you’ll never guess who just strolled through the door. Hint, you used to get his coffee.”

  Holly casually leaned back and slid a discreet peek across the dim room. She glimpsed the man who was the epitome of a metrosexual, as well as her latest heartthrob—even if he didn’t know it. Dominick Graffe, Mr. Sargasso’s personal assistant. While maintaining her posture of languid ease, Holly whispered to the girls, “Do I have endive in my teeth?”

  Marisa began to sputter until Holly realized someone was standing at their table. Raising her eyes, she looked up at the object of her latest desire.

  She’d been waiting for Dominick to notice her since her first day at Sargasso nearly eight years ago. And now here he stood at her table, sending his dark, brooding attentions her way. She doubted he would ask her to get him a cup of coffee from the office kitchen this time.

  He nodded at Jen and Marisa after introductions were made. “Ms Raleigh, allow me to offer my personal congratulations on your promotion,” Dominick uttered huskily, holding out his manicured hand toward her. She shook it in a gracious manner befitting her new position in the world. “Thank you, Mr. Graffe.”

  “Dominick,” he said.

  We are the only two people in the room. The background fades as this Adonis continues to hold my hand. Our gazes meld. My heart pitter-pats. I size up Dominick for a wedding tux. I think I’m about to hyperventilate...

  Marisa kicked her shin under the table.

  Holly lanced an unspoken dagger across the table. Marisa blinked rapidly and began to twitch. A sudden onset of Tourette’s syndrome? After sympathizing for a nano second, Holly returned her attention to the cashmere and silk-clad man and inhaled his expensive cologne.

  “Do join us, Dominick.”

  His returning gaze simmered as he pulled out a chair at their table. Holly imagined him whispering his desire to take her out for a night on the town. Her thoughts burgeoned with the notion of being wooed by
one such as Dominick—an homme fatal.

  A solicitous waiter appeared, bringing him a glass of water.

  Once more she felt Marisa’s Kate Spade slingback making contact with her shin. Her friend’s grimace was an awful sight to behold. Holly’s eyes widened in a telegraphed threat. What’s up with you?

  Jen was also suffering from strange facial tics.

  Turning back to Dominick, Holly said, “I look forward to working with you on future projects, Dominick.”

  “And I, you,” he responded, aligning the silver utensils to some invisible straightedge on the table. He crossed his legs and leaned back, folding his hands on his lap. “Your input will be especially helpful with one of our most important accounts. Mr. Sargasso recently spoke with Faith and Tim about some ideas that might be a perfect fit for your expertise.”

  Holly stifled a shiver of pure pleasure. Name-dropping at Morton’s. Have I died and gone to heaven or what? “I’d be delighted to work with them.”

  “And I hear Faith is especially fond of endive,” Marisa added in an undertone.

  Clearing her throat in an effort to cover her friend’s social blunder, Holly leaned forward toward Dominick, hoping he’d appreciate the glint of her Swarovski crystal choker resting atop her Dolce Gabbana pinstripe pantsuit. Okay, so the suit is a knockoff I bought on eBay, but he doesn’t know that. I’m not CEO. Yet.

  Jen whimpered.

  Holly ignored her. “So, any special plans for the weekend, Dominick?”

  Dominick toyed with his water glass. “Actually, I was wondering if you were free tomorrow night.”

  Gasp! Dominick asking me for a date? Oh, the power of a promotion.

  Her cell phone twittered.

  Whispering, “Excuse me,” Holly retrieved her phone and peeked at the caller ID. Surely Dominick understood a VP must take business calls seriously. Even though she didn’t recognize the number, she answered the phone with an elegant slide of her finger. Sending him an apologetic look, Holly turned slightly from the table and said “hello” with her modulated, region-free diction.

  “Holly Mae, is that you?”

  Holly blinked at the sound of her aunt’s refined Southern drawl. “Della?”

  A myriad of images swept through her mind. Dark hair styled in the latest sultry fashion. High cheekbones on the fairest complexion. The pronounced arch of her perfect eyebrows. And that expectant smile, as if royalty had just dropped by to say hello. And always, always, dressed for success from head to toe. Converting her Tennessee dialect and image into that of a true Southern belle, Della Burrell was now the darling of the Manhattan real estate scene.

  “Sweetheart, where have you been? I’ve had a devil of a time tracking you down after my phone let me down and lost my numbers.”

  Holly swallowed. Why would Della be calling her now? “Is something wrong with—” She glanced at Dominick, who leveled an impatient stare at her. She cleared her throat, turning her back to him again. “Is something wrong with Garth?”

  “Garth who?”

  “I see,” Holly continued. “I’ll be happy to give him a call. Was there anything else?”

  “I gather you’re indisposed at the moment?”

  Bingo. Dear, dear, perceptive Aunt Della. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am, so if we could talk later, I would—”

  “Don’t hang up on me, Holly Mae Raleigh! I need to talk to you this minute.”

  “Now?” Holly whispered faintly. An impulse to pray surprised her. Clawing her way to the almost-top of her company had made church attendance a hit and miss prospect.

  “I have a tenant back in Tucker’s Ridge who’s left a hundred chickens loose on my property. The neighbor who owns the adjacent property is furious and wants those chickens to stop scavenging his grounds. I sold him that land a few years ago, and I’m hoping to sell him the adjacent property in the very near future. And if I’m to get half what I want for it, we must resolve this problem immediately!”

  Yikes. The royal we! “Well, I’m awfully sorry, but what’s that got to do with me?” she whispered hoarsely. Chickens? Chickens?

  “Holly Mae, I’m in the middle of a huge real estate deal right now and I can’t get out there. I need you to go take care of this.”

  Holly’s heart pounded. “I’m in the middle of something substantial, too,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure you are. I heard about that big promotion of yours, and if I wasn’t so busy here, I’d catch a flight and come celebrate with you. I truly am proud of you, Holly Mae. Really, I am. But this is quite urgent, and I’m afraid I must insist you help me with this matter. And I do mean now.”

  Holly cringed. She suspected this day would come—when Aunt Della would call in a serious favor. Her previous impulse to pray turned into a silent, all-out plea for deliverance.

  Combined with the dread of what Della was asking of her was the knowledge that Marisa, Jen, and Dominick were hanging on every word. She didn’t need to turn around and verify that knowledge—she could sense it as surely as a hound dog senses a fresh raccoon trail.

  Tell me that hunting analogy did not just slither through my mind! Where was her newfound sense of style and professional coolness? Was one call from a family member enough to send her regressing to the insecure girl in too-small hand-me-downs? Whose anxious mother was obsessed with unrequited love for the charming town drunk who'd left her pregnant?

  “Holly Mae, are you listening to me?”

  Holly wanted to remind her aunt that using her middle name was no longer an option, but figured this wasn’t the time. “Della, I would love nothing more than to help you out—”

  “Good. Now grab a pen and—”

  “But—”

  “—write down these directions.”

  “Della, I cannot stress how inopportune—”

  “Maybe I was wrong to give you that education after all.” Della’s tone was different—quite matter-of-fact, with a side order of guilt.

  “I only meant that my time is limited.”

  “I’ll need you there at least Saturday and Sunday until I can figure out what to do.” Her voice rang with steel, thinly veiled by Southern saccharine.

  Gripping the phone with one hand, Holly scrabbled in her handbag for a pen with the other. Get a grip, Holly. This will be over soon. Write down the directions, say goodbye, and return to fantasy-turned-reality with Dominick.

  She scrawled the instructions to the dubious rental property where at least a hundred chickens were depending on her for their survival. Naturally, it was in the one town she'd been determined to keep in her rearview mirror.

  After assuring Della she’d take care of things—never mind that she knew nothing about chickens—Holly ended the call and silenced the phone. It took her a moment to compose herself before shifting back to face Dominick and the girls. Schooling her features into composed maturity, she smiled and apologized for the interruption.

  “Is everything okay?” Jen asked, with her usual empathetic powers.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Holly said, simultaneously tucking her legs under her chair to avoid Marisa’s not-so-loving nudges. “And you were saying?” she asked Dominick, desperate for a subject change. Let’s see. A date with Dominick or a weekend with barnyard fowl. Goodness, how will I ever decide?

  “I was hoping you’d accompany me to J. Alexander’s Saturday night. West End. Several people from my club are getting together there.”

  Convoluted schemes involving long hours commuting between chickens and J. Alexander’s flitted through her mind. It could be done—with difficulty. Then she remembered some dating advice she’d heard once. Don’t say yes on the first date. A man wants a challenge. If you say no, he’ll be even more intrigued.

  Maybe she could salvage this moment if that maxim were true. “Thank you so much, Dominick,” Holly said bravely, although her lips very much wanted to quiver. “I would love nothing more. Unfortunately, I have pressing family matters to attend to this weekend.” She conside
red mentioning she’d be free next weekend, but worried it might sound too desperate. And a vice president must never appear desperate.

  “Family?” He looked smug and amused at the same time. “I didn’t know you had any family. I’ve never heard you mention them before.”

  Perhaps that’s because the only time you heard me speak was when I asked “Do you want cream or sugar with your coffee?” after the twentieth time you mistook me for the office secretary.

  The sharp thought surprised Holly. A busy, important man like Dominick couldn’t be expected to keep everyone straight all the time. Anyway, he was her dream man, the one she’d been fantasizing about for the last year.

  A slight frown marred his noble brow—and her heart skipped a beat. Was he upset that she didn’t jump at the chance to spend time with his exalted self? He is exalted. I mean, the man wears the most expensive cologne on the planet. Holly flared her nostrils for a whiff of Clive Christian. At more than two thousand dollars a bottle, this might be her last chance to smell it. After a lifetime around men wearing Brut or the lack of deodorant altogether, she deserved this opportunity.

  Right?

  Dominick scooted his chair back and stood, a faint look of distaste on his handsome features. Holly shrank with the realization that she really might’ve offended him. Like, who am I to refuse the private secretary to my boss? I’m just a lowly VP!

  “Is something wrong?” Holly ventured—stupidly, she was sure.

  “No,” he said, cool and collected. “I just remembered I have a pressing appointment.”

  An appointment? At eight in the evening? Holly cast a worried glance at Jen and Marisa, who were rolling their eyes again and pointing their fingers. Girls, you’ve totally let me down in my moment of need! What is wrong with you!

  Swallowing, Holly stood and extended her hand. Unfortunately, Dominick was too busy checking his cell phone to notice. She smiled again, hoping he could read her eagerness for his future company by the brightness of her teeth. Perhaps a touch of desperation was in order.