Lucky Seven Read online

  Lucky Seven

  by

  Elle M Thomas

  Lucky Seven Copyright ©2019 by the author writing as Elle M Thomas

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior permission of the author, except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, events, incidents, places, businesses and characters are of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  First published 2019

  Cover design and Editing by Bookfully Yours

  This is an Elle M Thomas mature, contemporary romance. Anyone who has read my work before will know what that means, but if you’re new to me then let me explain.

  This book includes adult situations including, but not limited to: adult characters that swear, a lot. A leading man who talks dirty, really, really dirty. Sex, lots and lots of hot, steamy, sheet gripping and toe curling sex. Due to the dark and explicit nature of this book, it is recommended for mature audiences only.

  If this is not what you want to read about then this might not be the book for you, but if it is then sit back, buckle up and enjoy the ride.

  Trigger warning – This story includes references, recollections and descriptions of abusive situations that some might find distressing.

  Other titles by Elle M Thomas:

  Disaster-in-Waiting

  One Night Or Forever

  Revealing His Prize

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For you, yes, you.

  Thank you for joining me on this crazy journey I find myself on.

  x

  Chapter 1

  The sound of the TV provided no more than background noise rather than the distraction from the reality of life Tasha had been hoping for. The ringing of her phone did, however, make her refocus.

  “Tash, it’s Angie. I have news.”

  “Should I be afraid?” she asked, unable to stifle a laugh at her agent’s overexcited shriek.

  “Of course not. I’ve had a call from a studio in L.A. and they’ve invited you to meet with them in New York. Some kind of meet and greet shit.”

  Tasha laughed again at her agent who really was so much more than that. Angie was brusque, crude, and direct to the point of rudeness, yet, she was also funny, caring and the closest thing Tasha had to a confidante.

  “They said they’d heard good things about you from your brief visit to L.A. last year and thought it would be good to meet up. They’re in New York this weekend and have invited you to join them.”

  “That’s short notice, Angie.”

  “Last time I checked you didn’t have anything else planned.”

  She laughed again but couldn’t disagree. “No, I don’t and thanks for the reminder that I have no work, social life or any direction.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Tash, you know that self-pitying shit doesn’t work with me.” Angie cackled while Tasha grinned down the line.

  “Book a flight then.” And with that agreement, suddenly, her mood genuinely lifted. Maybe, just maybe this could be the opportunity to turn things around.

  “You’re on the five past six from Heathrow on Thursday night and you have your meeting on Friday at three, details of location to follow,” she said smugly, clearly knowing that making the trip was never really in doubt.

  “Sounds great. I’ll just have to call home and make sure things are alright. Thanks Angie, you’re the best.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The sound of Angie coughing and spluttering down the line was the last thing Tasha heard.

  ****

  Nerves kicked in as she waited for the car she’d been assured would collect her on the studio’s behalf. She checked her watch again as a black limo pulled up.

  “Miss Winters?”

  A nod was as much as she could manage but it seemed adequate for the driver as he opened the passenger door for her.

  She looked down nervously at her hands, wringing in her lap, and took several deep breaths as she wondered whether she’d overdressed. The dress she’d chosen was a red floral, sleeveless cotton print dress with a sweetheart neckline that fitted tightly to the waist and then flared into a skirt that finished at her knees. It had several net petticoats beneath it and she had teamed it with bright red peep-toe stilettos. She’d even painted her toe nails to match. She was internally panicking, she could feel it and all of her anxiety was focused on her outfit that might have been better suited to a garden party rather than a potential business meeting.

  The more she thought and questioned it, the more uncomfortable she became but as the car was pulling up to the kerb outside one of New York’s many skyscrapers she realised it was too late to reconsider. With a stern internal talking to, Tasha gathered her thoughts before the door opened and the driver prepared to help her out. She smiled at him and thanked him again as she headed towards the doors of the building and gave him a small wave that he returned.

  “You look lovely ma’am. Good luck.”

  Nerves were kicking in again as Tasha was shown into a large conference room by a rather aloof, blonde lady of probably thirty.

  “Take a seat, Mr Maybury will be with you shortly. Help yourself to tea, coffee, soft drinks or the bar.”

  Tasha glanced in the direction of the bar and dismissed the idea of a double vodka or a beer since either would be more likely to heighten her nerves and anxiety rather than calm them.

  The woman smiled, maybe sensing her thoughts, not that it made it to her eyes before she turned to leave.

  Being invited to New York to meet studio bosses was a huge opportunity. They would be looking at next season’s programming and beyond, which in turn meant casting. The money many shows and movies paid was phenomenal compared to the amount she was used to earning, not that she didn’t believe she was well paid. She did, and she loved her job. It wasn’t even work she was in need of, not really, but money. That’s what she needed, a constant supply for the next couple of years because she had responsibilities and commitments she was in no position to shirk or cast aside, not yet.

  Tasha looked around and moved over to the picture window that took in a huge part of the Manhattan skyline. She tried to absorb it all. This day could literally change her life forever, but she knew that statistically it was unlikely and as she glanced down she noticed she’d dropped the business card for Mr Maybury she’d been holding. She bent over and reached for it without hearing the door opening.

  “Good afternoon. Sorry to have kept you waiting.” The American accent behind her sounded warm and amused. “Although I appreciate the view.”

  In the blink of an eye she was bolt upright and spinning around to face the owner of the voice that now wore a smile.

  “The view?” Tasha stammered.

  “Hmmm, very impressive.”

  “It certainly is.” She gestured towards the window and landscape beyond.

  “That’s not the one I was referring to.” A wolfish grin spread across the handsome face she still stared at.

  How much of her had he seen? She blushed like mad and was struggling to speak, her mouth was so dry. She looked him up and down and thought he was probably just touching forty, but he was in fine fettle; about six feet tall, maybe a little over, broad, but muscular. His eyes were a rich, deep brown, almost black now, maybe due to the lighting and he still had a full head of dark brown hair. Yes, very fine fettle.

  Standing in front of her smiling, he introduced himself with an outstretched hand. “Hi, Jam
es Maybury, Jim.”

  “Hello, Natasha Winters, Tasha.” She felt flustered as she continued to hold the hand he’d offered her.

  “Apologies if I embarrassed you.”

  Tasha nodded, accepting his apology for her discomfort at him finding her bent over and his words to her about it.

  He appeared to almost shake her off, making her realise she was still holding his hand. Once he’d freed himself he gestured for her to sit down in one of the lounge chairs at the far end of the room.

  They talked for some time about the work she’d already done, what she had planned and her hopes for the future. Jim explained that these meetings were normally held with colleagues, but for no reason he disclosed, not this time.

  Suddenly, he leapt to his feet. “Dinner, Tasha?”

  She looked at her watch and was surprised to see that it was already six o’clock.

  “Erm, yes. Sorry, James, I talk too much.”

  “Not at all. I could listen to you all night, and please, Jim.”

  The wicked glint in his eyes lit up the whole of his face and caused her to shiver and heat up at the same time.

  She blushed again. “Okay, Jim. Although I think you’re more of a James than a Jim.”

  He laughed at her. Just a short, single laugh as he cocked his head and appeared to study her. “You are very forthright, Miss Winters.”

  She shrugged, quickly becoming confused why that action resulted in a deep frown creasing his brow. Tasha had a strong need to remove his frown and replace it with his earlier happy expression. “Sorry.”

  He waved her apology away and she was relieved that he was happy again, the curl of his lips confirmed that. “Unnecessary. So, dinner?”

  “You don’t have to do that.” As much as she wanted to spend more time with him, Tasha was also beginning to worry that if their dinner was discovered it could be horribly misconstrued. As handsome as the studio mogul or whatever his title might be was, she didn’t want there to be future accusations that she had in any way slept her way into roles. She knew better than anyone how valuable, convenient and overused sex was as a commodity, but not for her.

  “Honey, I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, so the fact that I’m inviting you to dinner suggests I’d like to have dinner with you.” His tone was flat and calm, his expression a little less so when she noticed it darkening.

  “Oh.”

  The man before her smiled which actually made him more attractive than ever. Gorgeous in fact. Gorgeous enough that she began to wonder just what it would be like to kiss him and be kissed by him, held in those arms and to be made love to by him.

  “Is that a yes then?” He wore an unmistakeable grin as he took another step towards her while she could only gaze up.

  She flitted her glance from his eyes to his lips that he was licking, slowly and seductively until she was sure she’d actually moaned out loud. She really was unsure whether she should do this or not, although she certainly wanted to spend another couple of hours with the man who had made the last three hours fly by and why wouldn’t she? He was sexy, attractive, articulate, and made her imagine things she hadn’t of late, including kissing. Her nod confirmed her intention to take him up on his offer of dinner.

  “My hotel is just around the corner.”

  Without another word, he took her by the elbow and steered her from the room, downstairs and into the first passing cab. The tension between them was palpable. The charge that crackled and arced lasted for the entire journey. Nobody spoke, including the driver.

  Tasha knew that this had the potential to be the worst decision of her life, professionally. This had to be career suicide, she knew that, and still ignored the alarm bells going off in her head. Her own earlier warnings to herself about how this could be viewed if anyone ever found out about it were now a distant memory.

  The cab pulled up outside the hotel she didn’t doubt was five star, possibly six star. Was six star a thing? She was sure it was. The door of the cab opened, startling her slightly as Jim’s hand appeared to help her out. Tasha stood on the pavement, the sidewalk, she thought with a small smile, while Jim paid their fare with a very generous tip before he returned his hand to her elbow and guided her to the lifts and eventually to his suite. Not the bar or restaurant, but his suite. The few doubts she’d had that she wasn’t in trouble with this man disappeared right there and then. He was trouble with a capital T.

  Nervously, Tasha looked around the huge, plush, palatial suite and searched her mind for something to say and eventually came up with, “Very nice, Jim. You have very good taste.”

  “That I do. Which is why you’re here, the good taste.”

  His line should have come across as cheesy, as though he was trying just a little too hard, but it didn’t. Although, his awkward expression and apologetic shrug of his shoulders seemed to suggest it hadn’t sounded as good to him as it had to her. Yes, she was in well over her head and had no way of knowing what to do, especially as his words had her smiling so much her jaw ached while he stared down at her with a predatory glint which made her blush slightly. The danger was greater than she’d first assessed. She could still be considered very naïve, or as she preferred to view it, stupid. The fact she was here, in this very powerful and influential movie executive’s hotel suite, alone, and all before the possibility of work or the parameters of that had even been discussed confirmed her diagnosis of stupidity.

  “So, dinner?” Tasha hoped Jim was about to suggest getting freshened up, him getting freshened up, alone, before heading down to the dining room, restaurant, whatever it was.

  “Yes. Of course. Later. A drink first. What can I get you?”

  “Just a soft drink, please.” She already knew that a clear head might be the one thing she could ensure.

  He didn’t argue or try and change her mind, but passed her a drink.

  “You look more like a white wine or champagne kind of girl to me.” He smiled as he sat next to her on the velvet sofa.

  “I don’t mind wine with a meal, but I’m more of a beer girl when I go out.” The truth was that she didn’t drink all that often and only very occasionally to excess.

  He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “And champagne?”

  “It’s not something I drink frequently or have any real knowledge of, but yes, for special occasions.” She smiled to herself as she thought that her only real memories of champagne usually involved a bed and Gerry. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t allowed her mind to go back there, to that painful place.

  “Something amusing about the champagne you drink?”

  “No. Sorry. A private joke I guess.” She blushed, cursing her pale complexion as she desperately tried to brush off her own comments and his smile, but did make the decision not to think of Gerry and the things they’d shared. It was all in the past and needed to stay there.

  “I guess we all have those private jokes with champagne, honey.”

  She felt a little embarrassed as she realised she was inadvertently discussing champagne sex with James Maybury. Sex, full stop. She was back on dodgy territory that was going to see her being swallowed whole into a real and metaphorical shit storm.

  “Next time you’re in L.A. call me and I’ll show you around my vineyard.”

  She looked surprised by the offer, but then so did he.

  “Right, dinner.” Jim reached for the phone and called for several courses of a room service dinner meaning no dining room, no restaurant and no safe location with other people. This was turning more and more precarious with every word and detail that transpired. “I could have just sent you some scripts and stuff via your manager or agent, but I, the studio, like the personal touch.” The personal touch currently involved the brushing of his fingertips across her hand.

  This was beyond perilous if the burn and tingle his touch incited were anything to go by. Tasha blushed again at her reaction to him as well as her thoughts about him, but nodded in acknowledgement of his need for the person
al touch.

  He smiled at her rosy hue and clear liking of his touch, of the reaction it caused on the most basic level.

  The tension between them remained, however it was tempered slightly as they began to talk, which is when she succumbed to the white wine. So much for keeping a clear head.

  Jim explained how he’d started life as an accountant and how as a very young man he’d found himself working in the studio he now ran. He’d worked his way up the corporate ladder, making investments that had allowed him to become the major shareholder. He told her stories of dramas and tantrums from producers, directors, actors, but mainly actresses. She was impressed by the fact that at no point did he name any of them. She didn’t doubt he was a ruthless, hard-nosed business man who didn’t take prisoners, but he was also scrupled and fair. He made several references to his wives.

  Once dinner arrived they sat opposite each other. From nowhere she suddenly asked, “So how many Mrs Mayburys have there been?”

  He looked at her slightly taken aback but laughed. “Straight to the point, Natasha. Six Mrs Mayburys, all of them no longer Mrs Maybury.”

  Shit was her immediate thought and she just hoped it had remained in her head. Six of them. He must be a really crap husband to have got through six of them. Briefly, she wondered why six women had agreed to marry him with his track record but then decided that although he might be a crap husband, she was sure he was a great lover. Shocked at that thought Tasha shook her head at herself as she didn’t usually look at men as old as her dad and consider their prowess as lovers, but this wasn’t any man. This was James Maybury and she knew without a doubt, he was different.

  “Why?” She had what she was sure was a false sense of bravery courtesy of the second, or maybe the third glass of wine she’d consumed.

  He laughed at her directness again. “Why have there been six, or why are they former Mrs Mayburys?”