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The Offer
A Novel
by Karina Halle
Also by Karina Halle
The Experiment in Terror Series
Darkhouse (EIT #1)
Red Fox (EIT #2)
The Benson (EIT #2.5)
Dead Sky Morning (EIT #3)
Lying Season (EIT #4)
On Demon Wings (EIT #5)
Old Blood (EIT #5.5)
The Dex-Files (EIT #5.7)
Into the Hollow (EIT #6)
And With Madness Comes the Light (EIT #6.5)
Come Alive (EIT #7)
Ashes to Ashes (EIT #8)
Dust to Dust (EIT #9)
Novels by Karina Halle
The Devil’s Metal (Devils #1)
The Devil’s Reprise (Devils #2)
Sins and Needles (The Artists Trilogy #1)
On Every Street (An Artists Trilogy Novella #0.5)
Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)
Bold Tricks (The Artists Trilogy #3)
Do
Dirty Angels
Dirty Deeds
Love, in English
Love, in Spanish
Where Sea Meets Sky (from Atria Books)
Coming Soon
Dirty Promises
Racing the Sun (from Atria Books)
First edition published by
Metal Blonde Books June 2015
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Karina Halle
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover design by Hang Le Designs
Metal Blonde Books
P.O. Box 845
Point Roberts, WA
98281 USA
Manufactured in the USA
For more information about the series and author visit:
http://authorkarinahalle.com/
For those who think they’re lost in the struggle, whatever that struggle may be.
You’re not alone.
Keep on keeping on.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Also by Karina Halle
Copyright Page
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Excerpt s
PROLOGUE
Six Months Earlier
“Live with no regrets.”
“What was that, sweetheart?”
I slowly raised my gaze from the blank spot on the grass I’d been staring at for the last five minutes and saw the tall silhouette of a man as he crossed in front of the floodlights, coming toward me. I blinked a few times then looked back to the ground. His face was in shadows but I knew who he was. His Scottish accent told me everything I needed to know.
I cleared my throat and finished off the glass of wine in my hand. The raucous sounds of the wedding were dying down and I was surprised that Bram McGregor was still here. He was the best man while I was the maid of honor, but I never pegged him to be the type to stick around for very long, even at his own brother’s wedding. Bram’s eyebrows had been wagging at every female that walked within a five-meter distance, myself included, and he’d seemed so bored during the ceremony that it looked like he was trying to stifle a permanent yawn.
“Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat. “Talking to myself.”
“I can see that,” he said, sitting down beside me on the stone bench and bringing with him a whiff of cigars and sandalwood.
We were around the side of the Tiburon Yacht Club’s lawn where the wedding had taken place. I had stumbled upon the bench and the garden, with the lights of the city across San Francisco Bay twinkling in the background. I was ready to call it a night and just wanted to be alone before I headed back to my apartment to relieve the babysitter. Even though my best friend Stephanie was getting married to a great guy, Bram’s brother Linden—and don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be happier for her—it was a wedding, I was single and feeling worse about it every minute that passed.
“So, live with no regrets,” he repeated, casually leaning forward on his knees and lacing his fingers together. If I was sober I would have felt a bit embarrassed that he had caught me talking to myself, but as it was I couldn’t care less. What Bram thought of me was the least of my problems.
I shrugged. “It’s my motto.”
He snorted and I immediately glared at him.
“Hey,” I said, my face growing hot. “Most people have mottos.”
The corner of his lips twitched up into a smile. He was a handsome man, I had to give him that. But after my ex fucked me over so loyally when I was pregnant, leaving me alone to raise our daughter, playboys were on my hit list and Bram McGregor was definitely a playboy. Which meant he was public enemy number one and nothing but a whole lot of trouble and hot air.
I’d made it my goal in life to avoid trouble. I wasn’t about to start now, just because of his Scottish brogue, grey eyes, dimpled smile and built physique. And, you know, other terrible attributes.
“I don’t,” he informed me, as his eyes slid to mine, mouth lifting up. “But does it count if other people have mottos about you?”
I didn’t want to ask him what he meant by that, yet somehow my mouth was opening and I was taking the bait.
“People have mottos about you?” I asked.
His smirk deepened. “Women do.”
“I see,” I said, trying to think of something clever that would take him down a peg. “Once you go Bram…”
“You won’t give a damn,” he filled. He looked up at the dark sky and tilted his head, considering. “Or I’ve heard one night in my bed and your legs are forever spread.”
My lip curled in mild disgust. “That’s terrible.”
He shrugged. “Don’t knock it till you try it, sweetheart.” He paused. “I guess that’s another motto for you.”
He eyed the empty glass in my hands, then me, and blinked as if seeing me for the first time tonight. For a hot second I was glad that Stephanie had picked out the most flattering cocktail-type bridesmaids dress from Anthropologie. Then I had to remind myself, once again, that I didn’t care what he thought of me.
“What?” I asked, my skin prickling at the fact that his gaze was skirting over my body for just a little too long.
“Why are you out here alone and sober?”
I twirled the stem of the wine glass between my fingers. “I’m not sober.”
“I suppose you’re not alone either,” he said. “Can I get you another drink?”
“You’re offering?” I don’t know why that surprised me but it did.
He stared at for me for a moment, his dark brows knit together. Then he relaxed, his grin widening lazily. It reminded me of a cat stretching after a nap.
“I never let a beautiful woman pay for a drink,” he said.
Though part of me (a small part) thrilled at the fact that he called me beautiful, especially after how rough my dating life had been lately and how the only person that called me beautiful lately was Ava (okay, and Steph before the wedding, once I was magically transformed through hair and makeup), I wasn’t about to let his slick words charm me.