No Time for Promises (The No Brides Club Book 3) Read online

  NO TIME FOR PROMISES

  NO BRIDES CLUB, BOOK 3

  LINDSAY DETWILER

  © 2019, Lindsay Detwiler

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

  SWEET PROMISE PRESS

  PO BOX 72

  BRIGHTON, MI 48116

  CONTENTS

  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

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  More from this Series

  More from Sweet Promise Press

  About the Author

  To my husband, Chad

  Chapter 1

  Rachel

  Rachel Winters could say no to just about everything and everyone—except Michael.

  She could turn down the whipped cream on her morning latte to save a few calories. She could say absolutely not to the annoying saleswoman who called her to ask if she wanted to up her insurance—as if she had the extra cash to afford that when she was living in the city. She could say no to the extra drink at happy hour, especially if she had a show the next day. She could say no to all serious relationships, and even if she didn’t, her group of friends in the No Brides Club would sure as heck remind her to say no. Careers first, thank you very much, they had all agreed, even though some of them had loosened up on that prerogative these days. Still, Rachel wouldn’t. She was devoted to their original beliefs. Not like she had time to even consider saying yes to a relationship anyway.

  She could say no to almost everything and everyone—but not Michael. It was just a fact Rachel had learned to live with.

  As she dashed toward the door, taxis honking in the background, she checked her phone to verify she still had two minutes to spare. Rachel knew she had no one to blame but herself for this crazy Saturday conundrum. Why in the world couldn’t she just tell Michael no?

  When he had come to her three weeks ago with those puppy-dog eyes, Rachel knew she was in trouble. He’d explained the situation and how Casey, the lead who exuded an annoying level of confidence most appropriately labeled as arrogance, just couldn’t manage to come and teach the workshops.

  Her director insisted on being called just Michael in order to create a friendly vibe as he was one of those types of directors. Rachel didn’t mind, of course. She liked the zaniness of Michael, even when he made them do those annoying team building exercises to build a family feel. Still, watching Casey struggle to sit on someone’s lap in a ridiculous circle exercise had been worth it.

  Rachel Winters should have said no to Michael, despite his charming voice and his soothing pleas. All of her friends had assured her over and over she had the right to say no. After all, shouldn’t a lead be doing these sort of outreach activities? Shouldn’t that come with the territory of being granted a role in the spotlight? There were so many cast members he could’ve asked. There was no reason Rachel had to be the one here this morning.

  But Michael knew what he was doing. He knew Rachel could say no to anything—except anything that had to do with acting. She said yes to everything theater, everything that could possibly further her career, give her a shot at a bigger role. She voluntarily signed up for all sorts of voice lessons and dancing classes and ridiculous practice hours beyond her contract.

  She said yes anytime Michael needed something extra, beyond the realm of her hours on stage. But Rachel didn’t think this was a bad thing. She was devoted to her career. Who was she to argue with the director when she was lucky enough to have snagged a role in the chorus in a Broadway play? How could she say no, especially when she had her sights set on eventually being the lead? In six months, when her contract was up with this play and she had the opportunity to go after one of her dream roles, maybe she’d look back on this yes and be thankful. It was all about who you knew, after all, and how much they liked you. Michael already liked Rachel, but maybe this would distinguish her even more.

  Michael also knew she wouldn’t say no because he was friends with Gigi and Beatrice. That was another guaranteed way to get Rachel to say yes. She had a true soft spot for those mentors of hers.

  Even putting her career goals aside, when Michael had explained the workshop program to her, she definitely couldn’t say no. A program specifically designed to bring students with developmental disabilities into the theater to learn about Broadway and get one-on-one time with actors or actresses was just a sweet idea. She felt honored, in truth, to be the one picked for the task of teaching the workshop.

  So Rachel had said yes—but now, her latte spilling over the top of its cup and leaking down her arm as she dashed into the theater, she sort of wished she hadn’t. She wished that for once, she hadn’t been so career oriented, so focused on getting ahead. And she wished, for once, she had just stuck to the no without any sense of guilt.

  Feeling like a hot mess—or, in reality, just a mess—Rachel felt like this was going to be a disaster for all involved. She should’ve let someone more qualified run this workshop, or at least someone who could be on time.

  She wished she were languidly resting in bed, sipping her coffee at home while catching up on some trashy reality television. She wished she were wandering down to Starbucks for a scone instead of running what felt like a marathon to get to the class on time.

  She was excited, in truth, to get to work with the kids. She’d been chasing her dreams hard, and now she was on her way. She loved the idea of inspiring them, hopefully, to chase their own goals. However, she also felt sort of silly. The kids were coming to Broadway, to one of the most famous productions. They probably thought they’d be working with someone famous and truly in the spotlight.

  Instead, they were only getting her, a backrow chorus member whom no one would recognize on the street.

  Stop with your self-sabotaging talk, she chided herself as she tried to recall the one line from the self-help book she’d read last week. The words were all jumbled in her head as she dashed to the back room where the class was to be held. Go figure, she’d gotten up late today and had almost missed her chance to make a good impression. Gigi and Beatrice, her neighbors, were in Vegas, so their typical morning banter hadn’t even been present to wake her up. She’d been fortunate Mr. Carlson’s stomping in the apartment above her had been enough to rattle her awake with just enough time to get dressed. And also sto
p for a latte. There wasn’t going to be any workshop if Rachel didn’t have her caffeine, no matter how late she was running.

  Rachel tried to remember the line from the book she read last week, still racking her brain for any sign of that perfectly inspirational quote she needed right now. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t conjure up the line from the book. However, she was pretty sure that in addition to promoting a positive self-image, the author had also been a proponent of being on time.

  But hey, she was doing her best here. That would have to be enough, right? Her perfectionist tendencies eased up on the weekend, which was just enough to keep her somewhat sane. Saturdays and Sundays were her “good enough” attitude days, so she decided to cut herself a bit of slack. At least she was here, unlike Casey. At least she had shown up.

  She rushed into the room that was set up with folding chairs and attempted to catch her breath as she flew through the door.

  “Hi,” she wheezed, breathless and more than just a tad sweaty, as she smoothed down her braids and pulled down on the hem of her skirt that was, in hindsight, perhaps not the best choice when you were dashing down the sidewalks of New York. Still, she might be winded and perspiring with a somewhat short skirt riding up, but she was on time. She’d made it—just barely, but she’d made it. It was a success. A small one, but Rachel was adding up all types of successes these days, so she would count it.

  She took a deep breath and continued, “Welcome to Broadway! I’m Rachel Winters, and I’m so excited to be here with you today. Who’s ready to act?” Even to her breathy self, she could tell she was talking way too fast and way too loudly. Maybe the extra latte had been a terrible idea.

  The kids didn’t seem to mind her over-the-top enthusiasm, however. Hands shot up and some of the kids started animatedly talking to Rachel about acting and asking if they would get to go on stage. She went to the podium Michael had set up and finally allowed herself to take inventory of the room. About ten teenage students sat in the chairs, some looking more excited than others. Two girls sat in wheelchairs with helpers sitting behind them, and a woman in a suit sat on the end seat. Rachel presumed she was one of the teachers and made eye contact, offering a friendly wave.

  Her eyes traveled over her audience until they finally landed on the last seat on her right.

  A man sat, leaning back comfortably with his arms crossed as he studied her. His spikey hair gave him a bit of an edge that didn’t quite say teacher but didn’t say rebel, either. He wore dress pants and a button-up, but it was untucked. He sported a healthy dose of stubble that made him slightly disheveled but in a sexy way. The way he claimed his space, a calm look on his face, he looked relaxed and even what Rachel would consider chill.

  Nonetheless, when he smiled at Rachel and flashed perfectly white teeth worthy of a model, she was anything but calm.

  She found herself staring at his gorgeous blue eyes that radiated, seeming to take in her every move. There was just something about him, something that drew her to him, and she had no idea what it was. Suddenly, the other people in the room were background noise because all she could see was him.

  Stop acting like a fool, Rachel, she told herself. You’ve been on stage how many times, and you’re going to let this workshop throw you? Let this guy throw you? Be professional.

  She told herself to peel her eyes away from the mystery man in the front row, but even as she turned her attention to the students and continued her introduction, she found herself studying him from her peripherals, constantly aware of the feel of his gaze on her.

  There may as well be a spotlight on him or cheesy music playing, she thought as she fumbled over her acting history and how she got started, because goodness, I’ve never, ever felt something like this.

  And it was true. Even when she’d met the guy she would like to leave nameless but who others referred to as Seth, this—whatever it was—hadn’t happened. Sure, she’d thought Seth was cute when she’d seen him at the coffee shop back home. She’d thought he was sweet and charismatic and funny and all of those other misconceptions she’d experienced in what felt like a lifetime ago. Her gaze had perused him, thinking about all sorts of adjectives to describe the muscular guy who stole her heart so many years ago.

  But this hadn’t happened. This earth-shattering, stop-you-in-the-moment kind of thing hadn’t happened. This odd sensation that whoever this guy was, he was going to be something to Rachel—and something more than a chaperone on a fieldtrip for a workshop she was almost late to.

  There was something in her chest that told her this was going to be a moment to remember.

  Rachel didn’t know how to explain it. Was she just feeling lonely? Maybe it was all the extra caffeine creating nervous energy in her blood. Or maybe she was just losing her mind for real. Perhaps she’d been performing in a sappy, semi-romantic play for far too long and the Broadway songs about love had gone too far.

  Whatever it was, all Rachel knew was she wasn’t liking it—and she knew her friends wouldn’t like it either. Today was about her career, as it always was. This was no time to slip, to let some blue-eyed hunk pull her attention away from what mattered. She’d been down that road before, and she’d never do it again. She couldn’t afford to do it again at this stage of her life. She had tunnel vision when it came to her career these days. Her focus was a laser beam, and there was no stopping it. She was going to chase her goals and climb the stage ladder, no matter the cost.

  There would be no fluttering feelings, heart palpitations, or swoon-worthy moments to distract her. She was adamant that she would chase this dream alone, no manly hands pulling her toward another sunset.

  “So, why don’t we start with a tour of the stage? What do you say? Do you all want to see how some of the techniques are done?” she asked, getting out of her head about the gorgeous guy who was still threatening to distract her from the task at hand.

  The students erupted in cheers, and a girl stood to give Rachel a high-five. The female teachers and assistants seemed happy to see the kids happy. It was all going well, gorgeous guy in the audience or not.

  Rachel led them toward the stage area, the students still bubbling with excitement.

  “Mr. Riley, she’s pretty, isn’t she?” Rachel heard one of the male students say.

  Rachel tried not to listen to what Mr. Riley—the blue-eyed hunk now had a name—would say. She heard him say something noncommittal, and Rachel wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted to hear or not.

  “Right this way, everyone,” she chipperly added, ushering them to the stage. “Now, what do you want to talk about first?”

  And that was when the sweet girl who had high-fived Rachel sealed her fate without even knowing it. That was when everything took a huge turn, not just in the workshop but in what was to come.

  Because it was when the student said, “The balcony! Show us some lines from the balcony!” that Rachel’s life would never, ever quite be the same.

  Chapter 2

  Zander

  Zander Riley could say yes to just about anything. He’d said yes to skydiving last summer with his best friend Brad, and he’d said yes when his neighbor lady had asked him to watch her beagle and four cats this summer while she went out of town for a week. Zander had said yes to an extra shot of espresso in his coffee this morning, and he’d said yes when the school had called him last second to beg him to chaperone that afternoon’s trip.

  It hadn’t been difficult yes to say, in truth, as he was a fan of Broadway—even though it stung a little every time he was watching other people up on the stage he once thought would belong to him.

  Zander Riley was, to his chagrin sometimes, a yes kind of guy. That got him into trouble quite frequently, like when he’d said yes to Brad’s idiotic plan two years ago to try a ridiculous skateboard trick for a YouTube video so they could get more subscribers on Brad’s channel. It sometimes got him into trouble when he said yes to food trucks in the city he knew he should say no to. And most
of all, it got him into trouble when he said yes to Sheila Carlisle when she’d asked him to skip New York City in favor of the school in Ohio too many years ago to count.

  Zander was learning that especially when it came to the heart, yes wasn’t always the right answer.

  Still, he was recovering, patching up his heart, and trying to heal. He wasn’t ready to say yes again—but he was starting to feel like a maybe was coming on soon. A man could only be alone for so many years, after all, and he was at the stage in his life when maybe settling down wouldn’t be such a terrible idea. A bachelor pad could only be so entertaining for so long. Still, there was anxiety coursing through his veins when he thought about falling in love again. Letting a woman into his life might seem like a good plan on paper, but in reality, Zander was terrified that love simply spelled disaster for him. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for it, or maybe Sheila Carlisle had been his one chance to get it right.

  And he had unabashedly, undeniably gotten it all wrong. Maybe he should just accept the fact that love wasn’t in the cards for him.

  He’d been thinking about all of that when he’d taken a seat by his man, Rocky, one of his favorite students at the school. Rocky was talking to Zander about his cat, as he always did in the mornings, when Zander knew he needed to start getting his “no” ready and working.

  One look at Rachel Winters told Zander all he needed to know—from the way she carried herself to her gorgeous black hair to her killer smile, Zander knew she was definitely going to be trouble if he said yes.

  She had flown through the door, clearly stressed about running late. The first thing he’d noticed, of course, had been her eyes. He was a fool for a woman with dark eyes, and this woman’s eyes were only accentuated by her long, black braids. She had an eclectic fashion sense about her, but it worked for her, a mix of classic and a bit hippie-trippy, if he had to describe it—not that he was a fashion expert by any means.