Three Wishes_A Second Chance at Love Contemporary Romance

  THREE⁕WISHES

  ~~~~

  ♦ THE ♦SISTERS ♦QUARTET ♦

  MARY J. WILLIAMS

  Copyright © 2018 by Mary J. Williams.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the Copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  First E-book Printing, 2018

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ~~~~

  Writing isn't easy. But I love every second. A blank screen isn't the enemy. It is the opportunity to create new friends and take them on amazing adventures and life-changing journeys. I feel blessed to spend my days weaving tales that are unique—because I made them.

  Billionaires. Songwriters. Artists. Actors. Directors. Stuntmen. Football players. They fill the pages and become dear friends I hope you will want to revisit again and again.

  Thank you for jumping into my books and coming along for the journey.

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  ~~~~

  Please visit me at these sites, sign up for my newsletter or leave a message.

  http://www.maryjwilliams.net/

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  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5648619.Mary_J_Williams

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  ~~~~

  Harper Falls Series

  If I Loved You

  If Tomorrow Never Comes

  If You Only Knew

  If I Had You (Christmas in Harper Falls)

  Hollywood Legends Series

  Dreaming With a Broken Heart

  Dreaming With My Eyes Wide Open

  Dreaming Again

  Dreaming of a White Christmas

  (Caleb and Callie's story)

  One Pass Away Series

  After the Rain

  After All These Years

  After the Fire

  Hart of Rock and Roll

  Flowers on the Wall

  Flowers and Cages

  Flowers are Red

  Flowers for Zoe

  Flowers in Winter

  WITH ONE MORE LOOK AT YOU

  One Strike Away

  For a Little While

  For Another Day

  For All We Know

  For the First Time

  The Sisters Quartet

  One Way or Another

  Two of a Kind

  Coming soon

  Four Simple Words

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  HOW TO GET IN TOUCH

  MORE BOOKS BY MARY J. WILLIAMS

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  FOR ALL THE SISTERS EVERYWHERE

  THOSE BORN TO YOU, AND THOSE BORN IN YOUR HEART

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  CHAPTER ONE

  ~~~~

  FIVE YEARS AGO

  ALL THEY HAD was each other.

  Andi Benedict peeked from behind the curtain at the assembled crowd. More than pretty clothes, they wanted to watch the rich girl fall flat on her blue-blood face. But not her sisters. She felt her heart swell with love and pride. Bryce, Calder, and Destry were there to celebrate what they had no doubt would be an overwhelming success.

  As Bryce lovingly teased, the oldest Benedict girl came out of the womb with the head a businesswoman, the soul of an artist, and the heart of a warrior. Nothing and no one would stand in her way.

  For the first twenty-four years, one month, five days, fifteen hours, six minutes, and eleven seconds of her life, Andi agreed. Lack of self-confidence was never her problem.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Tall, thin, but rounded in the right places. Blond hair styled in a sleek ponytail, her normally warm, healthy complexion a bit pale due to stress and nerves. She wore one of her own designs, a flowing dress, belted at her slender waist, in the color of ripe apricots.

  Andi took a deep breath. With her dreams a hair's breadth away from take-off, every doubt, every whisper of descent she ignored for so long, piled on her back like an avalanche, ready to crush not only her today, but her tomorrow, and any chance of a future.

  Overreacting, Andi mumbled. Only, she wasn't. Today was her chance. If she failed, she could try again. Trouble was, because she came from a famous, powerful, obscenely wealthy family, vultures waited with gleeful anticipation to pick her pitiful bones clean the second she put a foot wrong.

  Andi had one chance to prove her detractors wrong or spend the rest of her life labeled a rich girl who, like so many before her, played at the job of a fashion designer.

  What I do is my passion, not a game, Andi reminded herself while she solved one last-minute, pre-show crisis after another. Designing clothes wasn't her way to pass the time or bask in undeserved glory. From the moment she set her sights on a career in fashion, she worked to be the best.

  Other than her sisters, who believed in her with unquestioning faith, no one understood why a young woman who could have used her money to skip all the steps in between, would start at the bottom, learn her craft first at school, then as an apprentice where her main job was to fetch coffee. She refused to jump ahead of the queue.

  The reason was simple. The only way success would mean anything, would taste the sweetest, was if she earned every promotion, every accolade, every pat on the back by hard work, dedication, and a major dose of God-given talent.

  She soaked in the business side of fashion like an eager sponge. She kept her head down, her mouth shut, and, most important, her eyes open. During the day, she ran her backside off. At night, she spent hours drawing her vision of how women and men should dress. And prayed, when her time came, the most important critics, the people who would buy her designs, agreed.

  Sandra Morton, the best assistant any would-be fashion mogul could ask for, grabbed Andi's arm.

  "Thirty minutes to show time," Sandra reminded her. "The first model is ready for your approval. But the finale dress has a rip on the hem."

  "What?" Andi's heart sank and filled her throat at the same time. "How?"

  "Murphy's law?" Sandra shrugged as she pulled the ever-present pencil from her naturally curly jet-black hair. She showed her checklist to Andi. "Everything is running like clockwork. The hem should be a quick fix for your nimble fingers."

  Andi focused her mind. Nothing mattered except the show. Years of hard work. Months of preparation. Whatever happened after her designs hit the runway was out of her hands. But before, she wouldn't let a single detail slip through the cracks.

  "Models are in place. Shoes. Accessories. The
lighting and music." Sandra jogged to keep up with Andi's long-legged strides. "Even Tallulah was on time."

  "Maybe karma is on our side."

  Andi scored a huge coup when Tallulah Kelly agreed to walk her show. Notoriously hard to work with, the supermodel of the moment brought with her a certain cache and a boatload of free publicity. And the inevitable diva reputation. Surprisingly, Andi and Tallulah became fast friends. As a result, the model turned out to be more joy than headache.

  By a rack of clothing, Andi knelt to examine the delicate peach lace wedding gown, her favorite piece in the collection, and a definite showstopper. The tear was small, barely noticeable. However, if even one eagle-eyed fashion critic caught the flaw, her career was dead in the water.

  "Not bad." Andi breathed a sigh of relief.

  "You handle the tear, I'll check hair and makeup. When you're done, take a second. Grab some fresh air. Once the first model hits the runway, you won't get another chance to breathe for hours."

  Already intent on her task, Andi gave Sandra a distracted wave.

  "I'm good. Go."

  A needle and thread were as natural to Andi's fingers as black and white keys to a concert pianist. If she measured her young career by stitches sewn, or miles of thread used, the numbers would stretch for more miles than she could count.

  "Done." She cut the thread. The tear was gone. She looked with a critical eye. Perfect, if she did say so herself.

  Smiling, Andi rose. Black dots burst before her eyes as blood rushed to her head. She staggered and braced herself for a fall.

  "Whoa. Steady."

  A strong arm snaked around her waist, holding Andi up when her wobbly legs would have sent her face first onto the floor. Or worse, into the clothing she spent months preparing for her big fashion debut. One tear she could fix. Dozens of rips would mean disaster.

  "Thank you." Still dizzy, Andi clung to her savior, sending him a grateful smile.

  "You feel okay?" he asked, his deep, slightly husky voice filled with concern.

  "I will be. In all the excitement, I skipped breakfast." Andi searched her memory. "And dinner last night. Did I eat yesterday? Hard to remember."

  "Idiot," the man grumbled. "Come on."

  "Where?"

  "To get some air."

  For the first time since she was old enough to use the word no with absolute conviction, Andi let someone dictate her movements. The man led her to a side door, pushed her through, then, followed her into the alley.

  A light mist coated the cool February afternoon. Not rain. Not snow. Something in between. Wet and wonderfully refreshing. Eyes closed, Andi lifted her face and did something she hadn't been able to do for months—she took a moment to simply breathe.

  Filling her lungs, she took a moment to look at her rescuer for the first time. And almost choked on her next breath. Handsome didn't begin to describe his rugged good looks and chiseled body. At first, she thought he was a model—the camera would go crazy for his deep turquoise eyes—but quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't have the polished, pampered air of a man who made his living by his looks.

  Yet, a little lightheaded, Andi's instincts felt out of whack. So, she did what any logical person would do. She asked.

  "Are you a model?"

  "Hardly," the man snorted, one side of his lips quirking upward. He didn't seem insulted as much as amused. "I'm one-hundred-percent workhorse, not a show pony."

  Andi's gaze dropped to the security badge around his neck. Issued to staff and visitors, no one was allowed backstage without the official ID. She looked closer. Noah Brennan. Good name. She decided. Whatever his occupation.

  "Thank you, Noah. Without your quick intervention, I don't know what might have happened."

  "You'd have landed flat on your gorgeous face." Noah sighed when Andi took a wobbly step. "What is wrong with women? You starve yourself to fit into a few scraps of overpriced falderal and for what? Fame? Fortune?"

  A dozen responses popped into Andi's head. Included, a set down over his assumption about women in general, and her in particular. But he didn't give her a chance to do more than open her mouth before he rambled on.

  "Here." Noah shoved a candy bar into Andi's hand. "And before your head explodes at the idea of processed sugar, don't. Better a few empty calories than a trip to the emergency room."

  Andi didn't plan to argue. She was too busy ripping open the wrapper. Her eyes closed with pleasure as chocolate yumminess melted on her tongue. With a sigh, her teeth chomped glorious bits of peanuts and nougat. She finished the candy in four ravenous bites.

  "So good." Andi licked her fingers.

  Noah let out an indulgent chuckle.

  "You missed a little."

  His thumb touched the corner of Andi's mouth just as her tongue darted out. Heat flared in his blue eyes. His gaze lifted to hers, held a second, then dropped to her lips.

  "Well, shit," Noah mumbled more to himself than for Andi's benefit. "Bad idea. But I need to know."

  "Know what?" Andi asked.

  "Which tastes better. You, or the candy."

  As though he had all the time in the world, Noah lowered his mouth to hers. He took his taste—slow and thorough. Andi could relate. She believed anything worth doing was worth doing right. Apparently, Noah Brennan agreed. His lips, firm but not hard, warm, and supple, made her forget he was a stranger. Her body curved into his, her arms curled around his neck. And as her heart raced a mile a minute, her mind slowed to a blissful calm.

  When Noah finally raised his head, his breath was ragged.

  "Dangerous."

  Andi gasped, part passion, part surprise. She'd been called many things. Steady. Reliable. Beautiful, in a cool, controlled, ice queen sort of way. But dangerous?

  "I don't think so." She shook her head.

  "And addictive." Noah gave her another kiss—less thorough, but just as devastating.

  "You don't know me." Few people did. She didn't have time to set him straight about most of his misconceptions. But she could make one thing clear. "I'm not a model."

  Noah smiled, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges.

  "I know."

  "You do?" Confused, Andi once again allowed Noah to take her arm and lead her. This time, back into the building.

  "I had someone point you out." He shrugged. "Like to know who I work for."

  Work. Andi glanced at her watch and sighed with relief. They were only outside for a few minutes. Briefly, she wondered what was wrong with her. A kiss in the alley. With a total stranger? She forgot about her fashion show, all the dreams, and worry, and hard work.

  For a second, Andi wondered if she was more like her mother than she thought. Fleeting and terrifying—horrifying—the idea stiffened her spine.

  "I need to go." She gave Noah's hand a firm, businesslike, dismissive pump. "I needed a break, and a candy bar, to settle my nerves. Thank you for both."

  "Glad I could help." His eyes narrowed and cooled.

  Andi nodded, back on track. Today was about her future. Her professional future. The few minutes, the stolen kisses, she shared with Noah was as close to a personal life as she'd come in months. She didn't have time for distractions, no matter how tempting.

  "Hey."

  Frowning, Andi looked over her shoulder. Noah, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans, a cocky smile on his too handsome for anyone's good face, stared back.

  "What?" Andi heard the supercilious tone in her voice. Inwardly, she cringed. But the man bothered her on levels she didn't want to think about.

  "Knock 'em dead, Anderson."

  Andi's mouth opened, then closed with a snap as Noah gave her a brief salute and disappeared into the backstage shadows. Anderson? Anderson! Technically accurate, nobody ever used her full first name.

  Her father's surname, bestowed by her mother, pissed Andi off more than she cared to admit.

  Sterling Anderson and Billie Benedict were on
ce New York society's golden couple. By the time Andi was born, her parents, barely married a year, were in the middle of a headline-grabbing divorce. Months of contentious, salacious acrimony, they'd long ago made their peace. But not before, in a fit of hormones, anger, and the after-effects of drugs pumped into her bloodstream during labor, Billie chose to give her daughter the Benedict last name. And, in what became a tradition with all her daughters, used her soon-to-be ex-husband's as a first name.

  Hence, the birth certificate read, Anderson Benedict. A fact few people remembered. So, how did Noah Brennan know? And why?

  "Andi!" Sandra shook her arm. "Wherever you went, time to come back to Earth."

  "I'm here." Andi used her frustration, her fit of temper at Noah, to focus her energy. "Are we ready to go?"

  "Just say the word."

  Shoulders back, Andi moved to the edge of the stage.

  "Showtime," she whispered.

  Taking the microphone, she stepped into the spotlight, into her future. And, never looked back.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ~~~~

  "PROMISING NEW TALENT," Andi growled under her breath as she read the headline.

  "Sounds good." Ellen Finch smiled as she set a bowl of fruit on the raised counter.

  "Fashion speak for rank beginner."

  "Bosh." Mrs. Finch wiped her hands on the ever-present towel tucked into the pocket of her apron. As cook and head housekeeper of the Benedict home—not to mention surrogate mother to Andi and her sisters—she took her responsibilities seriously. No one diminished her girls' accomplishments. Not even her girls.

  "You are talented. As for promise, from the moment you took your first breath, you had nothing but. Never seen a child with so much ambition. Determined to walk before you could crawl. And you haven't stopped moving forward since."