Promise Not To Fall Read online

  Table of Contents

  Promise Not To Fall

  Copyrights

  Contact Information

  Other Books by Shey Stahl:

  Dedication

  Quote

  1 – Black Magic

  2 – Bye Bye Blues

  3 – Liquid Blue and Gold

  4 – Pumpkin Paradise

  5 – Texas Blitz

  6 - Raspberries and Rye

  7 – Hibiscus Sparkler

  8 - Coconut Cloud Martini

  9 – Spring Fling

  10 – Blood Orange Margarita

  11 – Welcome Back Cooler

  12 – Be My Clementine

  13 – Tequila Sunrise

  14 – Sunburn

  15 – South Shore Sipper

  16 – Bronx Bomber

  17 – Calypso Sun

  18 – A One, Two Punch

  19 – Crazy Cuban

  20 – Crush and Blush

  21 – Seeing Red

  22 – Kentucky Mai Tai

  23 – Port of Call

  24 – Rum Runner

  25 – Mojito

  26 – Goombay Smash

  27 – Sour in the Rough

  Sneak peek at Untamed

  1 – Down the well (Maesyn)

  2 – Draw (Grayer)

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A version of this book was originally published as Come Sundown by Chelsea Landon, a book written under a pen name Shey Stahl used in 2014. The title, events, story line, scenes, and character names have been altered to combine the author’s work and copyrighted by Shey Stahl.

  Copyright © 2018 by Shey Stahl

  Promise Not To Fall

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of Shey Stahl.

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

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, sponsors, drinks and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Copy Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Image: Bigstock Images

  Cover Designer: Perfect Pear Creations, Sommer Stein

  Formatting and Graphics by A Designs

  Plagiarism checks carried out by Hot Tree Editing using Grammarly, Plagiarisma, and by Shey Stahl using Plag Scan.

  www.facebook.com/SheyStahlAuthor

  [email protected]

  www.sheystahl.com

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  Happy Hour

  Black Flag

  Trading Paint

  The Champion

  The Legend

  Hot Laps

  The Rookie

  Fast Time

  Open Wheel

  Pace Laps

  Dirt Driven (TBA)

  Behind the Wheel (TBA)

  The Trainer

  The Fighter

  Waiting for You

  Everything Changes

  All I Have Left

  Awakened

  Everlasting Light

  Bad Blood

  Heavy Soul

  Bad Husband

  Burn

  Shade

  Love Complicated

  How to Deal

  Tiller

  Untamed

  Promise Not To Fall

  Delayed Penalty

  Delayed Offsides

  Unsteady

  Unbearable

  Unbound

  Fill a rock glass with ice

  1 part Absolut vodka

  1 part Kahlua

  1 splash of lemon juice

  Add ingredients to glass, garnish with lemon wedge.

  My life sucks.

  I’m not even putting it lightly. It fucking sucks big, hairy balls. Think Andre the Giant style.

  I’ve come to the conclusion that some people have perfect lives. They’re lucky, and it seems, at least in my eyes, that everything goes their way. Rylee Madison is one of them. Even her name is perfect. And if you saw her beauty in person, inside—you can totally cut right down the middle of her perfect-ass body and out would come flowers—and on the outside.

  By the way, I’m not Rylee. One would be so lucky as to be the princess. I know, I’m so bitter. But I’d like to think I have reason to be.

  I will say there are certain things in my life that go my way, but lucky? Nah. I won’t go that far. In fact, if you know me at all—and the mess my life is currently in—it would definitely confirm that I do not, under any circumstances, have a perfect life. I’m not one to dwell on useless information, nor will I give more detail than is needed, but there will be some information I need to hand out ahead of time.

  Here, for your judging pleasure, is the short version of my life: Born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona. Full name is Kendall Marie Landon. I’m twenty-seven, only child, parents are divorced, haven’t seen my dad since I was ten, probably never will, and I love my job. Hate my life at times, but I love my fucking job because I’m in control of my career. I get shit done. Nobody messes with me, and I’m always on top of my game. You need reservations at the hottest club in town? I’m your girl. You want a flight to Bali tomorrow morning in the penthouse suite? Bitch, please, I got you.

  Now is about the time when I should say that technically speaking, I lost my job too. How’s that for being on top of my game. My ex-boyfriend, and client, well, that motherfucker is to blame for this not-so-perfect life I now find myself in the middle of.

  Take a listen to the argument we had five weeks ago. Also, while we’re on the subject, the reason why my life sucks.

  “You’re controlling, dictating, callous, and have expectations no man could ever meet,” he said to me, like I should know what he was talking about.

  I found his statement ridiculous. Absurd. And totally, unfortunately… fucking accurate.

  But I wouldn’t be me if I let a man think he was a step ahead, would I?

  The correct answer there would be no. I couldn’t. I’m pretty sure I’m actually incapable of it.

  So I said to him, very sternly I might add, “Well, you’re indecisive, fickle, can’t decide on shit, a douchebag, and lousy in bed.” I think I even had one hand on my hip and the other one pointed in his face. That would show him for breaking up with me, and firing me, right?

  Wrong.

  Justin smirked, as most athletes do, playing me like he did the game. “Says the girl who scheduled where and when we would have sex.”

  Well, there’s that, huh?

  Stop listening to the conversation now.

  But now that you’ve heard that, I can bring you up to speed with where I am at and how I got invited to the Bahamas with Rylee—that girl with the perfect life and who actually happens to be my best friend—and her boyfriend Wesley.

  After Justin and I broke up, he moved his shit out of my apartment and told me I was fired. I was his personal assistant.

  I thought I was a strong, independent woman with my head on straight, but after that breakup, I lost my shit. Not only did I have an emotional breakdown, I went into fu
ll-blown depression. I don’t mean slightly depressed and indulging in ice cream and sappy movies. I mean the type of depression where you just sit and cry, barely moving, barely breathing.

  This went on for five goddamn weeks. Rylee—concerned for my sanity I think—invited me on vacation to the Bahamas. I think it’s some sort of pity-party, “rescue her before she does something stupid” plan, but regardless, I was invited to paradise. Wesley’s brother was originally going with them, but bailed, and that left them with an extra ticket. I can’t figure out why they had three tickets, or why they’d take his brother, but whatever. I’m not going to dwell on the details. Nor do I really care.

  Who wouldn’t take a vacation to the Bahamas? Exactly. No one. You’d be crazy to pass up an experience like that, and I’m not crazy. As Justin would say, I’m controlling, dictating, and what was the other one? Right. Callous. Crazy was never mentioned.

  When I agreed to this trip, Rylee informed me they were celebrating something special. Very special.

  She’s engaged. Again, why invite his brother on the trip? Am I missing something? Are they swingers? Or what would it be called if she’s engaged to both brothers? Incest? No, that can’t be right. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Focus on the issue at hand. Me.

  Just a few weeks after my boyfriend dumps me, my best friend gets engaged. Lucky me. Or just another example of why my love life sucks hairy balls.

  “I’m so happy for you,” I lie, trying to smile. I do a pretty good job, if you ask me, because she honestly thinks I’m happy for her. A small portion of me is. The other portion, the much larger part, wants to stab her eyes out and then drown myself in Red Robin’s Mountain High Mudd Pie and a bottle of vodka. I may have done it a time or two in the last five weeks, and there’s no shame in it. None at all.

  “Really?” Rylee beams at me, her diamond ring blinding me. “You’re excited?” She breaths out a rushed sigh of relief, like she’d been holding her breath this entire time. “I was so worried you’d be mad because your life kinda sucks at the moment.”

  How goddamn nice of her to point that out to me. It takes a lot of self-control not to punch her. I smile, condescendingly. “No.” I roll my eyes, throwing back the last of my beer. “I hate you. Don’t talk to me about your perfect life.”

  “Can’t you just be happy?” Rylee sticks her bottom lip out. “I know Justin is an asshole and broke up with you on Valentine’s Day, but it’s been a month, Kendall. It’s time to move on and have some fun, damn it.”

  Oh, um, did I forget to mention the day he broke up with me was Valentine’s Day?

  It was by design. I don’t want the memory of that awful day. I will never celebrate that useless holiday ever again.

  Naturally, as any scorned woman would do, I want to blame Justin for our fallout. Screw that stupid jerk. But… if we’re being honest here, I understand I played a big role in that foul ball.

  For so long I didn’t have much of anything in life. But then I was good at my job. I was respected and sought out in the business. It worked well for me with Justin because he had a busy life too. For months at a time, he was on the road and I was either with him or traveling myself.

  When we were apart, I never asked questions about what he did on the road. And then one day, Valentine’s Day, he said it wasn’t working.

  Now back to the present moment. Rylee’s calling me out on my shit.

  In an exaggerated motion, I slam the beer bottle back down. “Thanks for the reminder,” I growl and grab my purse from the table, jetting for the door.

  Wesley, Rylee’s fiancé, rolls his eyes as we walk out of the bar and down the street to our apartment complex. Wesley’s never liked me that I know of. At least the feeling’s mutual.

  Wesley Stevenson is your average frat boy, and Rylee is too good for him. If you’re a car fan… she’s like a Lamborghini and he’s maybe a Lexus. That’s putting it nicely. He’d still hold up in the class department, but not comparable when it comes to speed and sleekness. I don’t even know why I’m using that as a metaphor though. I know nothing about cars.

  Regardless, Rylee met him their freshman year of college at Arizona State, and they’ve been together ever since. Part of me thought it wouldn’t last, but yet here she is, showing me a two-carat diamond ring. I still don’t think it will last. There is too much about him that doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe it’s that I’m used to guys like him. Pretty, but petty. And he has a password protection on his cell phone. Red flags, honey. Red. Fucking. Flags.

  I never say anything to Rylee, other than my comment earlier, because she’s always been the little sister I never had. Her happiness means everything to me. Even though I give her shit all the time.

  Like now. When her ring is in my face.

  “We’ll pick you up in the morning on the way to the airport,” Wesley says, looking to me for confirmation. He knows I don’t like to be told anything. I prefer to be asked.

  “What time?” I ask, making sure to set the alarm on my phone as we walk. Our apartments are two blocks down the road. Phoenix is good for that. Restaurants and entertainment always within blocks of your place. And strip clubs. Oh, and taco trucks. Never a shortage there. But I’m always down for a good taco.

  Rylee shivered, curling into her fiancé. Wesley lets go of Rylee’s hand and wraps his arm around her narrow shoulders. While the spring in Phoenix is beautiful, the nights get a little chilly from time to time.

  “Our flight leaves at 9:00 a.m.,” Wesley tells me, rubbing Rylee’s arms as she fights to keep warm in her navy sundress. Rylee has a gently overwhelming beauty about her. Starry eyes and olive skin. I only wish I had her tiny body.

  Instead, I’m pear shaped and my ass looks like it might swallow my thighs if I let it get out of hand. Probably should lay off the Mudd pie.

  We stop outside my apartment. Wesley continues walking without saying goodbye. My feelings are not hurt by the dismissal.

  Rylee stands there with me, smiling, barely able to control her excitement, eyes on her ring. “Can you believe this?”

  “No.” I’ll admit, my mind is elsewhere, like on my own problems.

  Rylee is the kind of girl who sees life as utter happiness. All of it. She finds the good in everything. She also talks constantly and has no secrets. Even the doorman at our apartments knows everything about her sparkly life.

  “Say you’ll be in my wedding?”

  I look at her like she’s lost her mind. “Well, I didn’t think I had a choice.” She grins, but I hold up my hand as if to stop her thoughts. If you let her, Rylee tries to play matchmaker. “But don’t go setting me up with one of his loser frat-boy friends.”

  “I wouldn’t dare. I remember the last time I set you up on a date.” Her eyes widen as she speaks. “You ended up in jail.”

  I stare down at my feet. “That was a misunderstanding,” I mumble.

  Rylee sighs, giving me that little grin she is so good at, the one that scrunches up her nose and makes her look like she’s four again and telling off her older brother for setting fire to her Barbies. True story. “Uh-huh.”

  I give her my own sigh and look at my phone, noticing it’s nearing ten. “I have to go. I need to go pack.”

  2.25 oz. Van Gogh Acai-Blueberry Vodka

  1.75 oz. Lemonade

  5 mint leaves

  Muddle mint with .75 oz. lemonade in a mixing glass

  Add remaining ingredients and ice

  Shake well until chilled with a Boston shaker

  Strain into glass

  I’m panicky, trying to figure out if I can pack in that amount of time. I always need a lot of time for checklists.

  Yeah, I’m that person.

  I’m also the person who needs to be prepared, and a spontaneous trip isn’t something I enjoy. I need weeks to organize my schedule. Although, now that Justin isn’t a client of mine, I suddenly have more free time.

  I also know, when I get back to town, I’ll need to take on another cli
ent, but it’s kind of nice just having Revel to deal with. When I said I didn’t have a job, I wasn’t lying. Revel is not so much of a job. I’m more or less a babysitter for him. He has three other assistants.

  After calling Laci—and making sure she can handle him—I send an e-mail to Revel and his three other assistants, letting them know I’ll be out of town for two weeks and that if he needs anything, he can call Laci. Laci is my mentor. When I started out in the world of being a personal assistant, I met Laci in college. She was a senior when I was a freshman at Arizona State, and she taught me everything I needed to know about the business, even hooked me up with a few clients. Revel Slade being one of them, a drummer for a rock n’ roll band based out of Phoenix—aka, needy man-whore.

  I won’t lie here. When I first started out being a PA, I had no idea I was basically taking care of celebrities and musicians. Everything from paying their bills to driving their car while they sat in the back seat, and even doing their laundry. And in Revel’s case, buying industrial-sized boxes of condoms. I shop for them, lie to wives and girlfriends, and never asked questions. I’m trusted with confidential information, their credit cards, and secrets—including their infidelity.

  I knew Justin was the same, they all are, but I ignored it. That’s why it’s such a mystery as to why he broke up with me. You would think because of how much I was willing to ignore that he would look past me being controlling. I mean, c’mon, I’m a pretty fucking great girlfriend if you ask me.

  It wasn’t an easy task for someone like me to ignore things like that either. Given I had access to Justin’s bank accounts, I would look over credit card statements and spot charges from flower shops, knowing I wasn’t on the receiving end.

  That hurt.

  But it’s a job, and with my personality, it’s an easy job because I’m so detail-oriented.

  As I’m packing, I find a box of DVDs Justin buried deep in my closet.