What a Woman Gets Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  What a Woman Wants

  “Fans of Fennell’s quirky style will enjoy the entertaining misadventures.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “The dialogue was fun and witty.”

  —Night Owl Reviews (Top Pick)

  “Fennell’s latest will have readers laughing as they turn the pages.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  PRAISE FOR JUDI FENNELL AND HER NOVELS

  “The opening . . . is one of the best hooks I’ve read. I don’t know who could set it down after the first few pages . . . An excellent choice.”

  —Joey W. Hill, national bestselling author

  “One of the most exciting and fun reads I have ever encountered.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Phenomenally written novel . . . One of the best stories I have read this year, and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves a happy ending!”

  —Sizzling Hot Books

  “Will keep the reader enraptured.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “I had a smile on my face and a sigh of contentment . . . Lighthearted but full of emotion. The story stirred in me feelings of falling in love all over again. It was just downright enjoyable to read!”

  —That’s What I’m Talking About

  “A light and breezy read for all . . . [Will] amuse the reader to the very last page. Well done, Judi Fennell!”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Rip-roaring fun from the very first page . . . This book is one for the keeper shelf.”

  —Kate Douglas, bestselling author

  “A tale that shimmers, shines, sparkles, and sizzles.”

  —Long and Short Reviews

  “Full of vivid imagination.”

  —Seriously Reviewed

  “Sizzling sexual tension, plenty of humor, and a soupçon of suspense.”

  —Booklist

  “Ms. Fennell has captured a new fan.”

  —Romancing the Book

  “Chock-full of surprises . . . with a beautiful twist of romance.”

  —Book Loons

  “[Fennell] is proving herself to be a solid storyteller.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Berkley Sensation titles by Judi Fennell

  WHAT A WOMAN WANTS

  WHAT A WOMAN NEEDS

  WHAT A WOMAN GETS

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  WHAT A WOMAN GETS

  A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Judi Fennell.

  Excerpt from What a Woman by Judi Fennell copyright © 2014 by Judi Fennell.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY SENSATION® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-62549-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / November 2014

  Cover art by Daniel O’Leary.

  Cover design by Judith Lagerman.

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

  Version_1

  This one is for my mom and dad.

  A parent’s love is a wonderful thing.

  Thank you for being here.

  Contents

  Praise for Judi Fennell

  Berkley Sensation titles by Judi Fennell

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Guys’ Night . . . Plus One

  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

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek at What a Woman

  Guys’ Night . . . Plus One

  Chapter One

  Guys’ Night . . . Plus One

  I believe, dear brothers, you all need to be fitted for Manley Maids uniforms.”

  Liam Manley bit his tongue at his sister Mac’s announcement as she laid her winning hand on the green felt poker table. She’d played him—him and his brothers, and she’d played them good.

  She’d played poker good. Who knew she even played poker?

  And that bet . . . Four weeks’ worth of free cleaning service for her company against their vacation homes and expensive sports cars. Why did Liam feel like a sucker?

  “I am not wearing an apron.” Bryan, the youngest Manley brother, sounded so offended it made Liam bite his tongue even harder—so he wouldn’t laugh at him. You might think Mac had asked him to wear . . . well . . . an apron.

  Sean, his middle brother and fellow loser, kept stacking the poker chips, avoiding Mac’s jack-high straight flush like the plague while keeping his mouth shut.

  Bryan’s mouth was hanging open. Any second their movie-star brother was going to start gaping like a fish. Where was a camera when he needed one? Bry would pay anything to keep that unflattering picture out of the press, and Liam could use a new hot tub for the house he was renovating—make that, had just finished renovating, which meant he had some time on his hands.

  No time like the present to get started paying off the ridiculous bet. “When do you want us to start, Mac?”

  “I have extra uniforms, so whenever you have the time.”

  Extra uniforms? Since when did she have extra anything when it came to the business?

  Something was going on.

  He never would have thought Mary-Alice Catherine would resort to dirty tricks to get her older brothers to do what she wanted. Hell, when they’d gone to live with Gra
n after their parents had been killed in a car accident, they’d practically tripped over each other to take care of their baby sister. Now he was going to be tripping over brooms and mops and vacuum cleaners. Ugh.

  “Hey, can I do my own house?” That was Bryan, working whatever angle he could to come out on top.

  “You’d put Monica out of a job to weasel out of the bet? Really?” It was Mac’s turn for mouth-gaping.

  “I’m not weaseling out of anything.” But Bry didn’t look happy. “You can count on me for Monday, too. I’ve got a month between projects and was looking for something to do anyhow.”

  Liam highly doubted Bryan’s choice would be to play maid, however. It wasn’t Liam’s, either. Still, he’d made the bet . . .

  And so had she.

  He finished off his beer then gathered the cards, dragging Mac’s winning hand across the felt last. Bryan’s gaze was on those cards the entire way. Sean kept his on the chips. They were probably the most anal-retentively stacked chips in the history of the game.

  “I didn’t know you had guys working for you, Mac.” Liam kept his voice even. Controlled. And if there was the slightest hint of something else in it, well, he’d be fine with Mac assuming it was anger at losing. But why would Mac (a) want to play poker so badly with them when she couldn’t afford the cash if she lost and (b) make that bet and win? Something was rotten in the state of Manley.

  “Wha . . . what?”

  Yeah, that startled look in her eyes confirmed exactly what he’d thought. There were no guys employed by Manley Maids, so those uniforms weren’t “extra.” She’d had them made in advance. For them.

  Mac had planned this. Her winning was no fluke. He’d call her on it if he had any proof other than his gut, but he didn’t. And God knew, he couldn’t always trust his gut. It’d let him down before.

  “Never mind.” He shuffled the offending cards in with the other forty-seven, then tapped the long edge of the deck on the table. “I’ll be there Monday.”

  And he’d use the mindless monotony of cleaning to come up with some way to pay his sister back.

  In spades.

  Chapter One

  IF there was one thing Cassidy Davenport hated, it was to be kept waiting. And if there was one thing her father did best, it was keep her waiting.

  “But, Deborah, I just spoke to him.” She had to go through her father’s executive secretary for every little scrap, but that’s the way Dad’s empire worked. No one got to him without going through Deborah. The woman seriously ought to demand the title of CEO because Cassidy doubted her father ever made a business decision he didn’t run through Deborah Capshaw first. She had been with him for nearly thirty years and kept the business running while Dad went running.

  Running around, that is.

  “I’m sorry, Cassidy, but he’s in a meeting he can’t be pulled out of. I’m sure you understand.”

  Oh, Cassidy understood all right. She wondered how old this one was. Probably blonde—most of her father’s “meetings” were—and probably had an impressive degree. That was the weird thing. Somehow Dad always managed to snag the Harvards and Yales of the world. You’d think those women would know better, but there was something about Mitchell Davenport that made women lose their minds.

  Cassidy was about to join their ranks.

  She ran a hand over her Maltese, Titania’s, soft fur. “All right, Deborah. I understand.” They both knew she didn’t understand. “Have him call me when he’s free.” And showered, she wanted to add, but Deborah didn’t deserve crass. Poor thing had to deal with it on a daily basis.

  Or hourly.

  Cassidy ended the call, then stroked her cheek over the little dog’s soft head. When was she going to accept the fact that her father only came through for her when it garnered him something? And the “meeting” in his office was garnering him a lot more than she ever would.

  Lunch and, more importantly, the conversation she wanted to have with him were now going to be curtailed time-wise.

  She set Titania down on the floor and picked her iPad off the glass table in front of the glass wall that looked out over the glass-like lake twelve stories below her condo, the riot of wildflowers reflecting off all surfaces.

  She’d love to spend the day painting, trying to capture this scene. The oils she’d bought yesterday would bring out just the right shimmer of the flowers’ reflection on the gray blue water. Her fingers itched to get to her brushes.

  Cassidy tapped the calendar app to make sure she had enough time today. There was nothing worse than getting all psyched up to lose herself in her art only to find out she had other commitments.

  Which she did. MANLEY MAIDS was written in for ten A.M.

  Ah, yes. Today was the day Sharon, her housekeeper, had been going to train the new girl the service was sending over, but Sharon had gone on maternity leave early over the weekend.

  Cassidy checked the time. Nine fifty-five.

  She tapped the calendar and set the iPad back on the table. Nothing like having to introduce someone to the Davenport world she inhabited. At first they were awestruck—Dad did like to do showy in grand style, with a side helping of decadent just to make himself look good, and he’d had the designer outdo herself with this place.

  It usually took less than a week for a newcomer to see beneath the veneer and start with the pitying looks—the ones she had to pretend she didn’t see because it made no sense for anyone to pity someone who lived a life as fabulous as hers.

  Wasn’t that what Dad always said?

  Actually, Cassidy didn’t know what Dad said anymore. If it weren’t for email, she’d rarely hear from him.

  Right at ten, the doorbell rang. Cassidy shooed Titania into her enclosure, brushed her chestnut waves over her shoulder, straightened the lapels on her beige silk blouse, then smoothed the braided belt at the waistline of her matching linen pants. She’d test the one-week theory with this one.

  She opened the door to the condo’s vestibule. It took the hunk in the Manley Maids uniform less than one second to start with the looks.

  Only his weren’t the pitying kind. They also weren’t leering, which was another reaction she’d come to expect.

  No, if she had to guess, she’d call his look angry.

  * * *

  CASSIDY Davenport stood before him in the flesh.

  Flesh-colored pants, flesh-colored top, and enough buttons unbuttoned to reveal a lot more flesh.

  Liam worked hard to keep from groaning. Mac had assured him she wouldn’t be here. Not on Mondays. Yet here she was.

  Cassidy Davenport. Pampered socialite whose daily clothing bill was probably more than a blue collar worker earned in a week—and he doubted she’d know a blue collar worker if he came up and bit off her ridiculously priced manicure. The woman was frivolous with a capital F.

  He was done with frivolous. Been there, done that, spent a fortune on designer clothes and rhinestone-studded T-shirts for his ex, Rachel, that had matched the diamond studs she’d insisted on having.

  The scene in Flannigan’s Pub came back in blinding clarity. Rachel giving a lap dance to that damn pretty boy frat guy with a tab longer than his dick, one hand down the back of his pants while she rubbed her chest all over the kid’s face.

  Liam had stood there in stupefied disbelief, watching her talented fingers—that he’d thought had been reserved for his pleasure alone—slip the wallet from the kid’s pocket and into her own, and no one at the table, least of all the kid, had been any wiser. A socialite-wannabe stealing money because he wouldn’t pander to her shoe-and-pocketbook habit.

  He’d backed out of the place, sick to his stomach over the loss of what he’d thought had been his future, questioning everything he’d thought he’d known, then he’d driven home in a fog, hurt and disillusionment overshadowing everything else.

  Eventually, anger had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of his love, so when she’d shown up later with that new Louis Vuitton bag she’d said
was a knock-off, he’d called her on it. On everything.

  Rachel hadn’t denied it. Hadn’t even tried to manipulate him with tears into taking her back—for once—when he’d demanded his key. He’d been almost as surprised at that as the bar scene. She’d merely shrugged, handed it over, thanked him for a good time, and sauntered down his front walk, shredding his heart beneath the damn Manolo What’s-their-names he’d bought her.

  No, women like Rachel—and Cassidy Davenport—women who lived off the hard work of the men in their lives . . . he was done with them. He’d been played once, but luckily, not to the point of no return. He’d learned his lesson: stay away from the high-maintenance types who only had looks to commend them.

  He was really going to have to work for this job. And not to keep it.

  “You’re the maid?”

  Liam winced. Surely there had to be a better term, but domestic goddess didn’t exactly fit, while housekeeper brought up an image of the Brady Bunch.

  He gripped the vacuum cleaner and straightened his shoulders. His pecs flexed—purely involuntarily of course. “Um, yeah. I am.”

  He didn’t have to be a college graduate—though he was—to read what she was thinking when her gaze ran over him from head to toe. Mac didn’t run that kind of a business.

  “They didn’t tell me they were sending a guy.”

  “Is that a problem?” God, let her say “yes” so he could get the hell out of here, because he felt a sudden need to clean something—himself. Women like her got under his skin and not in a good way.

  They used to, but what was the saying about repeating history’s mistakes? Liam had zero intention of doing that.

  “Well, no. I guess it’s not a problem.” She tapped one of those ridiculously priced nails on her surprisingly non-collagen-enhanced lips. “Won’t you come in?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.” Mac would kill him if he said no. This had been his baby sister’s first account. That’s why she’d selected it for him, she’d said; she knew he wouldn’t lose it for her.

  So he sucked up his innate prejudice against the Cassidys and Rachels of the world, and took the step up into the foyer beside her.