Wishing For You (Never Too Late Book 2) Read online

  Wishing For You

  Never Too Late Series - Book Two

  By Mayra Statham

  Copyright © 2016 by Mayra Statham

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Synopsis

  Bohemian artist, Shelly Santiago, has had a fulfilling career, amazing friends, and a great family. There's only been one thing missing from her life: someone to share it with. At fifty-six, she thinks her time has come and gone for finding love.

  Straight-laced gallery owner, Grant Alexander, knows that even with the tragedy of losing his wife ten years ago, he’s been blessed with a great life and career. The only thing that’s been bothering him is the promise he made to his late wife before she passed.

  Side by side, Shelly and Grant have worked together for years. They are never more than friends, and sometimes not even that. Being complete opposites, what happens when they start to clue into the building attraction they feel for one another? Will they jump into the possibilities of more, or will they keep one hand up and their own hearts guarded? Will Grant be able to keep his promise to his late wife? Will Shelly get what she’s always wished for?

  Wishing For You will take you on moonlit walks on the beach to remind you that it is never too late for love!

  Acknowledgments

  To my number one fan and hubby: I love you, Honey! Thank you for always having my back.

  To my kids: Never give up on your dreams, even when they change. Chase and conquer.

  Doreen: Thank you for your friendship, support, and for naming Grant! Hope you love him as much as I do.

  My Beta Readers: Thank you so much for your input and helping Grant and Shelly’s story shine.

  My amazing author friends: You know who you are. I don’t know what I would do without you.

  Julia Goda and CP Smith: I love ya, guys! #teamcoffeeandwriting

  My Street Team: You guys rock! Thank you so much for your endless support and the way you share my books!

  To you, the reader: Thank you for taking a chance. I hope you enjoy these characters, and when you finish reading, if possible, please leave a review. Happy Reading.

  Dedication

  Relationships are hard. You're lucky if you find someone.

  -Diane Keaton

  Table of Contents:

  SYNOPSIS

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  DEDICATION

  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

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  Ten years ago

  Shelly Santiago

  She stood behind the chairs most of the family members sat in, her best friend Jess at her right. The sun shone brightly overhead as the preacher spoke. She looked ahead, her eyes on her boss, gallery owner, Grant Alexander. He might have been her boss, but he’d also become a friend throughout the years, and her chest ached looking at him. His grief was so raw and clear she could feel it, his pain so strong it radiated within her like angry waves crashing against a cliff.

  She'd known him and his wife, Olivia, for fifteen years. Grant had been the first gallery owner to give her a shot at displaying her art fresh out of school and completely wet behind the ears. She’d been blessed with him.

  Others would have taken advantage of her and her naïveté.

  He hadn’t.

  He'd believed in her, when so many others had shut the door in her face.

  Through the years, with his help and encouragement, her art became highly sought after, and because of his belief in her, her art was now exclusively sold at Alexander Galleries throughout the States and in Europe; and sold for a ridiculous amount.

  They were friends.

  Olivia had served as a buffer between them at the start of her career. Grant had always been stuffy and rigid, whereas Shelly had been what he always referred to as too lax and undisciplined. With time, the three of them became close, Olivia becoming one of her closest girlfriends. They often met up with Shelly’s lifelong friend and sister of the heart, Jess, for drinks or dinner, or the occasional pedicure-spa session. Shelly felt that time flew with the blink of an eye, their friendship only strengthening as the years passed on.

  That was until last year, when everything changed.

  Olivia had gotten sick.

  With every turn, hope seemed to fade as her health started to deteriorate. Helplessly, she watched her once bright and bubbly friend become a shell of who she had once been. As Olivia worsened, she watched her stubborn and rigid boss become colder and even more distant. Being who she was, Shelly wouldn’t let that happen. She’d purposely butted heads with him, pushed him, and did everything she could to get a rise out of him at every turn and usually for no reason at all.

  Anything she could think of, so that he could remember he was still alive. Olivia had surprisingly encouraged Shelly to do that.

  She felt sweat at the back of her neck. She looked up and saw a cloudless sky above worthy of a painting, worthy of a final send-off for Olivia. Olivia had lived for days like this. How many times had she sat with her, as Olivia gardened on days just like this one?

  She hadn't realized that her eyes had been trained on the back of his dark, if slightly peppered hair, until he turned, their eyes meeting for the first time since the afternoon at the hospital when Olivia's soul had left her body. His dark blue eyes were filled with so much pain and loss, she fought from flinching.

  Her hands itched to sketch that pain. To immortalize it. Because as morbid as it might be, it was life. It made you feel something. He was hurting and Shelly knew it. Even with that knowledge, she envied Grant.

  At forty-six, she'd never felt love. Not once. Not head over heels, I-want-to-wake-up-and-fall-asleep-next-to-you-every-day-for-forever kind of love.

  Sure, she loved her family and her friends. But she had never experienced any more than that.

  She couldn’t complain though. She had a successful career. One in an industry that chewed and spit out hundreds by the day. She made an extremely healthy living selling her art and had awards and accolades many only dreamed of.

  Yet the girl that lived within her, who had always wished for something more, hurt for never having let herself fall in love. Her parents had been happy till the day they died. Deliriously and hopelessly in love, and she'd wanted that for herself. She hadn’t wanted to settle.

  She'd once wished, and hoped, and dreamed of nothing but white picket fences and crayon-filled doodles on living room walls. A dream she'd given up on a long time ago. Love just wasn’t for everyone. She had a good life, she thought with a slight shake of her head, trying to
snap herself out of the dead-end pettiness her thoughts had drifted towards.

  She noticed he was still looking at her and nodded at him, giving Grant a smile, one she knew wasn't genuine and was slightly sad. But she knew it was okay because he did the same.

  What was it Tennyson said? 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?'

  She watched as Grant turned to a man who had come over to him to give his condolences. The pain of his loss was evident, but she was pretty sure they could argue both sides of that particular coin for hours and never agree.

  Not that she would ever admit to never having been in love. How embarrassing would that be? Not even Jess, who she'd known since childhood, knew that; and if it were up to her, no one would ever know about the true loneliness that lived within her.

  Chapter Two

  Five Years Ago

  Grant Alexander

  With a glass of expensive chilled champagne in her hand, Shelly stood off to the side of his gallery in a red dress that did her more than justice. From where he stood, being the kind of man he was, he could appreciate her beauty.

  Curves in the right places, more than a handful rack that with age had not lost its perkiness, and if it had, he couldn't be the wiser. Her lips tightened in a thin line as the glass moved away from her mouth and the man next to her spoke to her.

  Grant could tell from where he stood that she was uncomfortable. The way she stood and held herself tonight had caught his attention from the moment she had arrived. After at least three openings a year for twenty years, he would have thought her nerves would have become obsolete to something like this. Why she would be nervous after so many openings was beyond him. But then again, he was a man. Men could never ever understand women.

  His eyes moved away from the sight of her and to the abstract painting that had called his eye from the moment he'd laid eyes on it. Something about this collection was different. She was saying something with her paintings, almost screaming it; he just couldn't put his finger on what that was.

  He'd been in Paris for the last month, only returning a couple of days ago. With the opening in the midst, his days had been busy and he hadn't had the chance to ask her about them like he usually did.

  Shelly was a multi-faceted artist. Always had been, but more so recently. Her new abstract collection spoke to him in a way that he felt it in his gut. The one that had caught his eye literally made his chest ache. It made him feel things he tried not to feel in fear of drowning in them.

  Her new pieces were in a whole new category, and that was saying something since her work was always amazing. In all these years, she'd never lost her edge. She'd never hit a low. Each new piece, even if different, was better than the last.

  Something about this collection made him think. So much, he was tempted to purchase one. Not that a piece like this would suit the new beach house he'd just purchased, nor would it suit his style. He wanted it, because it made him almost wonder what it was she was trying to share with the world. The piece set a loneliness in his soul he couldn't seem to shake off. Was she lonely? Was that what she was trying to say with it?

  He turned again to glance at her, and she captivated him. Her serious expression melted away, and he took in the smile that fell over her face. She was laughing with a tall, seemingly handsome actor, who had been in Hollywood’s spotlight for a long time. And if the tabloids were right, he was newly single. Grant recognized him, had spoken to him at some event for Darfur. The man was older, around Shelly’s age, and had been sniffing around her for a while. But to be honest, Grant didn't think she even realized it. If she did, she certainly wasn't interested.

  Bridgette, or was her name Britney, came up to him, snapping his attention away from Shelly and the playboy actor. Licking her glossy lips, she looked at him with her green eyes like he was prey, and just like that, his dick came to life because he was a man. He was in his fifties, but that didn't mean he was dead. The first two years after his wife passed had been tough; hell, it still was hard waking up in bed alone without her next to him. There wasn't a day that passed by that he didn't miss Olivia. But life had to keep going, and he’d promised Olivia on her deathbed that he'd try to find a connection with someone.

  Though if he were honest, he hadn't really been trying.

  No. All he had been doing was getting laid by young, beautiful women, who were more than willing to share a meal and a roll in the hay. He never led them on; they all knew he didn't have it in him to try for more.

  Brianna! That was her name! Brianna whispered into his ear, her melodic voice smooth as silk, and he forced out a smile. Her perfume was too heavy and was giving him a headache. Maybe it was that or the jet lag that was just now catching up to him, but as she spoke, he looked at Shell's grey-blue mess of a painting and still couldn't shake off the feelings it evoked. Giving Brianna his signature playboy smile as one of the society pages and tabloids had called it, he excused himself to speak to his assistant.

  The painting might not fit in his new beach house, coincidentally one that was right next door to Shelly’s home, but maybe like its creator, it fit with him. Because if anything, Shelly was his rock. Their work relationship had been rocky at the beginning. They were both stubborn in their own ways. He was preppy to her bohemian, oil to water. Yet with time, they worked.

  He was a pain in her ass and drove her crazy, but they were friends. Best of friends, and being that, he needed to own that painting, because it was definitely a piece of herself she’d divulged to the world. A piece he wasn’t sure she should have given out. Call him selfish or crazy, but he was going to have it.

  He’d hang it in his bedroom. No one would ever know he owned it. He never brought women back to his home. He either went home with them or took them to hotels. Thinking about the painting he was going to pay way too much for, he thought about where he’d hang it. He’d read once somewhere that a blue room helped you relax; add in the grey, it could work.

  He could learn to relax.

  Chapter Three

  One Year Ago

  Grant

  “Yeah, sorry Christy, I can’t make dinner…. No, no… I just… Look, I need to be honest, I just don’t think dinner will work out…Thank you for understanding.” He hung up the phone and stared at it.

  Sitting in his office at the Los Angeles Gallery, he wasn’t sure why he’d just canceled spending some time with an up and coming actress that had been all over him like a rash at a charity event last week, but he had. Liar, a voice whispered in his mind that sounded way too much like his late wife’s. You know exactly why. He could hear the smile in her voice and ground his teeth.

  He hated when that happened.

  Her voice haunted him and had been doing so more lately. And like when she’d been alive, she was right. As if her ears must have rung, his reason in question stood at his office doorway, and he couldn’t stop from clenching his jaw.

  Wearing a tight black tank top that showed the beautiful curves of her breasts with a hint of cleavage, her signature thread-thin gold necklaces that fell low, each with a different charm at the end, she had to be wearing about ten chains. What would have looked ridiculous on anyone else looked perfect on her. With the necklaces and black top, she wore a pair of very worn-out and slightly distressed jeans that did amazing things to her legs.

  She wasn’t particularly tall; if anything, he would have called her short at around five three, but even at her height, she didn’t pair her outfit with heels or wedges to give her a boost. No. She wore it with flips flops and bright orange, perfectly polished toes.

  “Hey!” Her face was bright and slightly mischievous, a look he had become more than familiar with through the years; one that did not bring him warm fuzzies.

  “Hello,” he told her, entranced not for the first time with the way her caramel eyes seemed to sparkle, and his body warmed up.

  “You busy?”

  “Why?” he cautiously asked, and she grinned at him, making him f
eel something tug in his chest.

  “Want to have dinner, neighbor?” she asked.

  “You just want me to cook for you,” he told her, and she smiled, which made him feel that damn tug again.

  “It’s not my fault your food tastes better than mine.”

  “Cardboard tastes better than your food,” he retorted, and she laughed. The sound filled his office as he sat back and watched her. The way she’d been lately had somehow mesmerized him. Or maybe she’d always been that way and somehow it was like a veil had been lifted and he was seeing her under a new light? Her pretty lips pouted and her eyes went puppy-dog sad.

  “Please… feed me… I’m a starving artist.”

  “Hardly.” He scoffed. She winked at him, making him swallowed hard, feeling that damn tug again. If he had that feeling at any time other than when she was around him, he would have gone to see a cardiologist.

  “I’ll bring two bottles of your favorite red wine.” That alone tempted him to cook her a four-course meal. Shelly might not have the ability to boil water, but she had impeccable taste in wine. “Or I could take you to dinner, my treat?”

  “Shell, I adore you, but I’ve known you too long to play games. What’s up?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” She squinted as she came over and sat her cute ass on his desk.

  “You’re nice, Shell, but you guard your wine like a queen has her jewels watched over… What do you want?” he asked, trying to sound unamused, which was difficult because she captivated him.

  She pressed her lips together, and he wondered how he had never noticed her mouth. It was perfect. Pink and full. Perfect bow at the top. She hardly ever wore anything on them, not even gloss. Right now, they had a slight sheen to them, and he wondered if she was wearing Chap Stick. Then he wondered if her lips tasted like cherry or mint. Mentally frowning at himself, he scowled, and she grinned bigger. Shit. She always did that. Especially when she was up to something.