Practice Makes Perfect

By Margaret Antone

Sharon Newberry, a free-spirited antiques store owner and self-help guru, needs money to save her business. Blake Renton, a high-tech entrepreneur who seems like he belongs in the golf, yachts and polo set, needs help in the dating department. He's tired of the women who appear to be after him primarily for status and position, yet that's the only type of women he meets in his social circle.

Blake proposes hiring Sharon as a practice girlfriend to expand his social horizons and help him meet a different type of woman. Sharon doesn't find Blake's proposal particularly flattering—he's essentially asking her to a human lab rat, after all—but accepts out of financial desperation. Sometimes, however, a practice match makes the perfect match...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Antone
• Release date: Jul 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983758808

Margaret Antone

Margaret Antone is the pen name of a California author and avid reader who grew up thinking everyone made up stories to put themselves to sleep at night. And didn't everyone hear dialogue between characters in their heads? Eventually disabused of that notion, she decided to start writing the snippets down. The snippets became stories and the stories turned books for others to enjoy. Although her educational path and professional career took her into science and technology fields, she has continued to work on fiction in her “spare” time. A member of the RWA and SCBWI author organizations, Margaret makes her home in the bay area with her family. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at: [e-mail]

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Practice Makes Perfect

By Margaret Antone

Copyright 2011 De Vries Creative LLC

Cover copyright 2011 by De Vries Creative LLC

License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Practice Makes Perfect is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For my guys, who have always encouraged me.

You’re the best!

Table of 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

Copyright

About the Author

Chapter 1

…Tenant has 120 days to remove structure from lessor’s land or to vacate premises for subsequent destruction…

What? No. No way! It can’t be. It’s not possible. Sharon Newberry said in a voice rising in panic as she stared at the offensive notice. The sinking feeling in her gut traveled up to constrict her chest and exit through trembling fingers.

Cynthia? She yelled at her business partner, raising her voice to make it carry over the loft to the barn floor below. Slamming her palm against the right corner of the stubborn desk drawer, she managed to haul it open. A mess of papers tumbled onto the rough plank flooring.

Darn it… Cynthia! The yell grew more urgent as she crouched on the floor, riffling through the papers. Please, please be wrong.

I’m coming! Geez, your pants on fire or what? Cynthia’s stout figure huffed up the stairs, her voice trailing off when she caught a glimpse of Sharon’s white face.

Without a word, Sharon handed Cynthia the notice and the stack of legal papers, sinking back into the tired recliner she used as an office chair. She stared vacantly at the ceiling.

Cynthia read the legalese, flipping pages faster and faster. I’m confused, I thought you had a long-term lease?

Sharon nodded. Good old Fred said it was just typical boilerplate, that I could read it later.

Cynthia looked up in surprise. You used Freddie Pendergast as your real estate agent on this deal? What were you thinking? The guy’s a major slimeball!

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose. You weren’t around to advise me then, remember? How was I supposed to know? Besides, he came highly recommended.

By whom, his mother? Cynthia leaned against the desk. So Freddie conveniently forgot to mention the lease could be broken if the land were sold?

Never got around to reading that, Sharon nodded as she waved at the legal papers. But apparently one Midas Properties, Limited, whomever they are, owns the land now and can give me the boot.

Wonder what they’re going to build here? Cynthia mused.

Whatever it is, my 100-year-old barn doesn’t fit into the picture. Sharon said, sighing. Why now, Cyn, why now?

She straightened and looked over the desk. Her ledger printouts remained in their scattered positions from last night’s accounting binge with Cynthia.

Twelve hours ago, things looked so promising. A decent profit, a viable business, just maybe one more month and we’d be there.

I suppose we could find another location, Cynthia said without much enthusiasm as she looked down at the crowded sales floor below.

Antique tables, beds, desks, chairs, armoires and other furniture occupied every square inch of available space. From the open doors of several armoires spilled antique linens and period clothing. Bric-a-brac and curio items covered most table surfaces as well as several barn-length shelves. Even the rafters had been put to use. Anything that could be hung eventually found a home there. Three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves housed self-help books. These items were for loan, not sale. Often customers would add to the collection. Mixed in with the books were incense burners, wind chimes, portable water fountains, paintings, and mirrors.

Oh and you and me and the midnight elves are somehow going to move all this stuff? Sharon said, her voice rising almost to a hysterical pitch. Get real!

She joined Cynthia at the loft railing to glance out over the sales floor. The eclectic, overflowing barn represented her life savings and more hours of hard work than she cared to count. All of this had been at great expense to her personal life too. She glanced back at the printouts.

No.

She wouldn’t let anyone take her business away, not without a fight. A fight required a lawyer though, and money she didn’t have. She dropped back into the chair.

When the phone suddenly sounded, it took more than a few rings before she could bring herself to pick up the receiver.

Grandma’s Antiques, may I help you? Sharon tried to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice, but failed. It sounded reedy and weak, even to her.

Is this Grandma? A rich baritone timbre resonated over the line.

Yes. Sharon didn’t bother to go through her usual cheery explanation of how she’d taken over someone else’s business.

Well Grandma. I have a little problem and my assistant tells me you should be able to help. He paused, continuing only when Sharon didn’t respond. I broke an antique teapot this weekend at a…uh…friend’s house. I need a replacement, fast. Would you be willing to work on retainer?

I don’t work on retainer usually, Sir, I—

But I could make it worth your while, this is important.

Sharon sat up straight. He sounded anxious. Maybe his problem could help solve hers.

What kind of a teapot?

I’m calling you because I haven’t the foggiest idea.

You saved the pieces, I hope?

All twenty-six. The man sighed.

I don’t work cheaply.

Doesn’t matter, I just need another teapot.

Sharon paused, wanting to give him the impression she was thinking about it.

Please, please say you’ll help me.

Desperate described the man better.

I’ll tell you what, Sir. If you tell me where we can meet, I’ll at least take a look at it, or them, the pieces that is. Until I see what it was, I don’t know if I can help you.

As Sharon jotted down directions to his office, a sense of hope came over her. If she could close this deal, charging him an outrageous fee, of course, she’d be able to retain that lawyer. She hung up the phone and began to whistle.

***

Why did the powers above have to pick today of all days to decide she hadn’t handled her fair share of life’s doo-doo lately? Like she needed this extra aggravation, Sharon Newberry thought, as she tried to decipher her own chicken-scratched directions. Her life was already in the toilet.

Her appointment, with Blake Renton, at RentBro, Inc., was ten minutes from now. And she had at least that many minutes of traffic between her and RentBro’s headquarters.

If she was lucky. Given today’s dose of doo-doo, that didn’t seem likely.

She banged her head in frustration against the steering wheel when she hit yet another red light. Which only succeeded in setting off her truck’s horn. And earned her a flip of the bird from the driver in front.

She sighed, wiped the slight bead of sweat from her brow, and glared at the car’s air conditioner. The fact that it was broken, along with so much of the rest of her life, and would require money to fix was the only reason she was even on this errand. Well, that and Gram’s voice in her head telling her to always honor her commitments.

When she finally reached RentBro’s headquarters, she was three minutes late. Surely that was within the reasonable window, she figured as she hurried up the steps. Maybe the guy would still be in a meeting or something. When the receptionist directed her down the hall to an office and warned her she might have to wait, Sharon breathed a sigh of relief.

While she waited in one of the elegant, Queen Anne chairs gracing the lobby area of Blake Renton’s impressive office suite, Sharon took in her surroundings with avid interest. Upon first glance, the rosewood furniture that gleamed in front of dark green, silk-covered walls appeared to be an incredibly expensive collection of antiques. Only because of her well-trained eye could Sharon pick out the few true antiques interspersed with good reproductions and standard office furniture. Yes, it seemed as though Dr. Blake H. Renton, CEO of RentBro Inc., as she had just discovered, could easily afford the outrageous fee she planned to charge.

She buried the twinge of guilt. She’d think of it as a teeny temporary loan with Dr. Renton an unwitting lender. If taking a little more of his money than she normally would have gave her a chance to solve at least some of her money problems, she’d find a way to repay him for it some day.

Rising at his ancient assistant’s beckoning, Sharon followed the woman into the inner office.

Dr. Renton, here’s Ms. Newberry, your 4:00.

The man behind the desk stared intently at a sheet of paper. In one hand he held his glasses, while with the other, he furiously wrote what appeared to be mathematical equations.

Without looking up, he waved the glasses vaguely in front of him. Have a seat, I’ll be right with you.

Sharon glanced up in time to see the assistant give her a wink before leaving the room. She peered at her watch, 4:07. She looked back at the man behind the desk. He was still focused on the paper in front of him.

Just where was she supposed to sit? Piles of paper and books occupied every available inch of the battered metal desk and every other piece of well-used furniture in the office. Nothing in here resembled the outside waiting area’s peaceful and gracious appearance.

She decided to stand and wait.

And wait.

She glanced at her watch again. 4:10.

She started tapping her foot. 4:14.

She cleared her throat. 4:15.

Dr. Renton, Sharon all but shouted at him.

The man startled violently, knocking over his coffee mug. The contents spilled onto his pants. He yelled a mild curse as he leapt to his feet. Glasses went flying when he tried in vain to grab the mug before it fell onto the floor. His chair careened backward into the bookshelf behind him. The precariously balanced papers on top of it teetered then crashed onto the floor.

Sharon grimaced at the sound of glass cracking. She peered carefully over the desk. What remained of his glasses poked out from underneath the coffee-splashed papers.

Maybe I should return another time? Sharon began in a tentative voice, trailing off into silence when she got her first good look at the man.

Sharon stood five foot nine in her bare feet, yet she had to tip her neck back to look him in the eye. Broad shoulders and large biceps strained his raw silk shirt. Blue jeans, now stained with coffee, covered slim hips and long legs. As gorgeous a body as he had, however, it was his face that made Sharon go weak at the knees. Beautiful, deep-set, vivid blue, but very bloodshot eyes accented high cheekbones and an angled jaw, heavily shadowed with dark stubble. An unruly mop of tawny, golden-brown curls provided the crowning touch.

He could make a fortune as a movie star or model.

Dr. Renton ran a hand through his hair, and glanced at Sharon with a confused look on his rapidly reddening face. Umm, is there something I can help you with?

Prepared for an angry outburst, Sharon just stared dumbfounded at him. Her pulse quickened. Feeling like a schoolgirl with her first crush, she made herself think of tricks she had learned to quell nervousness. Picture them in their underwear. She looked at his flat stomach and allowed her gaze to travel downward. Her pulse quickened even more. The room started to feel very hot. No, imagining Dr. Renton in underwear was definitely a bad idea. Maybe long johns would do the trick. That’s it. A union suit with a potty flap. She giggled.

Ma’am?

I’m sorry, she gave herself a mental shake, I’m Sharon Newberry. Summoning up her cheeriest smile, she put out her hand. As he returned the handshake, he looked even more confused.

From the antiques store? She prompted. You called my business partner yesterday?

Antiques store?

Yes, you called Grandma’s antiques store about a broken teapot?

You’re Grandma? He rubbed both of his eyes, hard.

Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I never explained. We took over the business from a friend who never could make a go of it and didn’t have the energy to try any longer. No reason to change the name. Cost too much anyway…

She trailed off at his silent stare.

Sorry, I’m wasting your time. You were going to show me the teapot?

Teapot? He looked stunned. Ah. Yes. Right. The teapot.

Still staring at her, he started to walk toward a cupboard. Something crunched under his foot.

Sharon grimaced. Umm, I think those are your glasses. Or were, maybe I should say.

Glasses? Oh, ah, yes. My glasses. How did they get there? Never mind. Teapot. It’s in here, I think.

He yanked open the cupboard. More papers fell onto his head and the floor. He looked down at them as if they just landed from Mars.

Sharon suppressed another giggle. She expected him to start talking in a Hugh Grant accent pretty soon.

When she watched him remove the pieces from the cupboard and place them on the desk, her spirits drooped.

Catalina pottery.

It was a collector’s item, true, but not incredibly difficult to find. She couldn’t charge this man the outrageous fee she had planned. Not for this piece. And now having met him, she didn’t feel right about refusing to help. Maybe if he’d been obnoxious and autocratic, but not this absent-minded scientist.

Do you think you can find a piece like this? I feel bad that I broke a piece of my, uh…, friend Julia’s collection. Breakable things and I don’t get along too well.

Oh really? Sharon raised an eyebrow and smiled. She watched his face redden again. I should be able to find something like this or at least very close. Only if you promise to be more careful with your Julia’s things next time.

She’s not my—

Oh, and that reminds me, Sharon continued talking as she hauled a dogged-eared book out of her cavernous straw bag. Customers of my store always get to borrow a self-help book from my library, either of their choice or at my suggestion, whenever they make a purchase. In keeping with the store spirit, I brought one along for you.

A self-help library? In an antique store?

Kind of a weird combination, isn’t it? Sharon shrugged. I majored in Psychology, minored in Art.

Oh.

Yep, not the smartest choices in terms of landing a job when I got out, were they? And here I was, assuming I would either be helping the world solve its problems or at least making it a little prettier. Sharon laughed a little. Luckily I was able to turn my hobby into a business. I guess the library lets me keep at least a toe in the Psych field.

He nodded and reached for the book, but somehow ended up knocking it out of her hand instead. When both of them bent down at the same time to retrieve it, Sharon felt her forehead slam against a very hard chin. She waved away his profuse apologies and handed the book to him again.

How to Live in a China Shop When You’re a Bull, Tips for the Clumsy Male, he read the title aloud. Now even his ears turned red.

I’m told their suggestions really work. She patted his hand. May I take these broken pieces with me? When he agreed she slipped them into her bag.

I’ll give you a call as soon as I find something, okay? She shook his hand again. Very nice to meet you, Sir.

She thought she heard him mumble something, but when she got to the door and looked back, he appeared to be once again engrossed in his equations.

She shook her head and smiled to herself as she opened the door and walked through, closing it behind her. Leaning against the door, she finally gave in to her giggles. She looked over at the assistant who watched her with raised eyebrows. Is he always like that?

The assistant smiled and nodded. Absolutely brilliant man, but when he’s on the verge of some new discovery, don’t ask him to think of anything else.

Sharon shook her head, still giggling. Well, she had better get moving. This job wasn’t going to make her the big money she needed. In fact, it looked like