On the Brink 1: The On the Brink Series, #1

By Erika Rhys

She didn’t expect to fall for one man. Let alone two.

A conflicted woman
Damaged by her traumatic past, down to her last dollar, and struggling to pull her life together, the last thing Juliana wants is drama—or a relationship. That is, until she meets powerful billionaire Craig Manning. 

A billionaire playboy
Craig’s glamorous lifestyle is strikingly different from the simpler life Juliana is fighting to build. Could she ever fit into his world—or he into hers? But despite their differences, he’s a man who knows how to get what he wants. And he wants Juliana.

With an intense attraction brewing between them, how can Juliana resist Craig’s determined pursuit? But when his darkest secrets are exposed in one shattering moment, can their love survive the fallout? 

Complete series available!
On the Brink is a steamy romance series featuring a love triangle. If you like rich characters, fast-paced action, sizzling love triangles, and twists you won’t see coming, then you’ll love this series starter from best-selling author Erika Rhys. Vol. 1 is the first part of this three-volume series and ends on a cliffhanger. 

Read On the Brink, vol. 1 to experience Juliana’s dilemma today!

What readers have to say about On the Brink:

“The writing is fluid, the wit is sharp and dry, the romance is HOT.”
Christopher, author

“There wasn’t a dull page in this story.”
Ilze, author

“A great balance of story and erotica.”
Heidi M., reader

“Before I read it, I predicted how this would go. It didn't go at all the way I predicted.....it was SO much better!”
Kristen F., reader

“The love affair that developed between the heroine and the hero was absolutely delicious…I would recommend this book to anyone who likes an involved plot including a cliffhanger...or two...:-)
Gilda, reader

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erika Rhys
• Release date: Jan 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781513063362

Erika Rhys

International bestselling author Erika Rhys writes contemporary romance novels featuring sexy men, strong women, and dashes of sparkling wit—the kind of books she enjoys reading. Her books include Heir of the Hamptons and the Gentlemen’s Club, Over the Edge, and On the Brink series. Erika’s heroes are driven, determined, and often wealthy, but can also be sensitive and vulnerable. Her heroines come from a range of backgrounds, and are strong, smart, and independent, but also sympathetic and caring. All her books feature laugh-out-loud moments, because humor is sexy! Erika loves dance music, shoes, long walks by herself, long dinners with friends, dark chocolate, strong coffee, and ice-cold martinis. She also loves hearing from readers, so get in touch!  http://erikarhys.com http://facebook.com/ErikaRhys.Author http://twitter.com/erikarhysauthor http://instagram.com/erikarhysauthor http://pinterest.com/erikarhysauthor

Book preview

On the Brink 1

The On the Brink Series, Volume 1

Erika Rhys

Published by Erika Rhys, 2015.

For Christina Ross, in appreciation of friendship, encouragement, and inspiration.

For Teresa Woroniecka, in gratitude for unwavering friendship and support.

Copyright and Legal Notice:

This publication is protected under the US Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights.

Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the author.

First ebook edition © 2013.

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead (unless explicitly noted) is merely coincidental. Copyright © 2013 Erika Rhys. All rights reserved worldwide.

CONTENTS

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 One

Boston, MA

Nope. No Juliana West in the university payroll system. You have to fill out a W-4 form and make sure your department has filed the necessary paperwork.

Hunched toad-like behind her dingy monitor, the payroll office employee glared at me and tapped a few final keystrokes with her chipped red talons. Through oversized glasses, her magnified, bulging eyes communicated a surprising degree of ire. After all, I had submitted the paperwork in question.

Twice.

I told her so.

I have no record of that. You’ll need to submit again. Sorry.

Her tone said that she wasn’t sorry at all, so I turned and left the Tremont University payroll office with my shoulders slumped, and my eyes burning with unshed tears. Frustration and despair threatened to overwhelm me.

I needed rent money in two weeks, and the odds of getting it were rapidly approaching zero.

For two stressful months, I’d managed to survive without a paycheck, but time was running out. I would resubmit my employment paperwork to the university, but there was little hope that it would get through their labyrinthine payment system before the rent was due. My bank account was empty, and my credit card was maxed.

Since graduating in May, I’d applied for dozens of jobs, and signed up with every temp agency in town. A few times, I’d made it to the interview stage.  But someone else inevitably got the job. At this point, I was exhausted and worried. The economy was weak, and young, less-experienced people—like me—had difficulty finding work.

For the moment, what I had was a part-time teaching gig at Tremont for the fall semester. I was grateful that I wasn’t completely unemployed, but the Tremont job had yet to pay me, thanks to a succession of paperwork screw-ups. I was broke, and after today’s depressing visit to the payroll office, I was concerned that I might not see a paycheck anytime soon.

And then what?

I’d borrowed last month’s rent from Duncan—my best friend and roommate—but at this point we were pretty much penniless. In a heartbeat, our unsympathetic landlord would evict us from our drafty little Somerville apartment, and it would be my fault. Most recent graduates would get help from their parents, but that wasn’t an option for us; Duncan’s parents were dead, and if my DNA donors had a nickel to share with anyone, it sure as hell wouldn’t be me.

I pulled my phone from my briefcase and called Duncan.

Hey Jules—any luck getting paid? His baritone voice sounded concerned.

No. The Tremont payroll hags lost my paperwork again. It’s probably buried somewhere in their shithole of an office, wedged between a broken pencil sharpener and a ceramic frog. I’ll resubmit, but we can’t be sure that my check will show up before next month’s rent is due. Bottom line, Dunc, I’ve got to find another job. Any job—and fast.

Duncan sighed. Unbelievable. I’ve asked for more hours, but no shifts have opened up yet. I’ll post my Nikon on eBay. It should sell for enough money to cover the rent.

When he offered to sell something that I knew was so dear to him, I felt a wave of affection for Duncan. He always had my back. But I couldn’t let him sell the Nikon. He’d saved for months to buy it. It was the best camera he’d ever owned, and photography was his passion.

Hold off for a couple days, OK? One of my co-workers mentioned that transcription services pay well—if you can type fast enough. If that doesn’t work out, I’ll try the temp agencies again. And I’ll keep fighting with the Tremont payroll office.

Remind me never to graduate in a crap economy, Duncan said. Or to major in art.

Never again, I agreed. I never thought that I’d say this, but I’m now glad that I minored in business. If my painting career doesn’t take off soon, I’m going to quit teaching art and look for a full-time commercial design job. Either that, or I’ll go to business school and at least stand some chance in hell of getting a job.

* * * * *

Several hours and a dozen phone calls later, an agency called Perfect Transcripts offered me the opportunity of work, but only if I could type 60 words per minute and pass a transcription test. The woman with whom I spoke—a Ms. Klein—scheduled me to take the test at 4 p.m. After I hung up the phone, I immediately texted Duncan.

Job interview at 4!!! Wish me luck.

A moment later, my phone chimed.

Yaaay! Fingers crossed. Knock their socks off!!!

I quickly decided what to wear. Given my limited wardrobe, it certainly wasn’t difficult. I owned a single black business suit—a lucky find at Filene’s Basement—that I paired with an ivory silk blouse and faux pearls. I wore my hair up instead of down, and glasses in lieu of my usual contacts. Light foundation and a touch of eyeliner helped to complete a look that was professional. I checked myself in the mirror and stuck out my tongue at my reflection.

Though people sometimes told me that I was beautiful, I didn’t see it. My dark hair, thick and wavy, seemed perpetually out of control, and my skin, though smooth and unblemished, always looked too pale for my taste. My eyes—green, expressive, and long-lashed—were the one aspect of my appearance that I liked.

Shoes were an issue. My one pair of good black heels had done way too much time on the dance floor and they looked more than a little shabby. I tore through the contents of the bathroom closet and turned up a grungy container of desiccated brown polish, but didn’t find any black.

And then an idea struck.

I raced to the kitchen, grabbed a handful of junk flyers from the recycling bin, and then ran to the tiny room that functioned as my painting studio. There, I tossed the flyers in the center of the floor, placed the offending heels on the flyers, shook a can of fast-drying black spray paint, and sprayed my shoes until they gleamed almost as if they were new. I opened the studio window to get rid of the paint fumes, congratulated myself on a job well done, and checked the time. Twenty minutes to spare. I needed to get a move on.

I left the heels to dry and checked the contents of my briefcase. Two forms of ID, several copies of my resume, keys, cash, phone. I retrieved the freshly black heels, shoved my feet into them, and crossed my fingers that the paint fumes would wear off before I arrived at the agency. 

Chapter Two

I exited the Red Line subway at Kendall Square and emerged into the warm sunlight and crisp air of a perfect fall day. Next to MIT and the Charles River, the cityscape of modern office towers housed biotech and other technology businesses. I walked for several blocks, until I reached Manning Tower, where Perfect Transcripts was located.

Sheathed in dark glass, Manning Tower reflected bright flashes of the descending October sun. I passed through the revolving doors into a gloomy atrium, its expanse of steel and dark glass interrupted by a security desk and a bank of elevators.

I glanced at my watch, realized that I was early, and decided that I should wait downstairs in the atrium for ten minutes or so. I found a bench to one side of the doors, sat down, and rested my briefcase at my feet.

A tall businessman in a dark suit emerged from one of the elevators, and walked briskly toward the security desk, not twenty feet away