When Hearts Collide

By Niecey Roy

"Classic cars, garden gnomes, and steamy romance? My kind of book!"

-Bestselling Author Kate Perry

Rachel Bennett’s plan is simple, no distractions until she finds her dream job. What she didn’t plan for was a fender bender with a scowling, sexy man in an expensive suit. Craig Larsen has enough stress trying to save his dealership’s reputation, he definitely doesn’t need a sassy redhead who can’t drive turning everything upside down. One thing is certain, life was much more peaceful before they crashed into each other.

Fate has other plans for them, though. Soon they find themselves plotting a yard war against a grumpy neighbor, toilet-papering the trees of an old high school nemesis, and fighting over the last slice of pizza. Can two very different people plus one fender bender equal a chance at forever?

PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED AS FENDER BENDER BLUES

• Language: English
• Publisher: Niecey Roy
• Release date: Sep 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9780692946503

Niecey Roy

Once upon a time, there was a young girl who wrote sappy poetry about every relationship gone wrong. She had her heart broken many times before the man of her dreams stepped off a big Navy ship and swept her off her feet, promising to never hold her shoe obsession against her. From that day forward, she swore she’d never again write sappy poetry of unrequited love. Instead, a sucker for smooches and happily-ever-afters, Niecey Roy now writes contemporary romance inspired by her sailor’s sexy brown eyes and charming sense of humor.

Book preview

Praise for Niecey Roy’s Novels

ANOTHER SHOT AT LOVE All the elements for a fun, sassy romance: a sexy hero and the unbreakable bond of sisterhood. Delightful!—International Bestselling Author Kate Perry

ANOTHER SHOT AT LOVE Funny, sassy, sexy and brilliant book . . . Absolute Must Read!!!—Amy from Schmexy Girls Book Blog

WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE Classic cars, garden gnomes, and steamy romance? My kind of book!—International Bestselling Author Kate Perry

WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE Reading Niecey Roy’s FENDER BENDER BLUES is like eating Lays Potato chips. Once you start, you can’t stop! It’s just that good! For a new (non-fattening) addiction, read Niecey Roy!!!—NYT and USA Today Bestselling Author Robyn Peterman

WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE

a novel

PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED AS FENDER BENDER BLUES

NIECEY ROY

When Hearts Collide

COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Niecey Roy

RIVER MIST MEDIA

First published in 2013 by The Wild Rose Press under the title Fender Bender Blues

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by:

RBA Designs

Cover Image by:

Lindee Robinson Photography

Models:

Sarah Sadovsky and Matthew Engelke

Formatting by:

Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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. The publisher/editor does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal and is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America

Also available in Print

Print ISBN-13: 978–1974503957

Print ISBN-10: 197450395X

Dedication

My dedication for this book

remains the same after all these years.

To my husband,

for putting up with me through this journey.

To my family,

for believing in me.

To my friends,

for putting up with all my writerly drama.

A Note from the Author

Years ago, when I set out on this journey of publication, I had no idea where it would take me. I’ve met so many friends—other writers, wonderful bloggers, and amazing readers—since my first book was published in 2013 under the title Fender Bender Blues, now WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE.

I am so very excited to bring this book to life again. When Hearts Collide has been updated for today’s readers, and showered with love from the cover, all the way to THE END. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I do!

Niecey Roy

Contents

WHEN HEARTS COLLIDE

Dedication

A Note from the Author

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

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Other books by Niecey Roy

About the Author

Chapter 1

"YOU ARE NOT COMING HOME without a job," Rach muttered to herself and swung the dated sedan around in the townhome parking lot to face the street.

So she felt like crap and had a kink in her neck. Those were small discomforts in light of the task ahead—finding the perfect job, maybe even her dream job, if such a thing existed. She would prove to her parents and anyone else who had their doubts about her current circumstance that she, Rachel Marie Bennett, failed social worker, had a plan for her future.

Prince’s Little Red Corvette blared through the speakers from a playlist of her favorite songs as she rolled out of the parking lot at a crawl, reaching up to tilt the rearview mirror just so. She whipped open a tube of lip gloss to apply a generous swipe. Opportunities were endless when armed with a lucky tube of lip gloss.

The sudden blare of a car horn assaulted her ears and she slammed on the brakes. The crunch of metal split the air at the same time a jarring impact jolted her against the shoulder harness locked across her chest. Eyes squeezed shut, she flopped back into place and sucked in a quick breath.

"I’m fine. The car is fine. Everything is fine."

She took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves, then opened her eyes.

Lucky, my ass, she huffed, and threw her car into park. She glared at the tainted lip gloss still clutched in a shaky hand and tossed it to the floor where it dropped between a candy wrapper and a fast food bag. She leaned forward to assess the damage through the windshield.

Her car sat in limbo halfway out of the parking lot with a shiny blue Camaro eating her driver’s side front fender. The sports car looked as if it had been driven off a dealership lot and straight into her car.

All signs pointed to her fault. She wiped clammy palms on her pants legs and summoned a brighter thought—at least she had full coverage. Her dad would gloat about it later. He’d been needling her to keep it instead of swapping for the cheaper liability-only coverage, all to save a few hundred bucks a year.

With a sigh, she pulled her insurance card from the center console, then pushed the car door open to face the music. When she shoved the door shut behind her, the unhealthy groan of protesting metal made her frown. A quizzical glance at the fender showed it bent in at the doorjamb. No wonder she’d had a hard time pushing it open. "Just perfect," she muttered.

Any optimism she had for a lighthearted insurance card exchange went up in smoke when she met the eyes of the man staring at her from the other side of the sportscar. She took in his handsome face and sharp features, the neat, tawny hair trimmed close to his head, and endless broad shoulders tucked into an expensive dark gray business suit. He reeked of money and ego—and restrained anger. Not a good combination.

She sighed miserably. Ready to apologize, she stepped forward and lifted her hands. I am so—

I hope you have insurance, he interrupted with a growl, and she dropped her hands. A muscle twitched in his well-defined jaw, still looking very GQ despite the grimace he wore. His linebacker body was planted in a rigid stance, as if he were holding back a few swear words.

Offended by his jerkiness—she hated growly guys, they were right up there with shitty jobs—Rach cocked her head and taunted, It would really suck if I didn’t.

Exasperated, he strode around his wrecked beauty and she took a step backward. She bumped into the side of her car, and with nowhere to go, plastered on a tight smile. Since he hadn’t reacted well to sarcasm, she decided to cop the funny stuff and held out the insurance card without another word. The man yanked it from her fingers and she bit her tongue.

Peering at it as if he doubted its authenticity, she fought the urge to tap her foot. Finally, he looked up at her with reproachful, cornflower blue eyes. You weren’t even looking. You could have hurt someone.

True . . . But she didn’t need this. She’d be hearing the same lecture from her mom later. Rach glared back at him. Thank you, Mr. Driver Safety Educator. Now give me your insurance information and we’ll be on our way. Unless you want to call the cops.

God, I hoped not! She cringed. A ticket on top of an insurance claim would be a disaster. Especially without a job.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he shook his head.

Forget it, he said through gritted teeth. This is private property—your car’s mostly in your parking lot.

He seemed upset by the fact no one would be hauling her away in cuffs. Rach glanced at his mangled bumper and supposed it was understandable. The car had been immaculate before . . . well, before she’d pulled out in front of him. She felt awful. This was the lip gloss’s fault. Apparently, she’d overestimated its worth.

She decided to try the apology again, but he interrupted her with, I’ll be calling this in today.

He handed her a card from his wallet.

Rach rolled her eyes and swallowed the apology. She stuffed the card into her purse without a glance, deep down where it joined the crumpled papers, ATM receipts, and junk mail. Turning her back on his pissy attitude, she yanked her car door open and pretended not to hear the sad noise it made.

Great. Nice to meet you. You’re very charming. Have a wonderful day, Rach articulated and wrenched the door shut behind her.

He stood glaring at her with his hands in his pants pockets, as if considering a reply. After a moment, he shook his head and stalked around his car to the driver’s side. She gave him a simmering stare before backing up. As the vehicles disengaged, a loud screech of bending metal broke the quiet of the morning, sending birds fluttering in surprise from the surrounding trees. There was a tug as her car dragged his bumper along with it, sounding a high-pitched scraping noise across the pavement.

Horrified and unsure of what to do, she floored the accelerator. The car shot out of the parking lot sideways and jumped the curb. A look in the rearview mirror showed the man standing in front of his car holding the front clip in his arms. He wasn’t smiling.

To keep the depression at bay, Rach did the only thing fathomable in her situation—she hit the Buster Burger drive-thru for fast-food therapy. She ignored the curious stares of fellow drive-thru motorists who were no doubt wondering if the other person’s vehicle had fared better than hers. There’s no need to worry so much, everything is fine, she told herself as she took the bag and cappuccino from the kid at the drive-thru window, but the knot in her stomach would not go away. She had just wrecked her car. Her insurance would most certainly skyrocket after this event.

It’s okay. Really. The rest of the day will be better, she muttered, pulling the breakfast burrito from the bag. The pick-me-up speech did little for her nerves, though, and she needed to stay optimistic while dropping off résumés.

Rach’s last job hadn’t been horrible, but she wasn’t interested in being a file clerk for the rest of her life. After three months of working in a basement with no windows and only filing cabinets for company, Rach had given her notice. For an entire week she’d lazed around her apartment, slept until her eyes hurt, and watched sitcom reruns. A much needed vacation—that’s what she’d told herself the downtime had been. Now, it was time to get back to reality.

Another month without any income rolling in would put a major dent in the savings she’d worked so hard for. If she didn’t find a job in the next three months, she would have to move in with her parents. A twenty-seven-year-old woman did not pack her bags to move into her parents’ basement. That would be a blow to her ego she would never overcome. I’m a college graduate, for Pete’s sake!

Rach finished off the breakfast burrito, disappointed the tortilla had been nuked a few seconds too long. She crumpled up the wrapper and stuffed it back inside the bag. It joined the discarded lip gloss on the floor. The inside of her car resembled her life—a complete catastrophe. People who’d known Rach her entire life wouldn’t recognize the mess that surrounded her. They weren’t alone because she didn’t understand it, either.

She parked the cappuccino in the cup holder and speed-dialed her best friend’s cell phone. When Leah answered, Rach told her, I was just in a car accident.

"Oh, my God! Are you okay?" Leah screeched into her ear. Something crashed to the floor in the background and Rach winced, sorry she hadn’t been more specific.

She put Leah on speakerphone. Just a fender bender with Angry Hot Guy. I’m fine.

Oh. Okay. Angry Hot Guy, huh? So, what happened? The buzzing of clippers resumed.

Leah owned her own hair salon. She had employees. Rach had played around with the possibility of going to beauty school so she could work for her best friend, but she didn’t trust herself with scissors and someone else’s hair. The one time she’d attempted to cut her own bangs she ended up with a hack job, which Leah managed to feather into a decent hairdo. Rach hadn’t played with hair since.

I was applying lip gloss, she stated simply.

Ah, lip gloss. Leah chuckled. Dangerous stuff.

I know it. They should put warning labels on those things. Anyway, it was his fault. Instantly, guilt ate at her for the lie—damn conscience, anyway—and she admitted, That’s not true. I wasn’t looking

I’m sorry, sweetie, Leah sympathized and Rach could hear the frown in her voice. Listen, I want you to meet him now.

The Greek god? Rach teased, amused at the nickname Leah had given her new crush. What’s going on with that, anyway?

She could imagine Leah shrugging on the other end. We’ve been texting.

Rach grinned and turned at the stop light. Have you gone on a date with him yet?

No. We haven’t seen each other since he showed me the apartment last week. Just talking, you know. Anyway, tonight he’s showing his brother a house just a few blocks from your place, actually. I want you to go with me. I’m a little nervous since this is only the second time we’ve seen each other. But he’s the one, Rach.

Rach rolled her eyes. Okay, okay. You know I don’t believe in that crap. But I’m there. Text me the address.

You’re the best! I’ll see you after I get off of work. Guess he’s showing his brother the place about 5:30, so don’t be late, okay? Rach almost hung up, but Leah said, And you don’t believe in it now, but you will.

Rach smiled. Yeah, yeah, true love and all that mumbo jumbo. I’ll see you tonight. Love ya.

Rach hung up and turned into the empty parking lot of the first business on her list and hit a pothole. She parked in front of the squat, light blue building with glass windows lining the front. She killed the engine and grabbed the briefcase full of freshly printed résumés off the passenger seat. After climbing out of the car, she smoothed her pants and adjusted her blouse, knowing she looked killer in the pants suit she’d only worn once before quitting her last job.

Two steps toward the entrance to Copy Masters, We Master You Faster, she stopped dead in her tracks. The front fender was beyond repair, smashed in at least five inches over the wheel-well with a silver emblem crimped into the metal. An ominous hissing came from under the hood, which she hadn’t noticed on the drive over.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She fished inside her purse for her car keys and used a key to jimmy the emblem loose. With a disgusted grunt she tossed the sad looking piece of metal inside her purse.

Taking a deep breath, she pasted on a smile.

Here we go, Bennett. This one’s all yours. She cheered herself on, and went inside.

Chapter 2

CRAIG LARSEN’S SECRETARY RAISED CURIOUS brows as he stormed past her desk.

Can you hold my calls? He yanked open the door to his office. I need to phone in a car accident.

She tsk-tsked with a wag of her finger. It’s only a car. You have a million of them to choose from. You own a car dealership, she said with a wave of her hand. At least you aren’t hurt. Thank the good Lord for that, young man.

Craig sighed. He was already exhausted and the day had just begun. You’re right. Bad morning, that’s all. Turned off on the wrong street and a redhead drove out in front of me. Now my car is totaled. I shouldn’t have let my brother talk me into driving by another house. This is house number six. I’m beginning to reconsider being a homeowner.

Kathy waggled her eyebrows and grinned. Redhead, you say?

Despite his sour mood, Craig leaned against the doorjamb of his office and smiled at the gray-haired secretary. Yes, and a sarcastic brat. She didn’t even apologize.

If you looked at her with that face you walked in here with, I wouldn’t have apologized either, she admonished with a double tap of her pen on a message tablet. You can be a bear sometimes, you know.

Craig closed his eyes and squeezed his thumb and forefinger into the bridge of his nose. "I think I was a little hard on her. It’s all this stress with the damn lawsuit, and Maggie’s been calling me to ‘talk’ every day, and then my car. I only had it for three damn days." He opened his eyes on a sigh. I might have taken it out on the woman.

Might have?

Guilt nibbled at the back of his mind. He ignored Kathy’s accusatory stare and turned into his office. Just hold my calls.

It took less time to report the accident to his insurance company than it had taken him to pry the insurance card from the woman’s fingers. He hadn’t had a chance to write down her information before she took off. With my insurance card. His agent promised to e-mail him a replacement card to print out.

After Craig hung up the phone, he relaxed into the oversized executive chair and closed his eyes, settling his head against the plush black leather. He willed the tension to leave his body with a roll of his shoulders and enjoyed the feeling for a few seconds.

Until the image of the gorgeous, fiery-haired woman invaded his mind.

He glanced down at his desk. The name on the insurance card caught his attention. Rachel Bennett. Menace of the Road, he fumed, folding the card between his fingers.

He swiveled around to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the car lot below. American Dream Autos was his pride and joy. After returning from business school seven years ago with a master’s degree in hand, Craig had been more than ready to take over the family business. His dad had gone into retirement knowing the dealership would be in Craig’s capable hands. And it was. At the age of thirty-six, through stringent management, Craig had made himself a very rich man. Cars had always been his one true love. He bought them like some collected rocks or movie memorabilia, and he knew how to sell. As far as he was concerned, he’d been born to run this company and he made certain the sales numbers reflected his sentiment. The only dealership in the state larger than this one was also his, and opening it had been his first business decision after his dad’s retirement.

So far, the current economic crisis hadn’t affected sales in Lincoln, or at the new location in Omaha, and he was grateful, but he wasn’t a fool. If the economy didn’t make a turn for the better, eventually his own business would suffer. With the implementation of strategic in-house financing options, he hoped to continue moving units on both lots. Right now, business was good.

The only major annoyance in his life—besides the wrecked car—was a lawsuit against American Dream Autos. The man suing him claimed he hit a tree due to faulty brakes on a used vehicle. Despite the fact the man had blown a point-one-O on a breathalyzer at the scene of the accident, there was a still a question of contributory negligence. It had been Craig’s intention to keep the lawsuit quiet, but a few weeks ago he’d scowled as the anchorwoman on the ten p.m. news mentioned American Dream Autos’ involvement in a messy lawsuit. He remembered all too well crumpling the soda can in his hand and throwing it at—not in—the trash.

He set the insurance card on his desk and clicked on his e-mail.

You can’t go in there. Mr. Larsen is busy, Kathy argued from the reception area.

I’m pretty sure he won’t mind my visit, came Maggie’s lilting voice, sweeter than the woman herself. He would know. He’d made the mistake of dating her for six miserable months.

Craig asked me to hold his calls, Kathy tossed back, dropping formality in the face of irritation. She made no attempt at cloaking her disapproval with the other woman. Kathy considered Maggie the bane of the dealership.

Maggie didn’t skip a beat. "His calls, not me."

You can’t just— Kathy began, but Maggie shoved open his office door and stepped inside. He caught a glimpse of Kathy’s outraged expression just before Maggie closed the door on her.

A second later his intercom buzzed. Eyes on his ex as she strutted toward him, he picked up the phone. Yes, I see.

Good, Kathy said loftily, loud enough so Maggie could hear through the door. Then you know it’s not my fault. The woman has no manners.

Craig’s dad called Kathy cantankerous, but Craig liked her no-nonsense ways. He’d updated everything in the business with the exception of Kathy. She was meticulous and loyal and she ran his office with an iron fist. Railroading Maggie was one of her dearest pleasures.

Maggie settled into a chair in front of his desk and crossed her long, shapely legs. She preened for a few moments, then said, She’s rude. You should get rid of her.

Craig ignored the comment and wondered again how he’d gotten involved with the woman sitting across from him. At first he’d respected what was an admirable trait of knowing what she wanted and going after it, tooth and nail. But he’d grown wary when she began applying that to their relationship, and realized her main interest in him was for his money. After six months she’d begun pushing marriage and commitment, wanting to move in and demanding a key to his apartment.

She’d continued to press the matter and he ended their relationship. When her tears hadn’t worked, she called him a heartless bastard and accused him of using her for sex. Maggie then turned to an ex’s bed for comfort, solidifying Craig’s conviction that she wasn’t the woman for him. Maggie still denied it, but his source was golden, and the truth was he really didn’t give a damn either way. He only wished he’d been smart enough to not get involved with an employee; not only was she a pain in his ass, but she’d also become a liability.

I take it you haven’t heard the latest? She looked far too pleased for someone bearing bad news.

Apparently not, but there are five messages on my voicemail I haven’t had time to listen to. He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. She really was beautiful with her delicate features and cerulean blue eyes, but it was the woman behind all that beauty who made him uneasy. Three months after their break-up, she still wouldn’t take no for an answer.

She shrugged flaxen blonde hair over thin shoulders, ignorant to the fact he wasn’t thrilled by her playing messenger. It seems there’s been another media leak and now they’re talking about the settlement amount on the news.

Fuck. He sighed and looked up at the white paneled ceiling in frustration.

How the hell had a number gotten out? Craig’s attorneys had only just received a settlement demand letter from the plaintiff’s attorney three days before. Damn it! If he ever got his hands on the person talking to the media . . .

He fisted his hands at the back of his head before dropping them onto his desk.

How did you find out? He narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. He doubted the media would contact her, an employee—an ex-girlfriend—for comments. Or that Phil, his lead attorney, had felt the need to call Maggie with the news.

Leaning forward, as if to share an intriguing secret, she grinned. I came in this morning before Kathy was in, thinking you’d be here, and there was a written message on her desk that I happened to read. Phil must have left it there last night. I’m sure he thought no one would see it, but it was right there in the middle of Kathy’s desk. Silly him.

Silly him, Craig agreed dryly. Thanks for the information. I’ve got some things to take care of so I’ll talk to you later.

The smile vanished from her lips at the short dismissal, but only for a second. She recovered quickly and stood, smoothing the dark blue skirt that hugged her hips and small buttocks like a second skin. She flashed another dazzling smile. Right. Of course. Would you like me to bring you lunch today since you’re so busy?

No, I have a business lunch, he lied. Thank you, though.

He wasn’t heartless; the crushed look on her face left a guilty knot in his stomach. Why couldn’t she get the picture and move on?

Maybe tomorrow, Maggie. Thanks.

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He wanted to call her back and tell her it wasn’t appropriate for her to drop in the way she did, but confrontation with her made him uneasy. She was another lawsuit waiting to happen, and without a misstep on her part she’d be at the dealership for a very long time.

Kathy knocked on his door then stepped inside with a cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of mail in the other.

If you’d just tell her straight out that you’d rather be hit by a truck than deal with her again, she’d go away, she scolded and he laughed.

You know I’m too nice to do that.

She harrumphed and set the coffee mug on the coaster beside his desk calendar. Nice, my butt. If you had stuck to your guns and been firm, she’d be looking for another job by now. Did you get your insurance claim called in?

Yeah. I was assured it’d be taken care of promptly.

Well, you are a lucky man, Mr. Larsen, she answered in a tone that made him wonder if she meant it. She plopped the mail on his desk. Not everything in life is about cars and work, young man. You look tired. You need a vacation. Have you eaten breakfast?

He was used to the way she fired questions at him as statements and he absorbed them as he took a drink of the coffee—strong and black and exactly what he needed.

No, I haven’t been sleeping well. Yes, I do need a vacation. No, I did not eat breakfast, he answered and flipped through the mail. Most of it was junk.

I’ll order you a sandwich, she told him. "A little early for lunch but it will be