Love Again

By Angela Lam

To avoid foreclosure, Hope Spirit Walk Spencer seeks counsel from Nick Gold Jr., a billionaire turned financial planner. But how can she trust the man whose father wanted to convert her property into high-rise condominiums twenty years ago?
Nick almost refuses Hope's initial request. He resists anything to do with his father's real estate empire. And he definitely doesn't want to lose his heart to anyone, especially not his father's enemy.
Bound by a complicated past and torn by an increasing desire, can Hope and Nick set aside their differences long enough to save the art gallery from foreclosure and heal the grudge that keeps them apart?

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Feb 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781509240371

Angela Lam

Angela Lam is a writer and artist who lives in Northern California. She is the author of a collection of short stories, The Human Act and Other Stories, and three novels (published under Angela Lam Turpin). Red Eggs and Good Luck won the 2003 Mary Tanenbaum Award for creative nonfiction and She Writes Press’s 2014 Memoir Discovery Contest.

Book preview

Then what are your options? He folded his hands on the table and waited.

She wrapped her arms across her body and shrugged.

A tug of pity squeezed his chest. He winced, not wanting to feel anything. After all, this whole transaction between them was nothing but business. He inhaled a deep breath, holding for a count of five. If she hadn’t been the person who refused to give in to his father’s demands years ago, then he would not be here. There would be no art gallery and apartment to save. Those things would have been replaced with a state-of-the-art, high-rise building full of luxury condos years ago.

But somehow she and her then-husband had been strong enough to defy his father, and to refuse any amount of money or power offered in exchange for this postage-stamp sized piece of land. Now he was here, summoned to rescue the one thing his father always wanted but never possessed. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Only his feelings of tenderness toward Hope threw him off-center.

Praise for Angela Lam

Prepare to be captivated by this sweet, page-turning novella of learning to overcome grief and discovering how to love again. Angela Lam flawlessly executes a gorgeous plot that had me hooked from page one and reading nonstop.

~C. Rosen

~*~

The author has skillfully crafted an utterly addictive and explosive story of trust, second love, and fortitude, mixed with a splash of an indelible commitment between an indigenous American widow and a billionaire with a heart. You won’t be able to put it down until you’ve learned to LOVE AGAIN.

~Jerry Aylward, author

Love Again

by

Angela Lam

Women of the Crush, book 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either 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.

Love Again

COPYRIGHT © 2022 by Angela Lam

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

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Diana Carlile

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Edition, 2022

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4037-1

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

For Kevin, my hero both on and off the softball field.

Chapter One

As soon as Hope Spirit Walk Spencer stepped into Larry’s Deli, she collapsed into the arms of her longtime friend, Geraldine Jones. I need help, or I’ll lose the gallery. Three months after her husband, Richard Spencer, died, Hope neglected to pay the utility bill, resulting in the power being shut off to the art gallery and upstairs apartment in downtown Vine Valley, California, two hours north of San Francisco. After reinstating the power with a huge payment, she sorted through the financial files Richard kept, worrying about how to manage the monthly cash flow and expenses. But she wasn’t good at business, and six months later, she received a Notice of Default on the building from the bank.

Ah, sugar, don’t cry. Geraldine patted Hope’s long cape of hair. C’mon back, and we’ll figure out something. After releasing Hope, Geraldine waved to the new girl bagging groceries. Michelle, I’m taking a fifteen-minute break. Smiling, she nudged Hope.

Hope strode past the deli counter and down the aisle of freshly baked goods. She slashed through the rubber curtain into the warehouse, break room, and office.

Pulling back a chair at a table, Geraldine gestured to the refrigerator. Sugar, you want a soda?

Hope lifted a hand and shook her head. No, thank you. She never ate or drank processed food, preferring to live as close to the land as she could. After wrapping her earth-toned caftan around her long legs, she perched on the edge of the hard plastic chair. She let her hands flutter like birds’ wings from her lap to the table to her lap again. A powerful scent of sage emanated from her pores from the healing ritual she had performed earlier in the spring morning to summon the good spirits to help clear the way. Through her open window, the wind whispered for her to consult Geraldine, whose brash self-confidence flourished around business matters.

With one swift movement, Geraldine plucked a business card off the bulletin board and held it out. You need to call this person. He helped us refinance the deli after my father died.

After reading the embossed name, Hope shoved the business card across the table. No way am I accepting help from Nick Gold, Jr. His father wanted to buy the gallery twenty years ago. During his lifetime, Nicholas Gold, Sr., a cunning real estate developer, transformed the tiny town into a popular wine and tourist destination. He owned every building surrounding Courthouse Square except the gallery. No matter how much money he offered, neither she, a woman as young as Nick Jr., nor her husband, who was closer to Nick Sr.’s age and experience, would agree to a deal. She deepened her frown. "I want to save Richard’s gallery, not lose it. Tears pricked her eyes. I can’t trust a scoundrel."

Geraldine extended an arm across the table and squeezed Hope’s hand. Ah, sugar, Nick’s a good man. He can’t do anything about his family history. She leaned back and released her hand. The first hour is always free.

Swallowing the tightness in her throat, Hope gripped the business card. Maybe Geraldine was right. Nick couldn’t control being born into a wealthy family. From what she could tell, he managed what he inherited from his father responsibly, donating to charities and sponsoring the Vine Valley Crushers, the senior softball tournament league. After heaving a sigh, she fiddled with the worn edges of the business card. Maybe she should call him. Talking didn’t mean she was committed to receiving his help, if he was even willing to assist her. After dropping her shoulders, she gazed into Geraldine’s sky-blue eyes. Okay. I’ll call him.

A bright smile danced across Geraldine’s face. That’s my girl.

Bowing her head, Hope disappeared beneath a curtain of black hair. Desperation swirled inside. An old pang of self-pity clenched like a tight fist inside her chest. I wish Richard was here.

I know, sugar. I know.

Lifting her head, Hope narrowed her eyes. No, you don’t know. Lionel is alive and healthy, not six feet under.

Geraldine bit her lower lip and lurched away.

I’m sorry for lashing out. Sniffling, Hope clutched the business card in her lap and remembered her late husband, who managed everything in the twenty-seven years they were married. Since he died, grief latched hold, immobilizing her. Now she faced the prospect of either selling the beloved gallery or filing for bankruptcy. She brushed away the long strands from her face and shoulders. I haven’t stopped missing Richard. I can’t speak to him beyond the grave like I could when my parents died. The Great Spirit no longer communicates. She gulped. I feel so alone.

You’re not alone, sugar. You’ve got me and the rest of the team. Geraldine gestured toward a framed photograph of the team members of the Vine Valley Crushers, which hung next to the bulletin board. Remember, we’re your family.

Nodding, Hope rose and hugged her friend. Thank you.

Call Nick as soon as you can. Geraldine patted her back. He’s our right fielder. I’m sure he’ll be your right-hand man in this mess, okay?

Hope forced a smile before stepping out into the warm spring air to walk the one mile home, but she doubted Geraldine’s words.

****

As soon as Nick stepped into his bedroom after softball practice, the trill of the phone in his home office aggravated the nerves along his spine. Who called to conduct business on a Saturday morning? After flinging his sweaty jersey on the mattress, he grabbed a fresh T-shirt from the top drawer of the cedar dresser and tugged it over his damp head as he strode toward the annoying sound. He snatched the receiver and placed it against his jaw. Gold Financial, Nick speaking. He grabbed a bottle of cold water from the mini-fridge beside his immaculate mahogany desk and sank into the pliant leather executive chair in the perfectly conditioned room.

Hi, Nick. This is Hope Spirit Walk Spencer. Geraldine Jones suggested I call for an appointment.

Her razor-sharp voice cut through the fog in his mind. Tension knotted across his shoulders. Lionel Jones, the captain of the Vine Valley Crushers, warned him his wife’s friend, Hope, might call. He thought Lionel Jones was making an April Fools’ joke. But Lionel had spoken the truth. Nick huffed, not wanting to talk to Hope. She represented everything from his father’s dynasty he sought to escape. He ran a hand through his messy hair.

Could he refer her to someone else? How about Joe Malone or Blake Wiggins? Joe could sell the art gallery. Blake could find her a new apartment. As he unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water, he cradled the phone against his shoulder. What’s the situation?

With your reputation, I think you already know.

He recoiled from the seething anger and bitterness in her voice. After gulping a mouthful of icy water, he set the bottle on a coaster and steeled his shoulders. The art gallery? He hoped she didn’t want to save that piece of history. A soft breath rustled over the line.

I’m in danger of losing my home and my husband’s legacy.

Legacy. He grimaced. Talk about legacy—his father left him half of Vine Valley in deeds of trust, personal investments, and city contracts. Geraldine was right. If Hope wanted to save the