Lucky Man: Liszt Brothers, #1

By Matilda Martel

Laszlo Liszt has always been a lucky man.  

He's handsome and rich. His job as a fashion photographer kept him busy dating models and actresses. But all good things end. Just when he feels how empty his life has become, he discovers he has a month-old daughter who's been abandoned by her mother.

  

Everything changes, everything's different. But still, everyone tells him he's a lucky man. His life is better and yet something's missing.  

He's in love with his neighbor, Mira. She's not like anyone he's ever known and just the type of woman he overlooked in the past. She's smart, but sweet. Hardworking and uptight, but all heart. Beautiful but unassuming. He knows he doesn't deserve her but he's in love for the first time ever.  

 

After a year of raising his daughter alone, can he push his luck one more time and win the girl of his dreams?  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matilda Martel
• Release date: Aug 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223627012

Matilda Martel

Matilda loves many things---her husband, dachshunds, cats, the two terrible Chihuahuas who live with her, Paris, New York, a few select friends and family, Nutella, books, lots and lots of books, and writing sweet, steamy romance for nerdy girls-- because that's who I am.If you like your romances steamy but sweet. Sexy, but on the shorter side. With smart and sassy heroines who fall for soulful Alphas- then you might like my books.I write A LOT of OMYW, cause that's just my bag. But no matter what kind of story it is, my ladies are always adored and my endings are always HEA.Please head to my blog: www.matildamartel.com, to learn what's in the final stages and will be coming out soon!Want a free Ebook? Join my mailing list to get my monthly newsletter at : www.matildamartel.com/mailinglist/

Book preview

Prologue

Laszlo - One year earlier

My eyes drift to the clock above the bar. It’s early. How has the last hour of my life only amounted to ten minutes? I know I’m bored, but I didn’t think I could defy the laws of space and time. Perplexed and justifiably amazed, I tap my watch. It’s still ticking. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s me. Of course, it’s me. Why should tonight differ from the last fifty nights I’ve tried to forget? 

The night is young. A beautiful blonde, blue-eyed doll sits inches away, begging for my attention, yet this is the last place I want to be.  

I watch a crowd of unfamiliar faces pour into the bar. Wall Street execs, bankers, and happy couples on dates cram the room and fill the air with unrestrained laughter. The irrepressible Friday night frenzy, the music, and the gorgeous girl by my side beckon me to join in. But none of it holds any temptation. The only thing I see is the door. The only sound I hear is the beat of my thundering heart.  

Why the hell did I come? 

Clutching my whiskey, I raise my hand to catch the bartender’s attention, then quickly lower it. I don’t need another. Lately, all I ever do is try to feed something I don’t understand. But the emptiness never subsides. The more I feed it with booze and meaningless sex, the deeper I sink. Then, one day, I’ll plunge so far I won’t know how to swim to shore. 

Jesus Christ, I’m pathetic. 

With a quick glance and a wave of my hand, I let the bartender know I wanted to close out. I need to go home before I do something I regret. More alcohol will skew my judgment, and having sex with this girl won’t change my mind. I don’t like her. There is nothing remotely endearing about her. If I take her home, it’s strictly out of boredom.  

And I don’t think I can stomach it. There must be more to life than this. For fuck’s sake, please tell me there’s more. 

Prodding my arm, she repeats a joke she uttered moments ago. I’ve denied her a laugh, and she’s subtly demanding I rectify it. I think I heard her correctly. There was something about her friend and a wrong script, but it didn’t merit more than a smirk. She giggles to herself and tries to make me smile. I’m not cooperating. It’s not funny, and I don’t have the energy to humor her. 

This is mind-numbing.   

Finally, I fake a laugh to get her off my back. I’ve said this many times, but now I mean it. This is my last date until something changes. Dating without hope of falling in love has become tiresome and unrewarding. We just met yesterday, and I’m already exhausted from being in her company. No one ever says anything interesting. Nobody ever intrigues me.  

It’s entirely my fault. I lead a shallow existence, and I attract shallow people. It’s what I deserve. As she prattles, I pretend to listen and scan the room over her shoulder. There must be someone here I can call over. An old friend. I’ll settle for an acquaintance. Anyone to make this conversation much less painful. 

Oh god, please stop. I don’t care about your auditions.

I interrupt her with a question. What do you do for fun? Do you travel? Do you read much? Perhaps we’ve read the same book. That might change my opinion. I’m not a literary snob. I’ve read everything from science fiction to self-help to a biography on the Princess of Wales. She must do something besides go to auditions. 

I have a hunch she’ll say she works out. Nothing interesting. Nothing in nature. This girl won’t step foot outdoors. Yoga? Spin class? They’re all the same. It’s all about acting, voice, and dance lessons. Anything that helps get her name in lights. 

I suck in a breath, hold it for a beat, and await her answer. She stares, confused. Her eyes shift from side to side. She stammers nonsense for a moment, then clamps her mouth shut before attempting to speak again. I don’t think I asked anything controversial, but her mind spins to fill in the blanks. She looks pissed. Indignant. I’ve annoyed her, and I couldn’t care less. 

I don’t have time for those things. I go to the gym and acting class. And I read scripts. She straightens her posture to imply how serious she is about her career. Fair enough. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care either way.  

To my horror, she takes my curiosity concerning her life as an opportunity to segue into the merits of her new coach, her experimentation with method acting, and future roles she plans to chase. My eyes glaze over.  

This is beyond brutal.  

I take a sip of whiskey. My jaw tightens. I run my hand through my hair, then yank it to keep from nodding off. With another wave, I remind the bartender to please hand me the bill. He’s overrun, but I need to leave. Every minute in Kim’s company reaffirms my desire to call it a night.  

As my eyelids wilt, a loud voice startles me awake and draws my attention to the front of the bar. The familiar shrill instantly grates my nerves. I tilt my head, gaze past Kim’s chaotic curls, and find its blonde-haired source. My brain freezes. I know that face. The angry posture. Those flailing arms and stomping feet can only be one person. And she’s the last person I want to see on a night like tonight. 

Serena? Goddamn, it’s Serena. 

My palms sweat. My pulse jumps. It’s been months. Hell, it’s been close to a year since I kicked Serena out of my life and perfected the art of ghosting. 

I’m not proud of the way things ended. But Serena’s nuts. Just like Kim, she had her sights set on Broadway and then Hollywood. From the start, I knew I meant nothing to her. I was a means to an end. As I always am. 

No one dreams of staying with the photographer. They use me. I use them. It’s a transactional relationship that ends as quick as it begins.  

We dated for two weeks and agreed from the beginning we were nothing more than a good time. On our first date, we discussed our disinterest in commitment. Serena had shit to do; the last thing either of us needed to do was tie herself down to one person.  

I don’t think she expected me to agree to those terms. When I enthusiastically approved, I blew her mind. Serena Harper expected me to chase her.  

The former cheerleader and teen model couldn’t stop playing games. Her disinterest was her calling card. Neglect should have turned me on. Like all the other suckers before me, she felt sure she’d unleash my inner beast when she casually mentioned seeing other men. How could I not fight to claim someone as hot as her?  

She never suspected I’d be oblivious. She never dreamed I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if she dated other men. When I didn’t take the bait, she made my life a living hell.  

I’ve never experienced anything like it. Serena stalked me relentlessly through family and friends. Any connections she could find. She pulled so much crazy shit. She made me change my phone number and email and pull down all social media, hoping she’d get the message loud and clear.  

Of course, she didn’t. Serena doesn’t take no for an answer. The restraining order was a last resort, and she habitually violated the boundaries, daring me to act on it. When she showed up at my studio, destroyed my equipment, and threatened the safety of my clients, I had her arrested.  

It’s been a year. Why now?

She knows I live down the block. The order’s still in place. What are the odds she’s here for someone else? 

Is everything okay? Kim waves her hand past my face.  

Forgive me. I think I recognize someone from work. I reach for my bill and hand the bartender my credit card. I don’t care if she’s here for me or someone else. There’s no reason to stay and find out. 

We should get going. I have an early shoot. I try to smile, but there’s no time to be charming. The closer she gets, the more my blood pressure spikes.  

Kim leans in from her barstool and curls her arms around my neck, trying her best to seduce me after boring me to death.  

It’s too late for that toots. I couldn’t get it up if you held a gun to my head.

I thought we were going to your place. She gives me her best impression of a feisty sex kitten. It has no effect on me. I need to leave. Serena’s within striking distance, and every second counts. 

Some other time, doll. Let me put you in a cab and get you home.  

She knits her brow, leans back, and pouts. She’s not used to being turned down. This might be the first time it’s ever happened.  

Fine. She sulks.  

We’ll make plans for this weekend. I lie, lifting her hand to my lips.  

Once she smiles, I exhale in relief. I’m in no mood for a scene or argument right now. It’s best we don’t attract any attention. As I make my move to leave, I hear her voice. It’s unmistakable and too close to escape. 

Serena’s coming for me.

Laszlo Liszt! Serena marches straight for us, out of breath and donning her perpetual scowl. The click-clack of her heels drowns out the noise around us and drags everyone’s eyes to the scene about to unfold. She staggers towards me, dressed to the nines but bogged down by two large bags and a baby carrier. 

Is that a baby? When did she have a baby? 

Laz, who is that? Kim creeps behind my barstool and uses me as a human shield. 

Serena. I have a restraining order against you. You can’t be within fifty feet from me. My words stammer forth in a jumbled panic as I try to make sense of her actions.  

She doesn’t listen. Before she utters a word in her defense, she places the carrier on the checkerboard tile and lifts the baby into her arms. My heart bursts out of my chest, then promptly sinks to the floor. 

Her baby has red hair.  

Laszlo, I’d like you to meet your daughter. This is Azalea. She’s a month old today. I’ve tried to contact you, but as you know, you’ve made that impossible. She doesn’t miss a beat. She shoves the