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  I planned on starting over. Instead I got screwed over. Until one misguided mistake has us on the brink of losing everything.

  Aleksander

  My life is an open book. Literally. My ex wrote a less than flattering tell-all expose. So I moved to Tranquility. Starting over in a small town was not supposed to come with complications. Complications like the irresistible Haley Bristol. Uptight soccer moms are not my thing. Then why does Haley have me tied up in knots?

  I don’t trust easily. Not anymore. But I trust her.

  Haley

  As a young single mom, I only have room for one man in life: my son Peyton. I’ve been betrayed before. I’m not going to let it happen again. But when notorious playboy Aleksander "Manly" Manos comes to town, his charismatic charm has me questioning my resolve. I start to believe he’s not the monster his ex had made him out to be.

  I don’t trust easily. Not anymore. But I trust him.

  Trust may have been the hardest thing to give, but sometimes it’s the easiest thing to betray. Now I just have to hope that trust isn’t misplaced.

  Playboy Heir

  A Small Town Romance

  Brandy Munroe

  Chapter 1

  Haley

  How fitting Manic Monday by The Bangles was playing on the Uber’s radio as the driver navigated his way through Tranquility. That was how my day had started — heavy traffic and Peyton refusing to get dressed and go to school. At five years old, my son was not a morning person. Many mornings I found myself dressing him while he was still half asleep.

  I usually left the house a half hour earlier, before the school buses got on the road. Today things were not going my way. It was going to be that kind of a day. At least I had the sense to take an Uber. No chance of unidentified substances sticking to my power suit.

  One of the only ways I could afford this sleek, ultra-feminine Chanel jacket, paired with a pencil skirt cut below the knee and cinched with a belt at the waist, was to deprive myself of my all unnecessary expenses, including my one night out a month with my girlfriends.

  Everyone took turns acting as designated driver. Since I didn't have a license or a car, there was no effect on their plans when I cut the activity, even if I did miss my one night out. My girlfriends and I would congratulate ourselves about what great moms were, even if we did need to take a break from the kids once a month. That one night a month when my Uncle Charlie took Peyton and gave me the chance to have adult conversations.

  Giving it up was not as difficult as I had imagined. I stayed home and enjoyed some alone time with a good book. My own personal book club, I called it. Peyton still spent the night at Uncle Charlie's. It was good for him to have some good old-fashioned male bonding once in awhile.

  I realized early on my ex Brad was always going to have a reason not to take Peyton. I feared because Brad did not have the same close relationship with his father that I had with mine, he had no role model to aspire to. It saddened me to think that our own son may not experience that closeness. I learned not to push the subject.

  What I really found hard was walking everywhere, saving all my cab fare and bus money for months through late fall and all winter. If I wanted to impress the right people, I needed this suit and I would not compromise any of Peyton's needs for it. It was my own sacrifices that made it all the more special, all the more important.

  That was how I was going to feel today. Confident. Powerful. Important.

  If only everything else would fall into place. Even the weather was working against me. What should have been a warm, early spring morning with blue skies and sunshine like the previous two days, turned into a bitterly cold grey sky with drizzling ice pellets.

  At least the buses were running. That meant no call to pick up Peyton because school was cancelled. Today would not be a good day to get that call. Today was the day I was going to be in early and have everything in place before the meeting. I would make fresh coffee to go with the chocolate chip muffins Peyton and I tirelessly worked on instead of going to the park.

  Peyton had been so excited when I let him mix in the eggs and lick the batter off the beaters while those famous muffins were in the oven, the homemade ones Mr. Van de Graaf Sr. liked so much.

  Hopefully they would also impress the younger Mr. Van de Graaf. He was the one I needed to impress today.

  I needed to prove that I was a responsible, career-oriented woman, able to be a single parent and still put in a hundred-twenty percent at work. I couldn’t be late. I couldn't look hurried and ragged. I needed to look like a put-together professional business woman, not a ragtag shoe clerk.

  I desperately needed him to see me as someone who could work in their marketing department. Someone who he could trust with accounts and clients.

  The Van de Graafs had always been good to me. Unfortunately, they never saw me as anything more than that poor single mother they helped by giving me a job in their signature boutique. Never mind that I came from a retail background with glowing recommendations. Never mind that I could have gotten an MBA.

  I had one goal, and working for the big box giants my whole life was not it.

  I choice this job — I chose the Van de Graaf’s — because of this store's connection to their main office. The Boutique was the Van de Graaf's enterprising shoe company's single storefront. The vast majority of their sales were online or through distributors, but The Boutique gave the wealthy ladies who lunch an opportunity to try on the newest fashions that Van de Graaf's designers developed. There were a few men's lines, but not many, but I knew I could help turn that around. All I could do was hope my hard work would pay off. Taking online courses at night while Peyton slept, working towards a marketing degree, was all so that I might get hired as one of their marketing representatives. Maybe one day even become one of their top marketing executives.

  The younger Mr. Richard Van de Graaf, who was set to take over for his father, needed to see me in a different light than his parents. I needed to be early. I needed to be ready. I needed to look like I belonged in that meeting room, and not just as the hired help serving coffee.

  And I needed to stop sounding like a broken record.

  I was lucky to have a boss like Leona. One look at the gleam in her eyes during my interview gave her away. She knew I would bring more to the table than simply show up for work, sell a few overpriced shoes and handbags, then clock out and go home. I knew Leona had seen the enthusiasm in my eyes, the eagerness to do more than just sell shoes. She understood how hard I had been working to get my degree. How much I had gone without to accomplish my goals.

  Today, Leona was willing to step back and run The Boutique while I ran sales projections and profit statements during the impromptu meeting young Mr. Van de Graaf sprung on us late Friday afternoon.

  We all knew this day was coming. That one day Mr. Van de Graaf Sr. would announce his retirement and the new regime would take over. However, none of us were expecting it until Richard turned thirty. That would have given me time to complete all my courses.

  Here I was, six months shy and had to lay the groundwork for when I did complete it. Lucky for me, Leona loved working in The Boutique. She was quite content to show up, do her job and go home. She shared a townhouse with both her parents along with her six year old niece. Leona's sister and her husband were victims of a drunk driver, leaving the child without parents.

  That was something I could relate to.

  No daydreaming about the past. I needed to stay focused on today and on the future. The future I'd worked so hard to achieve. No nostalgia, no angst, only happy thoughts. Time to put on that million dollar smile Leona had always teased me about. Time to rock that meeting.

  As my Uber pulled up, I noticed a lot of activity. Reporters. It look
ed like some sort of press conference. It couldn't be because of the announcement of the changing of the guard at Van de Graaf's. Mr. Van de Graaf Sr. would never go for that. He’d always chosen to keep the company out of the tabloids. He never used celebrity endorsements, or actors, or models turned designer.

  Whatever was going on had to be big, not something as low key as a retirement. It couldn't possibly be anything that would interfere with my plans.

  I mentally congratulated myself for having the foresight to bring an umbrella. The rain had subsided but it was still wet outside and looking like a drowned rat wouldn't make a good first impression.

  I instructed my Uber to drop me off at the back delivery entrance. I prepared to slip in and get everything set up and ready to go while everyone else tried to get past the press. I wondered what could possibly be so big going on in our small town to attract that much attention.

  Digging for the keys to the back door, I looked around the corner one more time. Were those national networks, not just the local affiliates, hanging out in the front of the building? It looked like they were waiting outside The Boutique's storefront. Easily sliding my key inside the lock, I opened the door. I was about to enter when I heard footsteps quickly storming up behind me.

  I spun around on my heels to make sure no one was trying to gain access to the store and stop them in their tracks. But it was I who was the one stopped in my tracks.

  I blinked, twice; my stomach did a dance. My stomach had not done a dance like that at the sight of anyone since I first laid eyes on Brad, my ex. That had been the day I moved in with Uncle Charlie. Knowing how the first time ended, I was not going to let my dancing stomach lead my libido. And not for some stranger.

  Oh but what a magnificent looking stranger he was in his dark mocha shirt, almost as dark as his eyes. Eyes I needed to look way up to view due to his towering height over my petite five foot two in heels. Were his eyes black with flecks of gold? I stared intently; no, definitely brown.

  The caramel suit fit perfectly across broad shoulders. His dark hair was trimmed neatly above his ears and nape. A nose that was a long straight slash between high chiseled cheekbones, with sculptured, slightly sensual lips above a firm and determined chin.

  No tie; why wasn't he wearing a tie? Was he trying to make this exquisite tailored Armani suit look casual? That would be a criminal faux pas in the fashion world, so not a designer, I thought to myself.

  What did he want, and why was my stomach dancing? Not just any dance, a slow sensual samba.

  He was preventing me from entering the building. His masculine hand rested against the door as he stood directly in front of me, so close we were sharing my umbrella. So close that his woodsy masculine scent infiltrated my nostrils. He smelled of spring and earth and ocean and sin.

  "Hey," he began.

  Haley. Was he saying my name?

  I hoped my face did not reveal what my body was feeling. Please don't be blushing. Did he know me?

  Was I supposed to know him?

  Chapter 2

  Aleksander

  I’d been pacing the apartment since five am. Could we really pull this off? Would Mr. Richard Van de Graaf Sr. let his son, his namesake, take on a partner to an already established company, also his namesake?

  Van de Graaf's was an established fashion dynasty known for finding kids right out of design school. Their reputation for developing new talent was legendary. It was one of the most sought after fashion houses in the northeast.

  Most would think it would be situated in New York because of its prestige. It was, however, settled in a small New England town where all the locals knew each other. The exception only occurred when all the summer dwellers came to occupy cottages that would rival any fair sized house built on those shores.

  There were a few weather-beaten slat cottages that sat at the far end of the shore line, one of which would be my home for the time being.

  I was going to stop there first to drop off my stuff, then head to the press conference slated to take place in front of The Boutique.

  I was frustrated and had gone through my closet too many times to count. I remembered all the teasing I gave my sisters about their hours of planning what outfit to wear at social events. They would always comment on how important this dress was, or how that shirt with the right skirt would make or break their social standing.

  At the time I thought how dramatic; today I could fully understand and appreciate their plight.

  Standing in front of the full length mirror, I held up my dark suit that without a doubt reflected a man's style. What style did I want to reflect?

  I exchanged it for the beige one. If I paired it with the mocha shirt, would that bring out my eyes? The ladies loved my dark chocolate brown eyes. However, today I wanted to be noticed for my accomplishments, not my eyes.

  For years I had no clue what constituted a good suit. If it had buttons, a fancy collar and enough space for my body, it was good enough. That was before I met Ashley. She taught me how much style mattered. Too bad she didn't realize just because you had style did not mean you had class.

  The sour expression I was wearing had me wondering, why was I thinking of her today? Then again, if it had not been for Ashley's betrayal, I would not have spent the last six months deciding what I truly wanted out of life. What kind of legacy I wanted to leave behind.

  Returning my focus to the task at hand, I considered whether I should go less stodgy and more modern casual with my Van de Graaf loafers and Ralph Lauren Purple Label polo shirt. As much as I liked the comfort of my jeans and T-shirt, those would not cut it today.

  Shoes — did I own a pair of Van de Graaf's famous Boardroom and Beyond men's shoes? I would have at least thought to buy a pair somewhere along the way, wouldn't I?

  What if I didn't?

  This wouldn't matter if Richard hadn't insisted we do this at a public press conference where everyone will be analyzing every inch of what I was wearing. I could hear the whispers now — a lawyer going into fashion. And not just any lawyer, the great Mr. Aleksander Manos, known as Manny to my old school buddies and Manly to the tabloids.

  Everyone assumed I would be taking over my father's firm when I went to law school. What many did not realize was that growing up surrounded by lawyers gave me the insight to know I never wanted to be a lawyer. However, it did give me the knowledge to get accepted to law school on a full scholarship. I took advantage of my good fortune and did a double major in design as well, my true passion.

  I had worked at my father's firm for a brief time. Ashley had convinced me that I owed it to my father to at least give it a try.

  The firm that struggled when my Greek father came to the United States with his law degree. My father Evander took on immigration cases, helping others get citizenship and bringing family member over. Coming from nothing, my father swore he would make it big if he could just get one good case and win.

  Along came Markas Petros, another Greek immigrant trying to make it, if only the local law enforcement were not constantly harassing him at every turn. Needing the money and exposure, my father took the case of the downtrodden man browbeaten by bad cops.

  It didn't take long for my father to realize he had been conned by the best — Mob bosses were the kings of cons, after all. Markas had uses my father's sympathy in wanting to help immigrants to his advantage. By the time Evander understood just who and what Markas stood for, it was too late to back down. He fought alongside Markas and won.

  He was now known as that Mob lawyer and no legitimate client would walk through his door again. He became the lawyer for the Mob and got rich doing it. For as crooked as Markas and his friends were, Evander was an even better lawyer.

  My mother returned to Greece. I was too young to understand the details of the custody agreement. Later I found out my father had completely cut her out of our lives.

  It disappointed me that now as adults, she had made no attempt to rebuild a relationship with her children.<
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  After the divorce, my father shipped me off to boarding school hoping to shelter me from all the talk.

  But can you ever really hide from that kind of scrutiny? The other kids knew exactly who my father was and were never going to let me forget it.

  Except for Richard; he knew the sins of the father should not fall upon the son. He became my first friend at a school where no one knew me except for what my father did. Richard’s friendship came attached with Jackson, Nate, and Nate’s younger brother Theo. We became known as the Brentwood five. By the time we hit our late teens, we were hot as fuck, rich and entitled.

  The notoriety of our last names made us targets for the tabloids. We held tight to our bad reputation. We used to wear it as badge of honor.

  After Brentwood, I refused to accept any help from my father and worked my way through college. Even with a full scholarship, I did not want to depend on my father for anything. After all, I had a Brentwood reputation to uphold.

  I invested very well, allowing me to become independent my father’s influence and money.

  Unfortunately, the only thing people wanted to see was that I was Aleksander Manos, son of the great Evander Manos. Even though I became a self-made man, my money must be dirty like my father's. My non-stop partying and the parade of starlets in my life did not help.

  I was labeled Manly Manos the Ladies Man, playboy extraordinaire, and I did not disappoint them. I was known for my prowess in the bedroom and for the extravagant gifts I bestowed upon my discarded lovers.

  When the not-so-flattering book emerged, the press painted me as the sophisticated playboy who took advantage of Ashley, the sweet innocent girl next door.

  Today I was going to emerge a better version of myself. After today I was going to work hard to get the respect of my peers. The respect my father should have had from the beginning.