Shift Happens Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Table of Contents

  Acclaim for Christy Gissendaner

  Look for these titles from Christy Gissendaner

  Title Page

  Copyright Warning

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  Also by Christy Gissendaner

  More Romance from Etopia Press

  Acclaim for Christy Gissendaner

  “Christy Gissendaner is a pro at keeping this funny, light and entertaining!”

  —Niina's Reading and Reviewing (One Hot Knight)

  “Sizzling, smoking sex scenes”

  —Jeannie Zelos Book Reviews (One Hot Knight)

  “Sin is like chocolate-covered sex on legs!”

  —Place of Reads (A Touch of Sin)

  “The Deed is a book that will have you alternately smiling, crying, and sighing.”

  —Romance Junkies Reviews

  “A Hot Mess is a funny, sexy, page turner.”

  —Author Jackie Weger

  “Overnight Sensation by Christy Gissendaner is a wickedly delightful story about a regular gal caught between two sensational men.”

  —Romance Junkies Reviews (Overnight Sensation)

  Look for these titles from Christy Gissendaner

  Now Available

  The Tybee Island Shifters Series

  In Too Deep

  In Deeper

  The I Heart Shifters Series

  Shift Happens

  As Robin Danner

  Stroke of Midnight

  Straitlaced

  Shift Happens

  I Heart Shifters Book One

  Christy Gissendaner

  Etopia Press

  Copyright Warning

  EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Published By

  Etopia Press

  136 S. Illinois Ave. Suite 212

  Oak Ridge, TN 37830

  http://www.etopiapress.com

  Shift Happens

  Copyright © 2015 by Christy Gissendaner

  ISBN: 978-1-941692-69-1

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

  First Etopia Press electronic publication: April 2015

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ellie Reynolds cradled a coffee cup in one hand and jiggled her key in the lock with the other. It had rained the night before, and dirty puddles gathered in the cracked concrete outside her salon. With her left arm clamped tightly to her side, she prayed the pile of magazines she’d purchased from the newsstand down the street didn’t slip onto the sidewalk.

  Nothing worse than a rainy Tuesday, the first day of her workweek. Especially when the day was booked solid. Sometimes she thought it would be nice to have a man around, you know to carry things and such, but then she remembered how horrible she was at dating. But on a day like this, when her lock was stripped and the key wouldn’t work, a bad date would be worth it if he happened to be mechanically inclined.

  Huffing with exasperation, she forced the key to turn and the lock’s tumblers finally clicked into place. She shoved the door open and hurried forward to drop the pile of glossy magazines onto the front counter. The coffee she still clutched in one hand splashed out of the slit in the plastic top and dampened the cover of one publication.

  She swiped the liquid away with the side of her palm and continued on her way, flicking on lights as she went, until the room flooded with the intense fluorescent lighting she required to work. The damp cork heels of her wedge sandals squeaked on the parquet floor and echoed through the rectangular space of Polished, the nail salon she’d purchased with her inheritance money.

  The salon was homage to Ellie’s beloved grandparent. Nana had loved nothing better than bright red polish. Nana’s favorite things filled every inch of the space. Colorful paint on the walls, an over-the-top crystal chandelier, and even a miniature replica of the Eiffel Tower sat in the center of the room.

  Her father claimed she’d lost her mind, but the snarky comments had disappeared when Ellie turned a profit her first year. Three years later, Polished was still going strong, mostly thanks to the shifter housewives who displayed no compunction in spending their husbands’ money. The felines especially loved to have their nails trimmed almost daily.

  Ellie chuckled at the memory of her father’s quip during his last visit: “Maybe you should install a scratching post.” Scott Reynolds, gruff and to the point, hated the froufrou appearance of her salon, blaming Ellie’s whimsical business sense on his mother.

  The cat-shaped clock on the wall chimed eight. A plastic tail ticked back and forth, the eyes darting right and left in time with the second hand. The clock had been another nod to Nana, filched out of the storage container where her grandmother’s belongings had been kept after she’d moved to the nursing home. The move had been best for Nana in those final years. She’d found a gentleman friend, several actually, and lived the remainder of her days pitting each against the other. If only Ellie possessed half of her grandmother’s luck with men.

  Ellie set the coffee down and shrugged a multicolored smock over the vintage pink sweater and jeans she’d found at Goodwill. Bargain shopping. A trait she actually had inherited from Nana.

  She picked the coffee up and managed the first sip before the doorbell chimed. Antoinette Ewing, the wife of an Atlanta Falcons’ defensive back, breezed in with a cheerful smile. Antoinette, Ellie’s only non-shifter client, was one of her favorites. The tall, statuesque woman didn’t hold back with her opinions or her tips.

  “Good morning!” Ellie chirped and glanced longingly at her now lukewarm coffee. “You’re here early.”

  Antoinette removed a bright yellow parka, revealing a fitted red tube dress beneath, before heading for the station up front. “If that’s meant to be a jab at my usual tardiness, I’ll have you know Ewie is responsible. The crazy man woke me at the butt crack of dawn for sex.”

  Ellie, used to Antoinette’s over-sharing, smiled and nodded. “That’s nice.” She wouldn’t mind butt-crack-of-dawn sex.

  Antoinette settled her long limbs into the chair and tossed aside her designer purse. “Girl, you don’t know Ewie. There’s no going back to sleep after that. I swear that man can go for hours!”

  “Wish I had your problem.” Ellie laughed and sank into the stool opposite Antoinette. She pulled her tools closer and flicked on the desk lamp. “Do you have a color in mind?”

  Antoinette scrutinized her inch-long nails. “Fuchsia. It’ll match the new heels I ordered.”

  “Fuchsia it is.” Ellie selected a bottle and held it up for Antoinette’s approval. The woman nodded in agreement, so Ellie set about r
emoving the fluorescent orange from last week’s manicure.

  The minutes passed easily, the conversation filled with anecdotes from Antoinette’s energetic lifestyle and sprinkled with the rasp of the file. Ellie loved clients like this, the ones who actually seemed interested in her boring life. It helped the days pass and kept the loneliness at bay, at least for a little while.

  Antoinette blew on one freshly painted nail. “I forgot to ask last week. Did you ever call Pat?”

  Ellie squinched her eyes at the mention of the Falcons’ trainer Antoinette and her husband had tried to hook her up with. “Yes, I did.”

  “And?” Antoinette waved her hand back and forth. Her now-fuchsia nails were a blur of color. “He’s hot, isn’t he? Did you hit that or what?”

  Heat warmed Ellie’s cheeks. She tried not to blush. Truly she did, but she couldn’t deny her Irish heritage. “Not exactly.”

  Antoinette placed her palm on the shiny surface of the station and widened her eyes. “Well? What happened? Don’t keep me in suspense. A kiss? Maybe a little heavy petting.”

  Ellie focused on painting. Maybe it wasn’t as embarrassing as she believed. Maybe. “We went to dinner and a movie.”

  Antoinette pursed pink-tinted lips. “Classic. Simple. And what happened after the movie?”

  “Well,” Ellie hedged. “He leaned in to kiss me and…” Geez, was she really going to relive the embarrassment?

  Antoinette leaned forward. “And?”

  “I burped.”

  Antoinette sat back with an audible thump. “You burped?”

  “Right when his lips were about to touch mine.” Ellie swiped a second coat of polish on her client’s thumb. “I had purple onions with my salad at dinner. It was dreadful. Truly noxious.”

  Antoinette stared at her with a blank expression. Then she burst into boisterous laughter. “Are you kidding me? You burped in his face? Girl, you’re impossible. Everyone knows you don’t eat onions on a date.”

  “They were purple!” Ellie argued. “I thought they were safe.”

  The memory of the ruined date was cringe worthy. She shuddered with remembered repulsion. “Pat said he would call, but he hasn’t and it’s been a week. I don’t think he will.” Not that she really cared. Pat had seemed overconfident to her, but at least he’d been someone to go out and have fun with. If he could fix a lock, she was all in.

  Antoinette twisted her hand so Ellie could reach the other side of the nail she worked on. “I’ll see if Ewie has another single friend. But I’ve got to say, your batting average isn’t looking good. Six men and something’s gone wrong with every single date. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did it on purpose. Don’t you want to find someone?”

  “I’m cursed,” Ellie agreed. She used her thumbnail to wipe away a smidge of fuchsia from Antoinette’s mocha skin. “All done. This shade is perfect for you.”

  Antoinette held up her hands and examined the polish coating all ten of her perfect nails. “Gorgeous. Look in my purse and grab my wallet. I tucked a hundred inside for you.”

  Ellie knew there was no point in arguing about the outrageous seventy-five-dollar tip, so she did as her client requested and slid the money into the drawer of her cash register while Antoinette bustled over to the drying table. Ellie flipped on the switch for the vents and placed Antoinette’s favorite magazine on top of the short shelf, opening it to the first article.

  “Thanks, honey,” Antoinette chirped.

  “You’re welcome.” She left Antoinette to finish drying and prepared for her next customer. Mrs. Sussman should be there any minute, and the woman was a stickler for being on time.

  Ellie grabbed a rag and disinfectant. She was in the middle of wiping down the station when the doorbell chimed. Before looking up, she called out a cheerful greeting. “Good morning, Mrs. Sussman.”

  “Good morning.” The deep, chocolate-sweet tone traced fingers down her spine. Whoever it was, was definitely not Mrs. Sussman. Ellie glanced at the visitor and experienced a set of trembles to rival the world’s strongest earthquakes.

  Holy shit. Jackson Lawrence.

  The Jackson Lawrence. Atlanta’s most eligible bachelor and a billionaire ten times over. Maybe a hundred. Hell, there were more zeros in his bank account than she had toes. Why was he in Polished? And more importantly, why did he choose a bad hair day to visit her salon?

  She tossed the rag aside and smoothed a hand over her frizzy red curls before strolling forward. Her knees knocked every step of the way. Could he see them? Dear Lord, don’t let him see her wobble. “May I help you?”

  Sea-green eyes locked with hers. “Yes, you may. I’m looking for Ellie Reynolds.”

  Holy shit! Conscious of the looks Antoinette shot her, Ellie pretended to be a suave, cool professional. “I’m Ellie Reynolds. What can I do for you? Do you need to make an appointment?”

  No way could she hold his hand in hers and even pretend to work on his nails.

  “Not today.” Jackson’s gaze roamed her face, dipping down to the tie-dyed purple, blue, and yellow smock she wore with her name embroidered in pink thread. “You’re the owner?”

  Did she detect sarcasm? And what was wrong with her smock? It had character, or at least she’d thought so when she’d ordered a dozen of them.

  She propped a hand on her hip and lifted an eyebrow. “Yes, I am. And you are?”

  A strangled laugh escaped Antoinette from somewhere behind her. Ellie ignored the flutters of apprehension in her belly and waited for Jackson’s response.

  God, he was even sexier in person than in the magazines, with perfectly groomed brown hair and a hint of stubble on his angled jaw, like he’d shaved the day before but forgot to that morning. He was several inches taller than her, and his physique rivaled her favorite action heroes: bulging chest and arms, with a trim waist and thick thighs. His lips were entirely too kissable, almost as if they would appear plump if he hadn’t tightened them into a firm, straight line.

  Dressed in a black sweater and faded jeans, he should be just like any good-looking man in Atlanta, but Jackson Lawrence was anything but normal. The rumor was he’d turned his back on his pack when he was a teenager, a definite no-no in the world of shifters. Then he’d become a lone wolf. A rogue. A shifter guaranteed to induce heat in any female he met.

  Her imagination supplied images best left to the bedroom. She made a mental note to cool it on the romance novels. Her hormones were already in overdrive without an extra dose from the erotic love stories she preferred.

  Jackson straightened the pile of magazines she’d left strewn on the counter. Very clean freakish of him. Figured. A man who looked like he did couldn’t be perfect. It wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the world.

  “I’ve got a proposition for you.” His voice smoothed over her. Slow and sweet, like honey or the molasses Nana had been fond of pouring on buttermilk biscuits.

  “What sort of proposition?” She didn’t try to hide the suspicion in her tone.

  “Yoo hoo,” Antoinette called out. “If she says no, I’m available.”

  Jackson graced Antoinette with a slow grin. Even though the smile wasn’t directed at Ellie, she felt it to her toes. She grabbed the edge of the counter to keep her balance, afraid she’d totter right out of her three-inch-high sandals. The corners of his mouth inched to their normal position, and his attention returned to Ellie. “As I was saying, I have a proposition for you. Can you spare a moment to speak with me?”

  Ellie glanced at the cat clock. Eight thirty-eight. What the hell was keeping Mrs. Sussman? Usually the panther shifter was on time. “Actually I have another appointment.”

  Before she could stop him, he snagged her appointment book between his long, beautiful fingers and flipped the page. “She’s eight minutes late.” Another tick of the minute hand. “Make that nine minutes.”

  He tapped the laminated sign taped to the counter. “In another sixty seconds, her appointment is canceled according to your policy. I�
�ll wait.”

  The beast within Ellie flared to life, but she batted it aside. No one knew she was half shifter, and she planned to keep it that way. The client base she’d cultivated seemed to be suspicious of other shifters, and the last thing she wanted to do was ruin her professional image. She’d played the part of a human, and she would continue to play it as long as it paid off. Besides, Antoinette was fully human and probably had no clue shifters existed. Not many humans did. She didn’t want to lose the one friend she had in Atlanta.

  Jackson seemed to recognize Ellie’s ire, and he stepped aside, whistling softly to himself and crossing his arms over his massive chest. Ellie stood there, mute with irritation, and listened to the clock’s ticks. For the first time, she regretted digging the memento out of storage.

  Antoinette breezed past waggling a wave with her freshly painted nails. “I’m all dry. See you next time, Ellie. Later, handsome.” She directed a wink at Jackson.

  Ellie watched her go. The traitor.

  Left alone with the sexiest, richest man she’d even seen, Ellie ripped off the laminated sheet and tossed it into the trash. It was a stupid policy anyway. None of her clients were ever on time. Except Mrs. Sussman. The second traitor of the day.

  At exactly eight forty, Jackson returned to the counter. “According to previously stated policy, your eight thirty appointment is canceled. May I speak with you now?”

  She glared at him but finally relented. “Fine. But if Mrs. Sussman shows up, you’re out of here.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and nodded. “Fair enough. Your animosity is a bit of a mystery, but I think you’ll be happy once you hear what I have to say.”

  His assessment was spot-on. What was it about him that pricked her ire, besides the overwhelming libidinal response? Typically she wasn’t a hateful sort of person, but instinctively she knew she had to be careful around him. He threw her off-balance, and she didn’t like the feeling. “I’m sure you’re used to women falling over themselves to talk to you, but I’m not your typical female.”