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Second Chances: Jack and Gillian: Second Chances, #1
Second Chances: Jack and Gillian: Second Chances, #1
Second Chances: Jack and Gillian: Second Chances, #1
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Second Chances: Jack and Gillian: Second Chances, #1

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Everything was perfect in socialite Gillian Faraday’s charmed life until her father died and left her destitute. Businessman Jack McLaren had his world under control until he took on the care of his troublesome preteen niece and nephew. Gillian needs a job. Jack needs help. The solution seems simple.

The problem is, Jack is the major creditor who got the bulk of her father's estate and Gillian is not impressed.

It will take overcoming a mountain of misunderstanding before Jack and Gillian dare to believe everyone deserves a second chance. 

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 12, 2015
ISBN9781516329687
Second Chances: Jack and Gillian: Second Chances, #1
Author

Judy Bagshaw

Judy Bagshaw was a retired elementary school teacher and writer in Southern Ontario, Canada. As a plus-sized woman, she longed to see stories featuring full-figured central characters. Much of her work features such women leading rich and active lives, as she did. Romantic suspense was her genre of choice, but she also wrote humor, some non-fiction, and children's stories. Her currently available works include several novels, work in multiple anthologies, and a short story collection. She was also part of the writing team for the Ginn Reading Steps from Pearson Educational, a program widely used in elementary schools. Judy sadly passed away in 2015 but her legacy of size-positive romance novels lives on.

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    Book preview

    Second Chances - Judy Bagshaw

    cover.jpg

    Second Chances:

    Jack & Gillian

    Judy Bagshaw

    Books by Judy Bagshaw

    At Long Last, Love

    Big Fat Lies

    Lady Blue

    Love by the Pound

    Kiss Me, Nate!

    On Foot on a Banana Peel

    Opposite Attraction

    Second Chances: Jack & Gillian

    Teacher’s Pet

    Through All Eternity

    ....and more. See judybagshaw.com for other works.

    Second Chances: Jack & Gillian

    Copyright © 2011 by Judy Bagshaw

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

    Edited by Tina Marie Smith and Skyla Dawn Cameron

    Cover Art © 2015 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

    Second Edition October 2015

    Previously Published March 2011 by Awe-Struck Publishing

    All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author or her representative.

    This book 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 any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

    No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without permission from the author. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. 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/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights and livelihood is appreciated.

    Dedication

    To Mom, for always being my first reader and my greatest cheerleader.

    To my cousin, Jan, for the encouraging words, and to her husband Eric, for feeding us so well.

    Chapter One

    Twenty-six-year-old Gillian Faraday sat forward and gaped at the lawyer. Say that again?

    Philip Stark, Attorney at Law, known to be the epitome of calm, cool and collected in legal circles, quaked in the presence of such feminine outrage. The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat. There’s nothing left. He startled when she jumped to her feet and began pacing.

    How is that possible? She clasped and unclasped her hands as she marched around the office. Daddy’s rich. He’s always been rich. Very rich. That means I’m rich. There can’t be nothing because that would mean that I’m... She came to an abrupt stop in front of his desk and slammed her hand on the top. That I’m poor. I can’t be poor. I don’t know how! She flopped back into her chair with a whimper and crossed her long, shapely legs.

    Philip dabbed at his forehead with a starched white handkerchief.

    Even in her current emotional state, Gillian Faraday was a vision. Copper red hair that cascaded about her shoulders in cleverly contrived curls; a dotting of freckles across her upturned nose; translucent skin that most women would envy; a lush curvy figure, out of fashion in this age of size zeroes but suited to her five-foot-nine stature. At the moment, her green eyes flashed and her cheeks were flushed pink, and she was stunning.

    There was a long moment of silence and then Philip, a senior partner at Longrin, Willoughby, Davis and Stark, the Faraday family’s longtime law firm, cleared his throat again and continued. Nevertheless, it is a fact. Your father has left you nothing.

    How? How did this happen? Gillian leaned forward, her hands clenched together.

    Philip removed his reading glasses and stood to come around to the front of the desk. He genuinely cared for this young woman, having known her most of her life. As a child she had been a delight. As a young woman, she made him very nervous. He perched on the edge of the desk and leaned on his hands. Your father was always a bit of a maverick, Gillian dear. You know that. He took risks. He lived always balanced on the edge. Yes, he made exorbitant amounts of money. But he also lost easily as much. This past year has been a difficult one. He invested badly and borrowed heavily. He didn’t count on dying before he could get back on his feet.

    I just don’t get it. Gillian sat back and her eyes glistened with impending tears. She bit at her bottom lip and sniffed back her emotions. What about the house? And the ones in Tuscany and Wales?

    Mortgaged to the hilt, I’m sad to say.

    The antique car collection?

    Gone.

    The stable of horses?

    He sold those last month.

    He sold the horses? Oh my God! I mean, I hated them, but Daddy loved them. She took a moment to absorb this new information. The yacht and the planes I suppose are also gone.

    Philip nodded. Their sale hardly made a dent in the debt Charles owed.

    Gillian heaved a big sigh. What am I going to do?

    Philip stood and walked back around to his chair. He sat and closed the folder, then clasped his hands atop and leaned forward, speaking as earnestly as he could. You’ll do what you must, my dear. Since I surmise you have not saved any money of your own...

    Gillian made a face and shook her head. I never had to. Daddy paid all my bills.

    Well, you’ll just have to get a job and learn how to pay your own bills. Millions of people do that every day. You’re a clever girl. I’m sure you can manage.

    Manage. She jumped to her feet, her color rising.

    Philip could have bitten his tongue for sparking another outburst.

    She began waving her hands. Manage! I don’t work. I don’t have to work. I...I...throw parties and travel. I appear at charity functions and play tennis. I go to clubs and give interviews. I don’t know how to have an ordinary job.

    By now, Philip was tired of dealing with the spoiled daughter of his least favorite, though formerly most lucrative, client. An edge tinged his next words. Then you will just have to learn.

    Easy for you to say! Gillian marched over to the windows and peered unseeing at the suddenly hostile world outside. So what now? she asked, her voice gone dull and tired.

    Well, we have a meeting with your father’s largest creditor, McLaren Industries, and once we’ve settled with them...

    Wait a minute. McLaren. Jack McLaren?

    Yes. Do you know him?

    Gillian came back to her chair and perched. I should. He worked for my dad years ago. Let’s see...I was maybe twelve when he first joined the company. Daddy really liked him. Called him a sharp operator. How’s he involved in all this?

    As I said, he’s the major creditor of your father’s estate. Several months ago, your father made an arrangement for a considerable loan from him, and as part of the agreement, Mr. McLaren paid off several other small debts as well with the understanding that your father would repay them as part of the loan.

    How can I not know about any of this?

    Philip gave her an indulgent sad smile. My dear, you were never involved in the day to day operation of your father’s business. And he, I’m sure, didn’t want you to worry your pretty head about such matters.

    My head might be pretty but it’s not empty, snapped Gillian.

    I was not suggesting any such...

    And Daddy wasn’t stupid either. He would never have let himself become indebted to a single person like that. Damn it all. This means Jack McLaren pretty much owns Faraday Inc., doesn’t it?

    In a nutshell, yes.

    Anger flared in her eyes again. That snake!

    The arrangement was initiated by your father...

    Yeah, and I bet McLaren didn’t do much to talk him out of it either. I always knew he was jealous of my dad.

    Actually that wasn’t quite true, and Philip was sure Gillian knew this. Jack had looked up to his mentor, and Charles doted on the younger man. Philip remembered that the twelve-year-old Gillian had harbored a major crush on the young twenty-something Jack—all six-foot-three of him. Jack had known it too, and although always kind to her, had kept his distance—a sensible decision in Philip’s eyes.

    Be reasonable, my dear, said Philip.

    Reasonable! To hell with reasonable. Wait until I get my hands on Jack McLaren. I’ll show you reasonable!

    ****

    Her chance came several minutes later when she stormed out of Philip’s office with him trailing behind trying to calm her; for the subject of their discussion lounged in the outer office, flipping the pages of a financial magazine while he waited.

    He looked up at the commotion and stood when he saw the source. Gillian. I’m so sorry about your dad.

    She froze and glared at him, standing with fists clenched to her sides. Sorry? You’re sorry?

    He seemed confused and looked to Philip for assistance. The older man merely shrugged and looked uncomfortable. His secretary, however, watched with avid interest.

    How dare you speak to me you lying, sneaky, underhanded, thieving snake in the grass!

    What? Jack took a step back, visibly stunned.

    You heard me. Well, I hope you’re happy. You own it all now—everything. And I have nothing. She burst into tears. I hope you’re happy. With that she strode past him and left the office.

    Jack hadn’t seen Gillian Faraday for several years, other than in the pages of People, or at a distance at charity events. How he’d failed to notice the strikingly sexy woman she had become, was beyond him. She was, in a word, gorgeous and his libido was more than interested.

    She’d been such a cute kid at twelve, when he first started working for her father. Tall and gangly with long red pigtails and a smart mouth, he’d found her to be enjoyable company. But when it became clear she had a big crush on him, he’d kept clear. No need to jeopardize his job.

    He’d done well at Faraday Inc. and risen fast. But working to make someone else rich didn’t suit him and he soon had to branch out on his own. Charles had been supportive, stating that Jack was like a son to him. So Jack had made sure to avoid any negative dealings with the man from that point.

    When Charles came to him, several months ago, begging for help, he was reluctant. But he couldn’t say no. If he’d known that Charles would be killed in a car wreck before he could get back on his feet, he may have demurred.

    He shook his head. Why was Gillian so angry with him? He hadn’t done anything but help her dad. Women! Redheaded women, at that. He had to admit, though, she sure looked gorgeous when she was angry.

    Chapter Two

    Oh my goodness, but that girl is a spitfire, said Philip, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief and moving to the bar where he poured a glass of water. Can I get you anything?

    Jack shook his head. No thanks. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat, crossing his legs. What was that all about, anyway?

    Philip dropped into his desk chair and heaved a big sigh of relief. I had to tell her that her father has left her with nothing.

    Hell, no. Really? Well, that explains the fireworks.

    She does get worked up.

    I can’t believe Charles, said Jack, leaning his arms on his knees. I mean, I knew he was in trouble when he came to me for help. But I never dreamed he was stretched so thin.

    Well, he was, said Philip, picking up a file folder and slapping it on the desk.

    But why was she so angry with me? Jack asked.

    Philip flushed and fiddled with his tie, avoiding the other man’s eyes. I told her you were Charles’s major creditor—that basically you get everything.

    Jack swore, and ran a hand over his face. Well, that makes sense then.

    I’m sure that if she were made to listen to reason...

    Jack snorted and sat back in his chair. I somehow don’t think that redheaded...spitfire—isn’t that what you called her?—will listen to me. And it’s a shame, you know. I really liked the kid. I wish I could get along that well with my... He waved his arm and shook his head. Never mind. You don’t need to hear about my domestic woes.

    The twins are proving to be a handful then? Philip tsked and gave a commiserating look.

    My niece and nephew are indeed a handful. Well, Zoe is anyway. She reminds me a little of our Miss Faraday, all sharp edges and attitude. Zack is quieter, more introspective. I worry sometimes that he’s a little too withdrawn... He sighed and slapped his hands on his knees, sitting up straight. So where do we go from here?

    Philip opened the file folder and withdrew a number of documents. We’ll review these, you’ll sign them, and that will be that. I think your lawyers have done all the necessary preliminary work.

    Let’s get to it then.

    ****

    Driving home, Jack couldn’t get Gillian Faraday out of his mind. It upset him greatly that she thought he had somehow duped her father out of his business. Nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, Jack jeopardized his own interests by getting involved.

    Charles Faraday had been a maverick—a daring, adrenalin junkie who built and lost several empires over his almost sixty years. Some thought him brilliant. Most found him arrogant and careless.

    When he had come to Jack begging for his help, Jack had initially turned him down. His gratitude for the man’s mentoring early in his career could not overshadow the recklessness with which Charles had conducted business in the recent years. Then Charles had said something that made Jack rethink things.

    My daughter thinks I walk on water, you know? Charles had been sitting on the sofa in his office, Jack perched across from him. He’d been hunched over, head hanging, shame and desperation written all over him. He had looked up with such sorrow. I hate that she’ll know what a loser I became.

    You’re not a loser Chuck, Jack had said.

    You’re a good kid, Jack. I always knew that about you. I’m proud of what you’ve done. And I understand why you’re reluctant to do what I ask. No hard feelings, okay?

    Jack was filled with guilt in that moment and relented. Maybe we can work something out, he’d said, and welcomed the look of gratitude on his old friend’s face.

    And now his friend was gone, killed along with his third wife in a freak car accident. And his daughter thought he...Jack...was the villain of the piece.

    He ran restless fingers through his hair. He had to help her; that was clear. He pulled his car over to the side of the road and took out his cell. After several rings, a female voice answered.

    Hello. I’m trying to reach Gillian Faraday. Can you help me?

    "This is she. Who’s this?’

    Gillian. It’s Jack McLaren. He heard her gasp and called. Don’t hang up!

    There was a long pause. Why should I talk to you?

    "Please. I think we need to talk things over, don’t you?

    What if I don’t want to talk to you?

    Will you at least agree to listen?

    I’m not sure you have anything I want to listen to...but all right. I’ll hear you out.

    Great. Let me take you to lunch. I could pick you up.

    Fine. She gave him her address. Jack recognized it as one of the prime condo complexes in the city. He wondered if she could afford to live there now.

    See you in about an hour, then. And thanks, Gillian.

    He heard the click as she hung up. It was then a thought occurred to him—perhaps an answer to her problem and to his as well.

    For the first time that day he smiled and felt there was hope.

    Chapter Three

    Gillian sat, legs and arms crossed, surveying the restaurant with barely concealed distaste. You couldn’t have picked the Four Seasons maybe?

    I like it here. The food is exceptional. Jack gave the appearance of complete relaxation. In truth, his insides were in turmoil. He was somewhat amused to find he was nervous. It was a rare phenomenon anymore. But the feisty redhead bristling with attitude across from him had knocked him sideways.

    Gillian’s lips formed into a pout and she reached for her water glass, taking a small sip while she scanned the room. It’s dull, she remarked, setting down her glass with a frown.

    Like me, I suppose? He smirked.

    She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. You said it, not me.

    They were seated in a raised banquette that overlooked the quiet elegance of the family-owned Italian eatery he’d chosen. Wait staff, smartly dressed in crisp white shirts and carefully pressed trousers, glided between the tables, unobtrusively catering to the diners. The tables were spaced to allow some privacy, and the chink of fine china and crystal could be heard beneath the subdued conversations.

    He often came here, for in truth the food was unparalleled. But it had also been largely ignored by the trend seekers and arbiters of taste, which meant there were

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