By Chance (Poison & Wine, book 2)

By Sigal Ehrlich

There’s so much going on in Vicky’s life. A demanding job as the only female VP at a male-dominated company, good times with her tight-knit group of best ladies, and of course, her fabulous dating life. A committed relationship is somewhere near the bottom of Vicky’s list of life goals. A massive fan of new beginnings and the thrill of being swooned off her feet, Vicky has the perfect formula: date, for a limited period, and never exclusively.
Not many people go to sleep anonymous and wake up the next morning a worldwide sensation. With a voice that melts hearts, and a dangerously lethal smile, Ricky’s overnight fame means he can have anyone he wants, but the one he wants isn’t into a serious relationship. To make matters worse, pursuing her goes against his record contract stipulation to remain single.
Opposites don’t simply attract – they detonate.
When a forbidden sizzling affair sparks between the music industry’s newest heartthrob and an ambitious corporate world prodigy, it brings along an ageless question – would you give up your dreams for a chance with The One?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sigal Ehrlich
• Release date: Oct 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9780997011463

Sigal Ehrlich

Sigal Ehrlich is a bestselling author of refreshing, fun, and sweet romance books. She loves books, cold weather, and the occasional bubbly drink. Living as an expat for most of her life, Sigal has been lucky enough to visit many exotic places and meet some unique people from all corners of the world, while experiencing the sweet triumphs and travails of trying to acclimate to new "homes." Currently, Sigal calls the Czech Republic home where she lives with her husband and three kids.http://www.sigalehrlich.com/@Sigal_Ehrlichhttps://www.facebook.com/sigalehrlich.author

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright © Sigal Ehrlich

Also by Sigal Ehrlich

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

By Fate

Note from the Author

About the Author

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Sigal Ehrlich

ISBN: 978 0 9970114 2 5

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. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

by Chance

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright © 2021 by Sigal Ehrlich. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Cover designed by Sigal Ehrlich

Editing by Nicole Langston, Jenny Sims

Published by Sigal Ehrlich

http://www.sigalehrlich.com

Visit the author’s website:

http://www.sigalehrlich.com

Version 29.10.20

Interior design and formatting by:

www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

Layers, Stark #1

Inner Core, Stark #2

Outer Core, Stark #3

Retrace

Leaving Me Behind

Unplugged I

Unplugged II

by Mist@ke - Poison and Wine book 1

For Susanna, thanks for being my chicken on this wild ride

Two’s Company; Three’s a Crowd—Never!

Y ou’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, he says with a predatory grin. At first glance, he looked like a successful businessman with a pinch of sin. At first glance, I understood why Pandora, one of my closest friends, thought he might be my type. I can’t completely overlook the cheesy come-on, which is actually a bit of a turnoff. Surprisingly, this guy intrigues me enough for me not to walk away . . . yet. I have a very low tolerance for cliché, pompous bastards, you see.

After checking my watch, I take a sip of rosé. Cocking my head, I say, That so?

I follow his motion as he shifts his hand from his thigh to rest just over his heart and mouths, Honestly. Stare not leaving mine, he takes a swig of his amber drink.

I lick my lips, returning his daring stare. Flattery will get you everywhere. I seal my response with my lips tipped at the side.

He chuckles, slightly tilting his head back. I watch him, smiling to myself. Nothing beats the thrill—the promise of a new beginning. I live for the flirty exhilaration, the sensual buzz.

He picks up a couple of peanuts from the small bowl and flings them into his mouth. He watches me as he chews. With dark, inviting eyes and a chiseled jaw, he’s quite the vision in his bespoke navy suit.

So, tell me, Victoria Nielsen, what can I do to convince you to have dinner with me? His lips tip a little higher. See, the twenty minutes you offered aren’t nearly enough.

I reward him with a cheeky, thin smile. I don’t think that you know what you’re getting yourself into, Mr. Howard. Are you sure you want to share a meal with me?

His eyes run over me lazily from my black heels, past my crossed legs, and up the hem of my skirt. I slowly uncross my legs and cross them on the other side, giving him a peek at the hem of my garter. His stare heats up, and his Adam’s apple descends. He throws me a scorching glance and continues drinking me in, from my pearl-pink silk shirt to the solitaire diamond necklace, over my rose-tinted lips, and back to my eyes.

He shakes his head slowly. Nothing I want more. He pauses. And it’s Jack. We can drop the formality.

Bring it on.

I nod once and take another sip of rosé, choosing the next card to play. See, Mr. Howard . . . I lift my eyes to his. He shakes his head, seeming amused. I currently see two other gentlemen, James and Felipo.

He raises a surprised dark brow, parting his lips to respond. I hold my hand up, signaling I’m talking.

I don’t mind having dinner with you, but I want you to know that I don’t do exclusive. We can have dinner and see where it leads. I’m open to getting to know someone new. I smile at him economically. A possible additional suitor.

He frowns, considering my words, his lips set in a hint of a baffled smile.

Didn’t see that one coming, did you, Mr. Howard? I just love their reaction when they realize that they are not playing the leading role in our little flirty dance.

Covertly smirking from behind the glass in my hand, more to myself rather than to my drinks companion, I rise to stand. I pull out a business card from my purse and place it in front of him.

Sleep on it. I wink. If you decide to take me to dinner, after all, showering me with flowers will grant you a decent head start.

He eyes me somewhat incredulous yet with a side-smile. I return his smile, taking the last sip of rosé and delicately placing the glass beside his as I lean in a little to place an airy kiss near his cheek. Just as I thought, he smells fantastic. When I straighten, he follows my moves with his eyes, looking up at me somewhat enthralled. I reward him with a hint of a smile, turn around, and walk away. I find his eyes burning into me as I turn to look at him over my shoulder and say, White roses—they’re my favorite.

Now, don’t get all prude on me. I like the company of the opposite gender for a nice, fun time. And the more, the merrier . . . to a point! Just so we’re clear, it’s not a team sport kind of thing. Relax. I usually don’t exceed a trio; too much logistics otherwise. But why disqualify a promising gentleman only because you are seeing two other fine gentlemen? I’m a great believer in the fact that not every enjoyable romantic experience should be the peak of the greatest love affair. Too little time, too much to enjoy and explore out there. First dates and new beginnings are the best, so why not enjoy as many as possible?

Fifteen minutes later, I wait for the sliding doors to open and step into the elegant foyer of Clover Ltd, my place of work. Adrian, possibly the best personal assistant in the world, jumps out of his chair to greet me. Walk with me to the conference room, I tell him, and he complies without question. He’s probably the only guy I’d shamelessly beg not to leave me if he ever tries.

By my side, Adrian goes over the messages he took while I was away. Thirty minutes and it feels like I’ve been away for a week. I pull a fresh breath spray out of my purse and covertly spray a little in my mouth. All I need is to walk into this meeting smelling of wine. I’ll never hear the end of it. Too many people in that room are waiting for me to screw up. I drop the spray back into my purse and hand it to Adrian. Ever the professional, he takes the bag while continuing to brief me as if no transaction has been made.

So, you have Tammy right after the management meeting, the call with the New York office, and then you’re going to lock yourself in your office for half an hour and quietly enjoy the early dinner I’m getting you from the Greek place you like.

I turn to him with a smile. You’re God’s gift to womankind.

Bonus season is just around the corner, he says dryly, handing me a blessed cup of coffee.

I grin at him. Duly noted. His lips tip, and he leaves toward my office, taking my purse with him.

I enter the vast meeting room—all the ties, also known as my fellow management colleagues, are in the room. When I close the door behind me, they take their seats. I join them, placing my coffee on the table, and silence my phone. Our collective boss starts with a quick review of last quarter before we give a status update of our respective departments. I throw the room a cursory glance. They all sit around the massive table, brandishing their wide, long, potent . . . ties.

Silk, money, and power.

When I got promoted to a vice president position, I thought being the only woman in management was a disadvantage. It can be if you see yourself as the minority, but I don’t. I think women possess much more. Alas, they are rarely given an equal chance to demonstrate their capabilities. It’s been long proven that women’s contributions to the workforce are often more significant than men’s. Power and respect can be earned even if your ass looks great in a pencil skirt and you have a pretty face. Need be, you possess extra weapons. I always wear skirt suits rather than pantsuits—I’ve got nothing to hide; on the contrary, I refrain from blending in. They walk in with their tailored suits and unearned privilege of being male, waving their long . . . ties while I walk in with a sharp view, vast experience, and killer heels. The thing is, their long, wide. . . ties don’t come as close to intimidating me as my tight skirts and killer instinct intimidate them.

It’s my turn; I wait to get everyone’s attention and give a status update that makes me swell with pride. My department did a hell of a job this quarter. I have both the graphs and the numbers to back it up. Nevertheless, I don’t let myself glow nor gloat in our success; I praise my subordinates and their hard work. I know full well that we won’t be resting on our laurels. We’ll be working twice as hard to keep this trend going upward.

Well done, Victoria. Impressive, the boss says and prompts for a better part of the table to send me diverse looks—a few nod with appreciation while a more significant part shows a less empathic cadence. I can easily guess as to what goes through a handful of their competitive, misogynistic minds. I promise you it’s not in my favor and probably concludes with bitch and a couple of exclamation points. Now, now, boys. Don’t hate just because I don’t need a large tie to compensate for performance.

Some of us stay in the room for the call with the New York office, and sometime later, I finally head to my office, ready to have a break before powering through the backlog of emails waiting in my inbox.

Dinner is waiting on your desk, Adrian says, concentrated on his screen. A breath later, he lifts his gaze above the screen. Dinner and a whole damn forest.

I frown at him in question. He answers by twisting his mouth while pointing at my office door.

Holy Dior! I exclaim, entering my office. It smells like a rose garden in here. I walk over to the enormous white rose arrangement, a wicked little smile playing on my face. With two fingers, I fish out the note that’s almost swallowed by the monstrous bouquet.

I’m up for the challenge. Dinner?

J.H.

I tap the card on my smiling lips. I guess you earned yourself a dinner date, Jacky boy.

How many roses? my sister asks, nodding at the waitress, confirming that yes, we’ll take another bottle of rosé. We’re crammed around the table in our usual booth at Poison and Wine, enjoying a girls’ night out, a thing we try to do as often as we can.

I shrug with merriment. I don’t know, a bazillion and one? I laugh. I swear I’ll need to hire a moving service if I want to take the thing home.

And I’m the supposed man-eater? my friend Kayla, badass drummer girl, says with a smirk. Sorry, I don’t think I can even compete.

My friend Pandora claps her hands. Yay, I knew you guys would hit it off. He’s plenty yums.

I nod with affirmation. Jack Howard certainly doesn’t lack in the looks department.

I swear, Vic, if you didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent you, my sister, Anna, says.

I side-hug her in return and raise my glass to the girls, aka The Chickens, my close-knit group of best ladies. Pandora, who we sometimes call Panda bear, is a kindergarten teacher by vocation and a certified kind-hearted, awesome lunatic by nature. And then there’s Kayla, the drummer girl with the pixie cut, rock-chic attitude, and a wealth of badassery. And last but not least, the person currently squeezed under my arm, my true best friend and younger sister, Anna, also known as Bean by close family.

The girls raise their glasses, and we do a little glass-clinking mingle. Kayla takes a sip of hers and places it back on the table. Catch you later. We’re on soon.

Go kick some ass, Drummer girl, Panda says while Anna and I wiggle our fingers in goodbye.

Scoot over, I tell my sister, shoving her a little with my butt. I’m going to the toilet.

Anna raises her eyebrow with the widest of smiles. Going to the toilet is what we call it these days? Mm-hmm. Tell Ricky I said hi, she whispers next to my ear on her way out of the booth, allowing my escape route. I trap a smile with my teeth instead of responding. The little chicken knows me too well.

I walk down the narrow, dimmed hall of the bar and pause when I see him. And by pause, I mean my steps and breath halt momentarily, like I’ve just gone into some kind of primordial survival mode I can’t explain. He’s leaning on the wall in a black tee, black jeans, and a silver plain chain accentuates his masculine, inked neck. There he is, Patrick Hart—Ricky. My nightly fantasy in the flesh.

Ricky is absorbed in thought, scrolling through his phone as I near him. Sensing my presence, he lifts his eyes. His lips tip at the side at the sight of me, causing my heart to skip a beat . . . or seven. He has this look about him, one that makes you nearly catch on fire. This guy is a montage of bad-boy mannerisms. From the way he’s running his tattooed fingers through his marvelously disheveled dark strands and how he licks his lips before saying something in a voice so graveled and deep you feel like it’s caressing you along the length of your skin to how economic his smiles are, but when you do get a chance to witness one . . . so help you God.

He pushes himself off the wall and takes a step forward. Hey, he says while placing a kiss on my cheek that seems innocent but is definitely not! It’s a slightly open-mouth kiss, teasingly close to the edge of my lips. It also lingers more than a friendly kiss calls for.

Felt lonely in New York without you, he says, not leaving my personal space, his eyes ever so slowly trailing across my face. The thing about Ricky, I don’t just look at him with my eyes or hear him with my ears; my entire body responds to him.

I take a protective step back. He’s referring to a trip he took to New York. I was supposed to be there too—on business. I can’t say that I wasn’t relieved when my business trip was canceled. Maybe not spending a few nights with Ricky somewhere far from home wasn’t a bad thing. I’m attracted to him like I’ve never been to anyone before. He’s charming and smart and ridiculously attractive, and apart from that, he’s everything I’m not looking for in a guy. With him, I don’t know if I’ll have control over the relationship like I usually do. I’m used to leading the game with the men following. I know he’s not that kind of man. The guy breathes dominance. And I have a hunch he’ll never go along with my current dating style. Not to mention we could not be more different even if we tried.

I feel like Ricky is starting to figure out adulthood while I’m already deep in. We’re in two very different places, and somehow, I don’t think that our trajectories will ever meet. It’s not even about parallel paths; it’s two divergent roads. While I’m on a defined highway that leads to climbing the corporate ladder, Ricky opts for the road less traveled full of unknowns.

Well, my trip was canceled, I say.

That doesn’t mean we can’t play on home territory. He eyes me, and I feel like those hypnotized characters in cartoons, like his eyes swirl and slowly bewitch me. Ricky and all his woman voodoo magic—not an act. He doesn’t force it. It’s just who he is. That’s how he roams the world, impossibly dangerously and sinfully attractive, unintentionally collecting a sizeable followership.

I squint my eyes at him, forcing myself to avoid the voodoo eyes and no less voodoo lips. Some of us don’t have time to play, I say and pat his chest in dismissal.

He grabs my hand and holds it over his chest. A very much defined peck, I notice. With my hand on his steadily beating heart and his large, inked hand covering it, I feel it down deep in my stomach.

Let’s have a drink after our session.

When I stare at him, contemplating my reply, he adds, "Last time didn’t cut it, Vic. I need more."

It’s good that I have one hand placed casually on the wall beside him and the other steadied under his own because I think my knees are getting weaker. Last time started with an evening walk that ended in a cozy little café somewhere in the very early hours of the morning. We talked for hours, and our immediate connection and the platonic intimacy we shared left me too unsettled for my own good. I just couldn’t get him out of my thoughts after last time.

Ricky, his name comes out a little hoarse. I don’t think that it’s a good id—

Yo, Rick, we’re on. We’re opening with The Gaslight Anthem cover, right? Kevin, Ricky’s band member, interrupts the moment.

With my hand still under his, attention fully on me, he says, I’m coming.

I’m coming. Oh boy, is it hot in here or what? When I step away, pulling out my seized hand, he quickly captures it back.

One drink, Vic. He squeezes my hand and follows his band member’s steps, not giving me a chance to reply. Leaving me yet again very much unsettled.

Playing with Fire Is What I Do Best

Iclimb up the raised stage at Poison, heading toward Kayla at the drums first. Giving her a friendly hug, I whisper the last-moment change in her ear. She raises her eyebrows in question, and I tip my chin, signaling humor me . She shrugs in response and mouths, Sure.

Walking over to Kevin, I inform him about the last-minute decision to switch things up a little. He nods with a guitar pick between his lips, murmuring, Cool. Dave, our new bassist, steps over, tilting his body to hear what we’re saying, and tips his chin in confirmation.

I walk over to the center of the stage next and lean on the high stool, parking my heavy boot on the footrest ring. I glance at the crowd. Poison is packed tonight. I clear my throat, cradle the guitar with one hand, and adjust the standing mic with the other.

"Good evening,