Hula Girl Read online

  Hula Girl

  Lara Ward Cosio

  Copyright © 2019 by Lara Ward Cosio

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  Cover by: Chloe Belle Arts

  Edited by: LaVerne Clark

  Proofed by: Roxanne Leblanc, Rox’s Indie Edits

  Also by Lara Ward Cosio

  Tangled Up In You

  Playing At Love

  Hitting That Sweet Spot

  Finding Rhythm

  Full On Rogue: The Complete Books #1-4

  Looking For Trouble

  Felicity Found

  Rogue Christmas Story

  Problematic Love

  Rogue Extra: The Complete Books #5-8

  Hula Girl: A Standalone Romance

  Dedicated to my husband — my own fairy-tale romance.

  Thank you to the Cosio side of the family for inspiration for parts of this story.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Lara Ward Cosio

  1

  Ava

  One week.

  It doesn’t sound like very long. Until you break it down.

  Seven days.

  One hundred and sixty-eight hours.

  Six hundred and four thousand, eight hundred seconds.

  I’m spending all that time in what most people would call paradise—the Hawaiian island of Maui. But for an admittedly type-A personality like me, the passage of these first two days has been agonizingly slow.

  I’ve tried to make the most of what amounts to an enforced vacation, really, I have. I dutifully unplugged by leaving my lifeline—a top of the line MacBook Pro—at home. I haven’t called into the office to check with my assistant on pressing matters at all. And I’ve only messaged my boss, Randall, once but at least it wasn’t about work. It was an Instagram-worthy photo I’d casually staged. The shot is of my toes in the nearly white and oh-so-soft sand with the clear blue ocean in the background. I wanted to show him that I have taken his order to disengage from all stress seriously.

  He’d texted back: That’s a start. Go to a luau. Really decompress.

  He means well, that I know. But he should also know that the last thing I’m going to do is dive deep into a tourist trap like a luau.

  Coming to Maui wasn’t exactly my idea. Randall insisted that I take this time off. He went so far as to book my plane ticket and hotel, telling me both were covered by the firm as part of what he euphemistically coined my rest and recovery benefits. No such benefits exist, of course. It’s just one of the many ways he takes it upon himself to look after me. He’s treated me like a daughter—or granddaughter, I should say, given his age—almost as soon as I started working at the law firm of Miller, Newell & Kahn six years ago. In return, I’ve come to think of him as a sort of surrogate grandfather.

  This unusual bond is the result of the incident that happened the day I interviewed with the firm, fresh out of law school.

  I wasn’t a top contender for the entry-level job of first-year associate. Not with having graduated from an undistinguished school like Southwestern Law School without any internships under my belt. I’d sacrificed the vital experience of internships in favor of working double-shifts at a high-end Beverly Hills restaurant that paid surprisingly well, even if I did have to slap away one too many drunk hands of entitled rich men. I was also busy helping my mom with her housecleaning service, Mobile Maids, the business she started out of necessity after my father passed away unexpectedly when I was thirteen years old. So, while I ended up with great “real world” experience, it wasn’t the kind of background most law firms appreciated.

  I’d applied for the position at Miller, Newell & Kahn, along with a dozen other firms I’d placed in the “no chance in hell” category, figuring I’d have nothing to lose. They were the only one in that category to call me in for an interview. The interview process at a firm like that is rigorous, to put it mildly. They had me in back-to-back meetings with all levels of staff, some as individual interviews and others as panel interviews, throughout most of the day. There was even a coffee break and lunch break interview. Each person was seemingly more intent than the last on tripping me up with a question on some obscure law or case study, making for an intense day. But I held my own—outwardly, at least. I was able to come up with credible answers, falling back on the studying that had left me with virtually no social life for the last seven years of undergraduate and law school combined. Inwardly, though, I was frazzled.

  By the time I had my last interview with Randall Miller, senior partner of the firm, I barely held it together. Our time started innocuously enough, with him asking all the typical questions about my studies and what I thought I could contribute to the firm. He stared at my resume the whole time, having not made eye contact with me since the initial glance we shared when I took my seat in front of his impressive carved mahogany desk at the start of our interview.

  His questions became more listless, and my answers got shorter. We were both flatlining and I knew this didn’t bode well. But my nerves and exhaustion made it hard to push through, especially when I had every indication from all my other interviews that I wasn’t the right fit. They never said those words, of course, but I’m realistic enough to understand that as a Latina, I was fighting an uphill battle in a firm like this that is at least 90 percent white.

  “Well, Miss Ruiz,” Randall said, clearly on his way to wrapping up the interview that had only lasted twelve minutes. “I want to thank you for coming in.”

  And there it was. The brush-off from the man who surely held the final word on my candidacy. I smiled ruefully and stood, extending my hand to him.

  When he rose, he was clearly struggling. I had researched him before this interview and knew he’d had a long, successful career. He’d started this firm after seven years as an Assistant district attorney, making it into a highly respected, multi-faceted organization focused on the rigors of the law rather than gimmicks or loopholes. He was married with four children and six grandchildren. The picture of health for a man in his mid-seventies, he was known to play tennis at a private club four times a week. But the moment he reached for my hand, the color drained from his face and he staggered to his right. Before I could move, he went crashing down to the floor, trying and failing to hold onto the desk as he went, sending papers, books, and files down with him.

  If he had blacked out, he’d already come to by the time I rushed around to his side of the desk.

  “Mr. Miller, are you okay?”
I asked, moving to my knees on the floor beside him.

  He groaned but didn’t reply otherwise. Instead, he blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if to reboot himself from some unexpected shutdown.

  Just then, the door to his office swung open and the efficient secretary who had earlier escorted me into the interview gasped.

  “I think he’s okay,” I said.

  “I’ll get Manny,” she said, though she stood frozen in the doorway. “And call 911.”

  That got another grunt out of Mr. Miller, along with a wave of his hand, which I took to mean he was trying to stop her from taking these actions. But she disappeared before he could make himself understood.

  “Can I help you up?” I asked. He was still propped awkwardly on his side where he had fallen.

  He nodded vigorously, and I reached down, slipping my arm under his. With considerable effort—I’m five foot five with decent curves while still being on the slimmer side, while he’s at least six foot three and over two hundred pounds—I got him to his knees. Even during this brief moment, I could sense his discomfort at needing help. Like most men, he seemed proud and unaccustomed to asking for help. But really, I wasn’t doing much. Just trying to get him into a position where he could have more control. It didn’t occur to me that it might not have been the best reaction since he should have been evaluated by a medical professional. I just acted on instinct. The same could be said for why I reached out to smooth back his hair. It had gone askew during his fall, and I sensed he’d want to appear as put together as possible.

  “Randall, are you okay?”

  Mr. Miller and I both looked up to find Manfred Kahn, the sole remaining living partner in the firm, rushing toward us. I had released my hold on Mr. Miller, but we were now both on our knees, our bodies close, and I could feel the energy in the room change. It was so tense that it was almost hard to breathe. Mr. Miller stiffened, and I knew without having to examine this reaction that he was horrified that Kahn was seeing him this way.

  “I’m fine,” he said, though with a catch in his voice. He was still shaken by what had happened.

  “Candace has called 911,” Kahn said.

  “I don’t need paramedics,” he replied gruffly. He looked like he wanted to say more but struggled to get the words out.

  It pained me to see him so vulnerable, so mortified by this moment.

  “It was silly,” I blurted out and all eyes turned to me. “I tripped over my own two feet when I got up to shake Mr. Miller’s hand.” I forced a laugh. “And bam, I went flying right into the desk and knocked everything over. Can you believe that? Just my nerves, I’m sure. Anyway, Mr. Miller was kind enough to help me clean up the mess I made. That’s all.”

  “Is that right, Randall?” Kahn asked. “Because Candace was pretty sure you … fainted.” Kahn’s expression wasn’t exactly the picture of concern. There was something much more like hope in his eyes. That kind of attempt to prey upon someone’s weakness always makes my stomach turn.

  Again, without thinking, I burst out into laughter. “Oh goodness, no,” I said. “Mr. Miller was just being far too kind to me. I’m sure I’ve lost all chance at the position here now. I’m so sorry about all this fuss.” I stood and before I could reach out to offer Mr. Miller my hand, he grabbed the edge of his desk and pulled himself to his feet with only a barely audible grunt.

  “It’s no problem, Miss Ruiz,” he said, meeting my eyes. “Thank you for coming in today.”

  I saw genuine gratitude in his gaze. But then he looked away, addressing his secretary.

  “Candace, why don’t you tidy this up? I have a match at the club in half an hour. I have to get going.”

  I’m usually good at keeping my emotions under wraps, but I don’t think I did a good job at hiding my disappointment at that moment.

  “You’re sure everything is okay?” Kahn asked a little too eagerly.

  “Perfectly fine,” Mr. Miller replied with finality.

  I nodded to myself, gathered my attaché case and purse and said quick, polite goodbyes to everyone before showing myself out.

  Two days later, I got an offer from human resources. A good offer. I was dumbfounded, but not dumb enough to turn it down. It was three months of twelve to fourteen-hour days, six days a week of working at the firm before I had occasion to see Mr. Miller again. It was at one of the semi-regular office happy hours on a Friday evening. They were always casual affairs, designed mostly to throw the grunts like me a bone for working so tirelessly. The upper-level staff rarely attended. Partners never attended.

  That is until Mr. Miller showed up. I watched him make perfunctory greetings to some of the other newbies before he reached me.

  “Miss Ruiz,” he began, “a pleasure to see you again.”

  “And you, Mr. Miller. How have you been?”

  He hesitated, his intelligent gray eyes examining me for a moment. “Just fine.”

  I understood in that response that we were not to acknowledge his incident. That was perfectly fine with me. It had been awkward and stressful enough when it happened. If he was ready to act like I’d never witnessed his moment of weakness, then so be it.

  “Glad to hear it,” I said.

  “Listen, I understand you speak Spanish. Is that right?”

  That was a curveball I wasn’t expecting. “Yes, I do.”

  “Perfect. I’m assembling a team for a case. We’re meeting tomorrow morning at nine. I’d like you to join us.”

  “M-me?” I stammered. Like an idiot. But really, how was I to react when the senior partner of the law firm I had only barely started working for recruited me for his case team? This was less expected than that curveball. This was a knuckleball (yes, I’m a baseball fan).

  “See you tomorrow, Miss Ruiz,” he replied, clearly amused.

  “Yes, sir. See you then.”

  “Girl, you have just landed the golden ticket,” Tyler murmured, having sidled up to me. Like me, he was a first-year associate. We started the same week and almost immediately bonded over late-night takeout eaten at our desks as we commiserated over our lack of a love life, both of us longing for a boyfriend to go home to. In our fantasies, these boyfriends of ours would be waiting for us with a home-cooked meal and ready to rub our temples.

  “Do you think?” I asked.

  “I don’t think. I know. Take it for all it’s worth.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, my eyes still glued to the back of Mr. Miller’s silver-haired head as he moved across the room.

  “Oh, and if he needs someone who speaks gay, bring me in!”

  I’d laughed distractedly, still not believing what had happened.

  * * *

  It turned out that he really did need my Spanish skills for the case, a class-action lawsuit involving minimum-wage custodial workers who were being cheated out of their rightful overtime pay. It was a rare pro bono case, making it all that much more meaningful to work on. I put in even longer hours, wanting both to do a good job and to prove myself.

  We were several months into the case prep when one night everyone else happened to peel away, leaving me alone with Mr. Miller. It was then that my fatigue got to me and I wondered out loud whether the Dodgers were winning. We got to talking about baseball and I confessed that my father had taken me—in the nosebleed seats, of course—to as many games as he could when I was growing up. When he asked if my father still took me, I admitted he passed away when I was thirteen. It might have been that moment of vulnerability that led him to explain what had happened in his office on the day of my interview. He shared with me that a combination of the flu he’d been fighting and plain old low blood sugar had weakened him. He hadn’t wanted to admit to this because Kahn had been actively working to oust him and would have used this episode, no matter how temporary or innocuous, to argue to the board that he was incapable of remaining at the helm. It was then that he formally thanked me for the kindness—and the cover—I had given him. He’d beaten back both the illness and Kahn in
part due to my help.

  We got to be on a first-name basis after that. There was an unspoken trust and comfort level between us that led to him becoming both a mentor and a friend. We started having lunch together twice a month where we’d talk work and he’d help me navigate the politics of the firm as well as answer questions about the cases I worked on. He had me and my mom over to his house for dinners and other social affairs. Our lives became intertwined.

  I know there are whispers around the firm that say I’ve risen in the ranks due to his favoritism, but I do my best to ignore all that and instead remember the countless hours of work I’ve put in.

  Which brings me back to my current chore of counting the hours.

  Not many people would consider going off the grid for a week in one of the world’s most beautiful destinations an imposition, but I’m just not a get away from it all type of girl.

  So, now I’ve got five days to somehow pass here in Maui before I can get home and back to work.

  2

  Ava

  It turns out that three days is my max for pure relaxation. I did it all in that time: sunrise yoga on the sand, snorkeling, a hike on a dormant volcano, a whale-watching boat tour, drinking mai tais and eating mahi-mahi for dinner, a massage at sunset, stargazing on the deserted beach in the still-warm night.