Love Handles

  Love Handles

  Curvy Hips and Sexy Lips Series, Volume 3

  Candi Heart

  Published by Pinard House Publishing, 2017.

  Love Handles

  By

  Candi Heart

  Copyright 2017© Candi Heart

  Copyright 2017© Pinard House Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover & Series Art: Kellie Dennis at Book Cover By Design

  Copyediting & Formatting: Carolyn Pinard

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Love Handles (Curvy Hips and Sexy Lips Series, #3)

  Love Handles BLURB:

  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

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  Book 1—Walking Dick

  Book 2—Love Handles

  Book 3—Sweet Treats

  Book 4—Big Escapes

  Love Handles BLURB:

  Lately, cute and curvy Emilie Swan has been feeling a little underappreciated.

  As a design assistant at a New York City studio, she should be on the path to her dream job in fashion, but she feels more like a glorified gopher than part of the design process. Her boss prefers to promote thinner, more glamorous girls, keeping her in a back office where no one will see her. She keeps herself sane by working on her own projects in her spare time, but even that and a little retail therapy don’t seem to be doing the trick anymore.

  Then Nicholas Tessaro drops in for a visit.

  Nick is gorgeous and talented, New York’s newest, hottest fashion designer, and he thinks her sketches are worth a second look. Emilie thinks he’s just plain hot. When he offers her a job, she jumps at the chance. Then one lunch date that goes oh-so wrong threatens to ruin everything. Emilie may just lose her dream job and dream man all in one day.

  Chapter 1

  “EMILIE!”

  The head designer’s voice cut through the low buzz of conversation in the studio, sharp as the crack of a whip, and I looked up from the schedule in my hand, sighing inwardly. Was five minutes to sit down and finish the revisions too much to ask?

  “Yes?” I called out.

  “I need the patterns for the Dexter piece. And while you’re collecting them, swing by Michaela’s office and get the mood board for the gala project. I want to reassess the color scheme.”

  Yes, sir. You’ve got it, sir. I didn’t take the time to verbalize the response. When Mr. Novak asked for something, he wanted it right away. And he certainly didn’t appreciate sarcasm.

  Four years ago, I wouldn’t have minded being little more than a glorified gopher. But four years ago, I’d been an unpaid intern just getting into the industry. Nearly half a decade later, and now promoted to design assistant, I should be doing more than collecting fabric swatches and retrieving coffee. Shaking my head, I ducked out of the way of one of the public relations assistants as he scurried past with a small stack of papers in his hand. The narrow hall barely fit both of us, and he gave me a dirty look from under his eyelashes as he turned slightly sideways to avoid bumping against my hip. I resisted the unprofessional urge to flip him off. If he had a problem with my size, that was his issue.

  It was getting harder to keep my frustrations to myself, I reflected, as I rapped lightly on the door of the pattern room to alert them of my entrance before I swung it open, just in case someone was standing in its range. I hadn’t spent $50,000 on a degree just to waste the rest of my life playing errand girl for a head designer who refused to delegate all but the littlest aspects of his projects.

  “Morning, Em.” The patternmaker looked up from her computer screen, offering a commiserating smile. “You look like you’re having the kind of day I am.”

  I rolled my eyes as I crossed the room to the table where the patterns Mr. Novak wanted were laid out. “Tell me about it. My alarm didn’t go off this morning, so I didn’t have time to stop for coffee. And of course every time I get within five feet of the coffee machine, Mr. Novak needs something run somewhere. I’m going to collapse from exhaustion before noon.”

  Jenna laughed. “That’s the fashion industry for you.”

  “That’s not even the part I actually mind,” I confessed, turning with the envelope in my hand and leaning back against the edge of the table. “It’s that I... Well, I’d hoped I’d be a bit farther along by now. You know?”

  For the first time, Jenna’s eyes lifted from her screen for more than two seconds at a time. She spun her chair around, crossing one leg over the other, and folding her hands on her knee. “Honestly, when you started working here, we thought you’d be getting special treatment. But I think he turned around and went completely the other direction with it. Maybe he’s afraid it’ll look like favoritism if he doesn’t push you hard.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “It might seem that way, but I don’t think the thought even crosses his mind. It’s not like we’re close, either. Just because he’s my mom’s cousin doesn’t mean I have any kind of emotional connection to him. Or that he has one to me.” I grinned at Jenna, hoping the woman couldn’t see that the expression was more than a little forced. “Anyway, I think his real issue is the fact that I’m not a size zero or petite size two.”

  The idea was one I hadn’t allowed myself to verbalize before. I had barely even allowed it to crystallize in my mind, because I was afraid that once I thought it, I wouldn’t be able to turn it off.

  There was a part of me that hoped Jenna would tell me I was wrong, that there had to be some other reason for the fact that the boss always kept me out of the public eye. The fact that his other design assistant had been working for the company half the time I had, but was already being allowed far more space to assist with projects than I had been given, didn’t go unnoticed by me. At all.

  Jenna sighed, and I knew I wasn’t going to get what I had hoped for. It was written across the patternmaker’s face.

  “So I’m right.” I pressed my lips into a thin line and picked up the pattern I’d set aside. “I guess it figures in the fashion industry.”

  “Don’t take it to heart, Em.” Jenna gave me a look that meant well.

  However, it just made me more annoyed. I didn’t need sympathy—or pity. But I couldn’t exactly be mad at the other woman for trying to be kind, so I forced another smile, lifting my shoulder in a shrug and letting it fall. “His opinions don’t determine my feelings about my own body,” I said firmly. Nor does anyone else’s. I stalked out of the room before Jenna had any time to answe
r, heels click-clacking against the wood floor. I always loved that sound; it felt like power. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin, and then gave the next intern I passed a look that had him dropping his gaze and ducking out of my way.

  When I returned to the workroom, Novak was on his knees pinning the hem of a skirt. He didn’t look up as I dropped the requested items on his desk.

  There were a million-and-one things to get done. For once, Novak left me alone long enough to actually get through a couple items.

  At least it was Friday, I thought as I inputted the schedule into the system for the rest of the designers and assistants. There was no guarantee I wouldn’t be summoned in halfway through the weekend, but a morning of sleeping in and a chance to maybe indulge in a little retail therapy was promising.

  I spent lunch at my desk, eating the pasta salad I’d brought with me, and tuning out the chatter of the other people in the room. At least a few of them would’ve been more than happy to include me in their conversations, but I found I wasn’t in the mood for it. Idly, I sketched lines on a piece of scrap paper.

  A purse took shape under my pencil. I added a pocket to it, and looked down at the doodle, wondering if I’d ever get a chance to actually see any of them come to life anywhere but the little craft room in my apartment.

  I’d tried to show the drafts to Novak, and when that didn’t work, to one of the other senior designers, but of course neither of them had time for me. Honestly, I didn’t blame Richards. It wasn’t his fault that the boss wanted nothing to do with any of my project proposals. He’d just been toeing the company line. But that knowledge didn’t make rejection any easier. Part of me wondered if maybe they just weren’t any good, if maybe I was deluding myself by believing that they had promise.

  But I knew my fashion. I knew what looked good, and what was on trend. And my purses were good.

  “Emilie!” Novak called my name.

  I sighed, tucking the doodle into my desk drawer, then got up to go see what he wanted.

  Chapter 2

  IT WAS A TWENTY-MINUTE subway ride from midtown to my little corner of the East Village. I picked at the bagel I’d grabbed on the way from the studio to the subway stop, wondering if maybe I should’ve waited for dinner. Briefly, I considered just making the bagel dinner, but the hollow in my stomach warned me that if I didn’t get something more substantial, I’d be venturing out of my apartment again for food before I could fall asleep, and I was more than ready to settle down with some Netflix and not come out of hibernation until Monday.

  I tried not to let the confirmation of my suspicions get to me, but that was easier said than done. As I sat on the hard bench seat, swaying with the motion of the train, my thoughts kept turning back to the look on Jenna’s face when I’d suggested that my cousin was holding me back because of my weight.

  I could leave the company. I knew, even as the thought crossed my mind, that it was wishful thinking at best. People who could do what I was doing for Novak were a dime a dozen in New York City.

  It had been hard enough looking for a job the first time. Doing it again—starting all over at a new company—would be a risk. Would it be better to try and catch the eye of someone who wasn’t already set against me, or would it throw me back to square one?

  Then there was my mother to consider. I pushed myself up from the seat as the train came to a stop at the Astor Place Station, huffing a laugh under my breath. Explaining to Adrienne Swan why I was cutting and running on a relative, however distant the emotional connection, would be the advent of World War III.

  I crumpled the bag from the bagel in my hand, tossing it in the trash as I exited the station. The walk from Aster Place to my apartment was a short one, though I made it a little longer by ducking into the 2 Bros on the next block over for a pizza pie.

  Stepping into my apartment felt like a weight coming off my shoulders. It was good to be home, away from the eyes and expectations of the world. I sank down onto my bed, kicking my heels off with a little sigh of relief. A moment later, I was standing up again, slipping out of the clothes I’d worn to work.

  My gaze caught on my reflection in the mirror that stood against the wall across from the bed. I paused in reaching for a pair of pajama pants. For a long moment, I stared into the glass, eyes moving over the curves of my belly, my hips, and the breadth of my thighs.

  Turning away, I grabbed up the pants and pulled them on. I added a T-shirt as well, and picked up my laptop from the desk. Having all I needed, I crawled into bed. While I waited for the computer to boot up, I grabbed a slice of pizza from the box and took a bite out of it, groaning with pleasure. It was damn good pizza.

  The laptop grumbled to life, and I opened the browser, staring at the homepage. Maybe, I thought as I looked at the empty search bar, it was time to go on a diet.

  I’d tried one once, when I was younger. It hadn’t gone particularly well. But maybe I just hadn’t tried hard enough. Or maybe I hadn’t found the right plan. I typed ‘weight loss group’ into the search box and ate another bite of pizza while the results loaded.

  It amused me a little that I was looking up how to lose weight while stuffing my face with pizza. There was probably something a little ironic about that. But if I was going to give up everything delicious for the next however many months, I was going to have one last, good meal.

  There were millions of pages for weightloss groups. I scrolled slowly through them, feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of options. How did I know which one was the right one?

  My eye caught on a name: Curvy Hips and Sexy Lips.

  I liked that name. It didn’t have the kind of shaming vibe that some of the other ones had. My hand moved on the mouse and clicked the link for the page.

  TRY FREE FOR THIRTY DAYS, read the banner across the top, promising that if I wasn’t satisfied with the results of the diet plan, I wouldn’t be risking my wallet. With a shrug, I put my email address in and then navigated around the page, noticing they had an online support group, consisting of message boards and real-life meet-ups, depending on your location. I thought that was pretty cool. Then I went to my email and followed the link to the meal plan the site had made for me.

  It didn’t look too bad, actually. No more pizza for a while, but there were recipes I could see myself eating. Making them in my tiny kitchen might be kind of a feat, but I could probably manage it. There were exercise ideas, too, most of them for a gym, but some of them thankfully for doing at home, though I’d have to be careful with that. The neighbors were likely to come knocking if I was jumping around too much. Maybe I’d just do some walking for now.

  However I did it, I decided I would get it done. That was all there was to it. As long as I was determined enough, it had to work.

  I’m not doing this for anyone else but me. Not for work. Not for my mother. Not because of comments tossed my way. For me only.

  I picked up another slice of pizza and navigated away from the diet page, although I bookmarked it first so I would be able to get to it quickly in the morning. It would probably be a good idea to make a shopping list and go get some groceries. Usually, I didn't cook, but I did okay as long as I had something telling me the steps. If I turned out to be terrible at it, I could buy salads or something.

  My cousin was going to see I could motivate myself. Maybe then, he would finally let me have more responsibility. Let me actually do something with the degree I had and the years of experience in his company.

  It would be nice to be something other than an errand girl.

  Sighing, I opened Netflix and settled in for some relaxation. The rest of it could come in the morning. I deserved another slice of pizza, and a bit of rest.

  Chapter 3

  FOR ONCE, I WASN'T woken by the strident beep of my alarm clock or the sound of my phone going off, demanding I come running in to work on the weekend. I rolled onto my back and smiled up at the ceiling, stretching luxuriously. When was the last time I’d had a chance to wake up when
I wanted? More than a month ago, definitely.

  The plan for the day, I decided as I got in the shower, would be to eat something, and then go out and do my shopping. I could walk a little extra—not take the subway. That would be a good chance to exercise. When I got out, I smiled at myself in the mirror. It was a brand new day, and I intended to make the most of it.

  First, though, breakfast. The recipe guide on the website recommended fruit and whole grain toast, or a smoothie, but I didn't have any of those things. Besides, I had to get rid of the pizza, right? I pulled it out of the fridge and ate the last of it, telling myself it would be the last I would have until I lost the weight.

  After I’d eaten, I dressed, pulling on a pair of flats instead of heels. They looked cute with my jeans and tunic, I decided, regarding myself skeptically in the mirror for a moment. And the weather was nice out, so at least I wouldn't have to worry about getting rained on.

  I was humming to myself when I left my apartment. Around me, other people went about their day, and I found myself wondering, as I sometimes did, where they were going. What was their Saturday like?

  There was a little shop where I could get some cooking necessities just down the street, but as I turned toward it, I changed my mind. It would be better to get groceries later so I wouldn't have to carry them all over the place. So anything that needed to stay cold wouldn't be out in the warm summer sun. There were a couple other stops to make first.

  I ended up getting on the subway after all. There was a bit of a walk, then there was a stupid distance on foot, and my favorite shop for purses was a good distance away. Sometimes, I went there just to look at what they had, decide whether I would have sent something like that out for sale or not. Or to see what people were buying. It was a smart idea to keep track of sales patterns.

  Sometimes, though, I went to get myself a little something new. A little pick-me-up. And considering the week I’d had, one of those wouldn't go amiss.