A Taste of Her Own Medicine Read online

  A Taste of Her Own Medicine

  A Small Town Romance

  Tasha L. Harrison

  Dirtyscribbler Press

  A Taste of Her Own Medicine Copyright December, 2019 by Tasha L. Harrison

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

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  Tasha L. Harrison/Dirtyscribbler Press

  Tashalharrison.com

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  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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  Book cover design © Dirtyscribbler Press.

  Photo: Unsplash, Caique Silva @caiqueportraits

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  A Taste of Her Own Medicine. -- 1st ed.

  Created with Vellum

  I am rooted, but I flow.

  Virginia Woolf

  Contents

  Other Titles by Tasha L. Harrison

  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

  Acknowledgments

  Next in This Series…

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Tasha L. Harrison

  THE LUST DIARIES

  THE TRUTH DUET

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  Coming soon…

  IF SHE SAYS YES

  an erotic romance

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  I'd love to hear from you!

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  Visit my website:

  TashaLHarrison.com

  Chapter One

  Sonja

  The strip of shops, eateries, and galleries in The Village of West Greenville were dark and quiet when I pulled my Subaru into the parking lot a few blocks away from The CoWorking Spot. In the last few years, this part of town had experienced some growth with the arrival of a few restaurants and specialty shops. But that was just a handful of businesses, most of which closed at or around six o’clock, leaving the streets quiet on a late summer evening. I took advantage of this moment of quiet. Closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths to settle the nervous butterflies in my stomach.

  About a month ago, I allowed myself to be convinced to sign up for a six-week entrepreneurship course— something I’d regretted since the day the payment cleared.

  What makes me think I can run my own business?

  The only thing I’d managed in the last ten years was a household, and occasionally, the front desk at my ex-husband’s real estate offices. Those skills didn’t necessarily translate into the sort of hustle one needed to be an entrepreneur. But the night I signed up, my sisters Birdie and Agostina, as well as my friend Estelle, made it seem like a great idea to start a business with the skincare products I made from the herbs and medicinal flowers in my garden. And I agreed. Or maybe the gallon of wine I drank that night agreed because now that I was sitting in my car with my brand new laptop, in my brand new laptop bag, I wondered if I’d temporarily lost my mind.

  The Bluetooth in my car announced that I had an incoming call from Estelle Murphy.

  “Hello?”

  “Get out of the car, Sonja,” she ordered.

  “Why did I let you talk me into this?” I groaned and opened the car door, slightly annoyed that she knew me so well.

  “Because you’re more than ready for it. We’ve gone through this. Get out of the car, and I’ll walk down there with you.”

  “Okay. I’m coming.”

  I’d arrived a good forty minutes early, mostly because I needed to stop by Ink Blue Yoga to get a pep talk from Estelle.

  Ink Blue, Estelle’s yoga studio, was one of my favorite places. The front windows went floor to ceiling, which made the interior look and feel bright and warm. The smooth, shiny hardwood floors were warm in the winter months and cool in the summer. They welcomed bare feet, and I almost wanted to drop my bags, strip down, and get in a few vinyasas. Estelle was good at this business thing and was brilliant at getting her studio seen. If I checked our town’s hashtag on Instagram on any given day, her yoga studio always showed up in the top nine.

  “Hey, Soni,” my friend said and gave me a knowing look as I came in. “Amelia?”

  The woman sweeping at the far end of the studio looked up.

  “I’m going to walk Soni down to The Coworking Spot. I’ll be right back.”

  “No, problem. I’ll get everything set up for the six-thirty class.”

  She grabbed two bottles of water out of the cold case near the cash wrap and handed me one. I opened it and followed her back out to the sidewalk.

  “Okay,” she said, falling into step beside me with natural grace. Estelle was just a few inches taller than I was but lithe, lean, and way less frumpy than me in her hundred dollar yoga pants. “Out with it. What are you feeling right now?”

  I gnawed on my bottom lip. “I’m nervous.”

  “Be specific.”

  “I’m probably going to be the oldest person in the class —”

  “And that matters because…?”

  “It makes me feel self-conscious. It’s been years since I’ve been in a classroom. I’m not sure if I can learn everything I need to know to make this thing work.”

  “Sonja, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You’ll be fine.”

  “How can you say I’ll be fine? It took me six days to figure out how to use this fucking computer you made me buy.”

  Estelle laughed at me, and I joined her, realizing how pathetic I sounded. Doing something new was always scary. But it had been so long since I’d done anything new that this felt huge. She grabbed my hand as we walked the remaining two blocks to the building that hosted The Entrepreneur Academy.

  “There’s no need to be intimidated by anything you’re presented with today. You’re there to learn, and the instructor is there to teach you.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. “You sound like you’re escorting your kid to their first day of elementary school.”

  “Aren’t I?” she joked. “Who’s your instructor again?”

  I pulled up the email they sent me after I registered for the class. “My instructor is someone named Atlas James. You know him?”

  Estelle gasped, and her steps faltered a bit. “Yeah… yeah, I know him.”

  “What was that reaction about?”

  “Uh, nothing. Atlas James is … he’s an amazing teacher. I learned a lot from hi
m.”

  “Yeah, but you gasped.”

  Estelle cleared her throat and smirked. “You’ll see.”

  We arrived at the doors, and I turned to her with a smile. “So, I’ll meet you next door when the class is over so we can have some drinks?”

  “Oh, most definitely! Relax, and have fun. It’s not nearly as hard as you think it will be. Especially not with Atlas teaching. I think you’re really going to enjoy yourself.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Bye, Estelle.”

  Still laughing at my friend, I went inside the coworking space that doubled as the Entrepreneur Academy classroom on evenings and weekends. From what I read online, the two people who owned the business and ran the programs were dedicated to helping an underserved group of entrepreneurs get a foothold in Greenville’s growing economy. The businesses that their students started after attending the Academy were conscientious and interested in blending into the existing community. That was precisely the kind of business I wanted to build--one that felt so familiar that my customers could easily imagine the hands that made the products and feel connected to the process.

  I’d entered on the street level across from the Village Journal into a small lobby and seating area.

  “Hi!” the young girl behind the desk said with a smile. “Welcome to The CoWorking Spot. I’m Chloe. Can I help you?”

  “Uh, yes. Hi, Chloe. I’m here for the Entrepreneur Academy?”

  “Ah, yes. Could you just sign in for me? They’ll be meeting in the Community Classroom at the big table down there,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “But you’re a little early, so feel free to grab a cup of coffee and look around or just hang out up here. Atlas is around here somewhere.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said as I signed in.

  When I was done, I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and made my way down the steps to the Community Classroom. The big table was in an open area, with about ten or fifteen chairs around it. The group was far smaller than I anticipated it would be, and for some reason, that made me feel even more nervous. That and the fact that this Atlas person was somewhere in the building and if no one else arrived soon, I would be the first to meet him. All that tittering Estelle had done on the sidewalk made me wonder what the hell I was in for.

  After choosing a seat on the far end of the table away from the big screen TV as the place to drop my laptop bag, I went back up to the lobby to grab a cup of that free coffee the girl at the desk had offered me. I was still considering the dark, strong-smelling brew when a young man bounded up the stairs.

  One look at him and I swear my mouth went so dry that my tongue stuck to the roof of it.

  “Hi!” he said cheerily, his lips splitting into a grin that lit up his face. And Jesus Christ was it a gorgeous face. He had smooth dark skin and the sort of distinctive features that were so unusual that it was hard to look at him without really staring. Full lips, a broad nose, and bedroom eyes with thick lashes that squinted when he smiled, like he was doing now.

  “Hello,” I managed to croak, unable to tear my eyes away even though he was standing next to me now, and I had to look up, up, up to meet his gaze. This man was tall and built like he could plow my north field without a horse, with shoulders that he could probably throw a woman-sized sack of potatoes over. And by woman-sized, I meant me. I would like to be that woman-sized sack of potatoes.

  That thought startled me. I couldn’t remember the last time I looked at a man with little more interest than I gave a sturdy dining room table.

  “Trying to get that last dose of caffeine in, huh?” he said casually as if his deep baritone wasn’t designed to disintegrate my panties the moment he opened his mouth.

  “Uh, yeah. I usually try not to drink coffee this late. It tends to mess with my sleep, but I’m not usually out after this hour, so—”

  What the hell was I even saying? Why was I talking about my caffeine intake like some old lady who needed to be at home before nine to make sure she took her remedies?

  “I hear that,” the young man said as he tore open two sugar packets with the edge of his bright white teeth. His tongue swiped at a loose granule, and my pussy clenched like I knew how that tongue would feel between my thighs.

  Look away, Sonja. Look a-damn-way.

  He gestured at the still empty cup in my hand with the carafe of coffee in his hand, offering to fill it up.

  “Yes, please.” I held out the paper cup in my now trembling hand. “Thank you,” I said once it was filled and finally turned toward the coffee station to add some sugar and cream.

  “No, problem. I’ll see you down there,” he said, a smirk in the corner of his full lips.

  “Oh! You’re here for the Entrepreneur Academy thing?”

  He pivoted around the corner to make his way back down the stairs. With his eyes on me, his smirk shifted into a smile. “I’m the instructor,” he said just before he disappeared from view.

  “Holy fuck … that’s Atlas James?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is,” the girl behind the desk said with a wistful sigh.

  Leaving the cup of untouched coffee on the bar, I ducked into the nearest bathroom to call my so-called friend. Her self-satisfied giggle met my ears when she finally decided to pick up the phone.

  “Really, Estelle?”

  “What?

  “You could have warned me that my instructor was a real-life action hero, so I didn’t embarrass myself by drooling and blubbering like an idiot.”

  “You drooled and blubbered like an idiot? That’s surprising. I didn’t think he would get that much of a reaction out of you.”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Sonja,” she began gently. “I’ve known you for almost nine years, and I’ve never heard you so much as sigh at the sight of a pretty man. Even men that are universally handsome never seemed to move the meter for you.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, well, Atlas James sure as hell did.”

  “Mmmhmm… six weeks of class with him was not an unpleasant experience.”

  “Estelle! You’re happily married!”

  “I’m married, not dead, Sonja.”

  “I get that, but…”

  “Yes, I allowed myself to enjoy his personage, then I went home to my husband. And since you no longer have one of those, none of that should matter to you.”

  “I have no intentions on—”

  “I gotta go. The six-thirty Power Hour is about to start. I’ll meet you for drinks, and we can talk about how Atlas made you squirm in your seat for an hour and a half.” Then she hung up before I could respond.

  I glared at my phone’s darkening screen for a moment and tried to figure out if there was a way that I could sneak downstairs, grab my new bag and twelve-hundred-dollar laptop, and duck out before the class started. Because I couldn’t sit in the same room with that man.

  Hell, maybe I didn’t need to grab my stuff. Estelle could drive me home. My kids were there, so I didn’t need to worry about how I would get in. I could pick up my bag in the morning or some other time when I was sure he wouldn’t be here. Then I would quit the class because a woman my age should not be subjected to a man that young and that fine for six-long weeks without any sort of satisfaction.

  Satisfaction?

  I mean, seriously. What satisfaction did I want from this man? And more importantly, what satisfaction would he be willing to give? Did I want to know? Goddamn, he had successfully scrambled my brain. This was not right or okay.

  I glanced in the mirror and smoothed my hand over my newly cropped hair.

  Around the same time that I allowed myself to be convinced to sign up for this course, my sister Agostina thought it was a good idea to chop off all of my hair. “A woman who cuts her hair is about to make big changes in her life,” or some foolishness she'd parroted from a mindfulness blog she read. Initially, I thought the cut looked cute. Fun. Now I just looked like a middle-aged woman who’d lobbed off her hair and dyed it to hide the
grey.

  I sighed and shook my head at myself, then turned on the water to wash my hands. I was making too big a deal out of this. He probably didn’t even notice that I’d drooled over him. I wasn’t unattractive, but I’d long ago realized that I’d become invisible to a specific type of man and definitely a certain age bracket. Atlas James fits that demographic. Yeah... I was worried about the wrong thing.

  By the time I made my way out of the bathroom and toward the low murmur of conversation in the Community Classroom, I’d convinced myself that I was overreacting. I’d only assumed that he had noticed me noticing him. That didn’t make it true.

  And I believed that until I realized that my bag had been moved to a seat other than where I'd left it. It was now in front of a chair closer to the middle of the table…

  Right across from where Atlas was setting up his laptop and unloading his backpack.

  I glanced toward the place I’d left my things and saw that two girls were huddled there now. How wrong would it be if I put on my mom-voice and bullied them out of their seats?

  “Decided against the coffee?” Atlas asked, pulling back into the present.

  “Uh… yeah. I had a couple of sips, but I’m jittery enough. It would have been a mistake.”