COMING FRIDAY 7 PM PST. SUSAN MEIER AUTHOR OF: FALLING FOR THE PREGNANT HEIRESS (SEE EXCERPTS)

COMING
FRIDAY
7 PM PST.
SUSAN MEIER
AUTHOR OF:






A pregnant heiress, a bachelor billionaire…

…an unlikely family?

In this Manhattan Babies story, Trent Sigmund’s discovered Sabrina McCallan’s shocking secret: she’s pregnant! As his best friend’s sister, Trent’s compelled to help her. But offering Sabrina his private jet to track down her errant ex wasn’t supposed to become a whirlwind trip of Europe… And it certainly wasn’t supposed to awaken an attraction that makes him long to take this unexpected chance and build it into the perfect family!





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CHAPTER ONE

Anyone who looked at Sabrina McCallan usually did a double-take. With her blond hair, blue eyes and nicely kept curves, she was physically perfect. Add impeccable manners, poise, charm, grace, and intelligence, and Trent “Ziggy” Sigmund thought the woman was class in Chanel.
Until today.
As a bridesmaid in her brother Seth’s August wedding, standing by a church pew, waiting for her turn in the after-ceremony pictures, she seemed frazzled. Nervous. Plus, a strand of yellow hair had sprung from her up-do and she hadn’t tucked it back in.
Which was why Trent couldn’t stop staring at her.
Sabrina’s partner in Seth and Harper’s wedding, Trent was supposed to be aware of where Sabrina was when their names were called for the pictures, and her fidgeting confused him. He wasn’t staring because he was attracted to her. She wasn’t his type. She was perfect, flawless, and he liked things a little messy. Not a disaster. But wild hair on a pillow, sleepy eyes, torn jeans, and scruffy tennis shoes were more his speed.
Still, something was up with Sabrina and he had responsibilities as her partner in the wedding, more as her brother’s best friend. He and Seth had lived together in a run-down apartment, both earning their living as waiters, as they finished school. They’d shared spare change and food knew the bus and subway schedules like the backs of their hands and played wingman when one or the other spotted a girl they liked. Though Seth had dropped out of his family for a time, the second McCallan son still knew “people” and that had helped Trent get his first job, which had resulted in his learning the right things at the right time to develop his genius, strike out on his own and become rich.
In some ways they were like brothers. In other ways, they were closer than brothers. Trent would be a fool if he didn’t realize he owed Seth. And Trent wasn’t a fool.
Which was why Seth’s little sister’s fidgeting was like a red alert alarm. The groom, Seth was too busy to notice. Even Jake, Seth and Sabrina’s older brother, was busy with his toddler and pregnant wife. Only Trent had time to see the McCallan daughter was off her game today.
When his name and Sabrina’s were called for their picture, Trent sauntered across the church aisle to stunning Sabrina. Her pale purple dress highlighted her blue eyes. Her yellow hair would have been perfection, except for that one wayward strand, which to Trent’s way of thinking, actually made her more beautiful.
He offered his arm. The way they grew up might have been worlds apart, but twelve years of knowing a McCallan had taught him how a gentleman behaved.
“Ready for pics?”
Sabrina smiled politely as she slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Yes.”
He nearly told her she looked elegant and feminine in the simple lilac dress Harper had chosen for her bridesmaids, but he figured she’d probably heard that thirty or forty times already today.
They walked to the space the photographer pointed out, stood by Seth and Harper and smiled as the middle-aged man snapped a picture. He took at least a hundred more shots with Seth and Harper and the members of their bridal party, Harper’s parents, Seth’s mom, Maureen, Seth’s brother Jake and his wife, Avery, and then a few final shots of everyone—a big mob of men in tuxes, women in gowns and little girls in dresses with so much tulle and ruffles, Trent wondered how they could stay upright.
Seth’s mom and Harper’s parents said their goodbyes. Harper’s parents were taking Harper’s daughter, Crystal, home for a nap before the reception. Seth’s mom was going home for a nap, herself. Jake and Avery’s nanny hustled Abby to their Upper East Side condo for some quiet time. The rest of the wedding party took limos to Seth and Harper’s penthouse for a few pre-reception drinks.
Thanking everyone for joining him in the celebration of the happiest day of his life, Seth popped the cork on the first bottle of champagne, then servants scurried over to open more champagne, fill glasses and distribute them for a toast.
Leaning against the bar, Trent kept his attention on Sabrina. She took a glass of champagne, happily raised it when best man Jake made a toast, then pretended to sip.
Trent’s eyes narrowed. She had absolutely pretended to sip. Three toasts later, she still had a full glass of champagne.
The bride and groom mingled through the small crowd. Waiters brought out trays of hor's d’ oeuvres. Seth told stories of his misspent youth, and with Harper by his side, he spoke fondly of her deceased husband, Clark, the third roommate in the trio of Clark, Seth and Ziggy, who now preferred to be called Trent. Trent joined him in one final story. Then the conversation drifted to more current topics, and before Trent knew it, it was time to go to the Waldorf Astoria for the reception.
He had to hunt for Sabrina. When he found her, she looked to have gotten lost in the shuffle. A woman who ran a nonprofit that helped startups turn into corporations did not get lost in any shuffles.
He added her obvious confusion to her not drinking and came up with a conclusion so startling it almost made him whistle—the way his stepfather always had when he realized something outlandish, something farfetched, something so out of the realm, of reality that only a physical gesture or a reverently whispered “Wow” would do.



Book # 2








From billionaire bachelor

To doting daddy?

In this Manhattan Babies story, Seth McCallan is committed to being a bachelor until his best friend’s widow Harper crashes into his world. Discovering Harper’s been left with nothing, Seth resolves to put things right. Even if that means Harper — and her baby daughter — moving in. Even if that means a pram in his penthouse. Even if that means awakening a dangerous longing to stand by her side, now and always…






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CHAPTER FIVE

Harper and Clark had gone to fund-raisers at various art galleries and she knew most women wore cocktail dresses.
Shopping with Seth, she hadn’t bought a cocktail dress, but she had bought a simple black sheath that she could dress up with pearls. The outfit was simple and elegant. She looked like the lady her mom wanted her to be.
Little black dress.
Dating Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor.
Forgetting Clark.
Except she wasn’t forgetting Clark. She and Seth weren’t really dating. After her mom’s promise to stay out of things, this ruse was supposed to be simple, easy, because they weren’t really going out in public. Then his mom had shown up and now they were hip-deep in a lie.
She stepped out of her bedroom and Mrs. P. gasped. “Oh, you look so lovely. Old-style classy.”
Harper laughed. “Did you just call me old?”
Wearing a tux, Seth came from behind Mrs. P.
He looked amazing. His long, limber body wore a tux with the elegant grace of a man accustomed to the fine things in life. But his face bore the oddest expression. His eyes had widened. His eyebrows had raised.
“She said you looked good. And you do.”
“You don’t need to be so surprised.”
“I’m not. I’m just accustomed to seeing you in jeans.”
Ragged jeans and worn T-shirts. Her chin lifted. She might not be allowed to be attracted to him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have any pride. “You saw me in cocktail dresses plenty of times when Clark and I went to these functions.”
“Yeah, but you were married then—and to my best friend. I never really looked at you.”
Mrs. P. chortled. “You’re digging yourself farther down, Seth. Quit while you’re ahead.”
“Baby’s already in bed for the night,” Harper told Mrs. P., handing her a short list of instructions.
Mrs. P. glanced at the paper. “If she’ll probably sleep the whole time you’re gone, why do I need these?”
“In case she wakes up.”
“Ah.”
Seth walked to the island and grabbed his keys. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
When his condo door closed behind them, she caught his arm to stop him. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“This whole charade is turning into a big mess.” She felt like a burden. A chore. A weird something attached to his life that he would soon grow to hate. And the thought that he’d end up hating her tightened her chest and made her wish she’d never asked him for help.
“It’s not a big mess. It’s a gallery opening. We’ll show up, have a few drinks and be back in time for Mrs. P. to catch her eleven-thirty movie.”
He said it so easily that Harper’s chest loosened. “You’re okay with this?”
“I started it, remember? It’s a couple of weeks out of my life. We’re fine.”
They rode the elevator to the basement garage in silence, then stepped out into rows of luxury cars. She spotted her Explorer quickly, if only because it was the one car valued at less than a hundred thousand dollars.
Which meant the Ferrari beside it was Seth’s. “Wow.”
He opened the door for her. “You like?”
“I love it.” When Seth walked around to the driver’s side and slid in beside her, she said, “Clark wanted one of these but thought the SUV was more practical.”
“It probably was.”
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a convertible.”
He laughed and started the car. “I’m guessing that means you want the top down.”
“Oh, yeah.” She couldn’t deny it. She’d had a convertible when she was sixteen and had loved it. When she’d left home, left her parents’ wealth and hypocrisy behind, it was the only thing she’d missed.
He pushed a button and the roof lowered, then he shifted gears and sent them roaring out of the parking garage.
The feeling of the wind in her hair made her laugh out loud. She’d been so concerned about involving Seth, getting a job and finding a condo that she hadn’t had a second of peace. And this—the wind, the night air, forgetting her responsibilities for a few hours—was just what she needed.
“I forgot how this messes up hair,” he said, shouting over the noise of the air circulating around them.
“I don’t care,” she said and meant it. “Mine’s so short, I can pull my fingers through it and get it in shape again.”
“Good!” He hit the gas and sent the car speeding up the street.
The air felt fantastic. Freeing. Thanks to Mrs. P. and the need to shop for groceries, she’d had a few times away from the baby, but they hadn’t felt like this. Like she was allowed to be herself. Not just a mom, not a cook, not someone scrambling for a job and maybe a place to live, but herself. Her old self.
She turned and yelled, “This is fabulous.”
“I know. I sometimes drive to Jersey just for the hell of it.”
She sucked in more air, let it wash over her like a spring rain renewing the world. But in the blink of an eye, they pulled up to the valet in front of the gallery. He opened Harper’s door and helped her out of the low sports car as Seth got out on his side. Seth tossed him the keys, then took Harper’s arm.
“Ready?”
She turned and smiled at him. “Yes.”



Susan Meier is the author of seventy books for Harlequin and Silhouette, Entangled Indulgence and Bliss, Tule, and one of Guideposts' Grace Chapel Inn series books, THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS.  Over the course of her career, she’s been nominated for and won several industry awards, including in 2013, when she lived one of her career-long dreams. Her book, THE TYCOON’S SECRET DAUGHTER was a finalist for RWA’s highest honor, the Rita. The same year NANNY FOR THE MILLIONAIRE’S TWINS was a National Reader’s Choice finalist and won the Book Buyer’s Best Award. Susan is married with three children and is one of eleven children, which is why love and family are always part of her stories.




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