Sometimes characters offer an irresistible challenge. This is the scene from Just Like Starting Over that convinced me I had to write Jake’s book. His conviction that solitude is the best choice was a temptation I couldn’t resist. What could be more fun than watching a character like this fall in love?
An excerpt from Just Like Starting Over:
Jake
“No.” I spin in my leather office chair, turning to admire the view of Lake Ontario sparkling in the sunshine. It’s a perfect day and even in my office near the top of the office tower in Toronto’s downtown core, I imagine I can feel the crisp wind from the west. I earned this office, worked my butt off for this view, and the corner office with twice the windows is next. I watch a few distant sails, wishing for leisure time I never have.
One day…one day, I’ll buy that sailboat, join that club, enjoy life. One day, I’ll have enough money, enough success, enough of everything to just savor my accomplishments.
One day, but not yet.
I need more.
I always need more.
I frown, aware that my brother is repeating his argument again from the beginning. “No, Mike. I said no.”
“But I need you to do this.”
“You can’t afford me.”
Mike’s voice drops and I close my eyes, knowing my brother will beg. I still love when he breaks right in front of me. “Don’t you care about anything other than your new car and your bank balance, Jake?”
“My money’s not in the bank, actually.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And it is a really nice car.”
Mike growls in frustration and I smile. “Don’t you care about the family business?”
“That’s a hard no.”
“I need you,” he says with heat. “I need your help with this.”
“Oh, well. Too bad for you.”
“For f*ck’s sake, Jake, I’m not asking for a kidney,” Mike says, so vehement that he catches my attention. My brother is the most serene guy I know. I sit up, wondering what’s really the matter. He continues, his voice hard. “I’m asking you to attend a champagne reception, in Toronto, on behalf of Cavendish Enterprises. It’s not like signing you up for waterboarding.”
I am interested in this response. What could make Mike use a word that never crosses his lips? “You never know,” I say, mostly to be provocative. “It could be awful. Those receptions often are.” I’ve already decided to go, on the basis of that one word, but Mike doesn’t need to know it yet.
“Jake, I’m begging you.”
“Now, you sound desperate.”
He loses it big-time and I wish I had popcorn.
“I am desperate!” Mike roars, then lowers his voice with obvious effort. His frustration comes through the line in waves. “I’ve just been sick for the better part of a week, Dad is making trouble about everything imaginable, I never get a day off and the tomatoes…”
“The tomatoes,” I agree, understanding all too well. God, I hate tomatoes. Three summers of picking those suckers for twelve hours a day in a sweltering greenhouse only made me run as far away from Empire as quickly as I could – and stay away. I still remove them from my salad. It’s a question of principle.
Maybe I should have gone to Australia instead of Toronto.
“You’re probably sitting there in a five-thousand-dollar suit—”
“Ten,” I interject calmly, admiring the quality of the wool.
“—looking out the window of your fancy office trying to choose which yacht you’ll buy this weekend or which gorgeous blonde you’ll do first.”
Which blonde will I do first? It’s a good question. I spin in my chair, entertained.
“Plus, I’ve got Augustine Rhodes lighting fires around the perimeter, and Dad meeting him more than halfway,” Mike says. “Did you know that Luke is back? And, and – well, never mind that.”
Ooo, what was that about? Does Mike have a love interest?
“But you,” he fumes. “You can’t even spend two hours at a black-tie event, all expenses covered, to save me eight hours of driving to Toronto and back.” He takes a deep breath for his big finish, and concludes with gusto. “Screw you, Jake.”
I want to give him a round of applause, but he might take it the wrong way. In my view, it’s about time Mike lost it.
Past time.
“I’ll go,” I say softly before he can end the call.
There’s a beat of silence, no doubt as he seethes at me. This is not unlike tricking him out of his Popsicle when we were kids. He’s glaring at his phone, almost certainly, too pissed off to say anything more. Mike, the man of few words, can be rendered silent by anger.
I, on the other hand, become breathtakingly articulate when I’m mad. Furious, I will spontaneously compose and deliver a doctoral thesis. (It’s a gift.)
I make a joke to break the ice, just like old times. “But all expenses aren’t covered, unless you’re going to pay my billing rate.”
Mike exhales hard and makes a choking sound that could be a laugh. “There are moments when I think you can’t be more of a dick, then you prove me wrong.” His tone has changed, despite his words. He sounds his usual amiable self.
“Thank you.” I put my feet up on my desk, content that my work is done.
These are beautiful shoes, no doubt about it. Italian. And perfectly polished, too.
“You’d already decided to come, hadn’t you?”
“Yup.”
“Asshole.” There’s no heat in the word, just an acknowledgement of a simple truth.
“Yup.” The way I see it, if you’re going to be an asshole, you have to go for it. You have to make it a consistent behavioural choice. You have to be more of an asshole than anyone expects anyone to be at any given time. In short, you have to own it. I am an asshole mostly – and don’t tell anyone this little secret – because it works. It keeps all the losers and their expectations away.
You want to live your own life, make your own choices, do it your way: be an asshole.
Unconvinced? Play some compare and contrast with me here: Mike is not an asshole. He could never be an asshole some of the time or even at occasional intervals. He is the most honest, decent and helpful guy that you’ll ever meet. So, Dad walks all over him, every damn day.
Not me. The old bastard barely has the balls to talk to me at Christmas and he sure doesn’t call me up with assorted demands.
Being an asshole pays big dividends. Give it a try.
“Next Friday,” Mike says, then names the shiniest new hotel in town.
“That’s the thirteenth.”
“So?”
“Might be unlucky.”
“I doubt it. Free drinks and snacks. Women in evening wear.”
“The things I suffer for your sake,” I say with forbearance and he scoffs.
“Starts at nine and you should be out of there by midnight. If you can just show up, shake some hands, be our presence, that would be great.”
“It’s an award ceremony, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Black tie?”
“Yes.”
Good. I’m envisioning blondes in low-cut gowns already.
Mike heaves a sigh. “An initiative from the province to celebrate local producers. We’re in the market produce category.”
“Are we going to win?”
“I don’t know. The honour is in making the list, I’m told. And there might be connections to be made. We’re one of the biggest greenhouse operations in the country. We can’t not be there.”
I spin in my chair, biting back a reply. Is there any point in playing the game if you aren’t going to win? I’m thinking not. I’ve always thought not. But if I say as much, I could be drawn into something I don’t want to mess with.
Because Mike and I are close, despite appearances to the contrary. We know each other better than anybody. Just like I know how to infuriate him then get him past it, he knows how to sucker me into doing something I don’t want to do. He’s burdened by ethics, though – that’s why he didn’t challenge me to prove him wrong on this disagreement.
Or he’s saving his ammo for something bigger.
I suspect he’s waiting for a chance to challenge me to come back to Cavendish Enterprises and make everything better. Maybe because Dad is prodding him to do that.
I’m not going to give either of them the bait for that hook.
Ever.
Maybe I should check out opportunities down under.
I can’t think of an introduction more tempting. Now that you’ve met Jake, grab a copy of his book, and watch Mackenzie teach him that there’s a lot more to life than defending his barrier.s
Just for Tonight is available now!
I barely knew Jake Cavendish in high school. He was two years ahead of me—the golden boy everyone knew was destined to leave our small town of Empire behind. And he did.
So when we cross paths years later at a glamorous black-tie gala in Toronto, I’m not surprised he doesn’t recognize me. What does catch me off guard is the undeniable spark between us. One unforgettable night feels like the perfect escape. After all, our families have been feuding for generations, and there’s no future for us. Better to leave it as one perfect memory than risk getting hurt.
Then Jake returns to Empire to settle his father’s estate.
Suddenly, staying away from each other is impossible. Every stolen moment makes the attraction harder to resist, and our secret affair only raises the stakes. I’m committed to preserving my family’s vineyard, while Jake is chasing a partnership at one of Toronto’s top firms. Our lives are pulling us in opposite directions, and neither of us is looking for forever.
But somewhere between the laughter, the late-night conversations, and the stolen kisses, this stopped being just a fling. Falling for the enemy was never part of the plan. Yet the more I get to know Jake, the more I wonder if everything I believed about our families—and about him—has been wrong. The only question is whether we’re willing to risk everything for a love neither of us saw coming.
Get your copy from my online store, Hazel & Honeysuckle Press:
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Just for Tonight has an alternate illustrated cover, too, so you can choose.
Get your copy from my online store, Hazel & Honeysuckle Press:
Buy the ebook August 24:
Jake and Mackenzie’s story is available in trade paperback with both covers. The book interior is the same in both editions.
Buy the trade paperback:
Buy the trade paperback with the turquoise cover:
Deborah Cooke: Author 