What happens when you meet the right person, but it’s never the right time?
Nikki
I went from gracing magazine covers as a member of a best-selling female group to being the subject of a blog article on “The Downfall of Nikki Hart.” After the flop of my solo album and a failed engagement, my anxiety is at an all-time high. I’m in desperate need of a fresh start, so I’m headed to London in hopes of kickstarting my solo career. But first, I’m returning home to Atlanta for my old high school’s jubilee celebration. I’m here to heal the rifts caused by my manipulative ex and to repair my friendship with Ced.
Cedrick
I’ve known Anika Hart was the woman for me since we met in high school. But family obligations and our individual music careers have always interfered. I was destroyed by her engagement to the one person in this industry I’d love to see take a long walk off a short pier. Now that she’s back, I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her to stay.
Nikki believes the road to her solo career runs through London’s music scene. But I’m an award-winning record producer and co-owner of a brand-new boutique record label. If she’ll give me twelve weeks, I’ll prove we’re the perfect match in love and music.
Tropes
- Second chance romance
- High school sweethearts
- Rock star romance
- Music industry romance
- Workplace romance
Setting
- Atlanta, GA
Content Notes
NEVER THE RIGHT TIME deals with a variety of issues that may be difficult for some readers. Please note that this story deals with the following:
- Mental health concerns
- Anxiety
- Grief
- Loss of a parent (off page)
- Terminal illness mentioned
- Psychological abuse discussed
- Discussion about childbearing past 35
Each of these topics is dealt with in an informed and respectful manner. However, some readers may prefer not to read a romance that deals with such heavy, real-life issues.
Download book club discussion questions here.
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Nikki
As we pull up to the St. Regis Atlanta hotel, a wave of anxiety rolls up my spine and I nearly double over from the twisting in my gut.
“This was a mistake.” I turn toward my sister, who’s in the driver’s seat. My face and neck are warm, and I feel like I’m about to break into a cold sweat. “I shouldn’t have come here. Take me back to the hotel.”
My sister heaves a sigh, puts the vehicle in park, then turns toward me. “Look, bitch, you know I love you. But you’re driving me up a wall today. We both know how determined you were to come here and talk to Ced tonight. What you sacrificed to make it happen. You’re just scared, and that’s okay. Because aren’t you the one who told me that some of your best decisions were things you did despite being terrified?”
“I did.” I heave a sigh. “Who knew you were listening?”
“Of course, I was.” Avionne squeezes my hand. “Mom has made a few questionable decisions in her lifetime—like our sorry-ass dad. But she always said that I should listen to my big sis, and I took that to heart.” Avi places a hand on her chest. “Now it’s time for you to take your own advice and get the hell out of my car, so a sister can get some.” She dissolves into laughter, and so do I, alleviating a little of the stress.
Avi kicks me out of the hybrid SUV I bought for her birthday last year. I’m lucky she at least stopped the vehicle before tossing my ass out so she could go hook up with her man.
I take a deep breath as I approach the registration desk. It’s comforting that this is a masquerade ball. After adjusting the mask to ensure it’s still in place, I relax the tiniest bit. Nearly half my face is hidden behind an exquisite, custom-made mask adorned with Swarovski crystals, pearls, silver beading, and an ornate white feather. A silver silk ribbon holds the mask in place. Still, there’s no hiding my identity when I check in.
“What a gorgeous mask!” The woman behind the desk beams. “Name, please.”
“Anika Hart.”
“Nikki Hart?” the woman, whose name tag identifies her as Lisa, proclaims too loudly for my comfort. “Of course! I should’ve recognized you—even with the mask. We’re so glad you could join us this evening.”
Lisa hands me my name tag, seating assignment, auction bidding information, and a gold fabric swag bag with Save Peachtree School of the Arts Gala printed on it in the school’s signature forest green. Everything is going pleasantly enough. But before I walk away, she whispers behind a cupped hand, “Please tell me there’s a KLN-3 reunion in the works.”
So much for my night off from thinking about the group and the fact that LeNae and I are pretty much invisible outside of it.
“No plans in the works, but you never know what the future might hold,” I recite my practiced response with a genuine smile. It keeps fans hopeful without promising anything.
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” Lisa whispers conspiratorially. “Enjoy your evening.”
I nod with heartfelt appreciation. While the anxious introvert in me hates dealing with the question, I’m grateful that our fans care about the group and want more from us. That’s a gift I’ll never take for granted.
Thankfully, there are few people in the lobby, and Lisa is the only person manning the registration desk. When I step inside the Astor ballroom, I’m blown away by the sumptuous, elegant decor. I walk through artfully designed balloon arches in the school colors: peach, green, and gold. Then I peruse boards featuring Peachtree’s famous alumni ranging from visual artists and dancers to musicians and actors. I’m honored to be among them.
I exchange smiles and casual greetings as I search for my table. I’m hoping my seat is near the back, so I can dip if I need to. Instead, I’m assigned to table two near the front of the room. A sense of dread starts to take hold of me. I search for a member of the event staff to see if I can switch my seat to a less conspicuous table.
“Excuse me… hi.” I catch the arm of a young woman wearing an event staff sash. She’s young. Probably a current Peachtree student. “I was wondering if it’s possible to—”
“Nikki Hart?” She reads my name tag, then bounces on her heels excitedly. “Oh my God! I can’t believe I got to meet a real live member of KLN-3. Like an original member. Wait until I tell my mom. She loves you guys. You know, my audition song for Peachtree was ‘Love You Down’ because it’s one of my mom’s favorite songs.”
Mature choice. But who am I to judge?
“That’s awesome,” I say. “About this seating arrangement… it looks like I’ve been assigned to table two—”
“One of our VIP tables.” The girl—Angel, according to her name tag—beams. “Happy to take you there.”
“That’s very kind of you, Angel. But I don’t actually want to go there.”
“Would you like to go to the auction area first? Or maybe to the restroom?” Angel whispers the last part as she glances around. “Scoping out the bathroom is the first thing I do whenever I go somewhere. You never know when you need to—”
“No,” I say a little too abruptly, and her eyes widen.
I feel awful. I know Angel is trying very hard to be helpful, and I appreciate that. She has no way of knowing I’m in a panicked, downward spiral.
I’m aware that my low-key, freaking out on the inside, yet expressionless on the outside demeanor can come off as distant or even cold, like I don’t care. Nothing could be further from the truth.
If anything, I care too much about everything. Injustice in the world. Everyone else’s feelings in any given situation. How I’m perceived by others. Whether I’m considered ‘likable’ enough.
These thoughts constantly cycle through my brain. Like an old, staticky radio I can’t turn off, though my anxiety meds help turn the volume down.
“What I’m trying to ask…” I try again with a big, bright smile. “Is there any way I can swap my seat for another? Perhaps one closer to the back.”
“You want to switch seats?” Angel’s eyebrows scrunch and she blinks as if she’s personally insulted by my rejection of a place at the esteemed VIP table. “I’m not sure that’s possible. The event is completely sold out.”
“I understand there aren’t any extra spaces.” I broaden my smile and speak slowly, hoping to stem both my rising panic and hers. “But maybe someone wouldn’t mind exchanging places with me?” I say hopefully.
“Um… well… We’d need to speak with one of the event co-chairs about that. But I think they’re both backstage right now because the program is just about to—”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
My shoulders tense when I recognize the deep, gravelly voice I’ve missed so much. The voice that often kept me company so I could drift off to sleep alone in a strange bed in some strange city.
“Cedrick?” I turn toward him, my throat suddenly dry.
“Oh my God! EtCedEra!” Angel squeals, her arms flailing. She draws in a deep breath. “I mean… I love your work. You’re like the hottest producer in the game right now.”
Her breathing is shallow and rapid and her voice wavers as she tries to keep it together in the presence of a man she deeply admires.
That makes two of us, babe.
My hands are trembling. It’s suddenly hard to take a full breath. But Ced still hasn’t spoken to or acknowledged me.
“Thank you… Angel.” Ced reads her name tag and flashes the kind smile I’ve missed so much. “That means a lot. Truly. But as for Ms. Hart, I can take it from here.”
“But she wants to…” The girl glances at me, then back at him again. “I’ll let you two work it out. I’ll be over there if you need anything.” Angel makes her way to the other side of the room.
She’s probably grateful my unusual request is no longer her problem. I don’t blame her.
I shift my attention to Ced. He’s more handsome than I remember.
Cedrick Brown wouldn’t exactly qualify as a short king, but no one would describe him as being tall, either. In these four-inch heels, he’s only a little taller than me. He’s got a fresh-from-the-barber-shop fade. His perfectly trimmed beard connects with his mustache. His flawless chestnut-brown skin tells me he treated himself to a facial with his haircut.
Ced smells like heaven, and I recognize the scent. It’s a pricey cologne I picked up in Paris for his birthday while KLN-3 was on tour.
He waits until Angel is out of earshot before those mesmerizing dark eyes meet mine. His expression is stoic, but I recognize the disappointment in the eyes that are usually so glad to see me.
The awkward silence between us is killing me. But before I can open my mouth to launch into the apology I came here to make, Ced speaks first.
“Wow, it’s like that, Nikki? You’re hassling the event staff to avoid sitting at my table?”
I’m assigned to Ced’s table?
Shit.
Ced is calm and reserved, but I hear the hurt in his voice. Knowing I’m the cause of it absolutely destroys me.
I came here to make amends with one of my oldest friends. But ten minutes into my arrival, I’ve just made everything worse.
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