Art of Seduction Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Prologue from Art of forgiveness

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Connect with Monique

  More to come…

  About the Author

  Art of Seduction

  A Stern Family Saga Book 1

  Monique Orgeron

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Blurb

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Epilogue

  Connect with Monique

  More to come…

  Prologue from Art of forgiveness

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017

  * * *

  Monique Orgeron

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no scanning, uploading, electronic sharing, copying, or reproduction of any part of this book can be done without written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, and incidents came from the author’s imagination.

  References to real people, organizations, establishments, or locations are only to provide a sense of authenticity, they are used fictitious and never in a malicious way.

  * * *

  Formatting by https://serendipityformats.wixsite.com/formats

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank my family first and foremost, they might have complained about not having a home cooked meal every night, while I was writing, but they made sure to show their support and express their love for me every step of the way. My husband is my life and his love is what allowed me to do this. My two daughters have made me feel as though they are as proud of me as I am of them.

  To my sister-in-law, Shawna, thank you for giving me the courage to first share my story with you, then the world.

  Thank you to Dylan, my comic relief and alpha reader.

  Thank you to my Beta Readers Dawn Lucous, Suzanne McGovern, and Chasidy Renee. You ladies are the best.

  To Laura, who helped me with graphics and dealt with my bossiness like a pro.

  To Karen Boston who did my editing. She was extremely patient with me.

  To Erica Alexander, from Serendipity Formats for all the help.

  Finally, thank you to my readers. It has been a rollercoaster ride, but with all of the encouragements, I was able to see my dream fulfilled. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

  I hope you all enjoy my books!

  Blurb

  Love was never supposed to be part of the end game

  Fallon’s life has been a road paved in misery and loneliness, then one day she’s propositioned

  with a way to change it all.

  From that day forward, she planned on

  never looking back.

  That is, until, she met her target, the man

  who could destroy everything.

  Fallon’s a survivor, but can she survive him?

  Gabriel is independent and brutal.

  He learned early on about his mother’s games.

  For years she has tried to control

  every aspect of his life.

  Born to be her successor, he refused to be her chess piece.

  But when a mysterious woman shows up, Gabriel’s life is turned upside down.

  Is she his mother’s pawn?

  Soon, both of them will learn the games Gabriel’s mother, Catherine Stern, plays are for keeps.

  * * *

  Secrets and deception always find a way of being revealed.

  Prologue

  Love. What a horrible word.

  I’ve learned there are many forms of love. Abandonment was my first love. The love I felt for my mother was ripped away from me as a young child. She dumped me like I was trash, which is why the love I had for her was unrequited.

  The love you have for a sibling or friend, the love you hold close to you heart, that was my love for Laura. She was my kindest love. Protecting her meant everything to me, and failing her was my biggest shame; I still carried that guilt for the rest of my life.

  Torture and pain came next. Love from a spouse was the most terrifying; to be tortured by a man who promises you forever nearly led me to my destruction.

  True love was my sorrow. The love that was returned, but never meant to be? That was the most hurtful love of all.

  Unconditional love was my last love. The love one has for their children is so precious and never-ending, from the moment I held them in my arms and looked into their eyes, I knew failing them would never be an option. My life is theirs, and they will never suffer. All my pain and sorrow will disappear, and I will suffer for their survival. It is the sweetest love I know. I vow to always protect, and love them for all the rest of my days.

  No matter what the cost.

  This is my reprieve, or salvation if you will. My story is written, through the pages of my sons’ lives.

  Gabriel, Zander, Liam, and my sweet tortured boy Vin.

  Catherine Stern

  1

  Fallon

  Walking to work this morning, I start to get the strangest feeling someone is watching me. As I look around, I don’t see anyone – but then again, I never see anyone. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way. Paranoid much? Definitely, but fuck it! I have every right to be. I’ve been on guard my whole life.

  My home life wasn’t for the faint of heart. My mother drank heavily du
ring my childhood. She was once an enchanting woman, but the years have changed her for the worst. Her beauty is long gone now, and nothing is left except a frail woman who looks far older than her forty-four years.

  Drinking has left her bitter and mean. I imagine it’s also left me bitter. Years of taking care of her have been a nightmare. The only time I wasn’t taking care of her was when I was drifting between her and foster care.

  It all started either with my teachers seeing the state of my clothing or a neighbor watching me dig through the trash for food. They would then call in the great state of Louisiana to take me from my mom, and off I would go into the system.

  Foster care wasn’t any better, but at least it was a change. My mom would go to court begging for my return, making false promises, saying she’d changed. She even showed improvements for the courts. But as soon as I got back home, she was back to treating me like dirt, telling me how worthless I was.

  I do have vague memories of a loving mother, though, one who would kiss my cheek and sing me sweet lullabies. Sometimes I think I may have imagined it all, because there is no longer anything sweet about my mother; she truly is as nasty as the poison she drinks.

  “Oh shit!”

  My thoughts are broken as I nearly fall because of the crumbling cement that makes up the sidewalk leading to Earl’s Diner, where I work. This part of New Orleans is a rough area, and it feels forgotten from the rest of the city. Everything here is neglected. Between the heat, humidity, and hopelessness in the air, it’s all rather depressing.

  Looking around my surroundings is second nature. It’s a necessity in this area. Safety and security are a luxury I’ve never had. God knows I never felt safe with my mother.

  Thinking of her brings back a memory from when I was younger. I had found an envelope filled with photographs of a younger version of my mother. She was so pretty.

  In one of the pictures, she was leaning against a brick building with another girl and a guy. The guy was in the middle and had his arms around both of them. You could see sadness behind my mother’s green eyes, the same eyes I see when I look in the mirror. I spent many hours imagining why at that age she looked so sad. Was her life as shitty as mine?

  Another picture was of my mother and the same woman from the previous picture. They were both so glamorous. They were dressed up like they were at a party. They looked happy...well, at least they were smiling.

  I don’t remember smiling much. As I got older, my body started to receive more attention than I wanted; my mother noticed it, too. When I was taking care of her, she was fine, but once she saw the looks I began to get, she would tell me things like, “You think you’re something special? Well, you’re not.” As I continued to grow, her hatred and jealousy grew, too. But there were rare occasions when in her alcoholic state she became almost regretful. She would say things I could never make out, things I knew were horrible, things I didn’t want to acknowledge or learn more about. Then she would say things about how she loved me and was so sorry she wasn’t a better mother. The scariest words to come out of her mouth were about protection and guilt. Just like most of her words, they weren’t clear or concise, but I could feel the fear she had.

  Well, I’m on my own now, and at eighteen that’s fine with me. She threw me out almost six months ago, telling me never to come back. Being too old for the system anymore left me homeless and scared, but I survived those months and learned I was fine without her.

  However, I’m not very far from being homeless again. I don’t have anyone to count on; no father or extended family, no friends, not even a boyfriend. But I guess that’s my fault. I would describe myself as plain, but I guess that’s my fault, too. When I started getting more attention from my mother’s boyfriends, I began to cover my body as much as possible. I wanted to be invisible; maybe if they couldn’t see my new curves, they wouldn’t look at me like they did.

  I do know I’m pretty, but therein lies the problem: being pretty in the place I grew up in is dangerous. My face is clear of blemishes and scars. I have deep brown hair, a round face with a button nose, and straight teeth. Many people have told me my eyes are my best feature. They are the palest of green; at a glance, they almost appear to look like glass. Like you can see through them.

  But no matter how plain I made myself, she still allowed her jealousy to turn into rage. I wonder if she even cared that I hated all the looks.

  Today, my mother doesn’t want to acknowledge me anymore, and that’s fine by me. I’m too old to go back into foster care, but that’s a relief. The last foster home I had been in was a nightmare. They had an older son, who would stare at me constantly. I needed to protect myself as much as a kid could. I got my hands on a steak knife, because I knew he would eventually come. One night I heard him enter my room and I readied myself. When he came near, I stabbed him repeatedly in his arm. I watched as he bled, but I wanted more blood. He had no right to touch me. Of course, I was the one blamed and the incident was all covered up. I was satisfied though knowing he will never do that shit again, not to me. No one will. I am alone, but I am tired of being scared, and I won’t be a victim anymore.

  From now on, I will not let anyone affect my life. My mother will not be my problem anymore. Her wants and needs always came before mine; taking care of her had been my priority, but not anymore. I will live as I want, be my own priority, and even if I fail, it will be on my terms.

  2

  Fallon

  I make it to the diner just in time. It’s a poor excuse of an establishment, but in the part of the city I live in, no one is allowed the luxury of being too picky. I start my day with making pots of coffee for the customers while begging Earl to give me more shifts. But, he says he can’t give me any more hours; there just aren’t enough customers to cover the expense. I guess I will have to look for a second job soon.

  While I’m wiping the counters, a woman walks in; she’s older, probably in her mid-forties. She’s gorgeous, almost regal. Her hair is blonde, and her complexion is polished. I admire how her body has been kept in great shape. She’s wearing a camel colored jacket with a deep brown pencil skirt that accentuates her curves. Her taut legs lead to a pair of expensive looking heels.

  She definitely doesn’t belong in this diner, or even in this part of the city. I’ve seen her here before though; she’s been coming into the diner for a couple of weeks. She orders a coffee, sits, and stares at me while I work. She never says anything more than her order for coffee, yet she always leaves me a nice tip. So, it’s easy to say I look forward to seeing her walk in; however, it’s weird how she stares, almost like she’s studying me. I want to tell her to knock it off every time, but I need that tip. I’m always nice and polite, trying to get her to speak to me, but she never replies. It’s downright creepy. I guess it could be worse. If she were a man, I would be scared to death to leave the diner at night, but with her, for some reason, I’m not.

  The next night at the end of a long shift, the doors to the diner open. The same woman appears again, but this time there is a very large man with her. The woman goes to sit in her now regular spot, while the man walks up to Earl. They start to speak to each other, but I can’t hear anything they say. Next thing I know, Earl is walking out the door and the man is locking it. I turn to look at what’s going on, and the woman starts to speak to me.

  “Fallon, I would like for you to have a seat with me, so we can finally learn about each other.”

  I gasp. “How do you know my name?”

  She points to my name tag; of course, that’s how, but then she says, “I know a lot about you, Fallon.”

  She has me baffled. “What do you mean?”

  She tilts her head towards the chair and says, “Join me for a conversation, dear, won’t you?”

  As I walk up to her, crossing my arms, I say, “I don’t know. I don’t think I like you very much.”

  She laughs and says, “Ah, this is where things get interesting. See, I don’t care whether you like me
or not. I am not looking for a friend. You not liking me is not a problem I have, but for you, that’s a problem you don’t want to have. See, we don’t have to be friends, but we can be allies.”

  She pauses, appraising me some more, then continues. “I could teach you so much.”

  I snicker towards her. “What could you possibly teach me? “

  “Well for starters, to understand me. I’m like a chameleon; I can be what everyone dreams of me to be. I can also be your worst nightmare. I am a very dangerous woman, when and if I need to be.” Then she asks, “Tell me, little girl, what is it you want? What are you expecting out of life?” She gestures to the diner. “Do you want to stay at this dead-end job for the rest of your life? Maybe find love with some piece of shit who will treat you badly, or do you want more?”

  I shake my head, becoming defensive. “I don’t know what you want, or who you are, but that is none of your business.”

  She smiles. “That’s where you are wrong. What are your dreams? Do you want to find your place in life? Do you want love or be rich beyond belief? Perhaps you want power? Desire, my dear, is the answer to all your problems. When you’re desired, it can be extremely powerful. Like a drug. To fit in, to be loved, to be rich, you must be desired. Then and only then can you can become powerful. I have seen so many girls like you, Fallon, come and go, wanting all of it. Stupid girls, not knowing the basic steps to achieve their goals. I thought I saw potential in you at first, but now I am questioning myself. And that is something I rarely do. You see, my dear, I am cunning, patient, and always listening. I am always watching, instead of speaking just to be heard. When I want to be heard, trust me, I will be. They will all listen because nothing leaves my mouth without a purpose.” Her eyes burn through me as she tells me, “Sit down, I am losing my patience.”