Foolproof, page 1
Foolproof
Synopsis
Martine Roberts and Elliot Tillman’s childhood friendship was intense. When they bump into each other again thirty years later, sneaking out of an apartment after one-night stands with a pair of roommates, all their feelings come rushing back.
Elliot needs a place to stay, and Martine needs a roommate. It should be simple, but it’s not friendship simmering between them.
Growing up in Key West, rum distiller Martine has friends and family to spare, but her deepest heart she keeps to herself.
With her career in the Coast Guard, Elliot’s never had a permanent address and didn’t mind, until moving in with Martine gives her a home. Now she wants to chart a different course with a woman who likes her relationships short and seasonal? Perfect.
Sometimes friends with benefits isn’t a foolproof way to hide from the truth at the heart of an affair.
Praise for Leigh Hays
Providence
“[O]ne of the most refreshing and sexiest romance novels I’ve read in a long time. The two leads had sizzling chemistry, the power dynamic between them was exciting and erotic, the romantic storyline was not formulaic in any way.”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)
“I’ve never stared at a book cover for so long. And Leigh Hays’s writing is equally a showstopper in her debut lesbian romance Providence.”—Lambda Literary
“Are we sure this is a debut book? It’s Fantastic! I thoroughly enjoyed Providence. It was an edgy storyline with a fresh take on romance. When you start this book, you think it’s going to be a romance; then you realize it’s erotica with some light BDSM and then you’re back to love but not before the author throws in a little drama. I was in a lesfic tailspin by the end…and completely loving it!”—Les Rêveur
“I liked how this was written. The settings were vivid, the chemistry well done, and their emotional journeys were a highlight…It’s a solid debut book and it left me thinking for days after I finished it. I’d recommend it if you like books with tortured characters, and I’ll be looking out for more from Leigh Hays in the future.”—Lesbian Review
Too Good to Be True
“A huge part of her success in this is the characters: both Jen and Madison are complex, they’re fallible in ways that make them relatable. Leigh Hays knows how to write sexy scenes, there’s no doubt about that…if there’s one thing Leigh Hays can write, it’s chemistry. Scorching chemistry leads to a fantastic night of sex.”—Rainbow Literary Society
“I really enjoyed it…The inevitable angst happens with enough time for things to be resolved with a satisfying end, and I felt the ending was appropriate for the pair. I’m hoping that there’ll be another in the series and we’ll get to see some brief glimpses of them again…Any wlw age gap romance fans should find something to enjoy in this one, as will most other romance fans.”—LGBTQ+ Reader
“Good characters, simple plot, enough tension to keep the story interesting and to test the characters. I was rooting for them the whole way and enjoyed the supporting characters as well. If you’re looking for a good, solid romance this summer, definitely check this one out.”—Kissing Backwards
Foolproof
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By the Author
Providence
Too Good To Be True
Foolproof
Foolproof
© 2022 By Leigh Hays. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63679-185-2
This Electronic Original Is Published By
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: October 2022
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Barbara Ann Wright
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design by Tammy Seidick
eBook Design by Toni Whitaker
Acknowledgments
I wanted to thank Sandy, Radclyffe, Ruth, and the small army of people that make the books happen at BSB. I continue to learn and grow with your guidance.
This one required a lot of research. Some of it I drank, but a special shout-out goes to Maggie Campbell. Her web talks and podcast interviews were crucial in developing Martine’s mindset and her distillery. And on the subject of research, a special thanks to Angie Williams for the quickest read-through ever and answering all my random Coast Guard questions.
Thanks to Barbara and her insistence that I add more feelings. With kindness and humor—lots of humor—she helps the book in my head become the book in print.
And thank you to the usual suspects: Aurora Rey for providing her own unique blend of cheerleader, task master, and mentor; my wife for finding space in our life—again—for me to write; and my son for bringing more joy and fun into my life than I thought possible.
For Clyde
Chapter One
Martine Roberts shivered as the London rain seeped under her collar. Her raincoat had been an emergency purchase in Piccadilly Circus and wasn’t quite warm enough for her. She already missed the warm winter temperatures of Key West, but she couldn’t miss the awards ceremony for the International Wine & Spirits Competition, even if she had begun to question its value. Her need for peer recognition had soured. After her distillery had won a Rising Star Award ten years ago, they’d never won another one at this event, though they’d been nominated seven other times. She expected this year to be no different.
At least she didn’t have to wait in line too long before she entered Guildhall and followed the crowd into the reception area. She checked her coat and adjusted her tuxedo.
“Look at you.” Jean-Claude Montabord strode over and hauled her off her feet in a gentle bear hug. A full head taller and twice her width, Jean-Claude towered over most of the other guests. In his early fifties, with laugh lines around his dark brown eyes, he was equal parts intimidating and approachable. His black tie tilted more toward the flamboyant with an iridescent blue waistcoat and bowtie. He made a show of looking around. “Where’s your other half?”
“Someone had to mind the store.” Her business partner, Ana Sofia, took the lead role in marketing and sales. She had quit her seventy-hour-a-week attorney gig in New York City before coming home to open the distillery with Martine. Award ceremonies often fell into her domain, but this year, she’d bowed out, saying, “It’s your turn to listen to those pretentious assholes tell us what’s wrong with our rum.”
“I didn’t see your name this year,” she said. Last year, Jean-Claude’s aged pot and column still rum took home a silver. He should have gotten the gold, but one of the bigger brands had edged him out. She’d spent two seasons working side by side with him and had a hand in the distillation of that expression. After several years maturing in port barrels, his distillery had finally bottled it last year.
He waved his hand. “I’m presenting not receiving. By the way, I tried your Cochin.”
“And?” Cochin was a three-year pot and column still rum that was aged in bourbon barrels.
He paused, and she knew what he was going to say. “I’d proudly serve it at my table.”
“But?” As her occasional mentor, he didn’t pull his punches.
“You hit all the right notes you’re going for but it’s…” He motioned as if he could pluck the word he wanted out of the air.
“Bland?” she finished for him. Her professional tastings all said the same thing. A superb technical rum that lacked depth.
“I wouldn’t say that. Your technique is beautiful.”
A technique she’d honed through process and ingredients. She took copious notes from distillation to bottling so she could replicate or tweak her product from year to year. She sourced good ingredients because she believed in the motto, garbage in, garbage out. Starting with a subpar ingredient produced a subpar rum. But technique was only part of the equation. Distillation required a blend of science and art. An alchemy where the two met. Sometimes, the art part eluded her.
“But it’s still too clinical. You need to take risks.”
She curled her lip. She’d heard that before, too.
Jean-Claude clapped her on the back. “You’ll get there. You’ve got time.”
“You’re not that much older than me.” She nudged him in the ribs.
“A decade makes a difference.”
“Whatever.”
He held out his elbow. “Come on. Let’s find a place to sit and watch this spectacle unfold.”
They didn’t make it five steps before Jean-Claude got pulled away. Martine felt his loss immediately and searched for another friendly face. The rum world was small in comparison to the international wine and spirits world. She knew, or knew of, all the rum people, a few of the bourbon folk, and virtually none of the wine group that made up two-thirds of the guests. While she could hold her own with the spirits crowd, she missed Ana Sofia’s ease with strangers.
“Martine!” She glanced over and spotted her first rum mentor and old friend, Louis Rollo, heading her way.
“Louis!” He hugged her, and she looked over his shoulder, hoping his sister had not made the trip. Unfortunately, Toni was right behind him.
Toni greeted her with that “two kisses on each cheek” thing she did with strangers. A deliberate snub. “You look marvelous.” She pinched the fabric of Martine’s tux. “Armani?”
“No.” Armani? Hardly. She couldn’t afford a suit that expensive. As it was, Ana Sofia had insisted on a reputable designer with prices Martine could stomach. Although she suspected Ana Sofia had lowballed her the price and covered the rest. Something about representing the brand appropriately, and premium products required premium appearances.
“Excellent knockoff.”
She chuckled. “I’m glad it meets with your approval.” Did she think Martine cared what she thought?
Louis shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Toni, thank you for maintaining our standards.”
“Don’t be an ass, Louis.” She dismissed him with a wave before bringing her focus back to Martine. “I’ve tried your Rooster blend. Good for an American rum.”
Martine suppressed a laugh but couldn’t control the smile. At least she didn’t call it bland. “Thank you.”
Louis scoffed. “Don’t be a snob.” He slung his arm across Martine’s shoulder and drew her away. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just jealous. In another year or two, you’re going to surpass us.”
Just another year? She already made a better unaged rum than they did. The Rollo family placed a higher emphasis on aged products. They had seventy years of continuous operation and had the inventory for it.
Toni pursed her lips. “Perhaps. I’ll see you around.”
“No doubt.” Martine turned back to Louis and took a deep breath. Her chest loosened up, and her shoulders settled.
Louis squeezed her to his side. “Ignore her. She’s been in a snit since Beatriz and her split up.”
Beatriz had been the woman Toni had left Martine for. Both from upper class Barbadian society and both accustomed to living in the closet. Toni had been everything she’d wanted, privilege and prestige, professionally and personally. She might even have loved her, but after twenty years, she wasn’t so sure. Still, her leaving had stung, making Martine feel as if she wasn’t enough. For a moment, that green glow of jealousy basked in the news of the breakup before her better nature took over. “I don’t want to talk about her. Tell me what’s happening with that new still of yours.”
She listened to him, knowing that in twelve hours, she’d be in Tampa, tired from travel, disappointed by yet another award loss, and having to suffer through Thanksgiving with her stepfamily. Hopefully, she’d duck out early and head home to Key West before the weekend.
* * *
Martine took US 27 with the black smoke rising behind her and the sun on her left. Only one or two cars were out on the road as the sunrise came up over the burning sugarcane, the sky and the sun dusty and gray with the smoke and the soot coming off the fields. The horizon stretched on for miles with no signs of civilization other than the black ribbon of road in front of her. She settled back in her seat and headed south.
After enduring only one day, she’d decided that this was the last time she would ever schedule her family visit right after the awards ceremony. Every year with her mother and stepfather’s family, the food got worse, and the politics got crazier. This year, she’d stayed at a hotel instead of the house, which had made the visit so much easier. But now it was done, and she didn’t have to worry about them for another year.
She could also tick off seeing Toni. Even though she didn’t see her every year, Toni always rattled her, even if she denied it to everyone else. But something about her and Beatriz splitting up had hit a deeper chord. Maybe because it could have been her instead of Beatriz. Would they have lasted that long? She didn’t care, not really. But there was this air of what-if with her. Besides, she liked the life she led, picking up women for a night, sometimes two. She used to invest more time in her relationships, dating part-time residents for more than one season. But even that had stopped. The last few years had been a string of one-night stands and casual hookups. Low effort, no commitment worked for her.
She glanced at her speed after she zoomed past a highway patrol car. She slowed and sighed as the car switched on its lights and pulled out after her. So much for making good time. She pulled over and waited while the cop unfurled their long body from the front seat. Her eyes took in the walk and the slim hips, and a tiny spark of hope fluttered in her breast. She rolled down the window just as the officer stopped alongside her.
“Do you know why I stopped you?” The officer tipped her sunglasses down—mirrored, of course—and fixed Martine with an icy blue stare. It was so hard to tell if the cop was queer; even the straight ones were rather butch.
Martine tilted her head and offered her best “ah, shucks, ma’am” smile. “Well, I was doing about ninety-five there.”
She raised an eyebrow. “It was actually one-oh-eight. That’s forty-three above the speed limit. Where were you heading this early?”
Oh, that was much faster than she’d thought. Whoops. “Key West.”
“Business or pleasure?”
Martine liked the way she said pleasure. A slight drawl and a pause between the words. Hints of the Deep South in those tones. “Home. Although I’m always up for a little pleasure.”
The cop’s jaw tightened, and any hint of warmth snapped shut. Holding out her hand, she said, “License, registration, and insurance.”
Martine sighed. She’d tried. How of all places did she manage to run across the only police officer on this flat stretch of land?
She passed them through the window and admired the woman’s steely professionalism. Wonder what it would take to break that exterior? She warmed to that idea as she watched the cop retreat in her rearview mirror. Those snug tan pants outlined a nice ass. She shifted in her seat and sighed. It was almost tourist season, and she really needed to get laid.
She picked up her phone and checked her email while she waited. The warm air blowing through her window carried the heavy humid feel that promised a hot day. She needed to be near the water and soon. That constant ocean breeze and salt spray kept the worst of the heat at bay.
She heard boots crunching the sand and shells that made up the majority of Florida roadways before the cop reappeared at her window. “Briar Rose. That’s an unusual middle name.”
“I’m a regular Disney princess.” That joke usually got a lot of traction in the home of Walt Disney World. Briar Rose was one of the names used by Sleeping Beauty. People either got the joke or didn’t. Those that did often made it into her bed. The officer’s jaw twitched, and Martine was pleased to know she hit her mark.
“Where’s your tiara?”
Martine grinned. “I left it at home.”
The officer glanced at her license before handing it back. “Key West.”
“Born and raised. You?” Since she managed to crack her exterior, there was no sense making the whole deal unpleasant. Besides, she’d liked her Briar Rose joke.
“Gulfport, Mississippi.” She ripped off the ticket from her handheld and passed it over. “Along with the fine, there’s a mandatory court date. You’ll need to come back up here for the appearance since your speed was so high.”
Martine took the ticket and held her gaze. “Any chance you’ll be there?”
The cop pulled her sunglasses off, and Martine was equal parts chilled and turned on. “Are you hitting on me?”
Martine swallowed her sudden nerves. “Are you interested?”
“You should really slow down, Briar Rose.” She slipped the lenses back on and walked away.
