Cocky Love: Emma Cocker (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 11)
Cocky Love: Emma Cocker
A Cocker Brothers Novel
Faleena Hopkins
Hop Hop Publications
Copyright © 2017 by Faleena Hopkins
All rights reserved.
Photos licensed from Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Faleena Hopkins
This is a work of fiction. Any parts of this book resembling real life have been fictionalized or come directly from the author’s imagination.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
COCKY LOVE - EMMA COCKER
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
Chapter 43
44. EPILOGUE
Bonus Fun
Note From Me
Acknowledgments
(1) Jake Cocker - Cocky Roomie
(2) Jett Cocker - Cocky Biker
(3) Jaxson Cocker - Cocky Cowboy
(4) Jason Cocker - Cocky Romantic
(5) Justin Cocker - Cocky Senator
(6) Jeremy Cocker - Cocky Soldier
(7) A Honey Badger X-Mas
(8) Hannah Cocker - Cocky Senator’s Daughter
(9) Ethan Cocker - Cocky Genius
(10) Gabriel Cocker - Cocky Rockstar
(11) Emma Cocker - Cocky Love
About the Author
COCKY LOVE - EMMA COCKER
If he doesn’t see your worth then he’s not worth you.
Faleena Hopkins
Chapter 1
TANNER
Standing under a cloudless Georgia sky, sunbeams reeking of optimism, I size up the exterior of a vacant yet somehow cozy twelve-bedroom mansion, waiting for my realtor to arrive.
As my phone predictably vibrates in my hand, I answer it, forehead creased, voice impatient, “I knew you’d call back and here you are, Sunaya. Why are you wasting my time?”
“Tanner, you’re a cold-hearted bastard!”
With one hand relaxed in the pocket of my tailored suit pants, an amused smirk slowly curves my lips. “Just last month you expected me to ‘lock this down’ and now you’ve resorted to name calling? I guess I was wrong and you are the right woman for me. Let’s get back together! I love being abused.”
Ignoring my sarcasm she gives this ugly chuckle as if she’s figured me out. “I should have known!”
“Known what?”
“That you only wanted sex!”
“You mean you should have listened when I told you that’s all I wanted?”
“You led me on!”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I mutter, casually eyeing the sun and wondering if Atlanta ever gets foggy like my hometown.
“You’d be lucky to be with me, Tanner! You know how many men want me? I will have them lining up as soon as I—”
“Yes, enlighten me as to how popular you are and how lonely I’ll be. I can’t wait to cry into my pillow every night, bereft for not having you at my side for all eternity.”
“Fuck you!” She hangs up.
Immediately I call my assistant.
Chapter 2
EMMA
Cora barks, “Cover for me,” five-inch heels striding by my desk at a skilled yet alarming rate. “I need a massage!”
Watching her I lift an eyebrow. You sure need to relax but one little rubdown won’t perform miracles.
Aloud I ask from behind a plastered smile, “You’re supposed to show a house this afternoon?”
She eyes me, grimacing like I’m an idiot. “No, I want you to cover for me by dancing a jig and eating pineapples under the full moon! What do we do here?”
“We sell houses.”
“God, you are so air-headed,” she sneers, checking her face in the gilded mirror. Visible just beyond where she stands preening, the sign reads Cora Williamson Realty, etched permanently in the glass storefront window. You can read it from the street, but from here it’s backwards, an oversight I always found amusing.
I think at one time she loved this agency, back when she was a nicer person. When my Aunt Rachel recommended me for this job she happily confided that her grade-school friend lived to sell properties. I thought we’d have that in common. But I’ve never once witnessed that joy from my boss.
I keep the belief to myself that it’s her divorce that changed her, that she hides it from my aunt out of embarrassment, because Rachel and Uncle Jaxson’s marriage is solid, filled with love, respect and the sweetest friendship.
Rumor has it that Cora briefly dated Jaxson when they were in their twenties. But Rachel and Jaxson fell in love when they were eight, before Rachel’s family moved away. Such a sweet story I’ve made them tell me so many times.
Still, I bet Cora wishes Jaxson was hers.
Who could blame her?
Doesn’t mean she has to be a bitch about it though.
“We don’t sell houses, Emma!” Annoyed, she fumes, “We show people their dreams, their futures, where they’ll lay their heads at night, and where most of their memories will unfold before their eyes!” Closing her compact she sneers, “Dammit, paint the picture right or you’ll never get anywhere. The address is in my calendar! If you know how to find that!”
As the door shuts, bells jingling, and those expensive heels whisk her off to her world of bitterness, I growl, “You need to get laid!” and call my cousin and best friend. “Hannah, I can’t take it anymore!”
“Cora again, huh? When she treats you like that, stand up to her!”
Jumping from my swivel chair I pace. “She’s having me show one of her properties today, which is bizarre. She normally hoards her clients and won’t let me near them!”
“Maybe she’s giving you a chance?”
Rolling my eyes I walk to the mirror Cora vacated, smoothing the frizz from my long chestnut-brown hair. “Keep dreaming. It’s probably just a difficult client she doesn’t feel like working with. But it is a first.”
“Take this opportunity then!” Hannah says in a distracted way before muttering, “Why won’t this coffee brew faster?”
“Why won’t my hair stay straight when I want it to?” Giving up I cross to Cora’s computer for her calendar.
“Because you have a natural wave, you lucky jerk. And who cares if she is the biggest bitch in Buckhead? You’re a Cocker. Tell her where to shove it.”
The scr
een awakens to life as I grumble, “I would love to but I don’t want to upset Aunt Rachel. She has no idea that her friend who wears this friendly mask whenever she helps out at Sunflower Retreat, bites my head off every time she sees me. What the…? Look at this!”
“I can’t see what you’re seeing. We’re on the phone.”
“She’s given me the Moody/Lowry mansion! If I sell this it will be huge. All my debts gone in one sale, type of commission. Car finally paid off! Oh wait, she’d split the commission, hopefully fifty-fifty though I’m probably delusional.” My eyes narrow as I read the client’s name. “I don’t know the potential buyer. No notes attached to his file, which isn’t like her at all. If he’s wealthy enough for a property this size, wouldn’t his reputation precede him?”
“We don’t know everybody,” Hannah reminds me. “Maybe it’s someone from Roswell. It’s become nearly as big as Buckhead over the last twenty years or so. Maybe he’s from there. Or out of town?”
I start tapping around. “I’ll search him on the internet.”
“What time is your meeting?”
My fingers pause before returning to the calendar. “Oh no! I have to leave!”
“It’s now?”
“Eleven minutes!” Grabbing my things I run for the door. “She was just here, Hannah, and did not tell me that!”
“Either Cora is setting you up or she needs a vacation.”
With sunglasses awkwardly in my hand, purse-strap on my arm, bag swinging from it, and still holding the phone to my ear, I wrestle the office’s lock into submission. “Vacation. Cora is tired, angry and hard to work for, but she’s not evil.”
“Emma! You know what you are?”
Running to my car I grin, “I’m a Cocker, dammit!”
“That’s right! Sell that house! Pay off that car! Show your boss you’re to be respected! And now I’m going to have my coffee. Oh, you didn’t tell me, what’s his name? Maybe I know him and can help you out!”
Sliding into my waiting Lexus and throwing my bag on the passenger seat, I don my sunglasses as the car starts itself, activated from the remote sensor. My pre-set music player also turns on automatically, and Gabriel Cocker’s voice croons through the speakers as I tell his sister, “Hannah, if I don’t know him, you don’t know him.”
“That’s probably true.”
Excited, I pull onto the street, convertible top down, announcing to all of Atlanta, “His name is Tanner Hamilton, and after this, he won’t know what hit him!”
Chapter 3
TANNER
“Dan, I need you to send flowers to Sunaya.”
“It’s over then?”
My eyebrows raise and I mutter, “It never began and you know it.”
“I was joking.”
“I’m in stitches.”
He mutters, “You never laugh.”
“You’re never funny. Now about those flowers, I don’t want you delivering them yourself this time.”
“She’ll throw them in my face?”
“She would. Have the florist take that burden.”
“Oh God.” Dan’s voice shifts to grim. “I’ll warn them.”
“Warn them and tip them one hundred percent, not my usual thirty. And buy a thicker skin while you’re at it. See if they sell one in size P for pussy. Anything I need to know about?”
His tone becomes mechanical as he reads off his notes, “The Atlanta Woman’s Club has somehow discovered you’re in town. Why it’s woman and not women I don’t know. Must have been an oversight when it was established in 1895. I made sure they were legit. Beautiful old house they–”
“Get on with it, Dan,” I sigh.
“They asked you to take part in a fundraiser. I figured it would make you look good to the community if you showed up, help your standing there, you know, as an outsider. I’ve marked it in your calendar. Also, The Elite, the meeting is in Vail, Colorado again this winter. Marked it down and sent confirmation of your attendance. Oh and the team on this new project of yours is coming up with great ideas. Insurance has been locked down as soon as you give the green light. You want to hear the top interview contenders?”
“Later. Anything else, Dan? And where is my realtor…” I mutter, staring off down the quiet, upper class residential street.
“She’s late?”
“One minute, yes.”
“She’ll regret that. You’re scheduled for a massage this afternoon, but you’ve also got a haircut.”
“How did that happen?”
“You ran into the barber you used to like, and made the appointment verbally without checking with me.”
I rake a hand through my wavy hair. “Oh, I thought it was your mistake.”
“And yet it wasn’t,” he says with an audible smile.
“Fix it.”
“Which is more important?”
I dryly ask him, “Which do you think?”
“I’ll move the massage to tomorrow.”
“Smart man. I didn’t want the damn massage in the first place. Stop trying to get me to relax. Anything else?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, Tanner.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Oh and Dan, the spa charges a fee for same day changes to appointments so take that out of your pay.” At his silence I mutter, “I’m fucking with you. Get a sense of humor,” and hang up, shaking my head.
Turning around, my eyes land on a white convertible Lexus slowing down like this is its destination. The street is quiet, only the occasional chirping of unseen birds can be heard, and the electric car doesn’t disturb the peaceful setting as it parks in front of the property. I frown as the driver waves at me. That young woman is not Cora, which doesn’t make me happy in the slightest.
She pawned me off on an underling?!
The sun dances on the beauty’s high cheekbones as she unleashes her ponytail and shakes out long, brown waves. Gliding out in a knee-length dress that matches her car, she quietly shuts the door while looping an arm through a designer purse. Tipping the sunglasses atop her head she warmly smiles, whiskey colored eyes sparkling with friendliness.
I exhale with irritation. Cora thinks sending this eager young thing will close the sale?
“Mr. Hamilton?”
“Who else would I be? You, however, are not who I expected.”
She waves red fingernails. “Cora fell ill. I’m terribly sorry. But you’re in good hands with me, Mr. Hamilton. My name is Emma and I know everything about this gorgeous property that there is to know.”
It always feels odd to shake hands with a woman.
I rarely do it.
So I slide mine in my pockets rather than extend one.
Women are to be stroked not shaken.
Emma and I stare at each other, neither making a move. My eyes narrow on her youthful face, impatiently thinking that there is no way this girl can handle the complicated plans I’ve got in the works. She’s nice to look at, but beauty doesn’t equal experience. And she’s way too fucking happy.
Frowning at the sun I inform this Emma with a measured voice, “I want the head of the agency with the best reputation in Atlanta, not one of her overly smiley, fresh-faced mentees hoping to impress her boss, yet who will probably fall short of doing so. Yes, I can see right through you. There’s desperation to impress written all over your face, the way you’re standing. Despite your well-packaged presentation I can see the naïveté in your eyes and I don’t have time for children.”
Her back stiffens as she eyes me. “I’m a grown woman, Mr. Hamilton.”
With a sardonic spark in my tone I point to her cheek. “Your skin is so creamy and ripe I see baby hairs catching in the sunlight along the side of your face here. Even your name is innocent.” I motion up and down her slender body. “You were born to be this. So forgive me when I say that until you hit forty, at the earliest, nobody will take you seriously.”
Surprise flashes hot behind those already warm whiskey eyes, but she instantly masters herself a
nd it cools. “This mansion finished construction on September 7, 1891, when James Malcolm Moody married Elizabeth Mary Louisa O’Connor of the Savannah O’Connors. Because he promised her a big family, them being Catholics, he optimistically made it twelve bedrooms. The ensuite bathrooms were built at the same time making it a historic anomaly and achievement because flushable water closets, as they were called then, were new and only the wealthy, and a handful of elite hotels, could afford to install them. Theirs was considered the most decadent home in Atlanta, as you can imagine, especially since as time travelled on, as it is wont to do, they had only two children who would later prove stubborn about having families of their own. In 1978 when the last Moody died without heirs, a cousin, Paul Blanchard, sold it to the unrelated Lowry family who renovated and restored the property, painstakingly reimagining the historical fixtures, moldings, ivory claw-foot bathtubs in all twelve bathrooms, the wallpaper in the study, library and dining hall, with a slightly more modern take to preserve what was then and blend it with today. The electrical wiring is all modern and the best that money can buy with enough volts combined with discreet solar paneling on the backside of the roof, to power the whole block. The windows have been torn out and double paned for better insulation, so even in the hottest Atlanta months it will feel cool inside without much effort. And of course there is the central air-conditioning. There are security cameras throughout of the highest grade as they were installed only last year. Because their children have moved out of Georgia, the Lowrys have relocated to Paris. They don’t need all this space and wish to retire in their native homeland. Mrs. Lowry was born Ms. Beauchamp and she misses France terribly.”