Here to Stay Read online

  Starting over is more about who you’re with than where you live...

  Julia del Mar Ortiz is not having the best year.

  She moved to Dallas with her boyfriend, who ended up ditching her and running back to New York after only a few weeks. Left with a massive—by NYC standards, anyway—apartment and a car lease in the scorching Texas heat, Julia is struggling...except that’s not completely true. Running the charitable foundation of one of the most iconic high fashion department stores in the world is serious #lifegoals.

  It’s more than enough to make her want to stick it out down South.

  The only monkey wrench in Julia’s plans is the blue-eyed, smart-mouthed consultant the store hired to take them public. Fellow New Yorker Rocco Quinn’s first order of business? Putting Julia’s job on the chopping block.

  When Julia is tasked with making sure Rocco sees how valuable the programs she runs are, she’s caught between a rock and a very hard set of abs. Because Rocco Quinn is almost impossible to hate—and even harder to resist.

  Praise for Adriana Herrera

  “Herrera excels at creating the kind of rich emotional connections between her protagonists that romance readers will find irresistible.”

  —Booklist, starred review

  “Incisive and modern, navigating the complexities of privilege, purpose and power, all while exploring intense passion.”

  —The Washington Post

  “With American Dreamer, Adriana Herrera positions herself as a fresh and vital new voice in romance.... In Herrera’s writing, justice and happily-ever-afters are served fresh (with a tantalizing menu to boot).”

  —Entertainment Weekly

  “Herrera’s work remains compulsively readable. She crafts lively Latinx characters with instant, electric chemistry that sings on the page, and handles realistic obstacles in a relatable manner.”

  —Publishers Weekly, starred review

  “Adriana Herrera writes romance with teeth—you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll be refreshed and inspired to fight even harder to create the vibrant, welcoming America in which her books are set.”

  —New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockman

  “[Adriana Herrera] is writing some of my favorite Afro-Latinx characters and giving us beautiful love stories along the way.”

  —National Book Award winner Elizabeth Acevedo (The Poet X)

  “Herrera masterfully combines the fun, gooey, interpersonal, romantic stuff with plots that are firmly grounded in reality and involve social justice. The result is contemporary romance that matters, stories that reveal an abundance of inconvenient truths about society.”

  —BookRiot

  Also available from Adriana Herrera

  and Carina Press

  The Dreamers series

  American Dreamer

  American Fairytale

  American Love Story

  American Sweethearts

  American Christmas

  Also available from Adriana Herrera

  Mangos and Mistletoe

  Finding Joy

  HERE TO STAY

  Adriana Herrera

  To the family I’ve found in every place I’ve called home since I left my homeland.

  Here to Stay deals with topics some readers may find difficult, including domestic violence and the deportation of immigrants.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from American Dreamer by Adriana Herrera

  Chapter One

  Julia

  If you assumed that being a grown-ass woman who paid her bills and lived ten states away from my Dominican mother meant she would not be all up in my business, you’d be wrong.

  “Mami, I gotta go. I need to go and see my boss. It’s important.” My stomach dipped, remembering how pressed my boss had sounded on the phone. Gail, who was usually cool as a cucumber, was pretty flustered when she’d asked to see me. Not that I blamed her. Things around here were getting more stressful by the minute. My new job, on paper, was a dream.

  Program director for the Sturm Foundation. Not only did I get to do the work I was passionate about, but I was also employed by one of the most iconic high-end department stores in the world. There was also that seriously impressive employee discount.

  Sample sales and meaningful work... I was living the dream.

  Except as soon as I got to Dallas, the boyfriend I moved across the country for dumped me for his side-chick. And now six months later when I finally felt like I was settling in, things had taken a not-so-great turn at work. So arriving late to an important meeting with my boss was not the best move I’d ever made, and yet here I was in a hallway making a personal call. Because my family was my Kryptonite and they knew it.

  “Okay, pero abuelita wants to say hi.” My mother was aware things at my job were stressful, but that did not keep her from laying on the guilt. “You know she gets worried about you down there by yourself.” You’d think instead of Dallas I’d relocated to the moon. I hoped my mother didn’t start with the guilt trip and demands to come back home. I was not in the mood and it was not the time.

  I looked around the empty hallway to check if anyone was around and nodded like my mother could see me. “Fine, Mami, but just one minute.” Sturm’s headquarters was in a downtown Dallas building built in 1914. It was gorgeous inside and out like only vintage architecture could be, but the halls were narrow and the ceilings low, so it wasn’t like I could go unnoticed while lurking in a corner. I wasn’t trying to get myself on the radar of anyone who could fire me, especially now that we seemed to be in a Code Red at the foundation. After just a couple of months into my new position, the higher-ups at Sturm’s had announced that the fashion empire was preparing to go public after almost sixty years as a private company. They’d hired a firm to help them in the process and in the last week they had deployed a team of men and women that had been power walking through the hallways looking like a wolf pack hunting for prey. They were very easy to spot in their dark and boring suits, a striking contrast to the Sturm’s workforce, who, no matter what shape or size, always looked runway ready.

  Gail had warned me that our program—hell, the whole foundation—was on the team leader’s radar and very likely to end up on the chopping block. So, me chatting on my phone instead of sitting at my cube working was not likely to go over well. I winced, remembering I’d seen him walking around this morning.

  “Lita, mija, are you still there?” I almost jumped three feet in the air when the voi
ce of my grandmother startled me out of my anxious inner ramblings.

  “Aqui estoy, Abue.”

  “Your mami said you’re trying to meet strangers from the computer.” I cracked a smile at my grandmother’s suspicion for anything that happened via the internet.

  “Abue, I am not meeting people from the computer. They all work here.” I could barely hold back a laugh as a round of tongue clicking ensued. “We’re just planning a meetup using an app, because the company is big and we don’t all know each other.” I tried to sound as reassuring as possible because neither my mother nor my grandmother were above getting on a plane and crashing my happy hour.

  There was more shuffling, which probably meant that someone else was getting a turn at instructing me on how to be a functioning adult.

  “Li.” My name is Julia. A pretty short name, but somehow my family had come up with at least twenty variations to it.

  Julita, Lita, Li, Tali...the five letters of my name offered infinite possibilities for my relatives.

  “Mija, are you listening?” And it seemed my mother was still not done.

  “Si, Mami.” I managed to keep the sigh all the way down in my chest.

  “Did you get the thing I sent you?”

  I was grateful for the fact that we were not on FaceTime and twisted my mouth to the side, because my mother truly did too much.

  “You mean the box full of dry beans and adobo? Seriously, Yolanda.” I smirked picturing her narrowing her eyes at me using her name.

  “Fresca.” I laughed at that, my mother was not down with me calling her by her name. “I’m not one of your little friends, Julia del Mar.”

  I cleared my throat in an effort to at least sound a bit less like I was laughing at her. “How am I being fresh? You know it’s true. With all the Goya food you’ve sent me I just need to get a Yankees fitted and I’ll be able to open a bodega out of my apartment.”

  “Tan exagerada.” She tried really hard to sound mad, but I could hear the hint of a smile in her voice.

  “I’m not exaggerating. I got pounds of guandules in my apartment.”

  My mother had taken my move hard. I knew she missed me. I missed her too, but I was determined to make a go of things here. I would not go back to New York City with my tail between my legs.

  “I know it’s disappointing, but I need to do this right now, okay?” I pushed down the knot in my throat and tried to scare off the tears pooling in my eyes by staring up at the ceiling. Crying on the phone with my mother would really set off a rescue operation. “I need to stay here, and see this job through. Matt wasn’t the only reason why I came to Texas.”

  I cringed at my slip. Mentioning my ex’s name would send my mother and abuela to the land of petty in a hot second.

  It took less than that. “It’s all that pendejo’s fault, making you move down there and leaving you to chase after some sucia from his office.” I miraculously managed to keep another sigh inside. “I knew that boy was trouble from the day I met him. What kind of decent person comes to meet his girlfriend’s family empty-handed? Not even a loaf of bread or some fruit in all those years. Nada.”

  Yes, she was still holding that grudge.

  The disbelief in my mother’s voice would’ve been funny at any other moment, but the last thing I wanted to do right now was get into a conversation about my ill-fated move and my ex’s trifling ass.

  “Mami, I don’t want to talk about Matt. Yes, he’s trash, but he doesn’t matter anymore. This year is about me, no romance, no distractions. Nada.” I sliced the air with my hand as if she could see me. “I’m focusing on my job, which I actually love, and trying to build a life here. Esta bien, Mami? Can you guys support me in that?”

  That was a low blow, because my mom, all of my family really, was nothing but supportive.

  “Mija. I just worry. It’s so hot in that place.”

  Oh no, not the heat again. I was never going to get to that meeting.

  “It’s so dry. Mariita told me when she went there her hands cracked. Did you get the lotion I sent you?”

  My mother was convinced the regular drugstore hand lotions from New York City were somehow more effective than the ones in Dallas and sent me so many tubes I could probably stay moisturized through a zombie apocalypse.

  “You know I did. Don’t send me any more, Mami. I only have two hands, and you sent me enough to keep my skin supple for decades.”

  “Muchachita.” Her voice had that familiar mix of love and exasperation that defined our relationship. “Okay, bye, but remember to drink lots of water, mija. Our people are not built for that dry heat.” I ended the call after agreeing to do everything she said, including walking around with the jug with a straw she’d sent me.

  I realized I’d accidentally had my mother on speaker—she was so loud I could no longer tell the difference—when I heard what sounded very much like someone trying not to choke from trying not to laugh.

  Awesome.

  It had to be about my call. My mother’s voice carried for miles. But I didn’t look up to find out who was laughing their ass off at my expense and focused on the text I had from my boss. I could be mortified in a minute.

  Are you on your way??

  I quickly typed a response as I stepped up to the elevator that would take me up to the “executive” floor.

  Going up to you now.

  I fired that message off and kept my attention on the elevator door, trying not to read into Gail’s unusual urgency. Pushy was not her style and she’d sent four messages in ten minutes. My boss usually channeled a Super Soul Sunday vibe in her texts. The double question mark was not a good sign, and the fact she was keeping strictly to the point was definitely concerning.

  Something was up.

  I stepped into the elevator and shoved my phone into the pocket of my dress, took a moment to send a prayer to the employee discount that let me buy bomb clothes on a nonprofit worker budget, and did some mental math of what could be going on.

  Was the program really in trouble? Could we actually get shut down?

  Nope, I would not go there. I would not think about what it would be like to get on a plane back to New York dumped and unemployed. Not happening.

  A distraction. That’s what I needed. Just as the door to the elevator was about to close, someone got in. The fact that I was eye level with the base of his throat was a good clue as to who it was, but when he opened his mouth and the now familiar knee-weakening baritone echoed off the walls of the elevator, I got my confirmation.

  “Morning, Ms. Ortiz.” That voice could be used for interrogation tactics. Every muscle in my body loosened at the same time whenever I heard it.

  I squeaked out a “Morning” and took my time lifting my head all the way up to look at the last person in the world I wanted overhearing my conversation with my mother.

  Him.

  Rocco Fucking Quinn, otherwise known as the “Team Leader” for the consulting firm looking to bag my job. The guy with the New York City-est name on the planet. I hadn’t exactly gotten personal with Mr. Quinn, but I picked up on that accent the first time we met.

  “What’s good?” I really tried to sound polite, but my Queens jumped out in situations like this. I did not gulp, because I could not let this fucker see me sweat. I managed not to cut my eyes at him, but it was a close call.

  I took him in, ramrod straight, every hair in its place, not a wrinkle in sight, and decided he could not be the proprietor of the laugh-choke from before. The man seemed to be completely lacking a sense of humor. I knew he must have teeth but I’d never seen them.

  Yeah, definitely not him. That fact rallied my spirits a little bit as I stood close enough to pick up on how he smelled. Like the ocean and something woodsy. That was not helpful information.

  Without saying another word, I ran my eyes over him. It struck me th
at he was not wearing something bespoke like pretty much everyone here. Don’t get me wrong, he still looked good enough to eat, but he was clearly on a budget. And at a place where everyone looked like they were heading to a New York Fashion Week photo shoot, it was sort of jarring. Still, the suit fit him well. And there was no question, this guy could wear the fuck out of a suit. I held back a whimper when I envisioned him in a Brioni or a Zegna. They’d have to put out a heat advisory for the building if that ever happened.

  “I thought I could detect a familiar accent when I was coming down the hall.” His perfectly blue eyes twinkled at what I was certain was an expression of utter mortification on my face. He sounded pleasant enough, but he was also alluding to the fact that I was yapping on my phone. This wasn’t the first time he tried to be cute. Rocco Quinn seemed to like fucking with me. And it was only a matter of time before he stepped on my last nerve and I reamed him out.

  Thankfully, just as I was scrambling to respond to his comment, the elevator got to my floor. I was planning to just leave him hanging and run off, but he was hot on my heels.

  Dammit.

  “Sounds like your mom misses you.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why did he have to act all fake nice?

  I nodded without looking at him. “She does. Listen, Mr. Quinn—”

  “You can call me Rocco.”

  Nope, that was not happening. I was not letting this sexy bastard talk me into getting all chummy with him. I was already on thin ice as it was. He could keep his pheromones and his slick-as-fuck expressions to his damn self. I came to a dead stop a few feet away from the conference room door where my boss—and whatever shitty news she was about to give me—was waiting.

  When I turned around, Rocco was looking down at me with an expectant smile. God he was handsome, that jet-black hair so dark it almost had a tinge of blue and those eyes, piercing. And I guess he had teeth after all, and of course they were perfect. Asshole. I shook my head hard when my traitorous brain started wondering what Pantone color his eyes would be.