Friday, May 13, 2022

You Can't Always Get What You Want: The Olive or Twist Saga by Taylor Lee

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He’s a hard as nails police chief. She’s a feisty ADA. The one thing they have in common is arrogance. Sparks flare when the challenging duo face off.

Police Chief Garrett Drake rules his dominion with an iron hand. Short tempered, irascible, and a fierce taskmaster, the chief doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He barely tolerates the cowering ADAs the DA sends him.

Zoe Tanaka is legal royalty. The talented Japanese-American ADA, happens to be the daughter of a former associate justice of the California Supreme Court. Outspoken, confident and beautiful, the diminutive force-field isn’t easily intimidated. Although she admits the stern, much too good-looking police chief unnerves her.

Garrett concedes he’s never run up against a woman like Zoe Tanaka. Hell, she was almost as arrogant as he was. She’d clearly been bred to think that she can rise to meet whatever challenges she faces. As she no doubt had—in the past.

Zoe takes charge of the trial of a despicable drug kingpin who viciously murdered a fifteen year-old gang member. A gifted ADA, she electrifies the courtroom eliciting a key piece of evidence. When the enraged defendant physically attacks her, Garrett’s fierce leap takes down the would-be murderer and saves Zoe’s life.

Amped by the adrenaline of the near-death attack, Garrett surprises himself when he invites the sassy woman to his pad for a nightcap. The only person more surprised is Zoe who accepts his daring invitation.

If you like smart characters, cops, courts, and scorching passion, you'll love Taylor Lee’s sizzling thrill-ride. 

You Can’t Always Get What You Want is the third standalone book in The Olive or Twist steamy romantic suspense series.

Excerpt:

Garrett reached for the coffee mug on the top shelf. Not seeing the plate next to it, he was too late to catch either one as they crashed to the floor and shattered into a pile of spiky shards of glass. “Goddammit!” Muttering to himself about his stupidity, he went to the closet for the broom. He turned in time to see his two housecats come from nowhere to investigate the cause of the crash. Rushing toward them, he swung the broom. “Oh no, you don’t. Dammit, Sheba, get your fucking nose out of that. You’ll cut yourself.” When the haughty Siamese merely lifted her chin and picked her way through the shards toward the door, her companion, Rex, the fierce-looking Maine Coon, meekly followed her.

Garrett snorted. “Dammit, Rex. Talk about pussy whipped. Just because she’s the most gorgeous cat you’re likely to curl up with doesn’t mean that you can’t show her who’s boss at a time like this.”

“My goodness, Chief Drake. Don’t tell me that you talk to your cats. It’s surprising enough that you have cats rather than a fierce bulldog or rottweiler, but you address them as if they know what you are saying.”

Taking in the naked woman sidling up against the doorjamb in an exaggerated pose that she likely thought was sexy, Garrett grunted. Seeing that she intended to enter the kitchen, he put up his hand. “Don’t come in. There’s glass all over the floor.”

Putting her hands on her hips, she murmured silkily, “Looks like your day is starting off badly. I have an idea how we might change that.”

Meeting her sultry gaze, he was curt. “You are correct. This is not the way I intended to start the day.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “I should be at the precinct by now. Please excuse me. I need to clean this up and then get the hell out of here.”

Corliss Carpenter frowned. She hesitated, then apparently decided that his annoyance was real. Turning with a huff, she sauntered down the hallway to the guest bedroom, provocatively swinging her notable ass from side to side.

Garrett finished sweeping up the glass, then decided coffee would have to wait until he got to his office. He wasn’t surprised that his primary desire was to get the hell out of there before his guest decided to overstay her welcome even more. Filling Sheba’s and Rex’s dishes with their expensive cat food, he snorted what approximated a laugh. He wondered what Corliss would think if she knew what he spent on cat food for the extremely picky Siamese and her suck-up sidekick. He decided the last thing he wanted to think about was the woman who was banging drawers and doors, confirming she wasn’t happy he’d refused her offer for a quick fuck.

Climbing into his Ford F-150 Platinum, he slammed the truck into gear and in minutes pushed the 450-horsepower twin-turbo engine through its 10-speed paces. Roaring down the highway, he blew out a hearty sigh that sounded more like a groan. Goddammit, this was not the way he wanted to start what he was sure was going to be a long-ass day. Fuck it all, he didn’t know how he could be any clearer with the blonde ADA. From the first time he fucked her, he’d told her, as he’d told all of his go-to babes, he had rules. Strict ones. The first was the most important. Whether the rendezvous was at his place or hers, the rules were the same. The visitor never stayed the night. He didn’t and, goddammit, neither did she. If she didn’t like it, too bad.

It was why he kept his stable full of available babes. He made it clear to any and all of them that his rules were simple. She followed them or sayonara. To his annoyance, a few of them were starting to think that because he’d called on them more than once that his rules might have changed. A good example was the pushy ADA, who unbeknownst to him had camped out in his guest bedroom after he’d shown her out and gone to bed. Worse, after overstaying her welcome, she’d gone so far as to assume he might be up for a good-morning fuck. Holy Christ, along with the switchboard operator who had a pair of tits so big he could get lost in them, Corliss had started leaving toothbrushes and other toiletries in the guest bathroom, obviously not understanding his rigid no-commitment requirements. Which, he reminded himself with a fierce grunt as he kicked the accelerator up a gear or two, was not an option.

Nodding to his desk sergeant, he glanced at the schedule she’d handed him. He appreciated the fact that Garcia was as taciturn in the morning as he was. Badly needing the coffee his unwelcome overnight guest had kept him from having, he barked, “Any chance the girls are late? I could use a tankful of the strongest coffee you can brew.”

Garcia rose with a huff and marched to the counter behind her. Without looking at him, she began making his coffee, then said over her shoulder, “If the ‘girls’ you are referring to are Detective Stone and the ADA, then yes, they are in your office waiting for you.”

“Great. All I need. Get that coffee done ASAP and bring it to me.”

Not answering, Sergeant Garcia went back to her desk, making it clear that she was as annoyed by his interruption as he was at the way his day started. He almost grinned at seeing her fingers flying across the keyboard. Thank God he’d found her in the secretarial pool. Make that his previous sergeant, Jillian Moore, had spotted her as she was preparing to take six months maternity leave. “You’ll like her, Chief. She’s as irritable as you are. Plus, she is three times as efficient as I am. Probably because she doesn’t waste time on small talk . . . or any talk for that matter.”

Rifling through the stack of papers, Garcia had put in his “must see” file, he was glad that at least his favorite staff member was waiting for him. He’d hired Tyra Stone on her first day out of the academy. She was among the fifteen new recruits he interviewed. There wasn’t any question she would make the cut. In addition to being at the top of her class in every area, academic or physical, she was beautiful. He quickly discovered she was as short-tempered as he was and as single-minded. Alert to the signs of abuse, he’d investigated the hell out of her background. He’d discovered what only he and Commissioner Mathis Cross knew: she’d been abused by a stepfather when she eleven years old. He never let on that he knew her past and neither did Cross. They tacitly agreed the subject was off the table. Until the arrival of Deacon Walsh.

Garrett was prepared to dislike the cocky son of a bitch who had more degrees than any four men should have. But along with everyone else, the psychiatrist FBI profiler even managed to impress Garrett. With Tyra at his side, Agent Walsh had solved the unsolvable serial killings of eight teenage girls. Deacon’s most remarkable feat, in addition to going down in in the law enforcement record books yet again, was to capture Garrett’s detective. In that Garrett had decreed that he was Tyra’s guard dog, that he’d acceded that role to the debonair black agent spoke to the power of what Garrett gruffly conceded was love.

Grabbing his stack of papers, he reminded himself that in addition to Tyra, he was forced to start the day with the gawky ADA that Cole Hunter had foisted on him. Given his reputation as an ADA-buster as well as a rookie cop-buster, he wondered how much longer Daphne Harris would last. At least he didn’t have to worry that the ADA would make it to his bed. To be specific, while not as ugly as sin, on a plainness scale, Daphne came damn close to sinful.

Shoving open the door, he marched into the room without looking at either of the women sitting in front of his desk. Reading the notes from one of his UCs, he was in his chair before he acknowledged the young women in front of him. “Morning, Detective Stone. You too, ADA—” Seeing the woman who wasn’t supposed to be there, he frowned. “What the hell? What happened to Harris? She decided she couldn’t take the cushiest job any of the district attorney’s babes could hope for?”

Tyra laughed. “Let’s just say that ADA Harris determined that if she was going to spend her life in misery, she would do it in a less demanding position. Seems the district attorney took pity on her and sent her to tax evasion.” Nodding to the woman next to her, Tyra shrugged. “You know Zoe Hamilton from some of our bigger bashes at Oliver’s. In addition to being the smartest of the ADAs and certainly the most beautiful, Zoe, Gracie Cross, and I are best friends.”

Garrett’s frown deepened. He was going to let Cole know that he didn’t appreciate musical chairs ADAs. It was hard enough breaking them in. And although he’d pretended not to recognize the stunning woman sitting next to Tyra, he’d studied her on several occasions at the O or T but had never spoken to her. She was some kind of an Asian mix. She wore her long black hair in a twist on the top of her head secured by a silver clip. Her pale skin highlighted her classic features. Her full, pouty lips and high cheekbones were arresting. But it was her slightly upturned eyes that captured his attention. How could they not? He had expected them to be dark brown or black, but that they were emerald green and shadowed with lush lashes and arched brows was riveting. But Garrett admitted her most compelling attribute was the way she met his gaze head-on. As if they were fucking equals or some damned thing like that. He managed not to smile, knowing how long it would take him to break down her innate haughtiness. Something he looked forward to doing soon . . . as in now.

“So you’re one of Cole’s girls? How long have you been an ADA? Christ, if you graduated from college in the last year or two, you’d be lucky.”

She tilted her head and continued to meet his gaze, although she allowed a slight smile to grace her face. As if she were addressing a rude boy, she pursed her lips. “First, I’m no one’s girl. As for my academic and professional experience, my CV is available at the district attorney’s office should you wish to peruse it.”

Not willing to let her know that her dismissive response had surprised him, he shrugged. “Nah. I’m not interested in your book learning. I’m a practical son of a bitch. As Tyra can tell you, I’m a motherfucker to work for, but if you do what you’re supposed to, we’ll get along fine. To be specific. We take down the skells, provide the evidence that a first-year ADA would need to make the charges stick. You get the warrants we need, when we need them, and we give the perps over to you, backed up the ass with rock-hard evidence. You prosecute them, win every time, and then throw the assholes in jail for the next millennium. That’s how you show me you know what you’re doing.” When she met his narrowed gaze without blinking, he decided to pile on. “ADA Harris wasn’t great, but at least she knew how to follow orders.”

“Your orders?”

“Who else? Who the fuck do you think is the chief of major crimes?” Blowing out a hard sigh, Garrett decided to pull it back. After all, the serious woman in front of him hadn’t earned his ire. She wasn’t the babe who’d overstayed her welcome this morning. He added to himself with a silent snort, it was highly unlikely the new ADA ever would. Christ, if she was five-foot, four-inches tall, she was lucky. And hell, she couldn’t weigh a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. To say she wasn’t his type was an understatement. Although he admitted when it came to exotic beauty, she was a showstopper. Cutting into his reverie, he snapped, “What do I call you? ADA Hamilton?”

“As of this week, I’m divorced. I’m taking my own name back.”

Seeing Tyra’s surprise, it was obvious this was news to her. Confident the haughty woman wasn’t interested in his advice, he gave it anyway. “Sure you want to change? Hell, my ex-wives never bothered. Guess they figured I might actually do something along the way that would make it worth having associated with me.” When she just narrowed her gaze further, he decided to poke at her hauteur. Remembering something Cole had said about the woman he’d called his most impressive ADA, he said, “Isn’t your husband some hotshot business tycoon?”

“That’s how my former husband would describe himself.” Taking a visible breath, she held his gaze. “In answer to your question, my title is ADA Tanaka. You may call me that.”

Garrett didn’t hide his surprise. “Tanaka? Isn’t that the name of a bigwig wheelhorse in San Fran legal circles?”

“I believe you are referring to the former associate justice of the California Supreme Court.”

“Christ! Don’t tell me he is some dead relative of yours?”

She didn’t hide her disdain. “No, he’s alive. And he’s my father.”

 

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