The Brightest Spark by Victoria Lum

 

What if the person she despises is the perfect man for her?

The Brightest Spark, an all-new unrequited love, forbidden romance romance and fourth standalone book in the LA Hearts Series from bestselling author Victoria Lum, is now available!

He’s known as a Casanova, a flirt, a philanderer.

But to me, he’s nothing but a pain in the neck.

We’re like oil and water, fire and explosives - a volatile mix that can’t seem to stay away from each other.

Twelve years ago, Jack Szeto was the bad boy with the lip ring and panty-melting grins.

I was the goodie-two-shoes with the fancy last name who never fell for his act.

Now, he’s a devil in an expensive suit - the Jack of all trades who still has the power to seduce women from all walks of life.

When my best friend begged me to model in a sexy photoshoot for an upcoming romance novel from a bestselling author, I agreed without knowing Jack would be one of my partners in the racy sessions.

Suddenly, every room with him in it feels stifling. Every brush of his body against mine feels intoxicating. And the intensity in his gaze threatens to blaze through my carefully erected barriers.

I’m forced to wonder if his bad boy persona is all an act or if I’m going to be another woman falling victim to his charms.

Or maybe he’s the brightest spark I’ve been waiting for all my life.

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Keep reading for a look inside The Brightest Spark!

Twelve Years Ago—Los Angeles 

Jack 

SHE’S HERE AGAIN. 

The angel. 

Her hair shimmers in a unique shade between rose gold and copper under the golden rays of the waning afternoon sun, with some sort of emerald-colored barrette in her hair, as if she’s wearing a crown of rare metals and gems, befitting a princess like her. The soft curls dance around her silky face before cascading over her shoulders, an errant lock resting on top of the upper swells of her ample curves. I never thought I’d be jealous of hair. But here I am. I also never thought I’d be a poet, but I guess I can surprise myself sometimes. 

My breath freezes in my chest and I stand as still as a statue in a corner on the outside patio of Grocery for Less during my mandatory fifteen-minute break from the tedium of restocking shelves and mopping the scratched linoleum floors. A sharp winter breeze attempts to pierce through my flimsy shirt—an oldie I wear with pride—but I pay no attention, my senses only attuned to the brightest spark of my days here at this dingy grocery store. 

Someday, I’ll be able to blow this joint and get out of here. My fingers twitch, aching for a smoke. Usually, that means I’m craving a jolt of something to get through another mindless shift. 

But now that she’s here, I’m all juiced up for the evening. 

In the last year or so, I’ve seen her at the store during my breaks, sometimes laughing with her friends, an infectious smile on display, other times wandering the aisles as if lost in thought. 

Based on the sexy cheerleading outfits she’s usually wearing and the hulking jocks sometimes by her side, my guess is they’re stopping by to pick up some snacks or drinks before or after some game. 

Normally, a beautiful girl at the supermarket is nothing I’d pay attention to. Hot chicks are everywhere these days. But there’s a stillness, an essence radiating from her which beckons another glance. And another. And another. Before I knew it, I was addicted. Perhaps I just traded vices. It’s not only her appearance I’m drawn to. It’s also the way she carries herself, the way she behaves. And it’s consistent. 

In the times I’ve seen her here, I’ve witnessed her buying sandwiches for a few homeless people who sometimes dig through the trash bins by the exit. Or the other day, another customer knocked over several tall stacks of boxed Japanese curry powder and fled in apparent panic, and instead of walking away because it’s not her business, she stopped and help a flustered Fred, another staffer, stack them up piece by piece. It must have taken her at least fifteen minutes. 

Kindness seeps out from her pores. Effortless. And she never seems to care about others’ physical appearances or apparent station in life. 

She looks like someone who wouldn’t care about my junk car and subpar GPA. She looks like someone who may see the real me. Or at least the me behind the tats, piercing, and the so-called pretty face. Like I’m someone who is perhaps capable of more than being a delinquent. 

I choke back a laugh. That’s something even my parents don’t believe in. 

The angel is now talking with Bernice, the Salvation Army representative, at her table, which is bare except for some supplies and the classic red tin donation bucket and a small, ridiculous, white plastic Christmas tree, which should be called a Christmas twig instead, since most of its “branches” are as bare as a monk’s head. Even the tree looks pathetic and half-dead, just like the rest of this corner of the city, but it’s part of a campaign, “A Random Act of Kindness,” the store is trying out. A stack of flimsy, numbered paper tags is next to the tree, and a stranger can fill out the tag with a Christmas wish or sentiment and hang it on the tree, and if they want a response from another stranger—or in this case, probably one of us from the store—they can fill out their email or mailing address in the binder under their number. 

This is supposed to be festive and get people in the spirit of the holidays and whatnot. It’s Christmas season and everyone and their grandmothers are trying to appeal to the do-gooders inside us. Make a donation and earn a chance at salvation or a spot in Heaven’s line. I snort. If it were only that easy. 

The angel’s eyes, a color I can’t make out at this distance—my mind whirring with the possibilities—alight with laughter as her lips split into a wide smile. My heart gallops, and I wish the smile were directed at me. Bernice, with her usual stern set of brows and thin lips, even lets out a few chuckles, completely transforming her usually dour face into something more…approachable. 

The irony of the grumpy, ham-fisted Bernice working behind a table designated to entice closet philanthropists to empty their pockets is not lost on me. But Bernice is now grinning broadly and one may even mistake her as the doting Nana who’ll bake your favorite chocolate chip cookies when you visit. Of course, the angel can melt even the coldest of hearts. Maybe even spread some Christmas cheer around this dump. It has to be magic. 

Nothing can explain this transformation. The angel is now staring at the ugly Christmas tree of kindness with curiosity. Her fingers graze the two lonely wishes on the tree, one of which is mine—not by choice, but more by order from management. 

My heart skips a beat and I find myself holding my breath, wondering what she’ll do next. 

She lets go of the thin paper tags, reaches out for a brand new one and starts writing on it. Her eyes take on a faraway look as if mulling over life’s big mysteries before she scribbles something on the paper, her lips quirking up in a grin. The angel hangs up her wish on the tree and suddenly, the tree appears transformed, an ugly duckling changing into a beautiful swan. 

She then fills out her information in the binder, and she reaches up toward the tree once more, her fingers pausing by my wish. My heart is now in my throat as I watch her flip over my message and read the contents. The angel smiles—glorious and blinding—as she grabs a new tag and writes her response to my message, before attaching it to my tag with the tack provided by the store. She pulls out her wallet from inside her small tan purse inscribed with a logo-pattern I recognize as a brand I’ll probably never be able to afford and removes a few crisp bills before dropping them into the donation can. 

“Two hundred dollars?” Bernice exclaims, her raspy voice pitchy. 

The angel shrugs, her hands falling to her sides as she rocks on her feet, the movement causing the short navy-and-green skirt of her cheerleading outfit to sway side-to-side, highlighting her curvy hips and slender, long legs. Legs I can imagine being wrapped around my waist while I— “Heeey, Jack, what are you doing standing over there?” 

Teasing fingers drag themselves across my chest before I can even turn toward the disruption. 

A sweet, sickly scent of pungent perfume reaches my nose and I hold my breath, rearranging my lips into a half grin, one I know the ladies always love. I spit my chewing gum into the trash can next to me. This is my third attempt at quitting smoking, so instead of a pack of cigs a day, it’s a pack of Spearmint Delight a day.

 “Just chillin’, Nancy. Starting your shift? You look hot today.” The compliment automatically slips through my lips before I smirk and attempt to shift away from handsy Nancy. She’s been trying to get into my pants since she started two months ago, but I’m firmly on the fence. She’s got curves for days, but something about her rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps it’s her desperation. 

Maybe I like the thrill of the chase. 

Perhaps I like the unattainable, like the angel with red hair wearing a cheerleading outfit.

For more information about Victoria Lum and her books, visit her website: 

https://www.victorialum.com/

My Review
5 Stars
The Brightest Spark by Victoria Lum is book 4 in the LA Hearts Series.  This is the story of  Jack and Sarah.  Jack and Sarah have known about each other since they where younger.  But Sarah is the well off girl who thinks Jack is just a playboy with no real feelings.  Jack has always wanted Sarah but nothing have every progressed past a yearning.  Now in their present day they are thrown together to do a photo shoot when Sarah sees that there is more to Jack than she first thought.  This book does have some triggering issues so please read the author's notes.  Enjoyed this book and I hope to read more from this author.