Mingle All the Way Read online

  Also From Mia Heintzelman

  THE ALL MIXED UP SERIES

  (Each book can be read as a standalone)

  Mixed Signals

  Mixed Match

  Mixed Emotions

  All mixed up - the series

  * * *

  STANDALONES

  It’s Got A Ring To It - Releasing 2021

  * * *

  HOLIDAY ROMANCE

  Wrapped up in beau - Now in Paperback!

  Married & Bright

  Mingle All The Way

  * * *

  DARK ROMANCE

  Devastated: Wastelands Academy Book 1

  The Stacks w/a Emmaline Zanthi

  Ruined: wastelands academy book 2 - releasing 2021

  Mingle All the Way

  Mia Heintzelman

  Mingle All the Way

  Copyright © 2020 by Mia Heintzelman

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, xerography, or in any information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First Levi Lynn Books edition November 2020.

  * * *

  Levi Lynn Books can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, visit our website at www.miaheintzelman.com.

  Editing by Danielle Acee and Danylle Salinas

  Cover design and Formatting by Tangled Covers

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  * * *

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  ISBN 978-1-7359788-2-6 (trade pbk.) | ISBN 978-1-7359788-1-9 (ebook)

  Name: Heintzelman, Mia, author.

  Title: Mingle All the Way / Mia Heintzelman

  Description: Mia Heintzelman | Las Vegas: Mia Heintzelman, 2020.

  Subjects: Romance | Humorous fiction| Holiday romance.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  To Daniel Heintzelman

  Get the peanut butter whiskey shots ready.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  An excerpt from the NEW - Married & Bright

  Married & Bright

  Acknowledgments

  About Mia Heintzelman

  Newsletter

  Chapter One

  “Have ye no fear. She has arrived!” I sing, twirling over to my best friend, co-worker, and general event planning badass who’s standing at a table at the back of the room. Nina is petite—barely up to my shoulder—and her thick, dark brown hair is in a perky ponytail. She’s completely adorable. Also, I would do anything for her.

  “Where do you need me? I brought a stopwatch—” I give the top button a click. It’s responding ping is about as chipper as I am. “Just in case, I also brought my game face. This is Vegas. We can’t be too careful.”

  Her perfectly micro-bladed brows dance as she gives me a quick once-over from my fabulous black thigh-high boots to my fierce red shift dress.

  “Yesss.” She draws the word out, matching my dramatics with a snap of her fingers.

  Nina darts her sparkly brown eyes over my shoulder as she tucks a glossy chestnut strand behind her ear. She leans in for a cheek-to-boob hug. Her cheek, my boob. She’s fun-sized. I’m somewhere in between leggy volleyball player and WNBA player, though I am horizontally challenged. But, I digress.

  I’m not here for men.

  Just because I sell happily-ever-afters for the Lovestruck dating app doesn’t mean it’s a guaranteed employee benefit.

  “She is ready. Red lips will do it every time,” Nina continues.

  “Bliss & Makeup Co. This is Crimson Queen,” I say, filling her in on the best makeup to hit melanated girls since…ever. “Do yourself a favor and get one.” I pucker, give her a shoulder shimmy and toss her a sweet smile.

  She knows I’m not here to play around with these fools. This lipstick is all the drama allowed tonight.

  “Girl, I’ve got this. Eight minutes sharp…like clockwork.” I click the stopwatch button again for effect then whip my faux locs over my shoulder to the long line of bistro tables with flickering candles. Giant red Mylar heart balloons are strung with mistletoe over each two-seater table. “I’ll usher the singles in. You’ll do your little spiel, then the timed dates start. After, they’ll have thirty minutes to mingle and fill out their little ‘Let’s make sparks’ cards before I shuffle them out into the hands of the press for interviews.”

  I have a megawatt smile and arch a brow at her like, they aren’t even ready for all this, here.

  Nina’s face twists with concern.

  “What? You think they need more than half an hour to mingle?” I ask, failing to see the error in my plan.

  It’s the weekend after Thanksgiving. Technically, it’s Small Business Saturday. No one is going to do anything to mess up the fat bonus coming my way when Nina pulls this event off. My plan is foolproof. Everyone who’s anyone in Vegas is talking about it, and the PR companies are set to dutifully rave about it. When they do, ad sales on Cyber Monday will shoot through the roof, and Spencer James will be so thrilled, he’ll gift everyone at Lovestruck financial tokens of his appreciation.

  It’s a no-brainer.

  So, tonight there will be speed dating at this Lovestruck signature Mix’n’Mingle, but I will also duck and dive in and out of shadows to ensure things go off without a hitch.

  When Nina doesn’t verbalize what’s screwing her face into a panic-stricken mess, my Spidey senses go off.

  “Seriously, what?” I ask again. “Are you nervous? Did some guy already corner you? Because—”

  “No. Nothing like that...” Nina’s voice dies off, and I’m slightly relieved. These dating events can be dangerous for women in the game.

  I don’t know where men drew this conclusion, but for some reason, they think we’re like some hyper-sexualized beings who love it when sleazy people aggressively “flirt” or demand reasons why we shockingly, don’t want a second date.

  Yeah, we love it when you make us feel unsafe in the name of love.

  I have nothing against policing a bunch of people scheming for Christmas party plus-ones this time of year, but some people need to learn how to keep it classy.

  That’s what I’m here for.

  “Actually...” Nina continues.

  I busy myself tugging at the hem of my dress. I’m only halfway listening now because I’ve spotted the festive-looking open bar—my other excuse for showing up at a work event on my off day.

  “Riley,” Nina says my name flatly, which gets my attention.

  “Yeah?”

  “Change of plans. I need you in a slightly different capacity…” Her tense smile looks like it might snap at any second.

  “Okaaay…” I drag the word out as I cock my head and narrow my gaze.

  “Uh…” She scrunches her freckled nose and peeks an eye open. She’s literally shaking in her open-toe booties. “The host from the speed-dating company has got all this stuff covered, so I don’t actually need you to help with the speed dates. I need
you to be a speed date.”

  See? I should’ve known this was too good to be true. My shoulders sag, and my head falls back as I groan. “What the heck, Nina? You know how I feel about dating in general. What makes you think I want to go on a dozen eight-minute dates all in one night? That’s ninety-six excruciating minutes of hell for me. You do realize that, right?”

  She sighs, and her big, pleading, puppy dog eyes land on me with full force. “It’s the holidays,” she whines. “You won’t have to do the mingle part or the interviews. Two people canceled, and I don’t have an even number for the rotations.”

  This time it’s me who sighs—a massive, throaty, full chest heave. Then my thoughts snag on the first part of that sentence. Two people.

  “Wait.” My posture is ramrod straight now. I square my body to Nina and lean down to meet her eyes. “Who else did you get to fill in?”

  No sooner is the question out of my mouth when I have my answer.

  Chase Campbell from web development bounds through the double doors with a cocky half-grin and perfectly groomed beard. He looks like he ripped his fashion sense right out GQ’s Best-Dressed Men of the Week—the Irish edition. He’s tall, muscly, and lean with carefree product-whipped red hair. He’s also incredibly annoying because he knows he’s gorgeous. Ugh. Of their own accord, my eyes take in his cuffed dark jeans and perfectly rumpled military-style green jacket, which I’m guessing is his version of no-fuss casual.

  There’s nothing subtle about the man wearing the prep-meets-free-spirit clothes, though.

  Which is why I always ignore him.

  Quickly, I avert my gaze and resort to fidgeting with my cuticles. I’m not part of the Chase Campbell fan club. I leave that to the girls in the marketing department.

  Holidays or not, I’m not about to switch it up.

  “All right. So, where do you need me? I ask.

  Nina York flashes me a nervous smile. “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice, Chase. I’m totally going to owe you one.” She shifts her body away from Riley Mills, whose tight red smile is fraying around the edges.

  “Really. It’s no problem. I’m happy to help,” I say. I swear I hear a snort come from Riley, so reluctantly I tilt my head to meet Riley’s steely gaze, careful not to gawk. “Hey, Riley.”

  She’s tall with sculpted curves, long, shiny locs, and rich, dark skin. She’s stunning in a way that always leaves me feeling blindsided, but she’s also a serious suit in the most severe sense of the word—all day, every day. She doesn’t even take off her jacket at the office despite the casual environment at the Lovestruck headquarters. At first, I thought it was because the A/C is always on high, but someone told me she lives by the “dress for the position you want” motto. Tonight, she must be throwing all that to the wind. The bare skin of her thighs that shows under the hem of her dress to the top of her boots…

  The sight makes my stomach clench and sends a jolt right down to my dick.

  Down, Chase. Barking up the wrong tree, here.

  I swallow and avert my gaze because the reality is, I’m probably the last person Riley Mills expected to see tonight. I can tell the surprise isn’t a welcome one.

  The Lovestruck office is an open-air industrial building with strategically clumped cubicles meant to section off departments. She’s in sales near event planning and marketing at the front of the building, and I’m in IT and web development way in the back by the emergency exit, which I’ve contemplated using on more than one occasion—anything to avoid passing her desk and the inevitable pursed-lip death stare she seems to reserve just for me.

  Not that I have any clue why…

  Even if it always looks like it kills her, we try to exchange minimal words—real gems like “hi,” “hello,” and “thanks for holding the door,” which is usually growled. Other than those rare pleasantries, she seems to loathe me for reasons I’m still unaware. For her part, I suspect she interacts with me out of courtesy and professionalism, mostly. For me, it’s a combination of fear and self-preservation, which is why I avoid her like the beautiful, bronze goddess plague that she is to my ego.

  Nina clears her throat and flashes Riley a pointed stare. In an unexpected twist, Riley says, “Hi.” It’s like pulling teeth.

  Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?

  Nina bounces up on her toes, breaking up the whole three-word conversation.

  “So…” she rests her hands on my shoulders and lowers her chin before blurting out. “I need you to be one of the speed daters.”

  Oh, fuck. Why?

  My gaze slides to Riley who crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head. Right, she’s been asked to be a date, too. So, somewhere in the rotation, Riley and I will be face to face for eight minutes.

  In my book, that’s plenty of time to get to the bottom of her apparent hatred for me.

  Thanks, Nina.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Whatever you need,” I say with a shrug, doing my best to sound breezy and unaffected. On the inside, however, I’m rubbing my hands together at this twisted conspiracy Nina cooked up for us.

  Or did she? Why would she?

  Precisely ten minutes later, Nina and some young kid she has doing her gopher work let the singles in, and she gives her perky introduction speech, which is a bubbly welcome and thank you. Then she gives the rules of the event along with a warning about what would constitute dismissal from this event and all future events put on by Lovestruck. Whoa, I guess she’s not messing around.

  Half an hour later, I’m three dates in, two away from Riley, and I catch her sneaking glances over at me. I shoot her a confused look in return. That earns me a smile, which only makes my anticipation of our eight minutes together that much stronger.

  Then, we’re one table apart. She’s with a typical tall, dark, and tattooed guy who is talking about his fitness training business, and I am with a raven-haired CEO who keeps going on about washi tape. Whatever that is. Much to my relief, Riley looks bored out of her mind.

  When the timer goes off, and I switch into the chair in front of Riley, I go for it. “Want to tell me why you’ve been giving me the evil eye since date two?” I ask. Oh, yeah, I’m going for it.

  She shakes her head and smiles. Maybe it’s the candlelight flickering off her rich brown skin, or the way it glints off her eyes and turns them a warm shade of amber, but I’m mesmerized. I’m charmed by the prospect of graduating to two-word exchanges.

  “Why are you even here? Isn’t one of the marketing girls free tonight?” she asks with an eye roll.

  Okay, a whole string of words. We’re getting somewhere.

  “Is that why you hate me?”

  She presses a finger to her temple and massages like talking to me is so stressful. “Oh, your ego isn’t massive or anything. Relax. Not everything is about you, believe me. I was just commenting on our work prospects. That’s all.” She presses the air with her palms.

  There’s something telling about the way she keeps looking away.

  “Maybe, you don’t hate me…because you like me.” I cock my head to read her reaction.

  “I don’t date. Period.”

  So, you agree. You do like me.

  I nod, and the corners of my mouth tug downward as my lower lip protrudes. “Wow. So, what’s this we’re doing?” I lean in, forcing her gaze, and whisper, “It sort of feels like a date.”

  She parts her lips then closes them again.

  “Just the facts.” I shrug and lean back against my chair.

  “I’m here as a favor to Nina just like you are, so save it. And there are free drinks. Don’t go reading more into it.” She runs a hand over the long black coiled strands of her hair. Then she surprises me. “I don’t care how many minutes each date is, it’s just nice to see a familiar face and have an unscripted conversation.”

  “So, you agree. It’s nice to see my face…” I’m bobbing my head, biting back a shit-eating grin as a warm, musical laugh pipes out of her. I love this new unexp
ected banter between us. It’s like we’ve been in the middle of a conversation all this time, and we’ve just jumped back in where we left off.

  Then, the host, a tall, boisterous woman in a black jumpsuit with short platinum-blonde hair eases up to our table and positions the mic inches from her neon pink lips. “I want to pause for a few seconds. Go ahead. Stop the clock!” She gestures to Nina, who is all too happy to hear what the woman has to say.

  The host flips the mic between Riley and me. “What are your names?”

  We both hesitate, but eventually cave and tell her.

  “Now, I don’t mean to put you on the spot…” Oh, sure you do. “But I want everyone to stop what they’re doing and take a look at Chase and Riley. They just met, what, four minutes and twenty-three seconds ago? Just like you. But I’ll tell you a little secret. These two…they have it.”

  The room erupts into applause. Every pair of eyes in the place is on us. Honestly, I’m right there with this woman’s assessment. She’s not lying. The hair on my arms and the nape of my neck is raised. My heart is fluttering in my chest. I’m aching to reach across and touch Riley…or for her to touch me.

  A slow smile tugs at the corners of my mouth until I see Riley’s expression. She’s tense. Her eyes dart to the host before landing—hard as bricks—on me.

  “When the clock is ticking,” the host continues, putting us directly on the spot despite the murder in Riley’s eyes, “you can’t get to know a person by asking their favorite color and what they do for a living. Questionnaires do not a connection make. You have to jump all the way in. These two are in each other’s face, asking questions, smiling—I’m talking fierce eye contact, hair-touching, lips parted, leaning in. Yes, to all of it! The heat between these two is combustible.”