Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

  “Oh, of course.” Nervously, I watched him sit down in the middle of a row of dark chairs. Following his example, I pulled a chair out, sitting across from him, mentally noting he hadn't slid it out for me. Deacon would have done that. I pushed that thought aside before it could burrow its hooks in.

  Marcus lifted a pen, tapping it on a pad of yellow paper that was already sitting on the long table. “Let me ask a few basic questions. Where did you go to school?”

  “Uh, well, Venti & Fallows.”

  “Hmn, I've never heard of that art school.”

  Blushing, I dug my fingers into my thighs under the table. “It wasn't an art school, it was a culinary school.”

  He lifted an eyebrow dubiously, scribbling something fast. “Culinary? I thought you said you liked to paint and draw?”

  “I do, I love doing that,” I answered quickly.

  “So why go to a culinary school then?”

  This felt more like an interrogation than an interview, a drop of sweat rolling down my temple uncomfortably. “I got talked into it by a school counselor, they told me there was no reason to go into art.” That's almost the whole truth. I don't need to tell him I couldn't afford the art school I wanted.

  Marcus linked his fingers together, watching me with lowered eyebrows. “I see. Well, so then you graduated from a culinary institute, that's fine.”

  “Actually,” I mumbled, my insides twisting up painfully with shame, “I didn't—I didn't actually graduate.”

  “What? What happened, my dear girl?”

  “Just, uh, things got in the way, you know... life. And that sort of thing,” I finished pathetically.

  For a while, he said nothing, he only watched me while I squirmed. Then, he jotted down something else I couldn't read, speaking slowly, calmly. “So, no completed education after high school. That's a shame, mn. Well, if your portfolio is good, we can possibly look past that.”

  “My portfolio?” Oh no.

  “Yes, you did bring one, correct?”

  My face was draining of blood, my hands coiled in my shirt hem so hard they were sending sharp twinges of pain up my forearms. I hadn't brought a portfolio, how stupid was I? “Mr. Sable—”

  “Marcus,” he corrected me.

  “Right, Marcus, I'm so sorry. I didn't bring anything like that, but, if you give me some time, I can put something together in a few days!”

  “Ms. Rook,” he sighed, switching to my last name. That, of everything he had done, made my mood sink fast. “I don't ask for a lot, I'm a rather flexible man. But I don't think you understand the opportunity I was giving you here. I expected you to, at the very least, bring some proof of your artistic skills.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  He lifted a hand, so I bit my tongue to silence my rambling. Inhaling a single slow breath, Marcus stood from the table, his hands folding behind his back. “I'm afraid it would be a waste of time to continue this interview. Please, feel free to go meet back up with Vanessa. You can learn much from her, even if you won't be able to utilize any of it here.”

  Those words, the finality to them... I grabbed the edge of the table, using it to help me to my shaking feet. “Marcus, you don't understand how much I—I really needed this job, so please, if you'll just let me try again!”

  “Calm down,” he chuckled derisively. “It's only an intern position. Surely you'll find something better... elsewhere. I'm a busy man, please, have a good day now.” With a slight smile, he walked around the table, opening the door and leaving me alone in that giant room.

  With him out of sight, I fell back into my chair, my head in my hands on the cool surface. I blew that, I messed up so badly. Dammit, dammit!

  Gritting my teeth, I closed eyes, fists banging on the table sharply. How had everything that seemed to be going so good, flipped around on me in such a short span of time?

  Now what will I do? Can I find another opportunity so easily? I'm not... I don't want to leave this place.

  Not yet, I wasn't ready to give up on what I wanted just yet.

  Unable to face the chance of running into Marcus again, I quickly left the meeting room, scurrying to the elevator. Jazz shot me a giant, false smile as I passed, but I said nothing. Descending to the parking lot, I typed into my phone, planning on sending Vanessa a message about what had happened. My thumb hovered over the buttons, the sickness in my stomach catching up with my brain.

  I can't tell her I failed. I just can't.

  Standing in the elevator, the doors opening with a cheerful bell ring, I stared at my phone while debating my options. What could I possibly do now? Lifting my head, I spotted Vanessa's car in the lot, frustration hitting me hard out of nowhere.

  I'm so helpless without everyone else, I have no car, I have no job, what am I good for? Can I even survive on my own? The doors began to close, my foot sticking out to block them. Shit, I'm pathetic. No one here understands how much I keep messing up, how could I explain it to them?

  The outside of my eyes tingled, warmth that wanted to become tears. I wouldn't let that happen, my skull throbbing as I forced away the desire to cry. Pushing through the elevator, my legs carried me on auto pilot through the garage. Passing Vanessa's car, my reflection miserable in the window, I kept going. There was no clear destination in my mind, but I needed to move, to get away, to just do something on my own.

  Breaking into the sunlight, the concrete ceiling vanishing above, I wished I hadn't forgotten my sunglasses in the rush out the door that morning.

  The streets of Hollywood were crammed with buildings, wide windows full of souvenirs, big signs that proclaimed this show or that show in unlit bulbs.

  Where am I even going? I wondered somberly, grateful for the flat shoes I had decided to wear. The sidewalk was a mess, covered in cracks and humps, rolling waves for no apparent reason. The further up I went, the nicer the area seemed to become, but that wasn't saying much. The tourist area, I guess.

  Eventually, I turned out onto the main street, the walkway dotted with stars, proclaiming this famous person or that one, people I didn't know. I was terrible with celebrities. Even here, though, among the vans rumbling with 'star search' and the crowds snapping photos, my eyes found the destitution.

  Against the walls of buildings, scattered in clumps, people sat on the ground or held cardboard signs, all of them asking for help. I knew what poverty looked like, I'd lived it, but I'd avoided ending up on the actual streets. Glancing at the homeless folks, my mind fell into a darker slump.

  That's my future, isn't it? The people who couldn't make it out here. No home, no place to go.

  Unable to think clearly, I wasn't watching where I was headed. Screeching, the tires of the taxi jolted me backwards, the crowd watching as I nearly became a smear near the Walk of Fame. “Ahh!” I shouted, stumbling backwards, landing roughly on the ground. The driver yelled something at me, I couldn't tell what, I was too stunned.

  Around me, people kept walking, ignoring me like I was a piece of trash. Wide eyed, I gawked at the street, at the sea of cars, then finally down at the deep scrapes on my palms. I need to wake up, that was... that was almost...

  “Hey!” A familiar voice called, a shadow falling over me. “Hey, Leah, is that you?”

  Staring up, I shielded my eyes from the sun, the concerned face sinking in. “Greg? What are you doing here?”

  “I work over here,” he said, grabbing me under the arms gingerly, helping me to stand once more. “On the corner, the building there, with the giant fountains in front?” He turned, so I followed his eyes, spotting the squat structure across the street.

  Sun Healing Center? What's that? Stunned, I turned back to peer into his worried face. “I didn't know you worked down here, too.”

  “Never mind that,” he muttered, peering at me intently, lifting my hands, seeing the bloody cuts. “You're hurt, come on, let's go to my building. We have a first aid kit there. What were you even doing out here in the first place?” Taking my wrist, Gre
g pulled me gently, but firmly, across the street as the light changed.

  Until we got across the road, my reaction time was foggy. The near-death by car, the sudden appearance of Greg, it all threw me off so much, I let him lead me along like a lost child. When we began climbing the steps towards the doors of his building, the fountains spattering in my ears, soothing the sound of my pulse, I gave my hand a firm tug. He didn't expect that, his body half-twisted to watch me in pure doubt.

  “Leah, wha—”

  “Don't do that to me,” I said, ashamed of how my voice trembled. “Don't treat me like I can't handle myself.”

  “I wasn't, I just, I heard the tires and saw you laying there, I...” Smoothing his hair back, his face was wracked with guilt, a look that made my pride wash away.

  Looking down at my hands, the stinging notable now, I kicked myself mentally. “No, sorry, I've just had a rough day.” And a rough night. “I didn't mean to snap, thanks for coming over there and helping me, honestly. No one else was in a hurry to even ask if I was alright.”

  He smiled, a tentative little curl of his lips that grew firmer the more he spoke. “I didn't know it was you until I got over there. Seriously, what are you doing down here? Is Vanessa around?” Pushing the door open, he held it for me while I passed.

  “She, uh, she's back at Pale Blue. I just felt like exploring around some.”

  “Right, got it. Sitting around in that place can be a little exhausting,” he commented sympathetically. Biting my cheek, I just nodded, not wanting to dig myself deeper.

  He didn't know about my interview, why didn't Vanessa mention it? I couldn't be too upset, it saved me explaining about how it went.

  Greg led me to the main lobby, the place a vibrant yellow, low padded benches surrounding the walls in black. The sound of quiet, peaceful music flowed around, a strong scent similar to sage following it. “What is this place, exactly?” I asked, sitting down carefully where he gestured.

  “It's a spa, I'm a masseur here. Stay there, I'll go get the kit.” His long legs carried him around a corner, leaving me to study the walls, the magazine racks, the shiny floors. With my hands bloody, I held them away from me, afraid of touching anything.

  Looking across the room, I met the dead, stone-eyed gaze of a turtle sitting among a large potted plant.

  Well, this is sort of weird.

  Voices came from around the hall, one that I recognized, but the other was feminine, concerned. It didn't take much longer before both Greg, and the mystery person, rounded into view together.

  She was shorter than him, her long brown hair woven into an intricate braid to her lower back. Wearing the same dark pants and short sleeved top as Greg, her skin was whiter than even my own. I noted the smock she had tied over herself, a yellow sun sewn into the top right corner. So, guess she works here, too.

  Her wide eyes, green like seaweed, fixed on me right away. “Oh my goodness, your hands, let me see!” Kneeling beside me on the bench, she took my wrists gingerly, her scent in my nose, the strong fragrance of lotion. “Quick, Greg, bring the kit over here.”

  Together, they fawned over my scratched up palms, making me blush furiously over the attention. “Hey, guys, it's fine. They don't really even hurt.”

  The woman made a 'tsk' sound at me, spreading something that caused the cuts to burn even worse over my skin. “You'll get a terrible infection, especially if you took a tumble out on Hollywood, the ground is filthy.” Sticking a large, flat bandage to each of my palms, she closed the kit sitting back, her plump lips in a mild frown. “That should be fine, but make sure to wash them out tonight.”

  Though I was grateful for the band-aids, I was sure they were both overreacting about this. “Thanks, don't worry, I will.” Offering a weak smile, I saw her eyes light up when she grinned back at me. “Um, I'm Leah, by the way.”

  “Talia,” she answered, moving to shake my hand, then laughing nervously when it was clear that would be a bad idea. I wasn't laughing, though.

  This is the girl Vanessa thinks Greg is cheating on her with.

  The knowledge I had made me stiff, arms folding as casually as I could make them across my chest. “Nice to meet you,” I said, doing my best to calm my features. Neither of them seemed aware of my paranoia, the woman sliding off the bench, handing the first aid kit to Greg.

  “There, the problem is solved. I need to get ready for an appointment at three, and you,” she drawled the word out, leaning close to him with a pout, “owe me lunch for saving your ass.”

  “You didn't save my ass,” he laughed, “and you insisted on helping out in the first place!”

  “Yes, but only because I knew you couldn't handle the sight of blood,” she said, winking her thick lashes. It was hard to be sure in that outfit, but watching the woman sway off around the corner, I got the hint of her womanly curves beneath.

  Greg watched her go, shaking his head side to side.

  “She seems, uh, feisty,” I said uneasily.

  “Hmn?” Looking down at me, his expression was far away. “Oh, hah, yeah. She can be. Do your hands feel better?”

  “They do, actually.” Waving my fingers, I flashed a tiny smile. “She sort of overdid it, if you ask me.”

  He shrugged, setting the kit on the front desk absently. “Talia is just careful, which is better than being too cocky. Anyway, it's getting late, I have a few more appointments today that I need to get done before the party tonight.”

  “Party?” I asked, hardly shocked anymore by the concept. “You guys do this even on Tuesdays, huh?” My chuckle was bemused, but I sobered up when he squinted at me, his expression stunned. “What, what's wrong?”

  “You don't know what tonight is, do you?”

  “I—no, why, should I?”

  Rubbing his fingers over his scalp, Greg looked like what he was about to tell me was painful for him. “Leah, tonight is Deacon's birthday party.”

  My jaw fell open, I didn't try to stop it. Grabbing my thighs, I winced at the blossom of pain from my shallow cuts. “Does no one tell me anything?” I asked in disbelief. His birthday, it's actually tonight?

  “The party is at his place, it isn't a big deal, I'm sure Vanessa was going to just walk over there with you. Really, it's fine, you didn't need to prepare for it or something.” Though he was trying to console me, he looked unsure on how to do so.

  He's right, it's fine, it doesn't matter if I was told now, or yesterday, or right before we got there. It's just a party, it's not anything important.

  “Do you... do you want a ride, or something?” He asked, pulling me from my train of thought. “I can drop you off at Vanessa's.”

  Standing quickly, I almost told him I didn't need him to do that. “Actually,” I sighed, “would you? I'm not feeling so great, I think I'd like to go back and just relax before everything tonight.”

  We walked outside into the sun, the warmth falling unnoticed on me. My mind was elsewhere, so much, that when my phone buzzed in my purse, I didn't even look at it. I knew it was Vanessa, but right then, I had a hard seed of anger growing in me, and it was growing in her direction.

  Let her wonder where I am. Let her understand how it feels to not have answers.

  Chapter 13.

  ––––––––

  The door to the apartment was locked.

  Stubbornly, I resisted the urge to send a message to Vanessa, asking her when she was coming home, or if there was an extra key hidden somewhere. Checking under the outdoor mat, I found nothing in my brief search.

  Folding my arms, my eyes roamed across the building, wondering how I could get inside. The tall fence, taller than myself, was my final stop. Can I climb over this? The patio doors might be unlocked! Lifting my hands, I gripped the top of the wood, grimaced.

  Dammit, my stupid cut up palms.

  Steeling my resolve, I grabbed tighter, grunting while I pulled myself upwards. Swinging my leg, glad I was in pants, I straddled the top uncomfortably, the planks swaying a
s I tried to balance. The ground looked much further away from up there, my heart thumping frantically, the courage to jump over not quick to build.

  Sucking in a gulp of air, I held on tight, lifting my other leg. I've got this, I've got it!

  My foot caught on the top of the fence, halting me so abruptly I simply released my hold, screaming until I slammed onto the grass. Air exploded from my lungs, my chest frozen, like someone was sitting on me. Squeezing my eyes closed, I inhaled a shuddering gasp, expelling a low groan. “Ow,” I hissed, “ow, ow.” Rolling onto my elbows, I tested moving, checking if I'd broken anything. Once it was clear I had just knocked the wind out of me, I gave a bitter laugh.

  Good job beating yourself up today, seriously.

  Flinching so hard my forehead turned into deep furrows, I forced myself to my knees, stumbling to the glass doors. The painting I had completed sat on the chair, finished, glossy, waiting for me to show it to someone, anyone.

  No, not just anyone. I knew who I had painted this for, and while I didn't want to think about him, denying it was pointless. Will I even bother to share it with him, after what happened last night?

  Grabbing the handle, I was immensely relieved as the glass panels slid sideways. Stepping into the living room, I closed them behind me, proud I'd managed to succeed in my amateur breaking and entering. Since I was covered in grass stains, the band-aids already slipping from my sweaty palms, I made my first stop the bathroom to clean up.

  Running my cuts under the water, I was sure they didn't look that bad. Pink, raw, but nothing major. It made me think of Talia, a whole different ball of concerns there. It's impossible to tell from one meeting if anything is going on between those two. She seemed a little flirty, but... could Vanessa be right?

  Drying off, I looked over my outfits, deciding what to slip on. Touching one of the few things I owned that could have been called sexy, I lifted the tight shirt to my chest, closed my eyes.

  You're angry at him, but you're still hoping you'll catch his attention tonight. How pathetic are you, Leah? Laughing, I hung my head, brushing my fingers through my hair. Very pathetic, as a matter of fact.