Exiting at the same time, the driver sneers as he pulls me to his muscular body. “Now, I did make a promise to let you live but I didn’t tell you how close to dying you were going to get.”
I shudder as his erection presses against my stomach.
“Stop messing around, Skin. We have what we need. Let the little thing go. With her looks, I don’t think it will be hard for her to get back on her feet.” Knifey pulls me out of Skin’s grasp and pushes me to the ground. The dirty alley is dark, debris is scattered, broken glass strewn around.
“I was just having a little fun.” Skin pouts.
“Come on.”
With one more look at me, Skin and Knifey get in my car and drive away. I watch as the brake lights disappear and my entire life drives away.
I grit my teeth. Not my entire life. I’m still alive, and this will just be another exciting chapter in my tell-all book that will be made into a movie.
My muscles scream with aches as I stand and brush the grime off my new skinny jeans. Looking around, I’m not sure where to go. There’s no one on the sidewalks and no cars passing to flag down. I have no idea where I am.
Think, Harbor.
I’m lost in a city I have never been to, have no money, no possessions and was just accosted by two men who left me alone in a disgusting alley after threatening to rape and murder me. Right now I need to be anywhere but here.
I look down the street in the direction my car disappeared and turn the opposite way, making my feet move. Making my body obey as run, run plays over and over in my head.
Two
Ian
If I didn’t hate New York already, today was the tipping point of my loathing for this godforsaken city.
Cutting over to the far lane to try to avoid the traffic piling up, I ignore horns blasting. Living here the last six months has been a complete nightmare and I now understand why property in California is so pricey. It’s because nobody in their right mind would want to live in New York.
In fact, if I meet anyone who is here on their own free will I will personally drive them to the insane asylum and check them in—if I can find the damn thing. Anyone who would live here on purpose is in need of psychiatric help, and what can I say, I’m a problem solver.
When I left California to start the East Coast branch of my company, Strong Enterprises, I promised myself I would only be here for a year. Six months in this purgatory is making me rethink my decision. In my mind, a year was just enough time to get my company up and running, then I would be back to tanning on sandy beaches, this place the last thing on my radar.
Only halfway through and I’ve already found most of the right people to run the East Coast branch. People I’ll check in on but for the most part trust enough to keep Strong Enterprises in business and paying for itself.
I’m very successful because I work harder than anyone I employ. I go in, build a business from practically nothing, then as soon as my self-allotted twenty-six weeks are up, I skedaddle knowing my company is in good hands. Mostly because my employees know I will be watching them, closely.
My Malibu office is nothing compared to the dreary top-story office I’ve been stuck in while in New York. Even with my business associate, Collette Weaver’s—the only person I semi-trust—flair for decorating, I still can’t catch the feels for this damn place. Hell, the more I’m in New York, the more I miss not only my home office at the beach but my company office as well.
Nostalgia hits me for the view I was enjoying this time last year. Nothing can come close to working on a huge account while the ocean relaxes me with its smooth repetition. I constantly found myself staring out my floor-to-ceiling window watching the waves roll in then back out, all my stress floating away with the tide. I could be working on the biggest account my company would ever acquire and I still wouldn’t feel any stress.
Here in New York, my shoulders are like rocks with the amount of stress I carry in them.
The sidewalk and intersection are so damn crowded with people crossing that I give up trying to turn and end up going a few streets up. I take the first right I can and end up in a tight alley. There’s nothing to do but go forward. I miss the open stretch of a California road, the hills, the trees. I miss the wind blowing in my face, the sun, and everything else that is California and not New York. Now I’m surrounded by a different type of ocean—instead of beautiful sandy beaches and crystal water, I’m stuck in a sea of concrete and steel.
I need to be here, I remind myself. Not just to make sure everything will be moving smoothly so I’ll never have to come back here. Because of other circumstances. Thinking of those circumstances adds another weight to my already full shoulders.
If it wasn’t for my fiancé, Vanessa Beck, I would’ve never stayed as long as I have. Six months ago, I was planning on opening up my East Coast branch, but I wasn’t going to oversee the construction of the building firsthand. Six months ago, I wasn’t the micro-manager I am today.
Six months ago, I walked in on my fiancé bumping uglies with my brother, Tyler, in my Malibu beach house.
Sure, Vanessa had been complaining that I was spending too much time at the office, but I didn’t realize just how lonely she was. To be fair, I was spending an excessive amount of time at the office.
That day, I wanted to surprise her and was going to take her out on a Vanessa and Ian day. The stress of the wedding was getting to her and I wanted her to know she was appreciated.
The surprise was on me. I can honestly say I was not expecting to see my big brother–my hero—buried deep inside the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with.
As I stormed out, they both shouted at me to come back so they could explain, but I didn’t feel they were in the position to make demands about what I should and shouldn’t be doing. There was also no explanation that could pardon their behavior. I walked out and booked a flight as I drove to the airport. New York—what better place to lick my wounds. And with the new branch’s construction starting, the timing was perfect. I would give myself one year to get over Vanessa and Tyler’s indiscretion. Then I’d go back to my home, where I belonged.
One year was more than they deserved.
Work was just what the doctor ordered to heal my broken heart. After the two people I trusted more than anyone in this world stabbed me viciously in the back, I had to ask myself, could I really trust anyone?
The only thing I trust now is money. Money doesn’t lie. Numbers are truthful. People… nope, I don’t have faith in them at all.
On the plane to New York I vowed I would never be stupid enough to trust anyone again. I would be the one watching my back, because if you can’t trust the woman you love and the man who taught you how to ride a bike, who can you trust? No more letting people get inside my heart, that was closed for business for the foreseeable future.
Now, all my time and energy go toward my work. My focus is on my company—something I can control that doesn’t have the freewill to hurt me. Work is safe. People are not.
I make another turn and another, each new alley more disturbing than the last.
“Shit,” I yell, not giving into my need to beat the hell out of the steering wheel. Somehow, I’ve ended up in a maze of alleys. “I should have ordered a driver.” I have the money to buy one, but I like my freedom and don’t want someone to know every move I make.
Stopping, I look around at the soot-streaked buildings. There’s trash overflowing from dumpsters and I can smell the stench with the windows up. I have no idea where I am. I’m lost and need to figure out how the hell to get back to somewhere recognizable. I look at the GPS mounted on my dash, hoping it will give me some indication that it knows where I am and where I need to go. The signal is going in and out. Looks as if even my GPS has given up on me. I sigh.
I need to stop dwelling on the past. Onward and upward. If I wouldn’t have allowed myself to dwell on Vanessa and Tyler, I wouldn’t be in this mess I’m in now. I need to get my life back on trac
k.
Determined to put them in the past for good, I set my jaw and hit the gas a little harder than necessary, which rockets my Maserati past the dumpsters. As I’m rising out of my pity party and headed for the rectangle of light that tells me I’m about to exit onto a real street, there’s the flash of something moving to my left. I can’t make it out, but I know it’s alive and I’m going to hit it. I jerk the wheel to the side, knowing that only by some miracle I’ll avoid the oncoming collision.
There’s a sickening thud on my front bumper that resonates throughout the interior of my car, letting me know a miracle is not in the cards for today. The brakes screech as I slam to a shuddering halt before jumping out of my car.
Please be alive. Please don’t be a person.
I round the front of my car to assess the damage.
My knees almost give out. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is lying on the filthy asphalt in front of my car.
I killed an angel, is the first thought that runs through my head.
Her blonde hair is soaking up the blood from a cut on her forehead and her leg is bent at an odd angle. Her pert little nose is bleeding as well, but even in her state of disarray she is gorgeous.
On my knees, I take note of her injuries. When I brush back her feathery bangs, I can’t help but think how soft her hair is and how I wish she would open her eyes so I could find out what color they are. Yeah… I need to stop the creepiness. I hit a woman for god’s sake—this is not how you meet people, even in New York.
The cut on her head doesn’t look too deep but it is bleeding profusely. I apply pressure with the sleeve of my thousand-dollar suit jacket as I continue to check for more serious injuries. I run my hand down her body, feeling for anything that doesn’t seem right. Her slim figure is well maintained and I assume she is some type of athlete. When I run my hand over her legs, I notice swelling in the one that is at an odd angle and my heart drops. With gentle pressure I probe the swollen limb, trying to see if there is any damage.
Just the slightest touch has her gasping for breath. I look up in time to see her eyes fly open from the pain I’m inflicting.
“Please, help me.” Her almond-shaped eyes are crinkled with pain.
I want nothing more than to take it away. That thought startles me and I shake my head to clear it. She has the clearest blue eyes I’ve even seen and I briefly wonder if the blue is from contacts. Nobody’s eyes should be that beautiful. I’m slightly dazed from her transformation from gorgeous to stunning just by opening her eyes.
“I’ll help you,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and giving it a slight squeeze. Her fingers are firm and hold my hand tight. “I promise, you’ll be fine.”
I’m unnerved as her blue eyes search my face. I want nothing more than for her to trust me and that realization is like a kick in the gut. What has this girl and hitting her done to me? I’m disoriented, that’s all. It’s normal since I just hit a human being with my car.
She must see what she needs to. A small smile curves the sides of her lush mouth before she grimaces in pain. With a hiss she tries to adjust her leg and quickly passes out.
I let out the breath I’m holding. Why it’s so important that she trust me I couldn’t say without delving into things I don’t want to think about. Maneuvering her head under my thigh, I call an ambulance and wait for it to show, frustrated that I don’t have enough knowledge of the city to get her to the hospital.
When the ambulance arrives and the EMTs get her onto a stretcher and into the back of the vehicle, I jump in my car and follow them, breaking several traffic laws in the process. I promised her I would make sure she was all right and I’m not going to let her down.
I’m not like the people in my life I’m supposed to be able to trust. I’m going to follow through.
Three
Harbor
I wake to everything hurting. There’s not any part of my body that doesn’t have pain radiating from it.
Start from the bottom and work your way up, Harbor, was always my mother’s advice and without thinking about it I do just that.
My toes wiggle on command but the pain in my leg is just too much and a groan tears out of me. A groan that also causes more pain than it should.
Why the heck do I hurt so bad? Where am I? And what happened?
Trying my mother’s advice again, I think back to what happened today. My lips twitch with a smile as I think about arriving in New York City. But anything after the GPS announcing that I’d reached my destination is hazy, and I let my memory drift to just before I left home.
Brightly colored balloons were all around the room. My friends went overboard. The party was just starting, everyone clapping each other on the back at the squeal that came out of me when they jumped out of their hiding places and screamed, “Surprise!”
My best friends from elementary school hugged me tight. Rebecca was wiping tears off her unmade-up face while Andrea scowled, trying to get her emotions in check.
“You guys didn’t have to throw me a party,” I told them, hitting one of the balloons that sunk low enough for my five-foot-ten-frame.
“Yeah, yeah,” Andrea yells over the music now blaring. “Of course we threw you a party. Our bestie is moving to New York—”
“Finally,” Andrea cuts into Rebecca’s little speech. Rebecca shoots her a look and Andrea rolls her eyes.
Both of my friends were pissed that my parents altered my plans of moving to New York right after high school. In fact, I’m certain they were more pissed than I was that they wanted me go to college and get my degree first. I tried to explain to the girls that I understood my parents wanted me to have a back-up plan just in case. They both argued that I wasn’t going to need a back-up plan because I was going to make it huge and forget all about the inhabitants of Podunkville, Kentucky. It’s crazy when your friends have more faith in your ability than you do.
“Anyways, you’re going to move to New York and you are going to make it bigger than any of us have dreamed. Your name will be a name everyone knows,” Rebecca finished.
“Then we can move into your huge house and live in a life of luxury at your expense,” Andrea added.
I laughed at them and pulled them into a three-way hug. “I’m going to miss you guys so much.”
“We are going to miss you too, Harbor,” Rebecca whispered in my ear with a sniffle.
“Show them what girls from Podunkville have to offer,” Andrea added.
Pain lances through my leg and shoots up my body, making a headache bloom behind my eyes. I refuse to cry out, remembering the pain when I made a sound a minute ago.
Did I have an accident at the going away party?
I try to think back to what happened but all I can recall is having a good time reminiscing with my friends. I wiggle in an effort to straighten my back and pain knifes down my spine.
Knife.
Images flood my pain-filled brain of the door to my new apartment, where nobody had been waiting for me. Two large men climbing the narrow stairs, putting a knife to my neck, walking me down that same set of stairs to my car.
My car.
My car, which contained all my possessions. But worse, much worse. The contents of my bank account are all gone.
I have nothing. I’m somewhere in New York City and have nothing.
Fat tears stream down my face as it sinks in just how hopeless my situation is. I even have no idea where I am. Just the thought of the call I’m going to have to make to my parents makes a sob erupt out of my mouth. They were right. I didn’t even last twenty four hours.
Crying hurts, but I can’t stop, and the pain makes me cry even harder. How could my dream have turned on me so fast?
“Are you in any pain?” A man’s voice is right next to my ear, making me jump.
I moan, the movement sending all my nerve endings into a screaming mess of agony. It feels like I was run over by a stampede of bulls.
“I’m going to call for a nurse,” the same
man says.
It dawns on me that I’m in a hospital. The sound of people rushing around and murmuring voices filter in. I can’t remember why I’m in the hospital, but the man’s voice next to me is somewhat comforting.
I crack open my eyes and wince at the harsh light. Quickly, the light is dimmed and he comes into view. He’s gorgeous. His tawny brown hair is short on the sides and longer on the top, giving him that bad-boy-in-charge look. He’s tall, and his hard body is evident even under the white button-down shirt. His face holds a sense of confidence, but at the moment his broad forehead is crinkled with worry. The golden tone of his skin is the perfect backdrop to set off his coffee-brown eyes and I can’t look away.
“Can you talk?” he asks, bringing me back to reality and the pain.
Just gazing at this man’s face, I momentarily forgot the pain I was in.
I swallow and open my mouth to talk but it feels as if razor blades have lined my throat. I try to reach for the water pitcher next to the bed but the IV in my hand is in the way.
“Where is the nurse?” he asks, his voice higher than it was.
“Water,” I grind out and am astonished at how gravelly my voice sounds.
“Let me go find her.” He stands. He must be over six feet and as soon as reaches his full height more memories flash through my brain. The speed of the recollection makes me nauseous and I gulp, trying to get my system back in order.
“You hit me with your car,” I say to him, feeling disjointed.
I should apologize to the bulls I blamed earlier for my state of pain. Bulls had nothing to do with my agony. What was responsible was a black Maserati with a gorgeous man who didn’t know how to drive behind the wheel.
“Let me go get the nurse.”
I watch as he rushes to the door, his long legs eating up the distance in no time, slipping out and closing the door gently behind him. Before I can wonder if he is going to come back he is hauling a surprised-looking nurse into my room.
Perfect Husband: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 16