Drawn to You: Volume 1: The Prequel (Millionaire's Row Book 5)

by Vanessa Booke

  I pass a stack of collection notices scattered across the roach-infested floor. To my surprise, there’s even a stack of scratchers sitting on top of the coffee table in a pile of ash. Mom must’ve bought these over at Jimmy’s liquor. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell the owner not to sell booze or lotto tickets to my mother, he does it anyway. This is our life—lingering between debt and wishful thinking.

  After an hour of cleaning up the apartment, I finally manage to find my way into the bedroom. The room is just big enough to fit a queen mattress and a dresser, leaving little room to walk around. I spot my mother’s frail body splattered across the bed. This isn’t the first time I’ve found her passed out drunk, so it’s no surprise to see her in this unconscious state. I walk over and gently shake her leg, but she doesn’t move. After several seconds, I shake harder. How much did she drink this time? Panic quickly filters through me at the stillness of my mother’s petite frame.

  “Mom, wake up,” I command.

  “Tristan?”

  “What are you doing still asleep?”

  She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she rolls her head to the other side of the pillow. The smell of dry vomit radiates off her clothing. Her long chestnut hair sits in a messy half bun. I lift her from the bed hoping to get her up and moving around with an actual shower, but her frail body hangs limp in my arms as I carry her into the bathroom. She probably doesn’t even know the last time she showered. Just outside the door, I find a new empty bottle of Jack Daniels. The sight of it is an ugly reminder that the past is never really in the past. It doesn’t matter how many months go by, she isn’t getting better with time. After stripping her pajamas off her, I lay my mother in the tub beneath the warm shower spray. A soft moan escapes her as the water hits her face.

  “Tristan.”

  She lifts her head just enough to look at me through glazed bloodshot eyes.

  “Mom, what are you doing to yourself?”

  “He hasn’t written me back. He hasn’t come to get me,” she mumbles.

  The he she so lovingly mentions is the man who’s the reason for our current miserable existence. The same man who selfishly ruined our lives by kicking my mother and me out in the streets. It’s been four years since we moved out of the StoneHaven’s lavish house to the gritty dump we call home. Four years since I lost my best friend and the only family I’ve ever really known.

  “He’s not going to come here, Mom.”

  “He will,” she says as she shifts in my arms. “He loves me.”

  “Mom, you have to let go. Whatever he told you was a lie. He wouldn’t have done this if he loved you.”

  The broken look on my mother’s face nearly shatters me. She turns her cheek and sobs hysterically into my shoulder. Her vice-like grip doesn’t let up as I slowly run a damp sponge across her face. I turn the shower water to a warmer spray and kneel to wash the dried up vomit from her hair, carefully sponging away the evidence from her face. She shivers, whimpering like a small child. The woman who raised me, who used to be so strong, is now in pieces on our bathroom floor.

  I leave my mother to soak in the tub while I rummage through the apartment for a pair of clean pajamas. To my dismay, I find a crumpled up news article sitting beneath the bed covers. The name in the headline immediately draws my attention. StoneHaven Publishing to Host Book Launch at Pearl Hotel. Great. This is the reason why my mother went on another drinking bender. Wait, isn’t this the same place Vivian was asking me to serve with her?

  I flip open my phone and find Vivian’s previous text. To my surprise, the name of the hotel matches up. It only takes me a matter of seconds to realize that this is an opportunity to face Stefan that I probably won’t ever have again. I’m sure he’s never been to The Bronx and besides going to the Pleasure Chest, I’ve avoided coming to Manhattan at all costs.

  Me: Viv, I’m free to cover the shift you needed.

  In a matter of seconds, my phone vibrates with a new text from Vivian.

  Vivian: See you then.

  TWO

  Tristan

  Fucking rich bastards. A strange rush of anxiety filters through me as I spot Stefan smoking a cigar on the other side of The Pear Hotel’s ballroom. The sight of him standing there sends a wave of nausea through me. Despite the many years that have passed, only the crinkles around his eyes are evidence of stress. The same can’t be said for my mother. Her years of drinking have taken a toll on her physically and mentally. She’s not the same vibrant woman she used to be. Not even close.

  I cringe as Stefan’s boisterous laughter fills the room. A crowd of guests gather near him, entranced by the sound of his voice. I swipe a glass of champagne from a nearby table watching as a cluster of suits surround the appetizers, nibbling at the assortment of overpriced cheese and organic fruit. My stomach rumbles at the thought of how much food is being wasted on Stefan’s guests, but I doubt it means anything to him. From the looks of this hotel, he’s accustomed to surrounding himself with the company of extravagant things. I guess nothing has changed. Money over love. Money over family.

  I’ve never felt so out of place as I do at this very moment. Even the over the top décor of the room is a stark contrast to the worn out dress shoes and slacks given to me by my mother. I promised Vivian I would help serve drinks to guests tonight, but I haven’t mustered the strength to let Stefan out of my sight.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Vivian pops into view with a sterling tray—a tray of what I can only assume is some kind of over-priced sushi. Her curious eyes watch me as I shift on my heels. “You’ve been staring daggers at the corner over there for the past half hour,” she says, nodding toward Stefan. “What’s eating you?”

  My past has never really been up for discussion when it comes to our friendship, but I feel compelled to tell her my sorted history anyway.

  “That older man over there….”

  Vivian’s eyes light up as she spots Stefan in his charcoal suit standing amongst a flurry of VIP guests.

  “The suit with the cigar?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is his party…”

  “He used to sleep with my mother,” I say, gritting my teeth at the sound of my confession.

  “I’m assuming it didn’t end well.”

  I shake my head, feeling one hell of a headache coming on. It kills me to know he’s here drinking whiskey and smoking his Cuban cigars while my mother is at home detoxing from all of the shit she has in her system. Our apartment still smells like vomit and whiskey.

  “No, it fucking didn’t,” I confess.

  “What did he do?”

  What eats away at me is not what Stefan did. Sending my mother out the door without a second thought is fucked up, but the final nail in that coffin was when he refused to acknowledge any of her letters. It didn’t take long for her to shut down after each one came back returned and unopened. She stopped going outside after that and she didn’t bother ever trying to find another job again.

  “I’m going to go take a smoke break.”

  “Go,” Vivian says with a small smile. “I’ll cover you.” Despite the massive amount of people at the party, Vivian seems undisturbed by the room full of wealthy tycoons and entrepreneurs. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that she’s annoyingly humming with excitement. At least one of us is enjoying this party.

  “I’m going to go take this tray back to the kitchen.”

  “Tristan, don’t lose your shit. The night is almost over, and then you won’t have to see him anymore.”

  “Thanks, Viv.”

  “Seriously, just try not to get us both fired.” She smiles. “Don’t go dueling pistols at dawn or anything.”

  “Don’t worry, I left my white gloves at home,” I say.

  THREE

  EMILY

  These heels are killing me. Never mind the fact that my dress dips way too low, but I’m almost sure I’ll break an ankle if I step the wrong way in these heels one more time. My evening dre
ss flares out in turquoise waves as I move across floor toward the refreshment table near the lobby. Even the beaded hem comes alive as it sparkles each time the lighting from the chandelier hits it. As much as I love the it, I’ll be happy when I can trade it for a pair shorts and a t-shirt. My father promised my brothers and me if we attended this evening’s book launch, he give us the keys to our summer beach house for this weekend.

  I pass the appetizer table, narrowly avoiding running into Mr. Stokes, aka Mr. Strokes, my father’s accountant as he hovers over the assortment of food. He pulls his attention away from his plate long enough to assess me with a critical but curious gaze.

  “Ms. Emily, you’ve grown so much. What a beautiful dress…”

  I can almost see him salivating as his eyes slowly trace the dip of my dress with interest. He slides a hand in his pants pocket and I cringe at the thought that he might be touching himself through an open hole. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve caught him doing it in public. It’s the main reason why Ceci came up with the nickname, Mr. Strokes. Now, every time I see him I have to remind myself not to say it aloud. I watch as his salt and pepper eyebrows furrow in disappointment as he spots the shawl surrounding my shoulders. I pull it tighter around my naked skin hoping that my obvious discomfort will deter him away. I’m not used to having men look at me the way he does, especially men who are three times my age.

  “How is your brother Alexander doing running the business?”

  “He loves it. I’m sure my father will be happy to retire earlier than he expected.”

  “Amazing. Alexander is going to make an incredible CEO.”

  It’s true. Alex is the brains in the family. He somehow graduated law school early. A feat most people don’t even accomplish and he did it all while working at StoneHaven Publishing.

  “And your brother, Nicholas?”

  “He is… Well, I’m not sure what he wants to do. He’s still in school.”

  I’ve always found it funny that my two brothers look similar, but they couldn’t be more different. Alex is level headed, down to earth, and at times, a little predictable. Nick is sort of a wild card. My parents have been trying to pull the reins on him for a while.

  “Emily!”

  I turn and spot Ceci scurrying across the ballroom floor with a wicked grin on her face. She’s not even halfway over when her eyes lock on Mr. Strokes. She throws me a knowing look as she lifts an eyebrow at him.

  “Ceci, you made it!”

  “Emily, your brothers are looking for you,” she says.

  Time to make my escape.

  “So what’s on tonight’s agenda?”

  “Doing our best to avoid grabby hands and taking advantage of the chocolate fondue.” I smile.

  “Emily, you’re always such a good girl,” Ceci says beside me as we stare out into the crowd of guests. “Forget about behaving tonight. Be daring. Go blow some guy at the coat check-in.”

  I blush at the thought of going in the back of the hotel coatroom with just some random stranger. Not because I’m afraid. No, because the thought of doing it sends a thrilling sensation throughout my body—a feeling I can only assume will multiply such an experience.

  “No,” I blush.

  “At least make out with someone.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You’re boring.” Ceci huffs. “C’mon, you can practice on me.”

  “Go practice on my brother, Nicholas.”

  “Practice what on me?”

  Nicholas’s bright smile pops into view as he rounds the corner of the ballroom entrance. Trailing just behind him is my brother, Alex. A flurry of women descends to the dance floor at the sight of them. Even the older women nearby seem to trip over themselves. I’ve always been envious of the way people seem to be drawn to my brothers. No guy has ever looked at me the way women see them.

  FOUR

  TRISTAN

  I almost convince myself that no matter how this evening ends, I’ll leave here in one piece. I believe it with all of my soul until the moment she walks into the room. My breath constricts at the sight of a familiar blonde angel entering the room. The sight of her sends a strange shooting pain in my chest. I watch her as she crosses the ballroom floor like a figure from one of my paintings wearing a bright blush on her cheeks and her hair spun in a bun. It can’t be her. It never crossed my mind to think that Emily would be here tonight. It’s been more than four years since I’ve seen her and the last time, she was four years younger with a goofy smile permanently fixed to her face.

  Her name floods my mind with memories of late night poetry, warm embraces, and that familiar smell of lavender. My Lily Pad—except she’s not so little anymore. The figure gliding across the room is very much a woman. The turquoise dress she’s wearing does little to hide the curves that accentuate her petite frame—curves that weren’t there before. My emotions pull at me as her cheerful smile makes the room seem just a little bit brighter. I step forward hoping to steal a glimpse of her to take with me when I leave, but I stop myself at the appearance of Alexander and Nicholas beside her. The three illuminate the room with their mere presence. I’m tempted to follow them, but I stop myself. I’d hate to think that I came here to give Stefan a piece of my mind only to be thwarted by the family I once thought I deserved.

  I slip away and make my way to the kitchen to drop-off my tray, stopping for a moment to search for a cigarette. I’m just about to light up when I feel something, or rather a someone, run straight into me. It isn’t until I hear her yelp that I realize it’s a woman. The impact of her small frame takes me by surprise as she sends us both tumbling to the marble floor. The sound of glass shattering spills across the room as the force knocks the tray from my hands. My heart constricts as crystal goes flying everywhere. If I didn’t want to make a scene before, I’m sure as hell making one now.

  A stinging sensation runs up the side of my back as we land with a loud thud. A crowd of gasps circulates through the hall as guests turn and inch closer to see the spectacle. I wipe the sliding mess of champagne off my face and look up to find bright aquamarine eyes staring down at me in shock.

  Shit. Her.

  To my surprise, she doesn’t immediately untangle herself from my lap. Her stare grows increasingly intense as if she’s trying to mentally extract information from me. Several seconds pass before she finally moves, or at least tries to move. I hear the sound of her dress swishing as she steadies her arms at the side of my head. She wiggles to free a part of her skirt trapped beneath me and I inwardly groan at the pressure of her rubbing against me. Fucking hell. My cock twitches leaving me with a growing erection.

  “Stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  Her startled eyes return to me with a look of confusion. I silently chide myself as my gaze wanders down her slender neckline to the top of her breast. The sight of her disheveled outfit taunts me as she sits slightly exposed. She isn’t old enough to be running around this party by herself. In fact, if it were up to me, I’d say she’s not old enough to be wearing a dress like that. I roll to my left freeing her dress and giving her just enough room to sit up. As if to avoid our awkward encounter, the crowd around us quickly returns to their polite conversation and drinks. I dust my slacks off, acutely aware that I’ve torn a hole in my pants at the knee. The truth hits me as I kneel down to pick up the shattered champagne glasses.

  Fuck. Vivian is going to kill me.

  I can only imagine how much it’s going to be to replace these stupid glasses. It’s not as if the hotel is just going to be like, oh, you broke three hundred dollar glasses? That’s okay. And it’s not like the fifty bucks I’m making tonight will cover even one of these glasses.

  “I’m so sorry, my heels...” Her soft voice interrupts my thoughts as I gather the shards of glass together. I watch her as she brushes back a few loose strands of hair and leans over. “Let me help you,” she offers.

  There’s something in her voice—a strand of despair that
shakes my very core. I look over to find a bright blush staining her cheeks. My heart squeezes and I find myself drawn to her pink lips that are slipped between her teeth. I ignore the sudden need to reassure her that it’s all right, to touch the skin just below the base of her neck, and the growing desire to pull her back down on top of me.

  “You should be careful where you’re going. You could’ve hurt yourself…” I say hoping to clear my head of tempting thoughts.

  “You nearly killed me.” I smirk.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t look where I was going and then suddenly, there you were.”

  Her shy smile only seems to draw my attention back to the beauty of her face. My hands itch to touch her, to hold her to me, but instead, I busy my hands again picking up the final remnants of glass.

  “Ow.”

  A stream of blood gushes from her finger and palm as she pulls a shard of glass from her skin. Without thinking, I grab her hand and wrap the hem of my jacket around it. She looks up at me with a small smile and a look of curiosity as I squeeze the fabric to her skin. A trail of blood trickles down her wrist evidence that the cut is deeper than I had hoped. I look into her eyes, wishfully hoping in the back of my mind that she somehow remembers me, and that I’m not just a figment of her imagination because she was always real to me.

  “Thank you.”

  Several seconds pass and any hope of her recognizing me quickly dissipates.

  “We can’t stand here all night,” I say. “Let’s get something else to wrap this.”

  I pull her with me, and we silently head toward one of the employee bathrooms to look for a first aid kit. It isn’t until the touch of her skin makes contact with mine that I realize she’s touching me. A strange sensation fills me as I spot her hand in mine. I look back down at her, but she doesn’t look up. I almost chuckle at the sight of her brushing back a strand of her hair. The nervous tick is all too familiar.