The Wrong Time

by Alana Jade

  The Serendipity Duet Book 2

  Alana Jade

  The Wrong Time

  The Serendipity Duet Book 2

  Alana Jade

  Copyright 2020 Alana Jade

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  There is content within this book that may set off triggers click here for help.

  ISBN: 978-0-6483628-4-5

  Editing by Kay Swish Design & Editing

  Proofreading by Nicki Swish Design & Editing

  Book design by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover design by Sarah Paige at Opium House Creatives

  Cover Image Copyright 2020

  All rights reserved

  What if everything happens at the wrong time?

  My life is finally on track, but then everything begins to fall apart before my very eyes.

  One rash decision sends my life spiraling, so I turn to the one thing I told myself I would never do again, and that decision puts the one I love in danger.

  My mom’s health deteriorates. My world is rocked by a secret that’s been kept from me my entire life, and Georgia’s mom reappears, bringing chaos with her.

  Will I be able to find the strength to put my life back in order and save the one I love? Or have I lost her forever?

  This book is dedicated to friends.

  Friends are like stars. We don’t have to see them to know they’re always there.

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  More Books To Check Out

  Acknowledgments

  Connect With Me Online

  About the Author

  Adam

  The glare of the sun beaming in my office, reflecting off a nearby building, has me wanting to roll over and go back to sleep. I’ve barely slept a few hours, but it’s all my own damn fault.

  I’m furious with myself for getting angry with Georgia. As a result, I haven’t heard from her since I stormed out of the office yesterday. I wish I could rewind the clock, change my reaction, plus what I did last night.

  After visiting my mom, I decided to come back to the office. The plan was to get some dinner, catch up on some work from yesterday, then have Tony drive me home. But instead, I came straight back to the office and tried to process what Mom had told me, plus what happened with Georgia. My life felt completely overwhelming, which led me to going into Zac’s office and finding a bottle of bourbon he had hidden in his bottom desk drawer.

  I placed the almost full bottle on my desk. I knew I shouldn’t even have been looking at it and tried snapping the elastic against my wrist until it was red raw where small welts had formed, but the amber liquid called to me.

  It knew it would win.

  It laughed at my weakness as the alcohol burned its way down my throat.

  Before I knew it, half the bottle was gone, and I was full of regret. With my head spinning, and in my stupidity, I went in search of more. I remember stumbling into Zac’s office in search of the rest of his stash but only finding a near-empty bottle of vodka. So, I drank that too. My memory’s a little shady after that.

  At some point, well past midnight, I must have passed out on the couch in my office, and now I’m lying here with a pounding headache, wearing yesterday’s clothes and wishing I didn’t have two meetings today. Luckily, they aren’t until later this morning, so I’ll have time to go home, speak to Georgia, and sort out this gigantic mess.

  Mom’s news will have to wait until tonight. I’ll share it with Georgia, maybe see if we should look into it or let it go. It’s such a nice feeling to be able to discuss issues with someone you love. As much as I don’t like to burden her with my problems, and likewise for her, it makes them feel not so foreboding and huge when you share them, although it all depends if she will forgive me.

  Dragging my sorry ass off the couch, I get up a little too quickly. My office spins around me, and I’m forced back down. I lay there for a few moments hoping I still have some Tylenol in my drawer. As I look around my office, the clock has stopped again for the third time this month, so that’s of no use. It’s the last time I trust Isabel to buy batteries for me. My eyes search for my cell instead, so I can check the time.

  I decide to get up in stages. First, I sit, letting my equilibrium recover. After a few moments, I stand, and while my head is still throbbing, I don’t think I’m going to fall this time.

  Luckily, I’m no longer drunk. This is a hangover, the aftermath, which is much better than when I first started drinking. Waking up, feeling sick, and still not able to walk aren’t great combinations, although, I shouldn’t have done this at all.

  Whether it was stress, worry, or whatever it was that made me do it, it’s no excuse for me to break my promise to myself. I’ll have to ring my sponsor, Patrick, today to confess what I’ve done, as hard as that conversation may be.

  Continuing to search for my cell, I finally locate it on the floor near my desk. I tap the screen so I can see the time, but it doesn’t switch on. So, I tap it again and again, becoming frustrated with the technology. Then it dawns on me that I switched it off when I was visiting Mom yesterday, so I touch the power button and, sure enough, it starts loading.

  “Damn,” I curse to myself, knowing that my voicemail is probably full of messages by now.

  Within a minute of loading, the dinging begins, and I’m forced to turn it to mute, so they don’t make my headache any worse than it already is. I hadn’t needed to use it when I left Mom’s nursing home yesterday, and Tony was waiting by the car for me when I staggered out in an emotional mess.

  Placing the device on my desk, I walk around the other side and start rifling through the drawers in search of Tylenol. It doesn’t take me long before I find a pack, and I pop two from the foil packaging and take them to the bathroom with me.

  Forming a scoop with my hand, I turn the faucet on, taking a mouthful of water, before tilting my head back and dropping the tablets into my mouth, praying that they will help and tak
e effect fast.

  You deserve everything your stupid decision brings.

  I contemplate for a few minutes whether I should have a shower here at the office or wait until I get home. But perhaps this is my way of delaying the inevitable of speaking to both Georgia and Patrick. The decision is made for me, though, when I realize my dry cleaning isn’t back yet, and therefore, I have no clean suits in the office.

  After freshening myself as much as I can, I walk out to my desk and scoop my device from the table—fourteen voicemails, eight texts. I groan as I scroll through the text messages.

  I notice one from Georgia, and hurriedly open the message, eagerly anticipating what it will say. Perhaps she wants to talk, or more than likely she wants to hurl abuse at me. I deserve the abuse. Either way, I’m ready to take it and listen. I can only hope she’s willing to listen to me when I tell her how much of a failure I’ve become as a person.

  It’s a two-word message.

  Georgia: Power out!

  I type back my reply, asking if she’s all right and if the power came back on, before adding an apology to the text message. That won’t be my only apology, but for now, it might help. I’m more man than that, but I want her to at least know that I’m sorry for yesterday and want to work through this.

  After sending a message to my sponsor, Patrick, asking if we can meet today to speak about what happened last night, I scroll back up and check to see if Georgia’s read my message.

  Strange—it hasn’t been delivered.

  Maybe she’s forgotten to connect to the Wi-Fi again. So, I decide to give her a quick call.

  The first time I call, nothing happens. I wonder if my cell’s not working, so I decide to use the office telephone instead.

  A recorded voice on the other end tells me her phone is switched off.

  “Great,” I puff.

  I try again just to be sure, but the same thing happens, so I decide to write a quick to-do list for when I come back today, then I make a quick call to Tony to see if he’s available to drive me home.

  Given it’s just after six in the morning, Tony tells me he’ll likely be half an hour or more before he can get to the office. So, I call downstairs security, asking Fernando to arrange someone to drive me home. He tells me Pablo, one of my new staff in the parking garage, will do the job, but it’ll be in his private car as there are no business cars available right now.

  Fuck!

  I thank Fernando before adding ‘Chase up car repairs’ to my to-do list for the day. I need my vehicle back as soon as possible.

  Taking a fresh piece of paper from my top drawer, I make a second to-do list for Georgia. I need to find out if they will deliver the new fleet to the carpark this week or at the latest, next week, then I can surprise my girl with a brand-new car of her own.

  Patrick finally texts me back, saying his day is full, but he’ll happily meet me first thing tomorrow and suggests the coffee shop where I initially met Georgia.

  I try the house phone several times in case she stayed at mine last night but am not surprised when she doesn’t answer. It’s times like this I wish the guesthouse had a line connected. Perhaps that is something to add to my to-do list.

  After ringing her number for what feels like the hundredth time this morning, I collect my jacket and bag with my laptop, pop my cell in my pocket and head out. I decide that it’ll be better waiting downstairs than making myself go insane up here wondering what’s going on with Georgia.

  My body is furious with me for putting it through this hell again. It’s calling for food, but I’ll have to wait until I get home so I can eat something decent.

  I don’t even make it from my office door when I receive a text from Fernando saying that Pablo will meet me at bay thirty-two in approximately five minutes. So, I hastily head to the parking garage level to wait for my lift.

  Given that Georgia isn’t answering, it has me on edge. Obviously, she’s deliberately ignoring me. But I’m wondering if she’s not at home. Did she leave because there was no power? And if so, where the hell is she? My mind is racing, and I can’t slow it down no matter how hard I try. This certainly isn’t making the pounding in my head any better, and I long for stronger painkillers when I get home.

  After stepping out of the elevator, I walk toward the parking space and see Pablo standing against his car. I thank him before sliding into the back seat of the older model Toyota, hoping I don’t stink too much of alcohol.

  “Rough night, sir?” Pablo asks.

  Well, that answers my unasked question—obviously, it must show that I’ve had a big night.

  “Something like that,” I quickly answer, trying to nip this conversation in the bud.

  I lay my head back on the headrest and close my eyes, hoping this journey is over quickly. I’m not sure how long my stomach will hold out.

  Scenarios play out over and over in my mind about what will happen when I get home, but I try and block them out. No use pre-empting what will happen.

  Pulling out my cell, I play the same silly game that somehow sucks me in every time. It helps pass the time a little faster and takes my mind off Georgia for a fleeting moment.

  I just hope that she’s willing to talk to me and that we can patch things up quickly.

  Adam

  Pablo turns off the main road making me quickly realize I’m only a few minutes away from home. I’m slightly anxious to get back, especially after Georgia’s text from yesterday telling me the power is out. She’s probably beyond angry that I didn’t reply to her message. If only she knew why I was uncontactable.

  Staying at the office last night gave me the chance to think about everything that transpired yesterday, even if it was in an inebriated state. Zac walking in on Georgia pleasuring me although he didn’t see anything. My subsequent argument with Georgia. Having to fire Zac for his drug and alcohol abuse. The board meeting. And the damn icing on the cake was finding out I possibly have a half-brother.

  Switching the game off, I decide to sort through my emails, texts, and voicemails. I need to use my time wisely rather than waste it. Most are junk. Some people are checking on me after my early departure from work yesterday and a few others that I can deal with later, but that one text from Georgia stands out.

  Two words.

  That’s all it took for me to pay attention.

  I wish I’d turned my cell on last night because something in my gut has me worried, especially after Zac threatened us yesterday. He was very blunt about how we’d pay for firing him. I can only hope Georgia’s fine, and she slept well last night.

  I’m getting more anxious the closer I get to home. The thud in my head pounds louder and louder. Leaning forward, I ask Pablo, for what must be the fifth time, if he can go a little faster, but he just smiles in the rearview mirror and shakes his head. Trust me to get one of the slowest drivers in the world when I’m desperate to get home.

  Turning onto my street, I gather my belongings quickly, ready to make a hasty exit. I’m curious if every house in the street was without power, or maybe it was just mine, but given it is daylight now, it’s not so easy to tell. I do notice halfway along the street, the Barnes family still has their outdoor light on, so maybe the power is back on, or it’s just my house that’s the issue.

  As we near my house, I notice that not only is the light above the gate not on, but the security booth is in darkness and isn’t manned.

  That’s odd, I think.

  When the guys do a patrol of the property, the booth light always remains on. Shooting my head of security, John, a quick text, I ask him where my security guards are today as well as if he knows what’s going on with the power. At this time of the morning, he’s likely driving here, so I allow a few minutes for his reply.

  My gut instinct is telling me that something’s off.

  I ask Pablo to pull alongside my driveway as I dial the police without even waiting for John’s reply. After informing them of what’s happened and how unusual it is, they agr
ee to send out a patrol car. Given I have two houses on the premises, and I’ve had a recent break-in, they advise me not to enter the property until they arrive.

  That’s when I realize the gate is also open slightly, and I mention this to the police before I hang up. I ask Pablo to stay for a few minutes as it’s beginning to look more and more like there is or has been an issue at my residence. Pablo nods his head before tapping his finger on the steering wheel—he must have his earbuds in listening to music. I appreciate that he doesn’t rush off back to the office as I need to make sure I’m safe, even though I know John will be here shortly.

  I get out of the car and walk over to the gate. Even with the power out to the house, the gate should have remained closed—it should be in fail-safe, and it’s not. I can’t see any signs of forced entry, but besides looking for visible damage, I have no clue what I’m looking for. It’s similar to when we were broken into last time, but if security needed to get inside when the power went out, maybe they forgot to close it.

  Part of me wants to race inside, be the hero, but I also know that there’s a possibility I could be running into an ambush, and that won’t do anyone any good.

  My stomach’s in knots. I feel ill, and it is not from the alcohol. It’s guilt. I want to kick myself for being so angry with Georgia. It was uncalled for, and I was nothing but a jerk. She was only trying to help me relax. Then to ignore her text like I did—I’m a complete failure as a boyfriend.

  I’m sure Georgia’s still fast asleep in her bed, or with any luck, my bed, and she’s safe and sound. As hard as I try to picture that, so many other ideas are playing in my head. I’m trying to take a leaf from my mother’s book and remain positive. Mom used to always be the one attempting to find a positive in a negative.

  John’s car pulls up behind Pablo’s. I collect my things from the car, thanking Pablo again for driving me home.