Fortune's Angel (Fates Aligned Book 2)

by Christi Whitson

I waved goodbye and returned to my car, taking a long drink from one of the bottles as soon as I had the windows rolled down again. Glen had a soft spot for me. He knew why I came to shower there each night, and he’d never once reported me for not using my gym membership as it was intended.

  He had a bag of something to share with me almost every night, though I’d never requested or expected it. Sometimes he went so far as to shove some food into the bag, particularly on evenings when he’d packed extra for his meal break, though this wasn’t one of those nights. Still, I was grateful for his generosity as well as his leniency about using the showers.

  I used to drive to a truck stop a few miles up the interstate to clean up each night, but at ten bucks per shower, it got expensive quickly. Not to mention the safety issue. Even late at night with private showers and locking doors, it was risky to be a woman alone in a place like that. If the expense hadn’t driven me to find a better alternative, the unwanted attention from the truckers would have.

  My energy was really beginning to wane now that I’d washed the day’s sweat away, and the heat was starting to feel more tolerable. I shook myself a little to stay awake as I made my way to Chance Encounters, the restaurant where I spent my days working as a waitress. The lot was mostly empty, with the exception of a few cars I vaguely recognized, and I hoped I could get in and out quickly. The owner, who also happened to be the head chef, was gone for the night, but my least favorite assistant manager was still there.

  Figures.

  Brent Sullivan was pushing forty with sandy blonde hair and gray eyes that always seemed to be fixed somewhere other than my face. He had a solid sort of build, with meaty hands and forearms, hulking shoulders, and a thick neck. While I wouldn’t necessarily say he was physically unattractive, his personality sure as hell left a lot to be desired. The man was slimier than a jellyfish.

  Brent had been hounding me relentlessly ever since my first day on the job, and he’d made it very clear he wanted to sleep with me. He was always standing too close or staring down my shirt when no one was around. He kept finding seemingly innocent ways to touch me, and he’d cornered me in the walk-in on more than one occasion. But he knew just how to toe the line in a way that made it difficult to know how to react. It was hard to say which I enjoyed less. Working with Brent during the day or trying to avoid him when I came back after closing time to pick up the day’s leftover food.

  When I walked through the rear employee entrance, I was glad to see a couple of the chefs were still finishing up their closing routines, which meant I wouldn’t be completely alone with Brent. Small favors. Their presence wasn’t enough to keep him away from me entirely, though, and he emerged from the small manager’s office within seconds of my arrival.

  “Why don’t you hang out for a little while until we finish up here? You always run off so quickly,” he said, smirking darkly at my chest.

  Ugh.

  I cringed away as usual, and I didn’t fail to notice the difference between my body’s reaction to Brent and the way I’d felt in Mr. Brighton’s presence. I was sure there was a woman out there somewhere who would be attracted to Brent’s particular brand of flirtation. Compatible pheromones and all that. But I was simply not that woman.

  “Can’t. Have to get this dropped off and head home,” I replied, gesturing to the lidded box full of food they’d left waiting for me on the bar.

  “I could have one of the guys take care of it. Maybe we could grab a quick drink somewhere…”

  “Sorry, I can’t. Early day tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  Because it’s always true.

  I shrugged and skirted around him, popping the door open with my hip and heading back to my car. To my relief, he didn’t try to follow me outside. He’d done that a few times too.

  The drive to the Seventh Avenue Shelter was a short one, but passing through the surrounding neighborhood always made my heart a little heavier. The gloom of the area seemed like a tangible thing, as though the residents’ daily misfortunes had permeated the very air.

  Once I’d parked outside the shelter, I quickly sifted through the box of food and pulled out a couple of things. It would be just enough to settle my empty stomach so I could sleep, plus a little something for tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t taste very good, but I knew by now what absolutely had to be refrigerated and what could survive the heat for a few hours. Bananas, for instance, were grown in tropical climates and wouldn’t spoil as easily as some other fruits and vegetables. But even the non-perishables that didn’t require a microwave had a hard time standing up to the heat of a Florida summer. And of course, pretty much anything that fell into that category was junk food. Eating healthy was damned near impossible for me these days.

  I was in and out of the shelter quickly, thanking the director as I exchanged the box of food for a few envelopes bearing my name. Marie Ellison was a kind woman who knew enough of my situation to allow me to use the shelter’s address as my own. We talked for a couple of minutes before I bade her farewell and headed west on the interstate to a suburban shopping district.

  The lights illuminating the Walmart Supercenter sign reflected off my windshield as I turned into the lot and found an empty space at the farthest end from the building. I rolled the windows almost all the way up before shutting off the ignition, locking the doors, and climbing into the back seat with my food. It had been a good eight hours since I’d last eaten, and my stomach was growling in protest.

  After a full day of almost nonstop movement, it always felt odd when I finally got to rest and just be still. It was a bit jarring, physically as well as mentally. Every muscle in my body was drained of energy, and every thought I’d been pushing away all day for the sake of focusing on my work seemed to converge on me all at once. But tonight was different. Only one thought—no, one man—stood out above everything else.

  Eli Brighton had been on my mind since the moment I’d turned to find him leaning against the doorway of the conference room. His conference room. I shook my head as I replayed our meeting in my mind, cringing a little at yet another example of my chronic misfortune. Leave it to me to meet a hot, sexy CEO when I’m three hours into a cleaning shift and dressed like a slob without a hint of makeup. Though, he didn’t seem to mind it, I conceded inwardly. He’d touched my lips, for fuck’s sake.

  I’d been entranced by him. While some muted corner of my brain had screamed at me to back away, I couldn’t bring myself to heed the warning. Every nerve in my body had suddenly been tuned to resonate with his, and I hadn’t been able to think straight in his presence. I couldn’t even remember the last time anyone made me so nervous, especially when he reached around me to pick up the file he’d caught me reading. My lips had still been tingling from his touch, and I was torn between wanting him to do it again and feeling relieved when he didn’t. It probably would’ve scrambled my wits permanently.

  Did he feel it too? I wondered, running my fingertips along my bottom lip. Common sense deemed it unlikely. My luck, my life, just didn’t work that way. I worked twelve hours a day, showered at a gym, and slept in my car. Clearly, my life was no fairy tale.

  It’s easy to get depressed when you’re homeless. To get lost in your own troubles and let them drown you. To obsess over the circumstances that brought you to that point and wonder at the ones keeping you there...

  But I didn’t do that.

  Not that I was all sunshine and rainbows over sleeping in my car and working my ass off all day. But I’d chosen this. I hadn’t been forced into it by a mountain of debt, lack of work, and a dwindling bank account. I had two jobs, and I made decent money. I just chose to spend it on other things. More important things.

  Every time I crawled into my backseat to sleep, I made that choice again. I chose my mom. My comfort for hers, my safety for hers. She’d raised me completely on her own, given me every last bit of herself. As far as I was concerned, this was the very least I could do.

  I t
ook another sip of water from one of the bottles Glen had given me, drinking sparingly since I knew I wouldn’t have access to a decent bathroom until I got to work in the morning. Unless I wanted to trek all the way up the lot and into the store, which I preferred not to do. The cool liquid was soothing, and I sighed appreciatively as I put the cap back on the bottle. Once I’d set the alarm on my phone, I lay down across the backseat. It was hot, but for safety’s sake, I didn’t dare roll the windows down more than a few inches.

  When I closed my eyes, Mr. Brighton’s handsome face danced behind them again, his lips smirking at me seductively. He’d filled out his suit like it had been made just for him, and for all I knew, it had. He could certainly afford it. His dark hair had the perfect amount of auburn accenting its waves, neatly trimmed everywhere but in front, where it hovered over his brow and set off his brilliant blue eyes. Had I imagined the heat in them when he’d looked at me?

  Of course I had.

  I shifted uncomfortably in the seat, reaching down to adjust a seat belt buckle that was digging into my hip. It could be worse, I reminded myself. That was certainly true. Mom could’ve chosen the model with the leather seats rather than the nineties-era plush upholstery. I winced at the thought of trying to stay cool through a Florida summer with a leather interior.

  I kept my eyes closed, willing my mind to shut down so my body could get the rest it needed. In four short hours, I would need to be up and off to the restaurant, where I would work until four p.m. before returning to my night-shift job cleaning offices. My routine only varied on Saturdays, when I had enough daytime hours to get my laundry and personal business done before waitressing at night. I knew full well just how foolish it would be to entertain any further thoughts of Eli Brighton and his too-sexy smile. There was no space for him or any other man in my life.

  My dreams, apparently, were another story.

  Three

  Eli

  The blinking cursor at the end of the email I’d just composed seemed to mock me, a glaring reminder of how utterly ridiculous I was being. It taunted me, daring me to click the Send button when I knew full well I should just scrap the whole damn thing.

  In the week since I’d met Charlotte Douglas, I’d stayed late every night, hoping to cross her path again. I’d sighed in disappointment each time I left my building, keeping my eyes peeled for a tiny, raven-haired angel with every step I took between my office doorway and my car. I knew she’d said she didn’t usually work on my floor, but I thought surely I would’ve bumped into her somewhere else. I’d even ‘accidentally’ hit the wrong button in the elevator a few times so the door would open on one of the levels not occupied by RPC offices. But she was nowhere. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if I’d hallucinated the whole encounter. She might’ve been nothing more than a product of spending too many nights bent over contracts and proposals.

  I’d mentally replayed every second of our interaction countless times, and thoughts of her had found their way into my fantasies more than once. My mind lingered on her expressions… The genuine surprise on her face when I’d caught her reading proprietary information, the way she’d been so flustered, her adorable rambling... I remembered how warm and smooth her lips had felt beneath my fingertip, and I couldn’t help imagining how they might taste. Or how my cock would look disappearing between them.

  Fuck.

  I adjusted myself impatiently beneath my desk. I was alone in my office, but I refused to sink to the level of jerking off at work just to get a moment’s relief. Charlotte’s sweet, sultry voice echoed in my mind and seemed to go straight to my crotch, making me feel even guiltier over my poor self-control.

  When my finger had made contact with her lips, I’d heard the catch in her breath and seen her eyes darken a little. I’d thought it was arousal, but perhaps I’d misread her. I hadn’t forgotten the momentary relief I’d seen in her eyes when I’d stopped myself from touching her lips a second time, and I knew it was possible I’d frightened her. Maybe to the point that she was now consciously avoiding me.

  But it didn’t seem to matter how many times I’d told myself to let it go. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About how she’d made me feel. Aside from being incredibly turned on, there had been something else there as well. Something new. I’d practically towered over her, which had appealed to some primal instinct I’d never even realized I possessed. Her small stature had screamed breakable, and it made me feel protective. Coupled with her youth and shyness, it gave me the urge to shelter her from the world, to hide her away and keep her to myself…

  My eyes went back to the blinking cursor, and I hit Send before I could talk myself out of it. I needed information, and hanging around after hours hadn’t gotten me anywhere. My Human Resources director would be curious, but surely an employer asking for details about an employee wasn’t such an odd request. Email was definitely best, though. Leona Forrester had good instincts, and I was sure our years of friendship would’ve given her plenty of insight into my motives if I’d dared to ask her in person. I was also grateful she didn’t know my mother or sister. I could only imagine their reaction if they found out I was finally showing interest in a woman again.

  Leona got back to me fairly quickly, but the scant information she’d been able to provide made me frown. Apparently, the building superintendent used a contracted cleaning company, and that company’s employees came to them through a staffing agency. It would take a little time to track down more than the most basic information on the elusive Ms. Douglas. The only things Leona had been able to dig up thus far were Charlotte’s spotless criminal background check and an address of 500 E. 7th Avenue.

  I was familiar enough with that area to know it wasn’t a very good part of town, and that concerned me. But I couldn’t help feeling a little relieved to discover she wasn’t a direct employee of RPC. Not that I really had any business pursuing her either way. I’d spent the past year and a half swearing up and down that I didn’t have time for a woman in my life, and that hadn’t changed. Yet, here I was… about to track her down on social media. It was bad enough that I’d asked Leona about her.

  It seemed, however, that my curiosity was more potent than my guilt. When I typed Charlotte’s name into the search bar on Facebook, I expected to find a profile full of dance club selfies with girlfriends. Maybe even a boyfriend of some sort, though my chest tightened uncomfortably at that prospect. There were several women with her name in the area, but it was clear none of the profiles belonged to her. That struck me as odd for a woman her age.

  Christ… That’s another thing. The age difference. As if I needed more reasons to stay away from her. Her background check listed her as twenty-three, though she’d looked even younger. Too young for a guy pushing thirty-three. Not only was I a stalker, I was on the verge of being a cradle-robber.

  I leaned back in my chair and scrubbed both hands over my face, trying to push away the thought of her yet again. I didn’t understand this fixation. It made absolutely no sense. I hadn’t felt this level of interest in a woman in a long time. Not since meeting June… But even as I thought it, I realized that my ex-wife had never consumed my thoughts the way Charlotte did. And after only one meeting.

  Fuck. Get your head on straight and focus, Brighton.

  I told myself I’d leave the building at the end of the business day with everyone else. I’d go straight from my office to my car without rubbernecking and hoping for a glimpse of her. I would—

  “Hey, man. Still on for lunch?”

  I was startled by the voice of Hayden Forrester, who had just strolled through my open office doorway. Hayden and I had been friends for years, though we didn’t see much of each other these days. He was busy with his own company, which was headquartered in Miami, and we only got together when he happened to be in town.

  “Yeah, give me just a minute. Is it only the two of us or did you manage to talk Leona into coming along?”

  “Nah, you know Mom prefers to eat here with he
r friends. Not that I didn’t try.”

  I couldn’t help but feel a little relief. The last thing I needed was to be grilled on my out-of-character request for the personal information of a low-level contract employee. Despite the fact that I was now Leona’s boss, I’d been her son’s best friend for much longer, and she wasn’t one to stand on ceremony.

  “I thought we’d go to my brother-in-law’s restaurant, if that’s all right with you,” I explained as I closed my laptop and rose from my chair. Hayden’s expression brightened with interest.

  “Sounds good. I haven’t been there yet, but I’ve heard good things.”

  “Yeah, I’m not surprised. The critics have been kind.” Like ‘four Michelin stars’ kind.

  Chance Encounters was buzzing with the usual lunch rush when we arrived, but having a family connection to the owner had its perks. Kennedy’s husband, Donovan, had opened the place just after the beginning of the year. It had been a very successful venture thus far, though it certainly kept him busy. Between a new business and a new baby, it was a wonder my brother-in-law had time for anything else. The hostess seated us with little fuss, filling our glasses with ice water as she informed us that our waitress would be with us shortly, and Hayden and I spent a few minutes catching up.

  “Still thinking of moving your headquarters?” I asked, glancing over the menu.

  Hayden had inherited a small chain of hotels from his dickhead father last year, and it was nice not to be the only one feeling a bit overwhelmed by a drastic change in circumstances. Though admittedly, I’d been groomed for leadership every bit as much as he had. I just hadn’t realized it until much later.

  “It’s looking more and more likely. Doesn’t make much sense to be based out of Miami when most of our current locations and future expansion plans are now in the central part of the state. Commercial real estate is more affordable here than in Orlando, of course.”

  “Got a site nailed down for the next hotel?”