Princes of the Universe

by Serene Franklin

  Copyright © 2019 by Serene Franklin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Artist: Natasha Snow Designs

  Editing: Proof Positive

  Proofreading: Judy's Proofreading

  Formatting: Rainbow Danger Designs

  Paperback: 978-1-9994727-5-7

  Ebook: 978-1-9994727-4-0

  For Fynnian.

  In any universe

  You are my dark star

  Young the Giant, “Superposition”

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Also by Serene Franklin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  One

  Eli

  Structure was a tricky thing. There was a fine line between having a plan and succumbing to monotony. I wasn’t above admitting that my life had become increasingly predictable. It wasn’t that I lacked forward momentum, and I didn’t think it was at all a negative thing. I got off to what you could call a rocky start and managed to find a sense of peace with my routine. Every morning I’d wake up at quarter to six, walk my dog, Prince, go to work, go for a run with Prince, eat dinner, and watch TV or read until bed. Occasionally I’d get dragged out by Aoibheann, the only person I’d consider a friend. We ate lunch together every day at the office and talked about everything—well, she talked and I listened. For the sake of simplicity, she went by Eve at work, for which I was grateful. She worried about me being lonely, but I assured her on numerous occasions that I was just fine. Fine—the wrong word to use when talking to a woman.

  It wasn’t a lie, though. I’d tried my hand at dating over the years, and it always ended in disaster. Nearly every woman I’d ever been with would break things off after a couple of months, saying they didn’t feel a connection. Some even told me straight up that I couldn’t love. After all I’d been through, I honestly didn’t think they were wrong. I gave everything I had to Prince, but a connection like that with another person had never come. I’d resigned myself that it never would and gave up the pretense of dating a couple of years ago. Since then, I’d fallen into my comfortable routine, and I’d been happier for it. Dating was a mess for me. I did try, but it wasn’t enough for any partner I’d ever had.

  I stopped for a coffee on my way to work that day. I usually brewed it at home, but I left my travel mug in the staff lounge the day before. Money wasn’t tight, and I didn’t have any frivolous hobbies, so treating myself to an eight-dollar coffee and a muffin once in a while wouldn’t kill me. I grabbed a cupcake with sprinkles for Eve since she had a penchant for all things sugar.

  I got to work with fifteen minutes to spare before the official start of the day and used that time to start the daily crossword puzzle in the paper. Red Right Hand was a relatively trendy ad agency founded a few years ago. The whole place had a laid-back, hipster vibe to promote creativity, and it did work. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the right wall of the industrial-turned-commercial rectangular space, offering all the natural light one could ever ask for—but we usually kept the shades half drawn to avoid glare—while offices and boardrooms were on the left. The reception area at the front was small but had comfortable leather seating in a shade of red that matched our bold logo. Down at the back wall was the “creative space”; one could find several geometric bookshelves full of novels, magazines, and design books, as well as beanbag chairs, another leather couch, a couple of small white tables, and a bigger table repurposed from a wooden door in front of the couch. The main working space was wide open with oak-topped desks on metal legs painted white. If I had to guess, I’d say those were from repurposed materials too. Each desk was home to two Mac desktops, one on either side. I lucked out when I was hired eighteen months ago and was placed with Eve—a spirited auburn-haired Irish woman a few years my senior.

  Her monitor faced the entrance, allowing her to easily track my approach every morning. I was always greeted with a half-cocked smile and kind blue eyes, framed by thin brown-rimmed glasses. Today was no different.

  “Mornin’, Eli. Howya?”

  “Good morning.” I held up the branded bag with the cupcake and bit back a grin as her smile got toothy and wide. “Got you a little something.”

  I handed the bag over to her outstretched grabby-hands and sat down in my chair, not quite able to stifle my laughter a second time. She tore into the bag and beamed up at me.

  “Sprinkles. You know me so well. I’d marry ya if you’d have me, you know.”

  I shook my head and sipped my coffee. “It’s an enticing offer, but I’d only disappoint you. Besides, I don’t think Samir would appreciate you marrying me suddenly.” They were engaged to be wed in a few months.

  “Sam fancies you a lot. The three of us could be very happy together,” she said with a wink. That type of flirty behavior would normally unnerve me, but it was the status quo with Eve and it didn’t faze me in the least.

  “Hmm. Tempting—I’m not into guys, though. Perhaps dating would be easier if I was.”

  Eve rolled her chair around to the side of the desk, closing the distance between us. She wore a dark green dress and black kitten heels and had a white blazer slung over the back of her chair. “You’re not into anyone, it seems. Have you ever given fellas a go to see if that’s the answer?” she asked quietly.

  I jerked my head back and said, “No,” way too fast. I mentally kicked myself as I saw a hint of suspicion flash over Eve’s eyes. The truth was that, yes, I had been with a guy before. Sexually, but not romantically. I was eighteen, in a bad place, and in need of cash. Fate pissed on me, and I was presented with the opportunity to get some quick cash from doing porn. With no other options, I agreed to it—which was a huge mistake. I knew with absolute certainty that it wasn’t an experience I wanted to relive, and I had tried my best not to think about it over the last ten years.

  I wasn’t that scared, helpless kid anymore. The present me sure wasn’t anything to brag about, but I no longer felt helpless. Or hopeless. The whole issue with my love life hardly registered when I looked at the bigger picture of my life, the different strokes and colors all blended to create the man I’d become.

  “Whatever you say, pet.” Eve rolled back around to her side of the shared desk and took a bite from the top of the cupcake, joy instantly overtaking her soft features.

  I sighed inwardly, relieved that she didn’t pursue what I knew was a joking line of questioning. We settled into our lazy morning ritual of drinking coffee and checking our emails and messages, sharing any good news or gossip that came up. It was bound to be a busy day, being the first day back after the Fourth of July long weekend. I’d celebrated by curling up on the couch with Prince resting her head on my knee and watched Independence Day. Eve had tried to get me to go with her and Sam to his parents’ cottage, but I politely declined, not wanting to intrude.

  About twenty minutes later, our boss, Andrea, swung by and requested that I sit in on a pitch in the Prescott room, the largest boardroom we had, starting in fifteen minutes. Considering I was still the newest team mem
ber, having me sit in on meetings and a pitch wasn’t unheard of, it just hadn’t happened in several months. I had my own clients now and was producing steady work for the agency, so the request struck me as odd, but not enough for me to question it. Eve and I exchanged a series of cocked eyebrows and headshakes then I gathered up a notepad and a pen to give my hands something to do and headed into the Prescott room, taking a seat next to Andrea.

  “What’s going on today?” I asked, smoothing out the wrinkles in my light blue plaid dress shirt. The laid-back atmosphere meant I could dress however I wanted, so long as it was neat and not offensive, though I still opted for dress shirts more often than not. Eve opened my eyes to short-sleeved button-ups in the summer, which were a lifesaver on hot days. I still wasn’t sold on cuffing the sleeves, but she assured me it was the right thing to do. No matter how hot it got, I couldn’t bring myself to wear shorts to work.

  “We have an important potential client coming in, and I wanted fresh faces at the table. This is also a good opportunity for you to see me personally handle a pitch,” Andrea replied with a wink.

  Shit. “They must be important.”

  She nodded, sending her blonde curls bouncing, and slid a file over to me as a few more agents entered the room and sat on the other side of the table. “Bryan Rettger. Youngest son of Malcolm Rettger—owner and operator of the highly lucrative Rettger Homestead Ranch down in Texas. He’s coming in today in relation to a private venture.”

  I nodded, immediately understanding why she was so excited. If we made an impression with him, it could potentially lead to working with his father, which would be huge for any company, let alone one as small as Red Right Hand. “I see. I’ll keep quiet and take notes.”

  “You’re a fast learner, Elijah,” she teased, gently jabbing me in the ribs with her elbow. I smiled at her and reviewed the file she’d slid in front of me. Bryan Rettger was just a couple of years older than me at thirty, and was opening a retail bakery downtown. The space was leased, yet the business didn’t have a name yet, let alone any marketing strategy or ideas of where to take it.

  I was surprised to see that he’d already secured the space without having a concrete business model, but I’d never understood the whims of the elite. At five minutes to the hour, the door to the Prescott room opened, and the receptionist showed in a man in a fitted denim shirt over a white T-shirt, sage green cotton shorts that hit a couple of inches above the knee, and a pair of well-broken-in sandals—like, Birkenstocks, or whatever. He looked casual but clean and stylish in ways that I avoided. My eyes tracked back up his extremely broad-shouldered athletic figure to take in his face, and my stomach flipped, almost as hard as I felt like the room did. I knew this man, and the way he stared back at me confirmed that my worst fear had come to pass. A small half smile curled across his lips as his green eyes pinned me in place. Sweat prickled on my lower back as I did my best to regulate my breathing and not crumble under his gaze.

  I looked away as Andrea stood and walked around me to greet him. Her musical voice was muddled to my ears behind the pounding of my own damn pulse, coming in fast and hard. The professional in me wouldn’t allow rudeness in front of a potential client, so I pushed myself to my feet and forced a smile across my tight jaw.

  “Bryan Rettger. Pleasure to meet you,” he said as he held out his hand. His voice came out smooth and steady, and he’d schooled the half smile from his expression.

  Bryan Rettger. I squared my shoulders and held my head up high, nearly looking him directly in the eyes as I extended my hand and shook his. “Elijah Harper. Ditto.” Fuck—there went my sense of professionalism. Andrea side-eyed me like I’d lost my mind while Bryan blinked at me a few times before a smile softened his features. I glanced over at Andrea apologetically and saw the moment her shoulders relaxed as Bryan seemed utterly tickled by my response.

  His gaze flicked down, the amused expression never leaving his face, and then came back up to meet mine with one raised eyebrow. Utterly confused, I cast my eyes down and was horrified to see that I was still holding his goddamn hand.

  “Ah, I’m sorry, Mr. Rettger.” I released his hand immediately and felt the tips of my ears burn hot, thankful for my thick, dark brown hair that was long enough to cover the tops of my ears.

  “Please, call me Bryan,” he replied lightly.

  “Bryan.” Bryan. The name felt so foreign and wrong to me. I knew this man from a lifetime ago. I knew him in a way I didn’t know any other man. I knew him as my former scene partner from when I was a barely legal adult. I knew him as Rhett fucking Ryder.

  Two

  Bryan

  Well, I’ll be damned. Elijah was the last person I expected to see when I walked in for a pitch I was already planning on accepting. Red Right Hand was a promising new company, and they’d turned out some edgy work. I knew they were the agency I wanted to realize my vision for the bakery. Seeing Elijah again after all these years was an unexpected surprise. He looked a bit stricken upon seeing my face, which left me just as confused as I was a decade ago when I saw him last. Although I did find it odd that he used his real name for the shoot.

  The pitch went as well as I’d expected it to. I was only half paying attention, unable to stop my eyes from wandering over to Elijah. He kept pretending he wasn’t staring back at me, but I’d caught him several times. His hair was a lot shorter than it was before, and he was still lean—yet not skinny like he had been. Other than that, he looked exactly the same. Same feathered bangs slung across his forehead, same cute, flat mole on the left side of his jaw, same disarming brown eyes that were the perfect blend of cinnamon and caramel. They were the perfect almond shape too, lending him a soft expressiveness that stood out on his face. He wasn’t what you’d consider delicate or pretty by any definition, but he was cute and adorable in a very unique way. In a cute yet hairy-guy kind of way. It was apparently a combination that worked for me, because I wanted to pin him against the nearest flat surface and reacquaint myself with the taste of his tongue—not to mention other body parts.

  He had on a short-sleeved shirt, allowing me a glimpse of his lean arms I wasn’t about to pass up. His shoulders were more squared than I remembered, and he looked all around more fit, though not in a bulky gym kind of way. I’d know, considering the gym was my go-to whenever I needed an escape that baking couldn’t give me.

  Andrea Wilcox finished her impressive presentation, drawing my attention away from Elijah and back to the reason I was actually there. She had some good ideas that I liked, but the overall plan was a bit more ambitious and far-reaching than what I’d narrowly had in mind. She spoke of expansion and brand and distribution, and she did so beautifully. Her passion and attention to detail were why I chose this particular agency, but the pitch was just a bit… extra. I gave her my best Sunday smile, and spared Elijah another glance, only to see that his brows were drawn together, and he didn’t look happy about something—beyond my presence.

  “That all sounds intriguing, Andrea,” I started, choosing my words carefully. “It’s a lot for me to consider, but I do like the work that’s—” Movement in my periphery drew my attention back to Elijah, who was scrawling on his notepad, as he’d done several times during the presentation, while everyone else in the room had kept their undivided attention on their boss. “You know what… would I be able to have a private word with Mr. Harper?” He hadn’t mentioned that I could address him by his first name, and I didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was.

  To her credit, Andrea’s professional veneer never faltered. She graciously conceded to my request without showing an ounce of unease at leaving her agent with what she clearly considered an important client. I was sure it had something to do with my family, but I’d learned long ago to get over feeling salty or ungrateful for it. The other agents wordlessly followed her out, and once the door clicked closed behind me, I turned my attention to Elijah. He straightened his back and faced me, looking ready for a fight. />
  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  I shook my head easily and raised my palms from the table without lifting my wrists. “It’s not like that. I just want to hear your thoughts on the pitch.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. I was more interested in talking to him about personal matters, but that could wait. Work seemed like a safer topic and one that would hopefully let him relax.

  “Oh,” he replied, his shoulders losing their tension bit by bit. “I’m sorry. I just… forget it. Ah, the pitch. Andrea presented compelling and proven methods. I’m sure the campaign will be a success should you choose our agency.”

  “Relax and tell me what you really think. Is that how you’d do it?”

  “No,” he answered immediately and with unwavering certainty. I leaned forward, further onto the table, and twined my fingers in front of me while I waited for Elijah to continue. “It’s a strong campaign, but it feels wrong for your company. I don’t mean any disrespect, but a smaller… more grassroots approach would be a better fit, in my opinion. Gaining a loyal local following is going to be essential to your viability and success. The location is great; right on the cusp of reaching professionals on their commute and the hipster crowd. This big branding approach isn’t going to appeal to them, though. Your file said that you were undecided on opening as a coffee shop that sold baked goods or a bakery that also offered coffee.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I merely nodded and let him go. “Baking is your specialty, and the last thing downtown needs is another coffee place, so I think it would be prudent to keep the focus on your skills. Offering tea and a limited coffee selection will be an asset, but not the main draw. The focus needs to be on the community. Positive word of mouth is going to be the most beneficial advertising we can hope for, the rest will be to supplement that.” He broke eye contact with me as soon as he finished his pitch, returning his attention to his notes.