At twenty-three, I’d barely existed outside of work. I have a handful of friends, a mountain of debt, and a severe case of loneliness. Not that he cared one bit about it. He thought I was selfish because I didn’t want to support his habits.
I haven’t had a boyfriend since my brother was caught fucking my boyfriend’s mother. Our small town let me have it as if I’d been the heathen. I moved to Miami when I turned eighteen to get away from the life we had before. Although it’s not much better here because as soon as I feel myself growing, he comes around and kicks my feet from under me. No more. I can’t allow myself to be used again. I want a life of my own.
My alarm on my old, cracked-screen phone goes off, reminding me to get out of the apartment before I’m late. I haven’t bought a new one because I figured it’s still got some life in it. My lovely brother accidentally knocked it off the counter last night after coming back and tweaking.
I grab my phone, swiping off the alarm. Before I forget, I shoot the building manager a text to let him know about the icy water problem. Considering the heatwave, I’m sure no hot water isn’t a priority to him, so I’ll be lucky if he makes time to contact me before I get home.
“Damn it,” I grumble; I snatch up my purse and keys and rush out my front door. As I’m darting down the stairs, I look through my bag for my wallet.
I run back up and into my apartment, but it’s not anywhere to be seen. I look everywhere, knowing I never leave it out. Then I spot a difference, my brother’s duffle bag is gone. “Fucking asshole.”
Digging through my purse again, I look for my bus card. I kiss the plastic with gratefulness since I can’t get to my job without it. I am thankful that I don’t keep the card in my wallet. I stuff it into my short pocket, and I pull out a wash and dried ten dollar bill. “Score.” He didn’t steal every dollar I had hidden it seems.
Rushing back out the door and down the stairs, I hit the hot pavement and walk quickly as possible to the bus stop three blocks away before I’m late and get canned from my job.
I don’t live in the best area of the city, but it’s all I could afford, and I like it. I rush across the street without paying attention when the loud screeching of tires and metal happens. Before I can turn and react to what I know is coming, I feel the impact knocking me to the ground. Fuck, could my day get any worse?
A crowd of onlookers gasp and fill the streets as they watch as no one attempts to assist me. Suddenly the driver of the limo rushes to my side. I should be flattened, but since I’m not and I don’t want to be late, I attempt to get up. He’s in his late fifties or early sixties, frantically assisting me to my feet.
“Why the hell weren’t you watching where you were walking?” Because today’s not my day. He’s rude, but the color on his skin says otherwise. His hands shake as if petrified, and I can’t say I’d blame him. The thought of hitting someone with a car has always been a reason I hated the idea of driving.
Someone steps out from the back of the limo as I try to keep balanced. A mere second later, I’m in the handsome stranger’s arms. I brush my hand to his chest for stability, and he’s shirtless. I dart my eyes up and release a sigh. Perfectly made, strong chin, just a hint of dark facial hair, and suddenly I feel weak.
Chapter Two
Micah
I woke up this morning, resolved to find some relaxation while in Miami. So far relaxation has been elusive. After a quick run in the hotel gym, my assistant appeared with a list of things she had issues with, including her room at the hotel.
The moment I step outside, I regret wearing a full suit and tie as the sun gives off a ridiculous amount of heat down here. Suddenly, Chicago’s winters were feeling much more welcoming.
Winston holds the door open to my limo where my assistant is already waiting. The rental company allowed Winston to install tiny cameras at my behest. I have a feeling my assistant is not to be trusted. This is the first time she has accompanied me on a business trip, and she has shown why I need a male assistant instead.
I look around the back of the vehicle and see something vital is missing. Before I can address the serious oversight, she begins her chastising. “This meeting is critical to landing the contract, Mr. Ryan.” Making my company another fifty million dollars does sound important, but so does my sanity, which I feel is slipping. Not that I’m going crazy, but my temper and frustration have doubled in the past month. At thirty-five, I’ve worked my ass off to become a billionaire.