Saved: A Billionaire Romance (The Saved Series Book 1)
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Authors: Lexi Larue
Saved
A Billionaire Romance
The Saved Series Part One
Lexi Larue
Copyright
©
2014 Lexi Larue
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and situations are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent of the author.
This book is Part One of “The Saved Series”
- Saved Part One
- Saved Part Two (Coming Soon)
- Saved Part Three (Coming Soon)
Chapter 1
The September sun felt warm on my face as I stepped off the bus onto one of Chicago's busiest city streets. The winter had seemed endless, and it felt wonderful to be able to walk outside without three layers of clothing. I was dressed immaculately, as usual, in a tan raincoat that tied at the waist over the top of a navy blue wrap dress. My black heels cost more than I cared to remember, but they made me stand out at the radio station where there were 20 other interns vying for a full-time position at Harter Communications. They say you should dress for the job you want, not the job you have, so I followed that advice and always looked my best. My dark brown hair was perfectly curled, falling in waves down to the middle of my back. I wore tiny diamond earrings, which were a gift from a past I tried every day to forget.
I only had to walk about a block to get to the bus stop, and I still had 30 minutes before I had to be at work. I slipped into a Starbucks and grabbed a nonfat latte and half a whole-wheat bagel. Guilt swept over me as I took my first bite, thinking about how every bite would go straight to my hips. It took me a few seconds to snap out of my trance and remind myself that no one was there to weigh me anymore. I didn't have to keep a strict food journal or put in at least an hour a day at the gym unless I chose to. I wondered if I would ever get to a point where his face didn't flash before me or his voice didn't echo in my ears every time I ate something. After a year and a half in Chicago, I still scanned the crowded streets for his face. One time, I had seen a man that looked just like him from behind, and my whole body trembled with fear. When he turned his head and I saw that it wasn't him, I had to sit on a bench and collect myself. He would be pleased to know that he still had such an influence on my life. I could only hope that he had finally given up on me and moved on.
I arrived at the office about 15 minutes before 8:00, and I hurried to the elevator with all of the other people headed to their various jobs. Harter Communications was located on the 15
th
floor of a 20-story building. High above the Chicago streets, the company played music for the city and the surrounding areas. There was a country station, a rock station, and the number one hit music station in the city, KISS 100.5, playing all of the hottest songs on the radio.
I was an intern for the afternoon DJ and station manager, Joe Jones. I did all of the grunt work necessary to keep him happy and keep his days running smoothly. I didn’t mind making his coffee or picking up his dry cleaning because it meant I got to be right in the middle of all of the action and hear about things that most other people were not privy to. I was learning so much, and I knew it was just a stepping stone to bigger and better things. I would finally get to use my Communications degree and make something of my life without help from anyone.
The first thing I did when I got off the elevator was pick up Joe's messages from the front desk. Brielle, receptionist extraordinaire, was waiting for me. She was the closest thing I had to a friend in Chicago, and she had my back. Of course, she knew nothing about my past because I was not going to let anyone feel bad for me. To Brielle, I was just another young woman trying to climb the corporate ladder.
"Looks like another busy day is in the works here, Allie." She handed me a large pile of messages and motioned for me to come closer so she could whisper. "From what I hear, there are some major programming changes in the works. The big boss wants to mix it up a bit. I've only met him once, and believe me, he is not the kind of man people say no to."
"Great. Well, I just hope it doesn't negatively affect me. I'm just getting used to being here, and I love my job, even if it is mostly grunt work. At least Joe is nice to me. Keep me posted."
"Will do. Hey, a bunch of us are headed out tonight for happy hour at Thirsty's. Are you finally ready to join us?"
"I can't. I'm going to an author night at Hawthorne's. A local author is doing a reading from her new book. I'm dying to read it, and I can't wait to hear her speak about it."
"You really need to get a life, Allie. You are 23 years old, not 50! You are a single woman in your prime. Come have some drinks and let loose for once. Your book can wait."
"Thanks for the invite, but I’ve been looking forward to this reading for a few weeks. Maybe next time." I said goodbye and headed for my cubicle, knowing full well that I would say no every time she asked. There was no way I would go drinking with a bunch of people I barely knew and make a fool of myself. I could never let my guard down, not even for a second.
When I reached my desk, my phone was already ringing. It was Joe's assistant, Janet, asking me to get started on all of the tasks in that she outlined in the email that was also awaiting me. Apparently, Joe would be too busy in planning meetings all day preparing for the visit from the big boss. According to her, everyone was afraid of the changes that were coming.
I got right to work, going above and beyond in every task they asked me to do. I was going to impress the people here if it broke me. I needed my own success and my own life so I never had to go back to living in someone else's shadow. The one thing my past taught me was how to please people. I never complained at the station and always delivered projects early. I tried not to get in on the gossip and only joined in enough to seem friendly. I didn't want anyone thinking I was unapproachable and not fit to climb the company ladder.
At 5:05, I finished up the last of Janet's requests for Joe and logged out of my computer. I felt a sense of relief come over me as I stood up from my chair in my cubicle and stretched. The constant computer work made my back tense, and my feet hurt from running errands throughout the building. I headed toward the exit and stopped only briefly when I heard Brielle's voice call to me.
"Hey Allie, you sure you don't want to join us? You look like you need a night out."
"I'm sure. I am really looking forward to this reading. Have fun and be careful!" I headed for the door before she tried to convince me again that it was in my best interest to go to a club. I tied my raincoat around my waist and headed for the bus stop. I watched the people rushing to get home around me and just took it all in. I loved that I could blend in here and no one would care what I was doing. There were no spies waiting to run back and tell him where I was, what I was wearing, and who I was talking to.
Still, every once in a while, the hair on the back of my neck would stand up, and I could swear someone was watching me. As soon as I felt it, I would duck into a random place as soon as I could. Once I stepped into a Laundromat and hid in a corner for an hour before I felt safe. Another time, it was a Chinese restaurant where I ate beef and broccoli until my heart rate returned to normal and I felt steady on my feet again. I had to get used to the fact that I would have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I just had to stay one step ahead of the fear.
When the bus came, I sat next to an elderly woman who told me I looked like her best friend from her childhood. I had a feeling she was a bit senile because she kept calling me Lillian and asking me if I wanted to go watch the boys play ball down the street. I just smiled and nodded, giving her hand a squeeze before I got off the bus at my stop.
Heading up the stairs to my third-floor, one-bedroom apartment, I got my big ring of keys out to prepare to open the door. I had four locks on my door, and that still didn't seem like enough. I unlocked each one quickly, but carefully, and went inside fast so I could lock all four of them immediately. I only felt safe once I was on the other side of that locked door.
I hung my raincoat in the closet and kicked off my stilettos, feeling immediate relief when my aching feet sunk into the soft, beige carpet. My schedule only permitted time for a small salad at lunch, so I was starving. I heated up some leftover chicken and rice and grabbed a bottle of water.
I only had about an hour before I needed to leave for the reading, but I had to decompress first. My apartment was the only place I felt totally calm, and I savored each moment. Sitting in front of my 32-inch TV, I flipped through channels until I found reruns of "Gilmore Girls." The relationship between the mother and daughter on the show was one I always envied. My family was nothing like that at all. I might have had two parents, but they weren't supportive or loving. And neither was the man that I left them for.
I shook my head to try to clear the cobwebs of bad memories that threatened to take over and darken my night. I quickly washed my plate and went into my room to change. Looking through my small wardrobe, I settled on a pair of well-worn American Eagle bootcut jeans, a black v-neck shirt, and a thin, black cardigan. I slipped a pair of black flip flops on my feet and secured my grandmother's tiny diamond pendant around my neck. Wearing it always made me feel closer to the only person in the world who had ever really cared about me.
Before I headed out the door, I grabbed my copy of the book. I noticed a display advertising the author's visit the last time I was at the store and was intrigued by the fictional story of a young woman in Chicago in the 1960s. After reading just three chapters, I was hooked. I loved to get lost in other people's worlds. Sometimes I would even pretend that I was one of the characters, getting my happy ending no matter what life brought me in the story. I was pretty sure there was no happy ending in my reality, only a life of hiding and constantly looking over my shoulder.
Chapter 2
I left my building and made it to Hawthorne's bookstore in less than 20 minutes. A 50-something-year-old couple owned the store and stocked it with books that you might not find in one of the huge chain stores. There were cozy corners and beanbag chairs all over the store that were strategically placed for quiet reading. It was my favorite place outside of my apartment.
Tonight, there were four rows of folding chairs set up in front of a wooden podium. A large poster sat on an easel to the left of the podium, emblazoned with the book's cover. It was a picture of a young woman with straight, brown hair that hung all the way down her back. She wore bell-bottom pants, a navy pea coat, and brown boots. Only her back was visible as she strolled down a busy Chicago street. One tiny person in a city full of people. The book was called, "Hiding from Myself," and I related to every single page I read so far.
After settling into a chair in the second row, I began to scan the small crowd of people who sat around me. There was a young couple whispering to each other and holding hands. A middle-aged woman busied herself by knitting what looked like a scarf in the front row. A man in a bow tie sat three seats away from me, and his dark-framed glasses and khaki pants made me wonder if he was a college professor. I looked through my book to avoid making eye contact with any of them. It was always better not to be too friendly with strangers.
The bell rang behind me, indicating that another person came in. I waited a few seconds before looking up, attempting to seem uninterested in my surroundings. When I finally allowed my eyes to rest on the person who sat one row ahead and four seats to the right, my breath caught in my throat.
A young man, somewhere between 25 and 30 I guessed, with short hair so dark brown that it was almost black, sat holding a copy of the book. He was well-dressed but remained casual in a blue plaid button-down shirt and relaxed jeans. I could only see a tiny bit of his face, but his strong chin, and the small dimple in his left cheek that appeared when he smiled at another person had a serious effect on me.
Without warning, he turned and looked in my direction. He caught me staring and locked eyes with me, sending a shot of electricity across the chairs and people between us with his light green eyes. I had heard people say you could lose yourself in someone's eyes, but I never believed it until that moment. Whoever this beautiful man was, he had my full attention.