Slow Burn - a Novel: The Elite (27 page)
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Authors: Kb Winters
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Copyright © 2016 BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
KB Winters has an addiction to caffeine, tattoos and hard-bodied alpha males. The men in her books are very sexy, protective and sometimes bossy, her ladies are…well…
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Living in sunny Southern California, the embarrassingly hopeless romantic writes every chance she gets!
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On The Run
The Elite Series
A Sneak Peek!
By KB Winters
Copyright © 2016 KB Winters
Published By: BookBoyfriends Publishing LLC
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 KB Winters
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the brave men and women of our armed services who put their life on the line everyday to protect our freedom.
Thank you for your service.
~ KB
Melissa
From the outside, my life appeared as charmed as a day spent on a tropical beach where everything was blue skies, crystal clear waters, and endless sunshine. Anyone who looked at me would assume I didn’t have so much as a single care in the world. They would probably think my biggest problem was something like finding ways to spend all my fat stacks of cash, determining which of my three vacation homes to summer at, or where to get my weekly facial when my favorite esthetician went out of town.
You know, rich people problems.
In reality, my life was about as far away from the sun as I could have ever imagined possible. Most days were closer to the sensation of being abandoned on a glacier, slowly drifting day after day through an ice coated wasteland.
Being married to a billionaire sounded wonderful—in theory. Lavish vacations, invitations to all of the fanciest parties, and of course, the endless supply of money. But as it turned out, money really couldn’t buy happiness. And added to that list, there were a few other things money couldn’t buy you—true love, satisfaction, fidelity, or even security.
My husband, the real estate mogul Henry O’Keefe was a force to be reckoned with in the boardroom. A hurricane packaged in a priceless Italian suit.
He’d been nothing more than a hustler selling timeshares when we’d met, and everyone—myself included—had been swept away by his charm, drive, and ambition. He’d always reminded me of a roving tiger, calculating and plotting his next meal. It was a persona that had certainly carried him…us…a long way over the years.
Unfortunately, over time, that hungry tiger had taken over more and more of the man I’d married and seven years later, I could no longer see the difference between Henry the business man, and Henry the husband and father—the man I fell in love with.
He’d taken the real estate world by storm, conquering coastal California towns one by one, and turning them into thriving resorts that made millions in profit every year—some in the billions. Each development was grander than the last and it seemed as though each one took a bigger piece of his soul.
His appetite had recently led him down the coast to a small town called Holiday Cove and the project had consumed him for the past six months. I didn’t have the faintest clue of the details. I didn’t care. All I knew was the man I’d fallen in love with, married, and had a son with, was gone.
And I was done waiting for him to come back to me.
* * * *
“Good morning, George,” I said, my heels clicking on the hand laid paver stones leading from the hulking Pacific Palisades mansion to the circular driveway where a sleek, black SUV with tinted windows and bulletproof siding was waiting for me. George Giabaldi, our most trusted driver, was waiting at the back door, pulling it open as I approached.
He tipped his hat and offered a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. O’Keefe.”
I smiled through my inward cringe at the title I so desperately wanted to shake off. “Thank you.”
Once I was safely tucked in the backseat, George closed the door softly, and hustled around to the driver’s side. “Where can I take you this morning, ma’am?”
“The Redwood Plaza, please. I have a doctor’s appointment.”
George nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”
We set off and I stared out the dark window, each breath calculated, steady and slow. I couldn’t let George see how unnerved I was. On the outside, I was a calm, cool lake of tranquility. My chestnut hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon, diamond studs adorned my earlobes, my make-up clean and polished to perfection, and my smile soft as though there wasn’t even a hint of something out of the ordinary about the routine task.