The One Who Got Away (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (3 page)

‘Investing in today...for tomorrow.’

I pointedly looked straight ahead, but my stomach had other plans, twisting and knotting relentlessly. I had a light breakfast for this exact reason and a bottle of Canada Dry perched in the cup holder beside me, just in case.

There was no escaping the dread that twisted and tugged at my insides. I knew that his life went on after he nuked mine. I had too much pride to stalk him on Facebook or any of those standard social media investigations that one did after a bad breakup, but when the heir to a massive fortune takes the reins of the family business right out of college and the profits skyrocket to the moon (and you look the way Lincoln Carraway looks), you become a household name. CNN,
Forbes, People
—everyone wanted a piece of the twenty-something billionaire.

“Everyone but me,” I clarified to no one in particular. To myself, in case I was forgetting that I hated his guts. But I didn’t hate him. It would be easier if I did. If the name ‘Carraway’ was enough to make me sweat and seeing his smile, paired with the naughty gleam in his stormy gray eyes glittering on the front of a magazine, was enough to make my heart quicken in my chest...the sight of him would do me in.

I clenched the steering wheel, memories bombarding me with no mercy. I should have known that when something was too good to be true, i.e. he hung out with a group of guys who were known as the ‘Quit It Crew’ that we were destined for failure.

The ‘Quit it Crew’ was Rhoades High’s best. They were all involved in sports: football, basketball, and baseball. They all had charm, good looks, and a hefty dash of confidence that often slipped into cockiness. They sauntered through the halls of our high school like they owned them. The sick truth was, they did. Everyone worshipped them, from the teachers who overlooked missed assignments and outright defiance to the kids who got picked on for not fitting in. Those kids still gazed at them with wistful longing, a tiny bit of hope that if they tried hard enough, they could be popular too. Popular, the ‘Rhoades Mold’ meant good, down-home Southern-ness where sports were religion, boys did what boys did, and the girls stayed quiet and always had their face on.

I nearly rear-ended the person in front of me when the light flickered green, trying to outrun the past. But the past was everywhere, even after all these years. I carried it inside like poison, and it seeped into my blood and soured everything. The tears that scalded my cheeks were just an unwelcome reminder that no matter how many days, months, and years passed, Lincoln Carraway still had a hold on me.

I pointed my car onto campus, cruising down the scenic front drive. Meredith looked even more beautiful than it did on the website. Everything held the warm colors of fall. Oak trees sighed and let loose a trickle of orange, brown, and yellow leaves. The grass was green and plush and I spied an amphitheater to my right, a chapel standing on the left. Straight ahead was a fountain that tossed and spun water in a hypnotic way that made me want to apply like, yesterday. Even from my car I could feel the energy of the students, all backpacked and Kate Spaded with pearls. I hadn’t felt such an urge to join a group, to be accepted since I said ‘screw that’ in middle school.

“Something in the air,” I said to myself, pulling into the visitor’s lot. That was the only explanation because my best friend, Ashton, was just as alternative as I was. We banded together, sisters in every way except blood. Back in middle school, these two cheerleaders, Mindy and Cindy (no relation, but you’d never know it since they always wore complementary outfits and had the same mean ass streak) started in on me and my black dress, laughing and joking that I looked like I was headed to a funeral. Ashton piped that if they didn’t fuck off, I
would
be heading to a funeral...theirs.

They never said anything to either of us after that. If they’d been willing to take their head out of their asses, they would have seen that me and Ash couldn’t hurt a fly. We were just trying to figure out who we were...and who we weren’t.

My awe at the Meredith experience dimmed as I stepped out of the car and a mom parked beside me in a minivan gave me a once over and a ‘Bless your heart’ smile, like I was clearly lost. This was a place of color; of preppiness and white teeth smiles. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my black shift dress, fishnets, and combat boots, with a black ribbon weaving through my fishtail braid.

I gave the woman the biggest grin I could muster and stalked toward the focal point on campus. Johnson Hall had all the pomp and circumstance of stock colleges in movies. The bricks and regal windows gleamed in the sun, six columns stretching from the second floor to the roof. The closer I got, the more hypnotic the fountain became. Navigating through the sea of young women chatting, laughing, and booking it to their next class, I caught the bug. The infectious excitement about learning and opportunity was all around.

I was surprised when Ashton opted to stay in North Carolina after graduation and downright flabbergasted when she chose to go to a women’s college. A part of me worried she’d change because there seemed to be a definite type of ‘Meredith Girl.’ It was a uniform of pearls and permanent smiles that seemed so far away from Ashton’s tattoo sleeves, band t-shirts, and jeans.

When I left NC, we kept in touch and I watched her kick ass and take names, all while remaining true to herself and never judging me for avoiding my home state for years.

I breezed through the doors that led into Johnson Hall, and I couldn’t fight the feeling of wonder and excitement when I looked up at the intricate gold writing engraved on the open-air atrium. I’d given Ashton some serious side eye when she told me she was staying at Meredith, accepting a position in the office she’d worked in as a student, the Admissions Office. Once upon a time, we both talked about getting the hell out of North Carolina together and at every turn, she passed.

We chose different paths, but all roads led back home, it seemed.

I read the gold placard beside the door. ‘Admissions.’ I pushed inside and took a breath. I had a feeling that the space was actually no bigger than my tiny studio back in Omaha, but someone had maximized every square inch, making it look open and inviting. A window on the far wall was lifted, sending sunlight and gusts of warmth into the room. A set of modular chairs sat off to the right. A coffee table in the center was lined with brochures and books about the school. A bookshelf was right ahead, lined with magazines and more information that enticed with bright colors and promises that Meredith could be a home away from home.

A mother and daughter, both wearing newly acquired Meredith swag, were engrossed in conversation about the study abroad program.

“Yes, you can use your student aid for study abroad!” A golden-haired twenty-something perked behind the reception desk. She had a voice as bubbly as champagne.

When the daughter let out a squeal of delight, the receptionist pulled out a fistful of pamphlets and foisted them into the girl’s eager hands.

“And many of our programs are cheaper than a semester at Meredith!”

“Ooo!” The girl cooed, tossing her brown ringlets and grinning big at her mother. “That means more money for partying!”

The mother groaned, her face turning a color a few shades darker than Meredith’s maroon-lined logo. She gave me and the receptionist an apologetic grimace, then steered her daughter toward the lounge area before she embarrassed her further.

I stepped up to bat, fully expecting the bubbliness the receptionist exuded to be turned off for me, or at least turned down a few notches. But the woman, ‘Hunter’ etched into a nametag attached to her heart print dress, leapt from her seat. She whipped around the desk to where I stood and threw her arms around my neck.

I stood there in her perfumed embrace, awkwardly returning the hug until she took a step back. “Man, I already have a degree, but I’m tempted to come back and get a second if hugs are included in the tuition!”

Hunter tossed her head back like I’d just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Ash told me you were hilarious!”

And right on cue, Ashton appeared in the hallway beside us. Happiness exploded in my chest like the 4th of July. It had been almost a year since she made the trek to Nebraska, but it felt like a lifetime.

Ashton was in a black sweater and jeans with bunny rabbit flats, but her chin-length, raven-colored hair had blue streaks running through the choppy locks. Silver studs ran up and down her earlobe and a nose ring glittered in the light, broadcasting the fact that she was far from the fuzzy, innocent thing on her shoes.

“I see Hunter is being inappropriate with the visitors again,” Ashton quipped, crossing her arms.

Hunter jutted out her chin. “Hey! My signature charm is the reason I’m the face of the Admissions office.” She beamed at me. “Besides, your best friend is a little more than a ‘visitor.’”

“Just a tiny bit,” Ashton smiled, practically running over to me. She pulled me into a hug that told me she had felt my absence, too.

I squeezed her right back. I was still playing coy with the nonprofit, but I’d already made up my mind. I was going to accept the job and crash with Ashton until I found my own place.

“Heya stranger,” I whispered. I took a tiny step back, scanning her for new ink

She read my mind and turned around, lowering her head a few notches. There was an infinity sign at the base of her neck. The she whipped back around, gripping my arm as she took off her shoe. She flexed her foot so I could see the bottom. On the sole of her left foot was a Technicolor bug with green goo oozing out of its colorful body.

“Two new ones since I last saw you,” she grinned proudly.

“Nice,” I nodded enthusiastically. I only had one. ‘Breathe’ was etched behind my left ear. It hurt like hell, so it was my first and last tattoo. I’d just have to live vicariously through Ash.

Hunter cleared her throat behind us, and I realized that the girl who had been talking about partying in foreign countries was now watching us with fascination. If her mother was wearing pearls, she’d probably be clutching them.

“Let’s go back to my office,” Ash murmured, looping her arm through mine.

We stepped into her domain and I felt like I was back in her bedroom in Rhoades, but everything had an edge of sophistication now. There wasn’t a tattered, creased poster of David Bowie tacked to the wall near her bed. Instead, there was his silhouette and a quote, surrounded by a striking black frame. The pillows that used to be scattered all over her room were as bright as I remembered, but now they were perched delicately and in their place on a blood-red chaise. She had a pretty similar desk back in high school, but back then it was barely visible amid the junk and covered with band stickers. Today, her vintage black desk had ornate legs and her desktop was organized, complete with a sleek silver computer and a red and black folder system.

“Nice digs,” I commented, hesitating before I made my way to a chevron printed armchair in front of her desk. “I’m gonna have to cut back on my hoarding ways so I don’t junk up your place.”

“Don’t believe the hype,” Ashton assured me with a chuckle, plopping into her seat with a sigh. “This place just looks presentable because I’m sure potential students and parents would frown on dirty clothes, empty Starbucks cups, and vibrators all over the place.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” I gasped, my eyes bulging with faux horror.

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t walk around naked. I’ll wear pasties and G-strings, of course.”

I settled in the seat with a clipped giggle, my eyes following the lines of the nameplate on her desk. She’d only been working full-time for the college for a year and she’d already been promoted to Head of Admissions. She was building a career, a legacy, and I’d been working part-time here and there, at any nonprofit that would have me, since graduation. She was moving forward, no,
blazing
forward, and I was stuck somewhere between neutral and drive. I couldn’t even handle seeing a billboard with my ex’s name on it without crumbling.

“You saw the billboard.”

I tore my eyes from her desk and dropped them to my peeling nails. “You mean that eyesore off of Hillsborough street?” I shrugged both shoulders and set in on my thumbnail. Bits of scarlet nail polish rained onto my lap.

“That brave face you’re putting on? Save it for your family. I’m your best friend, and I know it got under your skin because every time I drive past it, I’m tempted to climb up and deface it.”

I snapped my chin upward. “You’d commit a crime for me?”

“In a heartbeat.” Her emerald eyes glinted mischievously. “Hopefully, you’ll pay my bail.”

“In a heartbeat.” I smiled. The smile was short-lived because the mere mention of anything Lincoln related was like some stink bomb going off, filling the room with toxic fumes. But that suffocating feeling, drowning in the anger that made me shake and claw for the surface, wasn’t nearly as debilitating as the slew of the good stuff that came rushing back too. He had made me feel that words like ‘love’ and ‘beauty’ and ‘forever’ were made for me. For us.

All the nights we’d stayed up, the hours spilling into morning, talking about everything from our family, to the places we’d visit, to the way we’d use our energy and resources to change the world, replayed in my mind. Everything seems bigger when you’re in love: colors are more brilliant, touch is more powerful, and the future is as expansive as a globe, with infinite possibilities. Then in one swoop, the bottom fell out of my world. And even though he left some bullshit letter and had reached out to me over the years through texts and emails, no amount of reading his words explained a damn thing. It didn’t make the pain go away.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Ashton asked warily, her chair squeaking as she scooted closer. Her eyes told me there was only one acceptable answer. If I wanted to be coddled, I’d come to the wrong place. “You can not let Lincoln Carraway take this opportunity away from you. This job? It’s a chance for you to do what you’ve always wanted to do. Help kids-”