Stolen (Book One) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (7 page)

She wanted to look at Ethan, wanted to see in his eyes that he would help her, stand by her, take care of her during all of this. But she knew that he wouldn’t.

This was the same guy who’d disappeared after their one night together, leaving a scrawled apology behind to cushion the blow.

Harper swallowed hard and tried not to sob. She was going to have to be strong now, because decisions needed to be made. And she had no idea what to do next.

S
igourney Beckett was afraid
.

She felt like a goldfish that had just gone from floating in her tiny comfortable little fishbowl, to suddenly being thrown into the cold Atlantic Ocean.

Oh, and she was also surrounded by Hammerhead sharks….

Sigourney tilted her head upwards and looked at the giant buildings towering into the sky. Until moving to Manhattan a week ago, she hadn’t ever seen buildings this big.

To go from the laid back environment of UMass Amherst, where she’d attended college, to the crowded streets of New York City, was like being shot out of a cannon. And she’d felt exactly that way ever since she and her best friend Hannah had moved here together.

It was Hannah who’d convinced her to do it, to be daring and impulsive. Hannah had always known she was going to come to NYC. Hannah had been wanting to move here for years, had spent lots of time in Manhattan growing up, was totally unafraid of it. Hannah knew she belonged here.

But Sigourney was not as confident as her best friend.

When college ended, she’d had no idea what to do next. Armed with nothing but her beloved books, her degree in English, and her time spent editing her high school and college newspapers as proof of her abilities, she had no idea what she was supposed to do to earn a living.

Now here she was, walking uncertainly in her high heels, pencil skirt and too-tight blouse that Hannah had lent her for this important interview. Already this week, she’d sent out more cover letters and resumes than she could count, and only this one company had even bothered to respond to her email.

A car horn blared out a loud honk from nearby, startling her. She gave a tiny start and glanced over her shoulder to see a grizzled man in a van pulling up alongside a yellow cab and giving the finger. The man in the yellow cab leaned out and started yelling back in a foreign language.

It looked like one of them or both might get out of their vehicles, but then the light changed and the cab sped off like a bat out of hell.

Sigourney briefly closed her eyes. She felt a mini panic attack coming on.

It’s okay
, she told herself.
Nothing bad happened.

She’d been telling herself that a lot lately.

The truth was, she didn’t think she was going to make it in New York City. Everything was loud, brash, and frighteningly intense. The people walking in their power suits, talking on their cell phones, carrying bags and briefcases and seeming so successful and perfect and untouchable.

Who was she to think she had what it took to survive here?

Her entire life up to this point had been sheltered and idyllic. The job she’d worked the majority of her teen years had been summers at The Ice Cream Palace, a parlor her parents owned. It had been the go-to place in town once the weather was warm, and had provided her family a comfortable life.

Her parents had forbid her to work during college other than summers when she returned home to help out at the shop.

They’d wanted her to enjoy her life, her school years, telling her there would be plenty of time for work experience after college.

Only, as it turned out, people expected you to have done more than scoop ice cream if they were going to pay you a living wage for doing real world work.

Sigourney was walking with the throng now, a vast, slithering line of people also heading towards the office buildings that lined the street. The difference being that they all seemed to know where they were going and had a purpose.

She was just trying not to stumble or fall in her heels.

With one hand she gripped her purse tightly, the other held a folder with copies of her resume. On the outside of the folder was a sticky note with the name and address of the building.

This interview was just for a temporary position, but it was something.

Right now, it was the only thing.

Finally, she arrived at her destination. The tower was tall, reflective and menacing in its sleek modernity.

She went through the revolving door and made her way inside, where cool air greeted her, chilling her legs and arms until goose bumps rose.

In the center of a large lobby with sparse black leather benches, a desk was manned by three large men in suits.

Sigourney approached tentatively.

One of the men fixed her with his cool gaze. “Can I help you?” he said. On the wall behind him, in sleek gray letters, was the name of the firm.

Parker Capital.

What was she doing trying to get a job at a venture capital firm? She knew nothing about the world of investing and high finance.

A wave of panic hit her. She swallowed, licked her lips, as she temporarily was unable to speak.

“Ma’am? Are you here to see someone in particular?” the front desk attendant said, his brow furrowing as if he was looking at some new species and trying to understand what it was doing in the lobby of this building during morning rush hour.

She was about to turn and run.

This was insane.

She didn’t belong.

You have to leave. Not just the building, but the entire city.

Go home, go back to your real home in Hudson with the people you know, and stop pretending to be something you’re not.

“Ma’am, could you please step aside so we can deal with the people behind you?” the attendant said, his voice betraying impatience now.

Sigourney turned to run, and instead of finding a wide open path, she found herself staring into the eyes of the most strikingly handsome man she’d ever seen in her life.

He was tall.

His eyes were dark. Everything about him was dark, from his jet black, slick hair, to his sleek suit that fit him so perfectly that it might have been painted on.

His face was angular, his cheekbones prominent. He was young but not nearly as young as her, and he had a solid confidence that made him seem older than he likely was.

He gave her a tiny smile. Perhaps it was more smirk than smile, but something about it stopped her from running.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, his voice deep and melodic. One eyebrow lifted slightly.

She found her voice. “I—I’m just…a little…”

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment,” he said, grinning kindly as he gestured to one of the benches near the front door.

But as soon as he said the words, she realized that the panic attack was already passing. She was feeling a little calmer. “I’m okay,” she said, nodding as if to remind herself. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Sigourney.”

“That’s a lovely name,” he said, his dark eyes unwavering as he looked at her. “Do you work with the firm?”

“No,” she said. “At least, not yet. I have an interview.”

“Oh, with who?”

She shifted uncomfortably. She was new to the city and he was a stranger. Despite his incredible good looks and sharp outfit, she had no idea who he was or why he was asking so many questions.

Sigourney shrugged. “I…I should probably…”

The stranger looked past her to the desk. “She has an interview here,” he told the attendant who’d been trying to get her to speak.

The attendant nodded and extended his hand. There was a visitor badge clipped to a lanyard.

Sigourney took the badge with an embarrassed smile.

“Here, allow me,” the stranger said.

“Allow you to…?”

Without another word, he took the badge from her numb fingers and then draped the lanyard over her head as if bestowing some kind of honorary garland around her neck.

She inhaled as his hands (perfectly manicured, with strong, dexterous fingers) made brief contact with her shoulders.

He withdrew.

The badge now hung delicately between her breasts, which felt suddenly heavy, full—and her nipples were now stiff, tight against her bra, poking through the too-tight blouse.

Her cheeks flushed.

“Interviews on the second floor, Charles, as per usual?” the stranger asked the attendant, who nodded briskly in response. “Good,” the dark stranger said. “I can escort you.”

His eyes flicked momentarily to her breasts—or maybe he was just noticing the visitor badge and how awkwardly it sat. She tried to reposition it, feeling her cheeks flushing more furiously. “I think I can find the second floor,” she said, her tone a little sharper than she’d intended.

The truth was, he made her nervous.

Very, very nervous.

He was like the mystery and sophistication of this city all wrapped up in human form. There was a palpable danger here, despite his helpful demeanor.

But beyond that, and maybe because of it, she also was finding her body stirring with a deep and uncomfortable attraction to the man. It was almost repellent, so instantaneous and intense and dirty that she felt like she stank from it.

Her attraction to the stranger was musky, forbidden, making her feel sweaty and needy and desperate all at once.

And who was he? Why was he staring at her so intensely?

“Come with me,” was all he said, walking ahead of her towards a bank of elevators just past the main desk.

He pressed a button and the doors to one elevator swooshed open. The elevator was large but mercilessly empty, and as he stepped in and held the doors open for her, she felt a sense of dizziness sweep over her.

And then he pressed the button for the second floor.

She stared straight ahead and tried not to look at him as the elevator doors closed and now it was just the two of them alone.

She felt sweat dampening her bangs, and she brushed her fingertips over her hair, trying to appear normal and natural.

In truth, she could hardly breathe.

Her nipples were still visible through the stupid blouse that Hannah had lent her. She was so overmatched by this person and the way her body had instantaneously responded to his physical beauty.

The man seemed to be so smug as he stood next to her—probably laughing at the silly, freaked out girl shaking and sweating as she went to her first ever real job interview.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the elevator dinged. The doors opened into a long white hallway. She hesitated to step out.

“Go on now,” he said softly. “You’re going to do just fine, Sigourney.”

She stepped out into the hallway and then turned at the last second to look at him. His eyes, she realized, were kinder than she’d first thought. “You never told me your name,” she smiled.

“I know,” he said, and then the doors shut.

She blinked, feeling a bit stunned.

He was strange, wasn’t he? Or was
she
the strange one, and so she just thought everything and everyone else was weird?

You’re the weird one, Sigourney. Obviously.

She walked down the hallway and came to yet another lobby, this time it was carpeted and there were real leather chairs instead of benches.

A woman sat behind a regal reception desk. “Can I help you?” she asked, adjusting a headset that she wore, then typing at her keyboard as Sigourney explained who she was and that she was there for an interview for a temp position at the company.

The receptionist told her to have a seat and wait.

As she sat and nervously waited for her interview, Sigourney tried to keep from freaking out anymore than she already was. One panic attack had been plenty.

She’d never had a real panic attack until coming to New York, but from her first day here, she’d begun to freak out on a regular basis. Maybe she needed to start drinking or taking prescription drugs.

Time was passing and every minute felt like an hour. But still, time passed and she wasn’t being called in for her interview.

Her foot shook as she jittered it back and forth, taking out her phone and attempting to surf the web. But her phone wasn’t getting any service, so instead she picked up a nearby magazine.

Fortune.

She paged idly through it, her mind making comparisons between the gorgeous male models in the advertisements and the stranger who’d rescued her from her moment of panic earlier.

She decided that in every case, the stranger was more handsome than the models staring seductively at her from the pages of the magazine.

Had he truly been that good looking or was she just remembering it that way because he’d spoken to her and seemed to be almost interested in her?

Sigourney didn’t know for sure, but she did know that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

If anything, she hoped the interview went well because she wanted to see the stranger again, even if it was just a brief glimpse in the halls or maybe to even be alone with him in an elevator once more.

Something. Anything. Why hadn’t she made better, more interesting conversation with him?

Now she was starting to feel the first stirrings in her chest of real regret. She’d blown it with the man—not that he would truly have been interested in someone like her, with her off the rack pencil skirt, ill-fitting blouse and heels that she couldn’t even properly walk in.

And yet…he had seemed like maybe, somehow, despite the fact that he was miles out of her league, he was in fact interested.

Possible?

Hardly.

Still, she couldn’t help but replay their brief interactions and feel that she’d missed a chance at something vitally important.

It’s because you’re a virgin, silly. You don’t have the confidence to engage with a sophisticated, experienced man.

“Miss Beckett?” the receptionist called out.

Sigourney snapped out of her reverie, her eyes wide. “Oh, yes. Sorry.” She stood up hastily, moving toward the desk.

The receptionist was holding a clipboard and a very fancy looking pen with Parker Capital printed in silver up the side. “This is for you to read and sign,” she said.

As Sigourney took the clipboard, expecting to find a basic application form to fill out, she was instead greeted with an offer of employment letter.

Her brow creased as she briefly studied the few paragraphs. Then she looked up at the receptionist. “I think there’s been a mistake,” Sigourney told her.