Taken by You (Taken by You Book One)

TAKEN BY YOU

M.L. YOUNG

KINDLE Edition

Copyright 2015 M.L. Young

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances of characters to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. The author, M.L. Young, holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Cover Design: © L.J. Anderson
,
Mayhem Cover Creations

Formatting by
Mayhem Cover Creations

INTRODUCTION

This book features alternating points of view. Each chapter is titled with the character whose point of view you are reading from.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

Penelope

“
Okay, I think I’m ready to go,” I said as I wiped my hands on my pants, which was also to try to calm down the wrinkles.

“
In that?” my roommate, Nicolette, asked.

“
Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” I asked in an unsure tone as I looked down at myself before looking back up at her.

“
Nothing, if you’re a fifty-year-old cat lady who has some tissue shoved up her sleeve,” Nicolette said in her usual sarcastic voice.

I walked over to the full-body mirror we had on the back of our bathroom door and looked myself up and down as I tried to see the fault in my outfit. Sure, I was never one for “fashion” or “trends,” but why did that kind of stuff even matter? I was myself, and that’s who I was comfortable being, even if it meant never getting a second look from a man or impressing people like Nicolette.

“
Don’t take it the wrong way, Penny.

It’s just not something I’d wear to an interview, that’s all,” Nicolette said.

“
Well, of course not. You’re like some, I don’t know, a Kardashian or something,” I said, throwing my hands up in frustration.

“
Bitch, please. Don’t compare me to them,” she said, looking at me with her left eyebrow raised.

I laughed, before looking back in the mirror and seeing what was something good to me, and that was all that really mattered. Who cares if she didn’t like it? Not me. I wasn’t going to this internship interview to impress anyone with my clothes, anyway. I was going to hopefully score a paid internship that would not only help me out now, but also in the future. All that should matter was my resume, my credentials, and most of all, what I could do for the company, even if I was just a lowly intern.

I was unfortunate enough to still have another semester at school before graduation. Nicolette was lucky to have the chance to intern at this company during her senior year and was offered a job straight out of school, which was about as lucky as you could get. I first attempted to intern somewhere else, a software development company, but it turned out the CEO and board of directors were embezzling money and now the Department of Justice was looking into them, which meant no internship or job for poor Penelope Wells.

The only reason I had this interview was because of Nicolette, who was both my roommate and best friend, though I couldn’t tell her that—it would go to her head. We met during my freshman year in an intro to psychology class and instantly clicked, even though she’s more of the prissy type and I’m, well, me. How we meshed so well together I’d never know.

“
How long until we have to leave?” I shouted across the apartment.

“
About fifteen minutes,” she yelled back.

I grabbed my bag, which was a basic and unassuming black leather wearing out on the bottom from years of use. I could feel slight hints of butterflies fluttering about my stomach as I thought about what I was going to say in the interview and how many other people might or might not be there. I wasn’t good in front of crowds or in intense situations. That was why I became a programmer. I’m able to be alone a lot of the time coding while the world seems to quickly pass me by. It’s an introvert’s dream job.

The offices were in San Francisco, which was odd because most of the tech companies, at least the major ones, were in Silicon Valley, which was a little drive outside of the city but nothing too crazy. Definitely wasn’t fun for a commute, especially when I still had some classes, but it was almost worth it to be able to work at one of those companies.

The company Nicolette worked for and where I’d hopefully get an internship, was RandomMeetX, which was a dating and hookup app that had been blowing up the charts for the past year. It allowed you to basically find good-looking people in your area to chat with and maybe meet for the night or something beyond. I had never used it before, which was something Nicolette got on me about, but it just wasn’t really for me.

I’d never been the pretty little flower that could stop a man dead in his tracks with just one glance. I was more the awkward girl at the party who was stuffing her face with shrimp puffs before putting some in her purse for later that night because her grocery money dwindled down a little too far. Hooking up with complete strangers wasn’t really my thing either. It wasn’t that I was against sex—I wasn’t, but I felt so, I don’t know, weird about it with somebody I hadn’t connected with. Chatting up some random guy you don’t even know and have never met and then making plans to let him fuck you seemed a little out there, even if it was the biggest thing at the moment.

“
Ready to go?” Nicolette asked, as she grabbed her keys.

“
Yes,” I said, grabbing my bag and walking out behind her.

I locked the door behind us and we walked down our five flights of stairs to the lobby, which was more of a small room and not anything magnificent. There were two sets of doors, ones that were locked and the others that went outside, with gold mailboxes inside that were constantly stuffed with fliers for a Chinese restaurant around the corner. There are only so many times you can hear about the egg drop soup special before you want to hang yourself with a giant noodle.

We walked two blocks down to where Nicolette was parked and before I could even get my door fully closed, she was off like a horse with a carrot dangling in front of its face. I wasn’t lucky enough to have a car, so I relied solely on public transportation and my own two feet. This wasn’t a city you needed a car in, but I had to admit that having a roommate with one was especially helpful on mornings like this. I’d much rather sit in this seat than be stuck next to some smelly man on the bus.

I looked out the window as we passed a plethora of different people during our painfully slow journey to the office. I saw men in suits, women in fitted dresses with their bags cocked in place in their arms, and more homeless people than I’d like to admit.

The office was downtown in the Financial District, which seemed like a million miles away from where we lived, though I guessed I could somewhat attribute that to the slow commute and my undying nerves. The anticipation made time feel a lot slower.

When we finally arrived, Nicolette did a sloppy parking job that was reminiscent of sixteen-year-old me in my father’s old Subaru, and we began our short walk to the office, which was in a towering building that appeared to be a thousand stories high.

“
That’s it. That’s the building,” Nicolette said, as we stood on a street corner waiting for the light to change.

“
That entire building?” I asked.

“
Oh God, no,” she said, laughing. “Just five floors.”

“
Oh, but still, that’s a lot—especially in San Francisco,” I said.

“
Yeah, who knew that there was so much money to be made in pre-marital sex?” she asked, smiling.

With the brisk January air beating against us, we walked inside the building through the revolving doors that had always fascinated me as a child. Now I
might
be working in a place that had them, meaning I could walk through them every day. My five-year-old self was dying right now.
Dying
.

The lobby was grand; probably two stories tall itself, with shiny, bold white floors. There were a few security officers standing at a checkpoint of sorts before you could get to the elevators. People walked up and scanned their badges, before being let through and off to their floors.

“
You’re going to need to get a visitor’s badge at the desk there. I’ll wait for you,” Nicolette said, as she pointed to an enclosed black desk near the security officers.

I walked up, nobody else behind or in front of me, and was greeted by a slightly pale man with a crew cut and a mole just above his lip. He didn’t look too thrilled, but then again, why would he?

“
Can I help you?” he asked in a thick Russian accent.

“
Hi, I have an interview and was told I needed a visitor’s badge,” I said shyly.

“
Name?” he asked.

“
Penelope Wells,” I said, as I fidgeted with my thumbs.

“
I have you here on the list. Here is your badge. Please clip it onto your person and don’t take it off. Return it to me before you leave,” he said, before handing me the badge.

“
Thank you,” I said with a shy smile, clipping the badge to my shirt.

With her badge held firmly in her hand, Nicolette walked up and scanned it before the green light shone and she was let through. I walked up behind her, showing my badge to the security officers, and they nodded and let me through. As Nicolette pushed the button for the elevator I felt a sea of tremors deep down in my stomach.