Chapter 1 — Surviving

ANA

"Why? Why? Why?" I quietly murmur to myself as my head clashes with a pillow.

Lying in bed right before six o'clock, still clothed in the fall floral dress I wore all day, I contemplate my life. Usually, when I do this, nothing good ever comes out of it. The lingering worries that occupied my thoughts before I fell asleep last night rush in with a vengeance.

Car payment.

Rent.

Student loans.

Stupid student loans.

It's been almost six months since graduation and repayment looms. I earn nowhere near the salary I planned for after earning a degree. I also didn't count on having a car loan just weeks after moving from Vancouver to Seattle with my best friend. Who knew the old trusty VW Beetle I drove into the ground would die and go to scrap metal heaven?

This is the part where I flick my nose at my English degree and curse myself for not majoring in business or technology instead. In what universe does a recent graduate land an entry-level copy editor gig making over seventy grand a year? I'm convinced that the biology stoners at WSU Vancouver spiked the cafeteria salad bar that I loved so much with a homegrown substance.

What was I thinking?

"Ana?"

Startled, I shoot straight up in bed and my eyes meet the blonde vision of many males' desires standing just outside my bedroom door. I hadn't heard Kate arrive home, which tells me that my ravenous hunger rings so loud, that it's affected my hearing.

"My bad," she chuckles. "Didn't mean to startle you. Thought you heard me come in."

"I hadn't," I utter truthfully. Kate's amusement quickly fades and she tilts her head sideways, furrowing both brows.

One would be shocked to learn that both Kate and I graduated together with honors. Even though we both earned 4.0 GPAs, she was the one who stepped up and elected to be class valedictorian. Each time there's a knock on the door – both now and back in college, they are here to see Kate Kavanagh: social butterfly… life of the party. In contrast, I prefer to be in my room alone, curled up in bed with a cozy Regency-era romance novel.

The Pike Place Market apartment we currently occupy is in Kate's name, and she drives a paid-off souped-up Mercedes. Meanwhile, I'm rolling in a Honda manufactured before the federal backup camera law took effect, and I'm paying a stupid high-interest loan just for the privilege.

Our differences don't stop there.

I grew up poor, while she grew up rich. With the help of her well-to-do family and their unlimited resources, she immediately landed her dream job right before graduation at Seattle's Fox affiliate as a journalist for their website.

Then there's me: no family connections, slaving at a paid proofreading internship for literal peanuts and zero benefits at a government contractor — hoping… praying — that they hire me next month, which marks the end of my six-month term. Once I'm a full-on employee, it's better pay and killer benefits.

Then maybe, just maybe I can finally get my shit together.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I ask Kate after a long pause.

"You're in bed fully dressed. It's dinner time."

I perk up upon hearing the magic words.

"Did you pick up the stuff I asked for at the market so I can make us dinner?" I grin.

"Shit!" she winces. "I totally forgot. I'm so sorry, Ana."

My spirit leaves my body like a dense cloud of smoke expelling from a chimney in the thick of winter. Right away, I square my shoulders and present a strong front to my roommate. Sure, I had a single slice of moldy toast and what was left at bottom of the Nutella jar for breakfast. For lunch, I had a small bag of peanuts and a soda from the breakroom at work. That's all I've consumed for the entire day.

But Kate doesn't need to know that.

"No worries," I tell her. "I get paid tomorrow, so I'll go and get enough food to cook for the week."

Kate's eyes widen at my words. "You have no money?"

Oh no.

I don't want to have this conversation, especially after giving her the last of what I had in my bank account for my share of the rent. I had to skip out on lunches with coworkers just so I could scrape that together, along with my car payment. I'll be eating and driving even less once my student loan payments kick in.

Who am I kidding? A loan deferral is in my very near future. I just need another month or two to ensure that FH hires me as a full-time employee.

"The girls are meeting up at the sushi spot for dinner," she says.

"Oh no."

This time, I say the words out loud. I instantly regret it. Her mentioning a place that would cost a minimum of a hundred bucks just for me to eat triggered a knee-jerk response. Obviously, I can no longer hide from my best friend how broke I truly am.

"Don't worry about it," Kate insists. "I've got you covered."

I can't let her do it. This woman has paid my way so many times since we've moved here. I should feel honored to have such a great best friend. Instead, I feel miserable. It never fails… Whenever we go out with our group of friends—Sarah, Keri, and Michelle, and the server comes around to ask 'how many checks,' everyone gets one but me. I'm a wounded soldier, and a friend—usually Kate—has to carry me across the battlefield.

It's so pathetic.

"It's okay. I don't think my stomach can handle sushi today, anyway," I insist.

Knowing very well that I'm full of crap—I fricken love sushi—she gives me the side-eye.

"Ana—"

"I'm serious," I say, cutting her off. "I don't know if it's what I had for lunch, but I'm not feeling up for sushi tonight. You girls go ahead."

After a few beats of contemplating, Kate's skepticism visibly fades. "I'm sure the girls won't mind if we pick another place. What can you eat?"

She's not going to let this go, and I'm not going to let her pay for my meal again in front of all our friends. I know they talk behind my back about how someone has to 'always bend over backward for poor little Ana.'

I'm sick of being a charity case.

"I don't even know what I want right now," I shrug. "Actually, I'm not all that hungry since I didn't eat lunch until late. I'll probably get something in a few hours after resting off this wonky feeling."

There's nothing that I hate more than lying to my best friend. After four years of being inseparable, Kate has this uncanny way of seeing right through me. The only way I can get away with my untruths is with persistence. I stick to my story—always… leaving no wiggle room for her to change my mind. If I don't stand firm, she'll realize that she can never trust a single word that comes out of my mouth. That would be a nightmare.

One day, I'll have enough cash to treat her to the fanciest steak dinner in Seattle.

But I can't have her writing me off as an untrustworthy friend before I get there.

"You sure you don't want me to bring you something home? It's no problem," she says sincerely.

"No… thank you. Maybe we can do sushi next week," I offer, hoping that this compromise will throw her off the scent.

Where in the hell am I going to get a hundred extra dollars for some dumb sushi?

My thoughts sink my spirit, but I fight to keep an even-keel expression on my face. The moment she sighs, an internal panic erupts.

Hold fast, Ana Steele—don't let her see you sweat.

"I just wish you could come. You've been skipping out on us often these days," she bemoans.

"I know—and I'm sorry. It's just… my internship is so demanding. I need to be a rockstar right now. And if all goes well, they might end up hiring me as a regular employee. The money and benefits are really good."

"Gosh, Ana," sighs Kate. "I can't wait until you get there. You've been so stressed ever since we first moved here. I only want the best for you."

My chest fills with so much emotion that I rise from bed and meet my bestie at the door. I pull her into a hug, and she reciprocates.

"Thank you, Kate. I owe you everything —you know that, right?"

She releases me from the hug and takes me by both wrists. "Steele. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that best friends shouldn't keep count? Do you think I have a tape machine in my bedroom where I tally everything I spend on you? That's ridiculous."

Kate is right. Best friends shouldn't keep a running total of what one spends on the other. We do it because we love and care for one another.

I only hope that my current lack of reciprocation doesn't lead Kate to think that I don't love her in return.

Rarely am I late for anything—especially not work—but this morning is a first. Last night, I did what my father taught me to do back when I was a little child and money was super scarce. I had sleep for dinner. A lack of energy took over and I didn't hear my alarm ring. My bladder was what woke me up and when I checked the time, I panicked and got dressed at record speed.

I floored my Honda the whole way, making it to the parking garage fifteen minutes after my normal time. Quickly, I sling my bag across my shoulder and spring out of my car. The door doesn't even finish slamming shut before I take off running in wedges, a pleated raincoat with a skirt, and a knee-length dress.

One thing about being broke is that I don't have to look the part—thanks to thrift shopping. When I'm forced to spend less money, I get industrious. I know all the good spots to hit up in Bellevue, where all the millionaire stay-at-home wives dump their winter collection in order to make room for spring.

My stylish clothes are hindering me at the moment as I run like the wind. I pray to God that I make it to my cubicle before Darnell, my manager, notices I'm late. It wouldn't be a good look, especially if I'm trying to get him to hire me next month.

Once out of the parking garage, I don't have a chance to feel the Seattle mist as I hurry toward the mirrored thirty-story high-rise where I work. Skipping the revolving door, I yank open the normal one and take off running again in the lobby. I'm almost at the bank of elevators, then…

"OOF!"

My body collides hard with what feels like a brick wall. I stumble back, but miraculously, I don't fall down. Can't say the same for the shoulder bag that flings off my body and skitters a few feet away. Thankfully, I had the mind to zip it shut… otherwise, my already lousy morning would be worse. I glide over to my bag to pick it up, and I see a shadow looming in my periphery.

"Are you alright?" a man utters, concerned.

Crap—that wasn't a wall I just ran into. Still crouching after lifting my bag from the floor, I look up at the towering figure.

Ho. Lee. Shit.

Eyes shimmering like gray pearls beam right at me. Slowly, I take in the rest of his face. It's beautiful. His hair, copper and wild, screams for me to touch it. I stare at him for what seems like a lifetime. Eventually, my sight makes it down to his crisp black suit, and he looks flawless from head to toe.

I thought the perfect man didn't exist, yet here he is, staring at the klutz who bumped into him.

Fuck my life.

"I said, 'Are you alright?'" His voice is so low… so thick, that it could fill me for a lifetime.

No, man. I am not alright.

Ana—you're late!

Snap out of it!

Quickly, I reclaim my wits and take off running again.

"I'm so sorry!" I shout behind me, leaping into the open elevator just as the doors close.

CHRISTIAN

The man, looking all business and no bullshit, climbs into the back seat of his large black tinted luxury SUV. His driver shuts his door, then claims his position in the front. He turns his head sideways to see if his boss is settled.

"How'd the meeting go with the board of directors? Anything promising?"

"Perhaps," says the man in the back, not giving anything away.

The driver pauses, looking for anything—a sign.

His boss has always been a very difficult man to read.

"Well, let me know if I can do anything to help make your decision easier." With that, the driver presses the ignition, then readies his hand to shift the vehicle into drive.

"Taylor?"

The driver stills. "Sir?"

"There is one thing you can do."

Taylor, the driver, awaits further instruction.

"Does your firm still handle all security for Fisher Holdings?"

"We do."

"A young lady in a hurry bumped into me in the lobby right when I arrived this morning. I need you to pull surveillance and find out who she is."

This order has Taylor feeling perplexed. "You think she's a spy?"

"No," the boss quickly dispels. "Once you find her, I'll tell you what else I need."

Taylor wasn't there when the incident happened. He figures it must've affected his boss a great deal, especially if what is being requested is something potentially illegal. This isn't new for Taylor. For years, he's held back all inquiries and did exactly what was expected of him. If his boss ever needed him to break out a prisoner from Guantanamo Bay, he would do it—no questions asked.

"On it," Taylor replies. He can tell by the expression on his boss's face that one last thing was left unsaid, so he waits for it.

"Start a red file on her."

Taylor blinks. "Oh."

It was all he needed to know. Still, it puzzled him.

He hasn't requested a red file in fourteen months.

I thought he was finished with that.

Shaking off the wayward thoughts, he falls back in line—turning straight ahead.

He shifts into drive.

"By the way, it's not what you think," his boss speaks up from behind. "This time is different."

'Different?' Taylor thinks to himself. 'Why the red file then?'

His boss responds as if hearing Taylor's innermost thoughts.

"No more play room. I told you I was done. And I meant it."

Taylor's eyes widen as he rolls to a stop at a red light.

Holy shit.