Crossed by the Stars: A Second-chance, Slow-burn Romance

by LJ Evans

  This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing people and locations, the events, names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CROSSED BY THE STARS Copyright © 2021 by LJ Evans

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored, in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher of this book.

  Published by LJ Evans Books

  www.ljevansbooks.com

  Cover Design: © Designed with Grace

  Cover Images: © Deposit Photos | HayDmitriy and Unsplash | Anna Goncharova

  Content & Line Editor: Evans Editing

  Copy Editor: Jenn Lockwood Editing Services

  Sensitivity Editors: Griot Editing Services and Hong Kobzeff

  Proofing: Karen Hrdlicka

  Library of Congress Cataloging in process.

  Hardback ISBN: 979-8474645360

  Paperback ISBN: 979-8469658177

  eBook ASIN: B09GMG4DT2

  Printed in the United States

  Table of Contents

  Playlist

  Message from the Author

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - Empress

  Chapter 2 - Open Your Eyes

  Chapter 3 - Paper Love

  Chapter 4 - It’s Your Voodoo Working

  Chapter 5 - Live to Survive

  Chapter 6 - Just Say Yes

  Chapter 7 - Trying to Be Good

  Chapter 8 - I Want You

  Chapter 9 - Too Close

  Chapter 10 - Your Love

  Chapter 11 - Never Look Back

  Chapter 12 - Stay Where You Are

  Chapter 13 - Beautiful Wreck

  Chapter 14 - Love and Fear

  Chapter 15 - Solace

  Chapter 16 - Human

  Chapter 17 - This Isn’t Everything You Are

  Chapter 18 - Just One Kiss

  Chapter 19 - Big Bad Handsome Man

  Chapter 20 - 11 Past the Hour

  Chapter 21 - How Bad Can a Good Girl Be

  Chapter 22 - Sixth Sense

  Chapter 23 - Diamonds

  Chapter 24 - Say You’ll Be There

  Chapter 25 - Run

  Chapter 26 - Little Lion Man

  Chapter 27 - Knock 123

  Chapter 28 - Final Song

  Chapter 29 - Forevermore

  Chapter 30 - Cosmic Love

  Chapter 31 - What if This Is All the Love You Ever Get

  Chapter 32 - Falling in Love with You Again

  Epilogue - I’m Alive

  Bonus Epilogue

  Unmasked Dreams

  Charming and the Cherry Blossom

  More Anchor Novels

  My Life as an Album Series

  Glossary

  2nd Message from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by LJ

  https://spoti.fi/3icsODv

  Thank you for taking the time to read my second-chance, Romeo-and-Juliet-style novel inspired by Imelda May’s “Falling In Love With You Again.” Jada and Dax come from a world of trust-fund babies and dark secrets that might not seem relatable to those of us who’ve never spent time in yacht clubs and chateaus. But like all my characters, these two have huge hearts, broken dreams, and lives that need reshaping. They ache for love and acceptance just like each of us have, at some point in our lives, longed for. I hope it allows you to connect with them and that you find a little piece of you hidden in their souls.

  The crime syndicate in the book is a made-up one based in Japan. As such, I did my best to represent the culture, honorifics, and people of Japan respectfully. I’m grateful to my sensitivity readers for helping me on this journey. If you see mistakes, I hope you’ll be patient with me and that you’ll also let me know. There’s a Glossary of Terms & Translations at the back of the book in case you need or want to check that out.

  I’m supposed to bombard you with my social media sites, places to leave reviews, and a laundry list of my other books at this point, but the truth is, I don’t want to give you those things…not yet.

  I’d rather you get to reading. I’d rather you fall in love with my characters, their world, and the love and family that is held within these pages.

  I’ll touch base with you again AFTER you’ve read the story…

  Happy Reading!

  LJ EVANS

  ♫ where music & stories collide ♫

  Sigh…okay. Some of you want all that information now, so if you do, please feel free to click here for the Second Message from the Author.

  For those of you who feel like your happily ever after is never going to happen.

  For those of you who feel like your past won’t let you go.

  For our child, whose dreams are still being shaped.

  Jada

  EMPRESS

  “You're angry but you don't know how to be that yet

  It seems too much went wrong and all at once.”

  Performed by Snow Patrol

  Written by Lightbody / Wilson / Connolly / Quinn / Lee / McDaid

  Glossary of Terms & Translations

  I wasn’t really watching as Rana cleared the penthouse. Instead, I was toeing off my heels and heading for the kitchen with my mind focused on the single glass of saké I allowed myself at night. The hint of fruit in my grandmother’s Juyondai had become one of my only addictions after years of having multitudes. Ten years ago―even five years ago―I would have denied any predilection for the alcohol. Not because it was Obaasan’s favorite but because it reminded me too much of all the things in my past I was trying to escape.

  My thoughts and emotions were heavy, weighing me down. The darkness of my father’s world seemed to have followed me back from New York City without ever having seen him. Just being in my grandmother’s apartment had been enough for the memories I’d spent a decade trying to escape to flood back in.

  I’d just finished pouring as Rana came down the metal and glass stairs and joined me. The kitchen felt more hotel restaurant than home with its white cupboards and enormous stainless-steel appliances, but seeing as I rarely ate there—and cooked even less—there wasn’t much point in redoing it, especially not when I had a company to run and a new factory expansion to plan that was keeping me busy.

  Rana’s eyes landed on the expensive bottle in my hand.

  “Want some?” I asked, knowing she’d say no. She never drank on the job.

  She shook her head, sending the dark-brown waves she’d pulled back into a thick ponytail swaying about her tan face. Rana was stunningly beautiful and would have fit right in with the circle of trust-fund babies I used to hang out with. Maybe it was the luxury labels on her black leather jacket and low-heeled military boots that made her seem more a part of my world than the mere bodyguard she was. We weren’t friends. But in another life, we probably could have been.

  “You’re clear,” she said, tucking her revolver in the waistband at her back where it disappeared under her jacket. “You’re in for the night, right?”

  I nodded, sipping on the saké and fighting the urge to swallow it whole and pour myself another ten glasses. I had to get up at five in the morning if I wanted to meet my physical trainer before heading to the Force
de la Violette offices at eight. I couldn’t afford a hangover.

  Thoughts of the company I owned with my best friends, Violet and Dawson, pushed aside the heaviness inside my chest. I loved our company. I loved what we stood for and what we created. The chemical formulas living in Violet’s brain were the reason we had a business at all, but I was the reason our skincare and beauty products had become a worldwide sensation. I knew how to market to the masses, just like I knew how to cut the multi-million-dollar deals that made our partners feel like they’d won a marathon.

  I was my father’s daughter, after all.

  I cringed. I wanted to be nothing like him.

  And just like that, the weight I’d pushed aside for all of two seconds settled back over me.

  “Nyra’s in the lobby tonight, and Bobby’s in the building’s security room,” Rana said.

  “Okay,” I said with a careless shrug.

  In the two years Rana’s team had been with me, I hadn’t once needed to call them. They did their jobs, clearing the Mercedes, my apartment, and the offices at Violette, but it was all for naught. With as little action as they saw, I sometimes wondered if I should cancel their contract and save the small fortune I was paying them. But Dawson and Violet would probably have simultaneous heart attacks if I did.

  Rana headed for the door, and I followed.

  “If anything changes in your schedule―”

  “I know the drill, Rana,” I told her.

  She took me in, head to toe, stalling at the drink in my hand and the dark circles under my eyes. “Get some rest. You look like shit.”

  I snorted, and she smiled before leaving.

  I turned the three locks behind her and then headed across the marble floors filled with modern art and furniture. The vibrant tones made it look like a tapestry had thrown up on the space. I ignored the way it made my stomach turn just like I’d ignored my distaste of the kitchen. Instead, I let the wall of windows draw me in. They were what had sold me on the fully furnished apartment. Even on the grayest of days in San Francisco, light still poured through the glass that stretched the width and height of the two stories.

  The view the windows provided of the city and the ocean beyond it settled me. Or maybe it was the simple fact that I lived in a place where my father never lingered. Hiroto Matsuda was Otōsan’s regional boss on the Pacific Coast, and he always had the Kyōdaina’s business well in hand. It didn’t require my father to put in an appearance to keep the organization in check like he had to in other parts of the world.

  I dragged myself from the windows and glided up the staircase to the second floor and my bedroom. It was tucked at the back of a massive loft with only a brightly patterned comforter standing out against the starkness of the space and the gray shadows of the nighttime skyline.

  I finished the glass of saké and set it on the nightstand before falling onto the bed. I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent a text that was as far from my norm as the apartment was from my taste.

  ME: I’m home.

  When was the last time my grandmother had ever cared about me arriving somewhere? I couldn’t recall. So, I quickly sent a second message to hide the ridiculousness of my first.

  ME: Did you kiss the trainer yet?

  OBAASAN: Too young, Jada-tan, too young. But watching him does make the therapy sessions go faster.

  ME: Young means stamina.

  OBAASAN: Stamina is no replacement for experience.

  I laughed quietly to myself.

  OBAASAN: It was good to see you. I’ve missed you.

  The words hurt, striking at the little girl in me that had been shoved away. I’d been so alone as a child that I hadn’t even understood what it meant to miss someone until I was a teenager. Until a boy with beautiful eyes and a smile that curled my toes had entered my world. A boy who’d taught me the pain that yearning for someone could bring.

  The absence of my family in my life had never hung on me before, so I wasn’t exactly sure what had urged me to get on a plane to see Obaasan after her surgery. In truth, going to New York had been a risk. My father could have easily seen it as a declaration of war—or a declaration that I was ready to accept his terms of subservience. But for some reason, the thought of Obaasan’s tiny frame alone in her bed after major surgery had torn at my conscience. I’d gone, knowing that neither Kaasan nor Otōsan would make the effort to be there. They’d hired nurses and washed their hands of the whole unpleasantness of my grandmother needing to be fixed, like anything broken in my father’s world was ignored.

  I grimaced at my melancholy thoughts. I shouldn’t have gone. Spending several weeks in the apartment where my childhood had been ripped away hadn’t been healthy or wise.

  I pulled myself up from the bed and shed my clothes on the way to the giant bathtub in the only part of the penthouse I actually loved. The bathroom’s green and black color scheme mixed with copper felt earthy and expensive. It exuded an aura of calm I needed.

  As I filled the tub, I added one of Force de la Violette’s newest bath bomb scents: lime and honey with the slightest hint of the sea. It reminded me of the heat and decadence of the Florida Keys. Maybe I just needed a vacation―a safe indulgence―but I couldn’t take one until Violet and Dawson got back. They deserved their extended honeymoon, sailing around the South Pacific, after everything they’d done for me…for our business. I wanted this for them.

  I looked in the mirror and saw what Rana had seen. I looked more than tired. My pale skin wasn’t glowing, and the purple smudges beneath my dark lashes weren’t from twelve-hour-old makeup. Instead, it was like I’d been bruised by exhaustion. I let out the clip holding my black hair, and it swung about me. Straight and smooth. Thick. Shimmering with white highlights as if silver had been threaded through it. When I was a little girl, hating my black-and-white appearance, Obaasan had told me I’d been kissed with diamonds. These days, I wasn’t sure if it was diamonds or zirconian knock-offs.

  I grabbed a bottled water from the hidden mini-fridge, turned on the soothing rhythm of piano music, and sank into the tub. I closed my eyes and let the scents take away the stress of my travel, the darkness of the world I’d visited, and the memories that were trailing after me.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking in water that had turned chilly. Sleep had found me in the wrong place. I drained the tub, dried off with the soft towels that had been stacked by the housekeeper, and then slipped into the silk robe waiting for me on the hook. I grabbed the water bottle and started for the bedroom, hitting the music off as I went.

  In the sudden quiet, I heard a click, like the locks on the front door.

  “Rana? What did you forget?” I called out. She was the only member of the team who entered my apartment without calling.

  Silence answered me.

  “Rana?”

  When there was still no reply, my skin broke out in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chill of the tub water lingering on me. A smell wafted through the air. Almost imperceptible. Dissipating so fast I couldn’t dissect it.

  My eyes roamed the room.

  A piece of paper laid on the bed.

  I eased over to it, stomach falling, heart kicking up pace.

  It was parchment, thick and waxy. Old. Maybe even ancient. The Japanese characters on the surface were so dense they were almost engraved into the surface, and the drawing was graphic…bloody. The frantic beat of my heart stalled as I read the words written in my father’s language.

  報復はそんなに長く待つ義務です。あなたの持ち時間は終わりです。

  Retribution is a duty that only waits so long. Your time is up.

  I inhaled sharply, holding the air until my lungs burned as if I hadn’t breathed in a decade. The words whirled through my brain on repeat. Was Otōsan truly angry with me for visiting Obaasan? For helping her?

  How had his minion gotten into my apartment to deliver the message?

  My stom
ach turned, the single glass of saké wanting to come back out.

  They’d been in my home.

  While I was asleep in the bath.

  More shivers coasted over my skin as the reality hit me. I was lucky to be alive.

  I flew down the stairs to the front door.

  Every lock was undone.

  The door was slightly ajar.

  For the first time ever, I pushed the panic button and waited for Rana’s team to storm the penthouse.

  Dax

  OPEN YOUR EYES

  “Get up, get out, get away from these liars,

  'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire.”

  Performed by Snow Patrol

  Written by Lightbody / Quinn / Connolly / Wilson / Simpson

  I’d barely lifted my eyes to the morning sun attempting to filter through the fog outside my window when my phone jangled out Dawson’s ringtone. He’d changed it to “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea as a joke years ago, and I’d been too lazy to change it back.

  I rubbed my eyes, pushed a hand through the thick chaos my dark-brown hair became in the mornings, and sat up. The sheet fell away, revealing my tan skin in all its naked glory. Clothes bound me at night, making it impossible to sleep. It had been that way since I was a little kid, startling the nannies and causing my normally cheerful parents to worry until a psychologist explained it wasn’t that uncommon.

  The song stopped and started all over again. If I was hoping Dawson would just leave a message, I was out of luck.

  “You’re on your honeymoon. Stop calling,” I groused as I answered it.

  Dawson and Violet had been gone a month and would be gone another four or five weeks before returning to the Bay Area. They’d escaped the world in a way I didn’t think either of them had ever done before, which was why I’d gladly offered one of my family’s yachts for their extended trip around the Pacific Islands. Dawson had his own yacht, an exclusive Armaud Racing one we’d designed and built together, but it wasn’t made for long-term vacations. In fact, we’d stretched the ship’s capacity when we’d won the Conquistar de la Atlántica cup in it two years ago, speeding across the Atlantic from New York to Spain and back in less than five days.