Francesca Penn
Hale on Earth
Copyright © 2020 by Francesca Penn
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Chapter 1 Karessa
Chapter 2 Oran
Chapter 3 Karessa
Oran
Chapter 4 Karessa
Oran
Chapter 5 Karessa
Chapter 6 Oran
Chapter 7 Oran
Chapter 8 Karessa
Chapter 9 Oran
Chapter 10 Karessa
Chapter 11 Oran
Chapter 12 Karessa
Chapter 13 Oran
Chapter 14 Oran
Chapter 15 Oran
Karessa
Chapter 16 Oran
Karessa
Chapter 17 Karessa
Oran
Chapter 18 Karessa
Chapter 19 Oran
Chapter 20 Karessa
Chapter 21 Oran
Chapter 22 Oran
Chapter 23 Karessa
Chapter 24 Karessa
Chapter 25 Oran
Chapter 26 Karessa
Chapter 27 Karessa
Chapter 28 Karessa
Chapter 29 Oran
Chapter 30 Karessa
Chapter 31 Oran
Oran
Chapter 32 Karessa
Chapter 33 Oran
Karessa
Chapter 34 Oran
Chapter 35 Karessa
Chapter 36 Karessa
Oran
Chapter 37 Oran
Chapter 38 Karessa
Chapter 39 Oran
Chapter 40 Two months later
Karessa
Chapter 41 Karessa
Epilogue Karessa
Oran
About the Author
Chapter 1
Karessa
I sit in the lobby seething. The luxury of his office speaks to the wealth of a founding family with the coolness of Oran Hale’s personality. Sleek and cozy, yet impersonal, cream marble with a gold and black inlay creates interesting swirls under my feet. The black, cream, and gold motif somehow manifests his power. Except for the floor to ceiling windows, all the walls are black wood with hints of grey. The leather couches lining the windows have gold metal accents and look much more comfortable than the seat I was ordered to take.
Impatience prickles my skin as I double check my gold bracelet watch. I’ve been here twenty minutes. I have a vehicle full of my belongings and nowhere to go yet my “fiancé” doesn’t know who I am. It’s obvious. If he knew who I am and who my father is, I wouldn’t be sitting in the lobby waiting for a job interview. I didn’t apply for one and I didn’t need one until my dad froze everything. My skin flushes with embarrassment again as I remember being so caustically kicked out of the store when my card didn’t work. And if my so-called friends think I’ll forget how they’ve ghosted me since it happened, well, they’ll be sorely mistaken.
Uncrossing my legs from left over right, I switch to right over left and refold my arms although the silkiness of my shirt is suffering from my irritation. Speaking of my shirt. Did this shirt look like the shirt of a secretary! I’m so over him but I’ve fought with my dad for over a month to no avail, I’m tired and frustrated. For the tenth time today, I fight the urge to cry.
How could my dad do this to me?
My soon-to-be-husband’s voice rises beyond the shiny wooden door. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I know that he’s even crankier than he was a moment prior and that’s saying a lot. Uncrossing my legs, I lean forward trying to catch at least a small piece of what he’s saying. My palm, damp with sweat, balances me on the other plastic chair. Just when I’m sure I can make out something, the door suddenly swings open, causing me to jump. Reaching out, I brace myself for the fall, making a loud plop of skin hitting wood.
“What a fucking nightmare. Who falls sitting? Get your ass in here when you learn how to walk,” he barks at me and stalks from the door.
“Such a gentleman,” I murmur as I scramble to my feet. “Shit!” I softly rant once I’ve realized I scuffed my nude Manolo Blahnik pumps on my right foot. I’m pissed but don’t get why I’m moving so softly, so quietly.
Oran is perched on the side of his desk when I enter, his muscular arms are folded, stretching his expensive pale blue dress shirt taut against his biceps. His gray eyes scan my body from toe to head then back down. His trademark scowl remains and his gaze is assessing, there’s no warmth or appreciation present. A chill slices down my spine from his look alone. He could have been Superman with his dark, inky hair, light eyes, and square jaw with the cleft in his chin except he’s not a hero. He’s not trying to be anyone’s saviour.
“How in the fuck did I get stuck with you? Are you one of those women obsessed with my dick and somehow tricked my dad into trying to saddle me to you?”
His irises become stormier with each word. Anger rolls off his body attempting to choke me where I still stand at the door.
I have never had such venom directed at me, and it momentarily throws off my equilibrium and freezes my ability to speak.
Oran’s jaw ticks as he continues to study me.
“Mute,” he snorts. “That would be a good quality if I WASN’T FUCKING ASKING YOU A QUESTION!”
I flinch and his booming voice thunders through his office. Standing, he stalks towards me, his body graceful yet menacing. A beautiful man made of my worst nightmares. The closer he gets, the more despair seizes my body.
How could my dad do this?
He bends his big body to be nose-to-nose with me. His heavenly scent belies the devil inside. I’m stuck, his eyes trap me inside of them, they aren’t the usual light gray I’m used to seeing. No, they’re dark slate, vivid yet dangerous, and filled with maliciousness just for me.
“How… how tall are you?” I whisper, worried about the wrong thing.
Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Not that smart, either,” he mumbles to himself. “None of your fucking business. Why? Are you planning to climb me?” He sighs with another head shake. “Forget that. Answer my previous question before I shake it out of you.”
“My dad lost a bet to your dad.”
“So?”
“I was the prize.”
“A fuc
king prize to who? I don’t want you. Getting you is no better than one of those worthless stuffed animals from a fair.”
Shit. He cuts deep. He’s much crueler than I thought. My bottom lip quivers and my eyes water. I hate it. Hate him. Hate everything.
“Do you know who I am? Who my father is?” I implore, with less bite than I should have.
“I don’t give a shit, and if you’re so valuable, then why didn’t my dad’s old ass marry you?”
I want to walk out, turn on my heels, and tell him to kiss my black ass. I can’t. Our dads made sure that I’d stay. He’s my only option.
Dropping my gaze to his navy tie, I give him the answer that burns my throat.
“Heirs.”
“Heirs?”
Closing my eyes, I bleed the details, each word cutting up my insides.
“Your dad knows I’m the eldest and next in line to inherit my dad’s estate if something happens to him. He also wants heirs and as your dad’s only child, it’s your job to get me pregnant.”
The whoosh of air on my face has my eyes flying open in time to watch him recoil.
“Get out. Go home. Don’t come back.”
Everything inside me crumbles. My only option isn’t an option. Everything he says kills me more than the last. His tongue is barbed wire, cutting me every time I engage. I had a crush on him once until he killed it.
I was fourteen; it was the summer before my freshman year of high school, his parents were having an end of summer party for him that doubled as a going away party for him to return to his second year of college. I thought the nineteen-year-old was the cutest guy to walk the earth. Donning my best swimsuit (burnt orange - rumored to be his favorite color) and doing my hair in a complicated mass of waves which took over an hour, I’d strutted into the party with freshly glossed lips thinking if I could get him to at least notice me.
“Hey.”
It was barely out of my mouth before he nudged me away.
“Go away,” he growled his dismissal.
I had no choice because his nudge was enough to twist my ankle on my wedge sandals, causing me to fall back into the deep end of the pool. My hope downed, and my hair was ruined. As I was struggling to stay afloat, he studied me as if seeing me for the first time. He watched my dilemma, yet did nothing to help me. His cousin, with the kind green-blue eyes, fish me out instead. Slinging his arm around the girl he was talking to, Oran walked away to never look at me again.
Until today.
This is worse. He’s had time to hone his mean and refine his nasty.
He’d begun moving back to his desk, then pauses. It feels as if he turns in slow motion when our gazes collide again.
“I know you can hear. I said go,” he dismisses me while flexing both hands in a shooing motion.
“I-I can’t,” I stutter like a child speaking up to a parent.
“Why the hell not?”
Ringing my hands, I look at my shoes, mad at myself for another failed attempt to make myself presentable for him.
“I’m homeless.”
“Oh, that’s it. Your family is going broke and needs my family’s money.”
Our dad’s yanked me off my pedestal, ripped away my security, and tossed me at Oran’s feet. My stomach growls and the cash I have on me is running alarmingly low. It hurts that they’ve left me at his mercy, but my family is not broke by any stretch of the imagination. Oran’s arrogance has rubbed me raw.
“Since when have you ever known of LeClaire’s being broke?”
I challenge him, my fist clenching and unclenching. A sliver of recognition flashes in his eyes before they go blank. I’ve seemed to have found my voice because my lips are still moving.
“I’ve done nothing to you!”
“You’re here. That’s bad enough.”
Ignoring him, I air my complaints.
“I was working and minding my business when my dad came to my home a little over a MONTH ago to announce my engagement to you. A deal they made. I fought him on it. REFUSED to meet you. I get an eviction notice from your dad the next day since he controls most of the real estate and my dad controls the rest. I tried to go back to the mansion, but my dad told me to go to your house. I was staying in hotels until my dad froze all of my accounts - since he owns the freaking banks - including my personal account where my paychecks are deposited.”
My skin is flushing again from the low-level rage boiling over. My vexation has me approaching him as I spit every detail of my now fucked up life. I find myself in his space as my rant continues.
“When I asked him how I’m supposed to support myself, he said to ask my fiance. Then my car was towed. All I have is an U-Haul truck with my possessions packed in it and twenty bucks to my name!” Feeling bold, I poke him in the chest. “You still have your job, your home, and access to your money, yet you have the nerve to pretend I wanted this! I don’t want you, either. We’re stuck! They own us.”
Oran’s jaw clenches as he stares at me. He bares his white teeth just before grabbing me by my jaw and adding pressure until I flinch. The heat of his fingers burn me.
“Correction. According to your account, I own you.” He pulls me close until I collide with his hard chest. The contact is weirdly arousing despite this fucked up situation. I breathe him in as our stare down continues, I refuse to look away first but his pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips gets my attention. “You’re just another possession my dad bought. A prize he won and passed off to me. A trophy.”
Oran glances past me as a wicked smile stretches his surprisingly pouty lips. He releases my jaw but grabs my upper arms with his fingers digging into my skin. Lifting me, he seats me on the counter where some of his awards are lined up. One of his framed degrees is nailed to the wall just above my head.
“Now that you’re with my other trophies, you’ll stay there and shut the fuck up until I give you a new instruction if you want my help.”
Never have I ever been made to feel so discarded the way Oran does it. He has me on display with the rest of his shit, but I’m not an award he wants. Either way, I’m a possession to him. An inanimate object with no needs or feelings.
A few hours later, after my ass and legs have fallen asleep more times than I remembered, Oran rises, stretches and begins packing up for the day. I hate that my eyes greedily eat up every movement of his powerful looking body.
I frown when his lights go out and he leaves me in the dark office. I’ve almost successfully plotted his murder when he returns.
“Let’s go, Trophy. Hurry before I leave you here with the rest of them.”
I hate him.
Chapter 2
Oran
My dad has me fucked up if he believes he can throw some helpless pussy at me and expect me to put a ring on it. No matter how intoxicating her scent is or how interesting her green eyes with small flecks of gold and brown look, I’m not interested in marriage and I definitely don’t want her. This must be some sick joke. Who the fuck still arranges marriages, anyway?
Stalking outside with my unwanted guest trailing behind me, I stop short when I notice the U-Haul parked near my burnt orange Aston Martin DBX. At least she wasn’t lying about that. When my dad called to see if my fiancee arrived like she said she would, I lost my shit. I don’t do relationships and marriage is the ultimate hell no. I still know the details outside of what she said because I’d hung up on him. I don’t have time for games and bullshit. Internally, I calculate ways to get away from her. I’d be damned if she were coming to my home with all her bullshit in tow. Until I figure out what’s going on, I’m dropping her ass off somewhere out of sight and mind.
Decision made, I turn to give her her walking papers but watching her trying to climb into the U-Haul, slacks pulled taut across her ass - a juicy ass - while she props one leg up in the truck’s cab, has me thinking thoughts I shouldn’t think about my not-so-future-missus. Raking my bottom lip between my teeth, I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t want
her, but my tightening dick appears to disagree. Irked, I palm her ass; it feels much more tempting than it looks, and push her the rest of the way inside.
The pain in the ass falls forward, her elbow hitting the horn and making it honk its protest.
“My shoe,” she yells dramatically as it falls off her foot and bounces on the concrete. Her dazzling eyes spear me - at least they try - when she speaks. “What the hell! Why did you push me?”
My eyes roll heavenward, “It’s called assisting, princess. You were taking too long.” I sweep her shoe off the floor, grab her bare ankle, and push it into place. “Your shoe, Cinderella.”
Huffing in a way that makes her breasts alluring, she pushes some hair that escaped her ponytail out of her face. “Don’t call me that. I’m nothing like her.”
I shrug, giving her a look of mock apology. “You’re right, you’re nothing like her.” She nods, satisfied until I complete my sentence. “She had somewhere to sleep, and the prince wanted her.” Her plush lips part in indignation, and before I could stop it, the image of me sliding my dick between them flashed unexpectedly. My low-level arousal darkens my mood. “Follow me and keep up. I don’t care if you get lost.”
Hale on Earth (Arrangement Series Book 2) Page 1
