Tempted: A Standalone Billionaire Boss Romance

by Ava Harrison

  “What the fuck, Drew? Get your fucking hands off me.”

  “You son of a bitch. Harper’s off taking her sister, who almost died, to rehab, and you’re out fucking around? You’re a piece of shit.”

  “Like I care about her druggy sister. I’d have left her to die in the club.”

  My arm flies up, and my fist connects with his nose, sending blood splattering all over the whore who is just standing there idly watching. She screams as the first drops hit her.

  “What the fuck, Drew? You fucking hit me!”

  “If you ever talk about Bailey like that again, you won’t walk. Are we clear?” He doesn’t say anything. “Are. We. Clear?”

  “You have some balls, man. I’ll press charges.”

  “Good luck.”

  The girl finally speaks. “Excuse me, but you owe me money. I did my job, now I want to go home.”

  “Shut the fuck up, slut. I’ll pay you when I’m good and ready. You’ll stay put until I tell you otherwise.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He’s spending his time with a prostitute.

  At those words, Cal’s head jerks to me with eyes wide as saucers. “Drew, man, you can’t say anything. My parents, they’ll cut off my trust if they find out.”

  “Break it off. I don’t care what you need to say, but you and Harper are officially done. You get back together, and this whole interaction will be plastered on every tabloid in New York. You feel me?”

  “Drew. I-I can’t. I love Harper. I just need to switch it up sometimes. I’ll change. I’ll be good to her. I can’t break off our engagement.” He’s hysterical at this point, and I love being in control.

  “Take it or leave it. Mommy and Daddy take the trust, or you man up and let Harper be happy with someone who deserves her. Your call, but you better make it quick.” I pull out my phone and act like I’m dialing.

  “Okay-wait. Fine. I’ll-I’ll do it. Shit. This is going to break her.”

  “You should’ve thought about that before you fucked around with a whore.”

  “Hey, I’m right here,” the prostitute says from the side.

  “Get out of here, and if I see you again, I’ll call the police and turn your skank ass in myself.”

  She huffs off leaving me with the sniveling Cal. With his head hung low, he groans, “Fuck this call to Harper is going to be a shitstorm.”

  I watch him slug off in satisfaction. Harper may hurt for a while, but she’ll be much better off in the long run.

  50

  Bailey

  Harper and I arrive in Arizona on Friday afternoon. The heat is sweltering, and I hope to God that this place has air-conditioning.

  As we pull up, I see that Drew spared no expense. I can tell this place is amazing, and I haven’t even walked inside yet. He clearly forgot I am a commoner. It looks like it was made for Hollywood royalty. I can’t imagine many people could afford the opulence of Serenity Vista.

  “Wow,” Harper says beside me. “He hooked you up.”

  “He sure did. This place is incredible.” My gaze lingers across what will be my home for the next thirty days. A large terra cotta house spans the distance, stretching out against the Arizona horizon. Cactuses and flowers that I imagine are indigenous to the locale are scattered across the property to make up the peaceful ambiance.

  Harper squeezes my hand lightly. “Come on, let’s see what this paradise has to offer.”

  And that’s just what this is—paradise. Paradise hopefully not hiding the hell I imagine rehab should be.

  We begin to push open the dark mahogany door when a friendly man offers to take my bag. This place really seems more like a fancy spa. Walking through the door, we are instantly greeted with a serene and calming atmosphere. Candles line the walls, and soft classical music plays over the surround sound.

  As we walk farther into the lobby, a tall, lithe blonde gracefully strides over to us. “Hello, you must be Bailey. My name is Harmony.”

  Of course it is. She’s probably the holistic life coach on staff. I want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. I need to be here. So instead, I lift my hand to meet her already extended hand.

  “Hi, Harmony. This is my sister, Harper.” I step back, allowing Harper to reach out with her hand.

  “It’s a pleasure meeting you as well, Harper. I’ll be giving you both the tour of the property, and then I’ll show Bailey to her room.” She walks toward a set of double doors that must hold the treatment facilities.

  “At Serenity Vista, we have a much different approach to healing. We treat the underlying issues that lead to your addiction, rather than just the substance that brought you to us. Ultimately, our goal while you are here is to find the root of the problem and focus there.” Her lip turns upward, and her eyes crinkle as she smiles.

  “That makes complete sense. It’s pretty pointless just to put a Band-Aid on it,” Harper agrees as she nods repeatedly. Harmony points at a room on the right as we continue our way down the hall.

  “That way is our state-of-the-art spa. Inside, you will find every amenity your heart could desire, as well as a full staff including estheticians and a masseuse. Anything you need is at your disposal.”

  My mouth drops open. Wow. Drew really spared no expense. My heart tightens in my chest about how wrong I was. How I had let a misconception crush me. How I didn’t have enough trust in him to seek the truth before I succumbed to my usual self-destructive tendencies.

  “If you would like to see the spa now, it would be my pleasure.” I shake my head, so we continue our path. “Right over here is the art studio. We find art is a great outlet for our guests’ emotions.”

  She pushes open a large glass door, and we step inside. The room is spacious. There is a scattering of easels facing the glass retracting walls that face the outside patio. Through the glass, I can see more easels with an unobscured view of the mountain in the distance. It really is perfect.

  Harmony leads us out onto the patio. In the distance, I see a group of women doing yoga. “We also hold daily workout classes outside, as well as meditation sessions. We have a full gym off the spa. We highly suggest that every guest takes a meditation session every day.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Doesn’t it, Bae?”

  I just nod, not able to voice my words as I’m too overcome with emotions. I still don’t understand what I did to deserve this. If anything, Drew should have written me off completely and told me to fuck off. But instead, he has given me all the tools to heal myself, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

  “How about therapy? Also, is Bailey allowed to call me?” Harper asks as we walk back inside to continue our tour.

  “Each day, you will have one group session as well as a one on one. They are held in whichever location you feel the most comfortable. We feel that being connected to the outside world is essential to having long-lasting success, so we allow and encourage it. So yes, to answer your question, there are phone privileges. We find that if a problem arises, we are here to help. If we keep the guest cocooned in a bubble, the moment they reenter reality, they are often not equipped to handle the new pressure and have a tendency to regress.”

  “Perfect. That makes complete sense.”

  We continue our tour of the facility, and I’m floored by how perfect it is. Once we arrive in my private suite, my shoulders have finally loosened. This is going to be good.

  “I’ll give you a chance to say goodbye, and I’ll return in an hour to see how you’re adjusting. It was a pleasure meeting both of you.” Harmony steps out of the room, and Harper turns to me.

  “Wow. That’s all I can say.” She laughs.

  “I know, right? This is crazy nice. I feel like I don’t—”

  Harper lifts her hand to cut me off. “Stop that thought right there. You need this, and no questioning anything past that, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Need some help unpacking?” She starts toward my suitcase when her cell rings. She pulls it
out of her purse and sends it to voicemail. One second later, it begins to ring again.

  “Do you mind?” she asks, a fine line forming between her brows. “It’s Cal. He’s been trying to call me since last night. I had forty missed calls from him. He never calls me this much. Must be important.” Her voice is tense.

  “Why haven’t you called him back?” I probe.

  “I’ve been pretty busy trying to help my sister get to rehab. His stuff can wait,” she says, irritated.

  “Right now might be a good time to see what’s going on.” I press.

  “Yeah, I better, or else he’s going to keep blowing up my phone. I have to go anyway.”

  Walking over to me, Harper places a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.” I nod. She smiles, heading toward the door to exit. Her phone begins to blare once more. “Cal, hold one second, okay?” She looks back at me. “I will call you the moment I’m back in New York. If you need anything, Bae, don’t hesitate. I’ll always be there for you. I love you.”

  “I know, and I love you, too. Thank you for everything. For bringing me here for . . .” Tears begin to fall down my cheek, and I swipe them away. “Thank you, Harper.”

  Harper’s lip turns upward, and she nods before placing the phone back to her ear. “Hey, sorry about that, baby. I miss you. I’m heading back home now.” She grows quiet for a minute and then steps out of the room. I lie in my bed, and I think I can hear Harper’s voice change when she says the words, “I don’t understand,” but before I can register the rest of the conversation, her voice fades into the distance.

  51

  Bailey

  The first night is harder than I thought it would be. I’m alone in my room, and without someone to distract me, I have too much time to think.

  I know I shouldn’t be thinking of that night, but I can’t stop myself.

  Drew says what I saw was wrong, and I didn’t even let him explain.

  Instead, I ran off.

  Got drunk.

  And high.

  That’s the part I keep getting tripped up on.

  I don’t remember getting high.

  I’ve never resorted to drugs before.

  How and why had I escalated, and if I don’t remember, how will I ever train myself not to resort to it again?

  I know the answer should be simple—don’t drink.

  Find another outlet. I plan to do that, but while I’m here, I also want to figure out my catalyst. If the going gets tough again, will I fail?

  Even though I try to push the thoughts away, it consumes me. I pace the room for a while, and finally when the walls start to go blurry, I realize I’m ready to crash.

  The next morning comes before I know it. As my lids flutter open, I sit up with a start. For a second, I forget where I am. Why I’m here.

  But eventually, it all comes back to me. Every last twisted detail.

  I had given in to the sinful temptation only drugs can have.

  I was weak.

  But now regardless of everything, I’m going to get strong. I had tried on my own . . .

  But I wasn’t strong enough.

  Now I am.

  It’s only a few hours later when I’m sitting in front of Dr. Roberts, the resident therapist. This is my first time talking to one. I’m not sure what to expect.

  When she leans forward to the table and grabs a little recorder, my back tightens.

  “Don’t worry, Bailey, no one will hear this but me.” It does nothing to ease the tension that is coiled inside me.

  It’s like a venomous snake ready to extend its neck and snap.

  “Bailey, would you like to tell me why you’re here?” she asks.

  “You know why I’m here.”

  She places the recorder down but not before she flips it off. Then she leans back in her chair. Getting comfortable. Relaxed, the way she holds her body is as if she’s my friend. Just someone who wants to chitchat.

  “I do, and it’s important you know why as well as what your expectations from treatment will be.”

  Her voice drops sugary sweet. Like a strawberry syrup one would put on a sundae. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were friends. My shoulders drop.

  Her lax attitude penetrates my own uptight one, like a strange case of psychological osmosis.

  “I fucked up. I thought I had it under control,” I mutter out, embarrassed on how weak I was.

  “And?”

  “I didn’t,” I admit on a sigh.

  “So why don’t you start from the beginning then.”

  This place is nothing like I imagined, but it’s exactly what I need.

  It’s not like all the rehab facilities you see on TV. Nope, not at all. Here, there are no crazy celebrities fighting and seducing each other.

  No, this is very different.

  This place reminds me of a luxury spa, and yes, there might be therapists on staff, but they act more like friends you would drink coffee with.

  I spend my day getting massages, painting, reading, and yes, talking to the doctor.

  But today we don’t meet in her office. Instead, we are having herbal tea on the terrace.

  The temperature is perfect. There is a light breeze in the air, and under the canopy where we sit, we have the perfect view of the gardens without the blaring sun beating down on us.

  Dr. Roberts lifts her cup and takes a seat, and then she smiles. Yesterday, I told her my story. Today is when it will get harder.

  Recounting facts is never the issue. It’s the root of the problem that is.

  Like a dead tree, you don’t just cut the leaves. The whole thing must go, roots uplifted, that way you can plant something new.

  I’m that tree. The work in progress, but hopefully, after I’m done here, I’ll be able to grow.

  “Tell me the way you felt that night. Tell me the way you felt all the nights.”

  “You can’t possibly want me to go over every night I ever got drunk.”

  She lets out a chuckle. “Not every night, but how about the ones that stand out.”

  I lean forward in my chair, hands on the teacup. My fingers warm, and I continue to hold them there despite the heat.

  A night that stands out . . .

  Other than the obvious, I try to remember how I felt the last time I got high before.

  “Helpless.” I close my eyes. “Less than. A failure.” My eyes open. “Not good enough. Rejected.”

  “And the night of the incident?” she asks.

  “Helpless. Less than. A failure. Not good enough. Rejected,” I repeat.

  “I think we found your catalyst. Now to work on these feelings. To find the root . . .”

  “The thing is, other than feeling those things, I don’t remember why I decided to do drugs. Why I needed more to make me numb that time. In the past it was always pills. Never cocaine . . .”

  “It could have been the alcohol.”

  “Wouldn’t I remember now?” I ask.

  “The mind is a complex place, sometimes we protect ourselves.”

  “You think not remembering taking drugs is a coping method?”

  “It could be. You could have blacked it out for many reasons. Or”—she shrugs—“you were too impaired to remember. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Without the proper tools, sobriety will be a lifelong battle.”

  I nod my head. I’m not sure what else to say. I sit back, not speaking. Time does pass, but it passes in an uncomfortable silence I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

  I don’t have to stay silent for long because she starts firing off questions about my family. It’s easy to talk about them. Much easier than talking about me.

  At first, the days go by rather slow, but before I know it, a week has passed. For the first time in a long time, I feel refreshed. It’s funny that it would take a stint in rehab to make me feel like this. But it’s true, nonetheless. I feel like a new person.

  Each day I work out. Each day I do yoga. I’ve learned how to meditate. Old Bailey wou
ld’ve laughed at all the stuff I’ve done. Making pottery would’ve been something I would’ve only done drunk with friends. But now I see that painting can be therapeutic.

  New Bailey. Sober and clean Bailey has a better outlook on life.

  It’s only been one week, but it’s as if my depleted battery is finally starting to charge and I can thank Drew for pushing me toward this.

  With my therapist this past week, we reflected so much on my childhood.

  We reflected on the fact that my catalyst stems from there. That I believe I’m worthless because of my mom. How after my father died, I felt I had no one. She was absent in my life, and instead of understanding it was her way of grieving, I thought it meant she didn’t love me. That was why I started drinking. The pills followed next, after the accident. The blame I unfairly put on myself.

  Rationally, I know it’s true, but irrationally I’m still working hard to believe it wasn’t my fault.

  I am still trying to forgive myself for my part in it.

  52

  Drew

  Time has moved really fucking slowly since Bailey has left.

  I try to keep myself busy and with the impending sale of Silver, it shouldn’t be hard, but it actually is.

  Her presence is missing. Not just in my bed. Or in the club.

  It’s missing everywhere.

  As much as I never want to walk into the club again, I have to. The paperwork is still being finalized. To make sure it doesn’t fall through, I have to go in. I’m up earlier than normal today. It’s only six. Normally, this would be the time that I’d be closing down the club and coming home, but a lot changed when I became involved with Bailey. Now, I’m up for the day.

  First, I remove myself from my bed and head over to the bathroom. I turn the water on scalding hot.

  This shit will need to burn me to make me feel anything.

  As the water barrels down on me, I realize nothing will help. Not a shower.

  Not the club.