Start Again Series: A Billionaire Romance Box Set

by J. Saman

  Ivy’s eyes go wide, but this part really shouldn’t be all that surprising for her.

  “I was better than good, I was the best, and that got me into Caltech.” I shrug. “At least, I think it did. I still don’t know how I managed that one, but whatever. I got into Caltech and everything came easy as pie to me, and before I knew it, I was a part of the underground hacking ring that was in direct competition with MIT.”

  “That’s how you met Ryan?”

  “Yes,” I confirm. “We were up against each other in the finals. Don’t let that unaffected hipster façade fool you, that man is a first-rate hacker.”

  “Continue, Lucas, you’re sidetracking now,” Ivy says in that wry way of hers that always has me smiling.

  “All the bad stuff began before that.”

  “I figured.”

  That has my attention. “You did?”

  She smiles like she’s brilliant and I underestimate her, which I’m sure I do. Screw that, I did underestimate her because she’s here, sitting with me and smiling. She’s heaven, and I was epically wrong—as usual.

  “I knew there was no way you would get caught for that and Ryan wouldn’t, especially since he beat you.” She raises an eyebrow in challenge.

  “He did beat me, but only because I knew shit was going down and I was busy destroying evidence.” That earns me a frown. “I was doing illegal things, Ivy. No reason to say otherwise. I’m not especially proud of that. It’s one of the reasons why Ryan and I do what we do now, but that bust, that ring, is not what I’ve been hiding from you.”

  She sighs, looking tired and beautiful.

  “Do you want to postpone this?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

  “No.” Of course, she doesn’t.

  I take her hand, holding it tight and look her dead in the eyes.

  “What I’m about to tell you is partially classified. There are things I will not be able to disclose, and that will never change.” She swallows hard but manages a tight nod of acceptance. “When I first got to Caltech, I was angry. I had been angry for four years and had a chip on my shoulder because of it. I felt I had something to prove. That I was more than some punk kid who killed their asshole father and went to juvie for it. So I began to hack government mainframes. They’re really old systems that most hackers don’t care so much about, but I went after them.

  “And I got in and continued from one place to another. That’s what I really got busted for, though they weren’t after missing information because I stole none of it. But hacking the United States Government is a big deal. A very punishable big deal, so they had me, and they knew it. They wanted to use my skills, and since I could have gone to prison for a very long time for any one of my transgressions, that was used as leverage. My freedom became payment for my services.”

  “And that’s what you were doing when you left that time and didn’t ring me? And all those phone calls you took in private?”

  “Yes. I can’t tell you anything else about that, though. I can’t tell you what I do or who I’m with.”

  “But you said some things have changed?”

  “They have. I worked it so that there is less personal risk involved for me and anyone I’m in a relationship with. Don’t ask me how I managed that either.”

  “Personal risk?”

  I can only cringe and nod.

  “So, you’re telling me I was in danger when we were together before?” She’s looking at me in disbelief. Or maybe she’s pissed off that I even placed her in that position to begin with. Hard to say, really.

  “Not really, darlin’. I mean, there are people out there, governments out there, who would love to get their hands on me, but it’s not like I walk around with a sign on my chest that says who I am and what I do. I’ve only ever been directly targeted while I was actively working.”

  “What the bloody fuck does that mean?”

  I shrug, because I feel like that’s pretty self-explanatory and any further comment will be counterproductive, not to mention illegal for me to share. Besides, that’s not really the case anymore. I’m more in the background now, after taking down a large international hacking ring and using that to negotiate my breadth of freedom.

  “But you’re still working for . . . whomever you were working for?”

  “Yes, but to a lesser degree and on a smaller scope.”

  Ivy shakes her head, standing up again and doing that pacing thing that seems to aid her thought process.

  “And that’s for life?”

  “Possibly, yes.”

  She shakes her head, dismayed, her lips pursed. Apparently that was not the answer she was hoping for.

  “So all this rubbish,” she waves her hand in the air. “All this rubbish is why you pushed me away before?”

  “I didn’t want to. You have no idea how much I flipped back and forth on that.” I sit up, leaning forward and placing my elbows on my parted thighs. “Being with you is the only thing I’ve ever wanted, but I am a convicted murderer who is also part of a black ops sect of the government responsible for dangerous and covert hacks. What was I supposed to do? None of that is your world, and you fucking deserved better.”

  “And now I don’t?”

  I physically recoil from her words because it feels like she just slapped me across the face and punched me in the gut at the same time. I’ve heard the expression if looks could kill, but I think her words may have just done the trick.

  “I’m sorry.” She blows out an angry breath, staring into the fire. “That was cruel.”

  “But not untrue.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I hate it when I’m right. She’s done. Checked out on me and I can’t say I blame her.

  “Thank you for telling me all of that.”

  Her voice is distant, detached, unemotional. She’s gone, and I can’t think of a damn word that could bring her back.

  I knew she’d leave when she heard the whole truth and nothing feels worse than when you tell yourself, See? I told you so, asshole. Yeah, that one really sucks.

  “I should go,” she says stoically, and my head drops into my hands. “It’s late and I have an early shift.”

  “I’ll walk you out.” My voice is not devoid of emotion. My voice is filled with the anguish that is crashing down on me in heavy tormented waves.

  “That’s not necessary,” she says, and I slam my eyes shut as my breath lodges in my chest. I didn’t think anything could hurt this much. Probably because I never allowed myself to believe it was over until this very moment.

  “I’m sorry, Luke. I am. I just . . .” Her voice trails off, and I manage enough strength to lift my head and stare into her beautiful face. But her expression is as undemonstrative as her tone, and I lower my head again. “I need time to think about all of this. To absorb it.”

  “It’s fine, Ivy. You can go, and I’ll let you do that. I’ll stop chasing you,” I sigh out so damn heavy and deflated that my body bows. “If that’s what you want, I’ll let you go.”

  “I don’t know what I want right now. This is just a lot to process in one night. You’re asking me to be a part of a world I don’t understand and cannot know about, and turn a blind eye to it when you have to leave at a moment’s notice to go and do something that could put both of our lives at risk. I just—I need to go.”

  I can’t say anything else. I can’t say bye or take care or I love you. I can’t get on my knees and beg her either, because she’s right. I may have changed the stakes, but Ronaldo made it clear that once you’re part of this, it’s sort of a lifelong venture.

  And if I am able to ‘retire’ from it . . . well, no one’s done that yet, so who the fuck knows what happens then.

  Then there’s the whole murdering, illegal activity part of my life that’s also not so easy to overlook in the sobering light of day.

  Maybe that shit with my dad was justified, and maybe it wasn’t, but I have zero excuses for everything else. But I like to feel that I’ve served my tim
e and then some. I like to feel that my penance is making this world a little safer, a little more secure from evil fucked up people who seek to bring it down.

  So I rationalize and justify my life.

  What the hell else can a person do and continue on without suffocating in their ugly?

  But Ivy? No.

  She doesn’t need to rationalize anything she’s done. She doesn’t have to make amends for wrongdoing, because everything she does is on the right side of good. She saves sick kids’ lives for fuck’s sake. She’s a goddamn angel, and I may just be the devil in her scenario.

  So when my front door slams shut, I’m not surprised.

  I don’t even wince or start at the sound of it.

  I just take this for what it is, and maybe, eventually, somehow, I’ll find a way to live without her.

  Maybe. But probably not.

  And if I can’t have her, it’s not like I could have anyone else, so I might as well admit that I had perfection once and lost it.

  32

  Ivy

  * * *

  I hate the unknown. In medicine, the unknown can mean death or further disease progression. No, I like it when things are visible, tangible, and with a clear and concise solution.

  Cut, fix, sew.

  That’s what I do.

  That’s my life, and for thirty years, that’s worked for me.

  Then Luke comes around and throws in the proverbial monkey wrench and messes it all about. Suddenly, everything I thought I knew and needed is upside-down.

  I ran out on him, and that makes me feel like a prize bitch, but I just couldn’t think. I was suffocating standing there with no room to breathe—and I needed to breathe dammit!

  So I drove home, though I don’t remember the trip, and now I’m tossing and turning in my bed in the wee hours of the morning, trying to make sense of everything he said.

  Luke killed his father. Not just killed him, but shot him at point-blank range.

  Holy Jesus Mary Margaret Jones.

  I get his thinking behind it. At least, I think I do. It’s easy to see where his actions arose from, and somehow I feel better knowing that he stopped before pulling the trigger. Somehow that makes it an easier pill to swallow than believing that what he did was cold-hearted murder.

  He was a scared and very abused boy who was trying to protect his sister. So even though I feel like I should condemn him for his actions, I’m having an impossible time doing it. I mean, you hear all the time about how battered women end up killing their abusive husbands, and I sympathize with them readily.

  And in my eyes, Luke’s situation was even worse than that.

  From the way he made it sound, his mother was not helpful or even someone he could rely on and trust.

  His father was a nightmare of epic proportions who was going to more than likely violate the one person Luke had left—his sister. And I don’t doubt for a minute that Luke believed it was his responsibility to protect her.

  So can I forgive him for what he did? Yes, I think I can. I think I already have.

  There’s that piece solved.

  It’s really all of the government hacking rubbish that has me so worked up. It’s the clandestine operation that he’s a part of and the possibility of him risking not only his life, but mine as well.

  And who does things like that?

  Who actually has something as insane and outlandish as secret black ops—whatever that means—government spy things as part of their life? No one, that’s who. It’s fantastical, and if I hadn’t witnessed some of it firsthand, I wouldn’t believe it.

  I suppose that explains all the security features he has in his home.

  Luke says things are different now. That the risk is minimized, but he’s still involved in that world, and from the way he spoke, he always will be. Can I do that? Can I expose myself to that?

  I just don’t know. I just don’t bloody know.

  The mere fact that I’m even considering this, thinking about his life in terms of my own, tells me that I’m still in love with him. As if I needed that as a confirmation.

  Yes, I love him. Yes, I want him despite my better judgment and the pain he caused me this previous year, but what does that actually mean for me?

  Could I marry a man who lives that sort of life? Would we be able to have a family and not risk their lives?”

  Jesus Christ, I can’t even right now.

  I am not this girl. This is up Sophia’s alley, not mine.

  Letting out a loud and exaggerated groan, I roll over and the bright red numbers on my alarm clock inform me that it’s just after four in the morning.

  I should get up and get ready for work at this point, but I can’t seem to concentrate. I’m as preoccupied as preoccupied gets. I’m dangerous to my patients like this, and that infuriates me, because now I feel like I can’t even do my job because of this man.

  I only have two patients scheduled for today because I’m new on the urgent care service and that’s where I’m working today, so I text my colleague and ask him to take those cases. Those children are far safer with someone else at the helm.

  But it’s not like I can sleep or rest my brain, and I certainly can’t sit around my flat mulling over Luke’s deeds anymore. Part of me is very tempted to go back to his flat and talk more, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

  I hate the way I left him. Have I mentioned that already? Because I really do.

  I know it hurt him, and though he’s hurt me, I’m not vengeful enough to want to return the favor.

  It’s so late that it’s nearly early and I bet that there is a six a.m. flight headed where I need it to go. I don’t even bother with a bag because I don’t plan to stay the night, so I grab my purse, phone, and keys before leaving my apartment in under five minutes flat.

  It’s nowhere near close to light out, but the road is devoid of traffic, and it takes me twenty minutes to get to the airport.

  The terminal is fairly empty, so I stroll right up to the ticket counter, smiling at the perfectly polished attendant.

  “I need a roundtrip ticket to Los Angeles, please.”

  She gives me a look, clearly noting my lack of baggage and the urgency in my voice. After a long pregnant pause, she begins to type away on her screen. “When would you like to depart and return?”

  “First available flight out and I’d like to return this evening, please.”

  Another long lingering perusal as she taps her manicured nails against the keys of the keyboard. Click, click, click. It’s an annoying sound, but I don’t comment because I’m at this woman’s mercy.

  “Why the quick turnaround?” she asks, feigning indifference, though she’s clearly screening me to ensure that I’m not some sort of terrorist.

  “My ex-boyfriend is mucking about with my head, and I need to go see my sister, but I have patients to get to tomorrow, so I need to come home tonight.”

  “Fair enough,” she shrugs, before going back to her screen and typing away. Moments later, I hand her my credit card and photo ID, and she hands me a boarding pass, and I’m on my way.

  My flight leaves in a little more than an hour, so I have time, but just as I’m about to enter the meager security line, I hear my name being called.

  Bloody hell, he followed me.

  Of course, he did.

  The fact that I was once stalked similar to this by a man should have me on edge, but Luke has never done that to me. But he has managed to annoy the bloody piss out of me.

  “Ivy, wait!” he calls out again as I step up to a large disinterested man. I’m about to hand him my ticket and license when Luke reaches me, grabbing them out of my hand.

  “Is there a problem here?” the TSA agent asks in a ridiculously deep voice.

  Luke and I both speak at the same time, but I say “yes” and he says “no.” Then Luke flashes some sort of badge or special ID or something and the guy stands up taller, nodding his head and suddenly looking much more official than he
did moments ago.

  “I need a moment alone with her,” Luke demands in an authoritative tone that could get me aroused if I wasn’t so angry. The man points in the direction of something I can’t see, and Luke nods, looking as stern as ever.

  “No,” I protest. “I have a plane to catch. Luke, go home.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but he has government security access, and until he gives the all-clear, I can’t let you through.”

  “What the bloody hell does that even mean?” I turn to Luke, who’s doing his best to hide his smug smile. Bastard. “Luke, I have a plane to catch that I don’t want to miss. You can’t do this.”

  I’m about to stomp my foot like a petulant child when Luke takes my arm, leading me around a partitioned-off area that I’ve never noticed before, and into a small space that really has nothing in it other than three walls.

  Maybe this is where they frisk people?

  “What do you think you’re doing following me here and pulling this rubbish?”

  “You’re leaving?” He looks so hurt, and I feel bad about that. I really do. But stalking me into the airport and pulling some ludicrous security whatever is just not okay.

  “I’m going to see Soph for the day.”

  He sighs, running a tired hand through his disheveled hair. And now that I look at him, really look at him, I can see just how worn and weary he is. I doubt I look much better.

  “You’re coming back tonight?” he asks, hopeful.

  “Yes. I have to work tomorrow. I’m already missing today. Can I go now?”

  “No,” he says before grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me into his chest, wrapping me snugly in his arms and burying his face in my neck. “I was so fucking scared, Ivy,” he breathes against my skin, and I can feel his body trembling against mine. “I know I told you I’d let you go, and I meant it. I wasn’t going to bother you, but I couldn’t sleep, and I ended up on those stairs across the street from your building again. And then I saw you leave, so I followed, and once I realized you were going to the airport, I panicked. I’m sorry. I know that’s crossing all kinds of lines and boundaries.”