Table of Contents
Title Page
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One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
USED
by Him
The By Him-Series Vol. 1
Sarah J. Brooks
Copyright © 2016 by Sarah J. Brooks
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Table of contents
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One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
2. One
“Crap!” Chelsea muttered as her bag strap broke.
The impact of bumping into something hard resulted in the damaged handbag. If she weren’t in the hotel lobby, she would have sworn it was a brick wall. She knew better. Mumbling an apology she tried to grip the paper folder as it slipped through her fingers. The bag slid from her shoulder, falling with a soft thud, while the contents of the file folder scattered on the marble floor.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, stooping to retrieve her property.
She had been hastening to her interview with her eyes cast down. As she reached to retrieve the files, a sneakered foot stepped on the documents, smearing them. The foot moved off as she snatched up the paper, brushed it off and gathered her belongings. The owner of the foot did not stop to apologize.
When she stood, she looked in the direction in which the sneaker had gone and made out the back of a man with long, medium brown hair, which fell off his shoulder. His arms pushed from the sleeveless T-shirt he wore, and she could make out his well-defined triceps. His back was to her so she could not see his face. Nevertheless, she noted how rude he had been, walking away without as much as an apology.
She watched him for a second and was tempted to run after him, demanding an apology, but she knew she could never do that. She would die first before confronting anyone, let alone a man. Inhaling deeply, she watched him go through the hotel front door with his three companions, similarly dressed in jeans and T-shirt. She noted that one had a cap on backward.
Gripping her handbag to her chest, she straightened her back, continuing forward. This was Chelsea Downing’s first job interview. If things went well, she would be the assistant to the manager for Colt Montgomery, the rock star. She was nervous as it was, and now her letter of referral was ruined. She’d traveled several thousand miles to attend one last interview for the position, and some ill-mannered turd had ruined her letter.
She paused to smooth her mid-calf, blue and red plaid skirt, which flared at the hem. Adjusting her glasses, she examined herself. A frown formed on her forehead as she made out a small spot on her baby blue button down cotton blouse, right above the left breast. Briefly, she closed her eyes and hoped it was only visible to her.
She looked around the Violet Diamond Hotel lobby before heading towards the elevator. There were only three minutes left of her time. With hurried steps, she hoped that she could find the suite in time and not end up being late. That would be one more strike against her. When she reached the elevator, it was closing, and she slipped in just in time. Two men were in there, dressed in similar garb as her sneaker foot paper smearer. The description made her smile. One of the men eyed her, and she cast her eyes down with hunched shoulders.
“Where to?” someone asked, and she glanced quickly in the direction of the voice.
“23,” her voice came out in almost a whisper.
She continued her downward gaze and hoped no one would talk to her. When the doors parted, she let out a quiet, shaky breath and scurried through the door. The two fellows also exited. She continued down the hall, stopping at each door, checking the numbers.
“273,” she whispered as she passed by room 269. “273,” she repeated.
She moved along until she was standing in front of Suite 273. She double checked the address on a piece of paper and smiled. Her knees were wobbly, and her stomach churned, but she inhaled deeply, reaching a hand out to press the small white button.
Before she touched it, a hand reached out and swiped a card. There was a click, and the door opened a crack. Her emerald eyes darted up and made contact with soft brown ones. She gasped softly and stepped back.
The young man, about six feet with sandy blond hair that reached a few inches above his shoulder, smiled and opened the door. “Are you Chelsea? Reid is expecting you,” he said.
“Tha—thank you,” she stuttered, nodding before cautiously stepping inside.
“I’m Tony, a member of the band,” he said, moving past her into the expansive suite.
A man was sitting at a desk in a corner, chatting on the phone. She assumed him to be Reid Richards, the one she was there to see. He beckoned to her, pointing to the sofa a few feet away. She observed him. His hair was a few shades darker than Tony’s and was receding from the hairline. His was dressed in a dark blue suit, sporting a gold and diamond watch.
Chelsea’s eyes darted around the room. It was larger than most apartments. Certainly larger than the studio her friend Molly lived in. There were two doors to the right and another two to the left. She assumed they were bedrooms. Straight ahead, she could make out another area, similar to the one she was sitting in. Off to the left was a kitchenette and on the right was a mini bar.
She perched her derriere on the edge of the beige sofa as she waited for Reid to complete his telephone conversation. Tony had disappeared through one of the doors. She felt strange and out of place.
New York was not a place she liked. It was different from the small town of Norbury, Virginia, where she was born. This was her first time being away from home, which was a little bit daunting for her. She’d always dreamed of leaving after her fri
end Molly ran away. However, the reality was far different from her fantasies. New York was not what she envisioned. The smells were different, the noise deafening, and the people quite rude. A twinge of annoyance settled in her chest at the memory of her sneaker attacker.
The great thing about this job was that the band was always on tour, traveling around the country and sometimes abroad. They would be in New York another two weeks before moving on to another city. That meant she would not be stuck in one place for too long.
Reid hung up the phone and stood, a smile spreading across his face. She could tell it was practiced, but she had prepared a bright one of her own. He sauntered over, straightened his jacket before fixing his sleeves.
“Chelsea, I presume?” It was more of a statement than a question.
He reached a hand out, and she took it. It was neither warm nor cold, just neutral temperature. He clasped her smaller one tightly, gave it a firm shake and then let it go.
“Yes,” she said in her soft voice.
“I’m Reid Richards, we spoke on the phone,” he said, taking a seat opposite her.
His eyes traveled over her attire and came back to rest on her face. His smile hadn’t faded, but she could see that his lips were where the smile ended. His eyes were icy titanium, and they perused her sharply.
“I’ve prepared a room for you next door,” he said. “I can move you to a lower floor if you prefer. Where is your luggage?” he raised a brow.
“I—it’s—well, I thought this was an interview,” she replied, trying not to meet his eyes.
“We passed that phase on the phone. You checked out, so we’re good to go.”
He looked her up and down again, and her stomach did that little lurch which annoyed her so much. She felt a single stream of cold sweat leave her neck and trickle down her back. She squirmed at the tingle on her skin.
“Look, Chelsea, can I call you that, or would you prefer Miss Downing?” he paused and stared at her.
“Ch—Chelsea is fi—fine,” she stuttered and blinked nervously.
“Chelsea, I get that you’re a country girl, new to the city, but you have got to lose those clothes.”
Her heart took a leap up to her mouth, and she sprang to her feet, clutching her bag and file to her chest. What is this? she inwardly screamed. I never signed up for this. She wanted to bolt, but Reid was speaking again, and her mind went back to his voice.
“Easy now,” Reid’s voice softened, and he extended a hand. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I mean, you need to dress differently for the job. You know, more suited to the position.”
A snicker sounded behind her, and Reid’s eyes peered past her. “It’s not like it makes a difference. It wouldn’t do any good anyway,” the voice was base chord, slightly gruff with a scornful tone.
She turned slowly to see who it was. She knew it wasn’t Tony’s, so it must be someone else. Tony had spoken to her, and his voice was softer, clearer. She hadn’t heard anyone enter and was curious who it was that was mocking her.
It was the guy with the long brown hair. So now, she got a good look at his face. Angular features, she noted, with a day-old stubble and fleshy pink lips. Her eyes traveled downward. She recalled the black muscle shirt and jeans. Her eyes dropped to his feet, and it was the same pair of sneakers. She would recognize them anywhere. She might be country, but she knew those sneakers were special edition from a famous sports legend. She had followed the latest trends in fashion and had briefly entertained the thought of working with a design company.
With a Bachelor of Science in Communication, she had to keep her options open. Though she didn’t dress the part, she was versed on the latest in music, fashion, and movies.
A small spark of anger within her chest quickly replaced her nervousness. She could feel the heat flush her skin, and she gritted her teeth. The guy smirked and sauntered away, disappearing in one of the rooms.
“Don’t listen to him, Colt has a huge chip on his shoulder,” Reid’s voice snapped her back.
She turned back to the band manager, with her breath coming in shallow gasps. So that’s Colt, she seethed. She was so angry that she wanted to do something, but she retreated into her shell and dropped her bottom back on the sofa. Hunching her shoulders, she allowed the anger to evaporate.
“We’ll take care of your wardrobe in time, okay, so relax and don’t worry about a thing,” Reid reassured.
He was staring at her. His eyes softened somewhat. She did not hold his gaze; she could never hold anyone’s stare, though she had wanted to stare Colt down. Take him down a notch.
“So what do you say, Chelsea. Are we set?”
“Yes,” she said in almost a whisper, nodding her assent.
“Good, come back in the morning.” He looked at his watch. “Come with your luggage. We’ll get to work at eight. The boys have a rehearsal in the afternoon, press meet the morning after and a concert the following day. So we need you to get settled fast.” As she stood, he added, “There’s always some event to attend in between. Last minute invites, so be prepared for those as well.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Here.” He handed her a room key, one of the swipe cards. “Your room is not a suite, but it’s nice.”
“Thank you,” she had worked hard to steady her voice. He stood and led her to the door. “Bye,” she said as he opened it. He nodded and allowed her to pass.
As the door closed, she leaned against the wall of the passageway and slumped her shoulders. She took several long breaths and closed her eyes. She was relieved that she got the job, but the idea of working with someone so rude made her fume.
“That—that—jerk.” She snatched the referral letter from the file and glowered at it.
It had his boot print on it, which smeared out her name and most of the words. It was illegible. Angrily, she crunched it into a ball, looking around for a bin. There was none in that area of the passage, so she moved to the elevator and headed back down.
When she reached the lobby, she dumped the balled up paper in the first bin she saw before heading out into the bright New York sunshine. It was past 2:00 p.m., and she had the rest of the day to herself. She knew that Reid told her to come at eight the following morning, but she wanted to make a good impression, so she went back to Molly’s to fetch her only travel case.
Molly was Chelsea’s best friend. Her only friend if she didn’t count Ned from back home in Virginia. While Chelsea was reserved and shy, Molly was the outgoing one. She had expressed her desire to leave their small hometown at the tender age of 11. That dream was fulfilled as soon as she turned 18. With both of them being the same age, Chelsea thought Molly was brave. She could never have just left like that, with no job or anything but the clothes on her back.
Molly moved to New York after saving up every allowance she got, boarding the train, never to return to Virginia. That was seven years ago. They kept in touch through letters and later by phone. When Chelsea told her she was coming to the Big Apple for a job, she was more than happy to accommodate her. The apartment was a small studio with barely any room to move, but they were so happy to see each other that the space didn’t matter.
Molly worked the night shift as a server in a bar. She told her it paid the bills, and she got good tips. She was even saving up to go to college. Chelsea was proud of her and still considered her a brave soul.
“Hey, you’re leaving as soon as you’ve arrived, it’s not fair!” Molly hugged her as she pulled her case to the door.
“We’ll see each other all the time; I’ll just be a bus ticket away … for the next two weeks at least.”
“You’ve got to get me into that concert. I’m such a huge fan of Mike!” Molly said. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe you’re working with Purple Crush!”
The name made Chelsea stiffen. Colt Montgomery was Purple Crush. That was his stage name. He was the lead singer of his own band. Without him, there would be no band. The others were just there as instrumentali
sts and backup … Cory, Tony, Andrew and Mike. Colt had the voice, he wrote the songs, and he was the one gyrating on stage. The thought of him made her shudder.
“What’s wrong, are you alright?” Molly squinted her eyes and peered at her friend’s face.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, trying to contain her disdain for the man.
3. Two
Reid banged his fist on the desk in the corner of the living room in the hotel suite. For two weeks, they’d be in New York, and that would be their home. Chelsea had the room across the hall, and Reid was directly next door with a room that had an adjoining door. This was one of three suites on the floor. It was her first day on the job, and already there seemed to be trouble. From the moment he stepped on her letter, she knew Colt was the Devil. She was still ticked off that he hadn’t apologized.
As Reid’s fist hit the desk, she jumped. It was close to 3 p.m., and the rehearsal was supposed to start at 2:30. Colt was nowhere to be found, and Reid was ready to bust a vein. Chelsea could see the cord bulge in his forehead. His golden tan now had a slight orange hue from the flush of anger.
“I swear, some days I want to beat the crap out of him!” Reid’s voice was low and calm, with a deadly note. His steely eyes turned to her, making her cringe. “We have to find him.”
He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a small leather bound book that looked like a diary. He stretched it out to her. “Call all the numbers in it. Find him!”
“Y—yes, sir,” she replied, taking it.
Reid stomped out of the suite, leaving her on her own to make the calls. She stared at the pages. All the names and numbers seemed jumbled. She blinked to catch her focus and then scanned the first page. They were all women’s numbers. She moved over to Reid’s desk, where the telephone was and sat in his chair. There, she picked up the phone, starting to dial the first one on the page.
“Hello?” a husky voice came over the phone.
“He—hello,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
“Hello?” the woman repeated.
USED by Him: A Billionaire Bad Boy Romance Box Set Page 1
