The Scent of You (Saving the Billionaire Book 1)

by C. D. Samuda

  Quinn liked his office in the business district. He raised his eyes and peered through the glass panel overlooking the city. Only twinkling lights of Cupertino nightlife returned to him.

  Coming back to the task, he flipped the pages of the document. Vita smiled at him in a rather bashful manner. Her brown eyes never met his and this amused Quinn.

  He rested his elbow on top of the desk while he absently fingered his scruffy day old beard. With his eyes back to the file in front of him, Quinn refocused his attention on the merger agreement. This was his fifth merger since forming his company eight years ago when he was only twenty-four years old.

  By the time he graduated college, he’d saved enough money to start his own business with the direction of his father. Herman Harrison was an Economics professor at UCLA. During the summer and some winter breaks, he tutored privately. Professor Harrison often wrote articles, which appeared in the financial section of the newspaper. Quinn would read these articles, listen to his father while he tutored and asked many questions. This sparked his interest in investments and finance, which led him to the junior stock market. There he purchased small amounts of stocks in various markets. By the time he left high school, Quinn had made close to half a million dollars trading stocks.

  Alan cleared his throat, breaking Quinn’s concentration. He looked up from his file at the new stubby growth on the man’s oval face. His friend’s brown eyes were red rimmed and his brown hair looked like a bird’s nest.

  “Alan, I can finish up here. Nicole must be worried sick, you go home,” he said.

  Alan’s wife wasn’t one to contend with. Quinn knew Alan was scared of her and he would get an earful when he got home. Several times in the past, he’d had to act as referee as Nicole and Alan came to blows. When it wasn’t work hours, it was money issues. The woman was a nag.

  Alan’s face lit up like a bulb. “Are you sure? I think we’re set for the meeting tomorrow. I couldn’t find anything wrong in the report.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just give them a once over and then make a few calls. I think we’re set,” Quinn smiled. “Hey, remember tomorrow after the meeting - match, you and me.”

  Alan grinned. “You’re on, old man.”

  It was a regular past time of theirs to hit the tennis court together since high school. It kept them fit and helped them bond as friends. Since Quinn suffered a knee injury in his college days playing football, this was the only sport he enjoyed. He sometimes felt the old injury flare up, but he didn’t mind.

  He looked over at his trophies and wondered what it would have been like if he’d become a professional football player. Things would have been different. Of course, he wouldn’t be Cupertino’s Executive of the Year three times in a row.

  A frame of the magazine cover for the last issue hung beside his father’s portrait on the wall. This was the doing of Terry, one of his women ‘friends’. She had become too attached and he had no idea how to break the connection. He shook her from his mind and went back to thinking about business.

  Alan picked up his jacket, which he’d thrown on the sofa and left Quinn’s office. It was always amusing to Quinn when Alan would rush home after work or skip out on functions because of his wife. He, on the other hand, was unattached and liked it that way. At 32, he did not intend to tie himself down to any one woman. He wasn’t even dating exclusively, though there were a number of women waiting for his call.

  “Vita, you too. Go on home, I’ll finish up here,” he said.

  “Yes, Mr. Harrison,” she replied, getting to her feet.

  He looked up from his papers again. “How many times do I tell you? It’s Quinn.”

  “Okay, Quinn. See you tomorrow,” she replied with a demure smile.

  In all of the six months that Vita worked with them, she never once called him by his given name, except when he insisted. He knew that by morning it was back to being ‘Mr. Harrison’.

  Alan’s head popped around the door. “Come Vita, I’ll drop you home, it’s on my way.”

  “Thanks Alan,” Vita replied.

  Quinn chuckled. Vita never addressed him as Quinn, but always addressed her other boss as Alan. He could see the fear in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Did she think he was going to jump her? Not that he wouldn’t, but Alan would have his neck if he tried anything with the secretary. It was an unspoken rule between them never to mess with the staff.

  He watched them leave the office and his eyes trailed after them. Vita’s ass did look promising in that tight skirt she loved to wear. Briefly, he wondered what she would do if he made a move on her. Shaking his head, he returned to his file.

  “No, behave yourself Quinn,” he chuckled to himself.

  ~3~

  A deafening silence followed Alan and Vita’s departure from the office. Quinn disliked the deathly quiet of the place. Before wrapping up for the night, he made a few calls, and then checked the files again.

  When he next checked the time, it was 11:42. He stared at the watch for a while, remembering his father, wishing he could see his face another time. The Hermes timepiece was a gift from the late Harold Harrison. It was the most valuable item he owned. Not for its monetary value, but because it was the last gift he received from his father.

  “All done,” he said to himself as he stood and massaged his neck.

  He picked up his jacket from the high back of his leather chair. Then he picked up his briefcase. As he gave the room one last scan before he turned out the lights, he noticed the portrait of his father was askew. The safe was locked, so he didn’t bother to check its contents. He straightened the painting, turned the lights out and closed the door behind him.

  The building seemed empty as he took the elevator to the sub-level parking. He was thinking of grabbing a bite to eat at a late restaurant before heading home. Alan had opted out of ordering dinner, with the excuse that Nicole would be upset if he didn’t have dinner at home. Vita said her mother made roast, so she was going home to have that. He had no one to cook for him so he was left to feel the pangs of hunger alone.

  When he stepped out of the elevator, he pulled the car remote from his pocket. As he walked the short distance to where he parked, the clacking of his shoes echoed in the emptiness. Mingled with the sound of his own steps, he was certain he heard another sound.

  Quinn paused, cocking his ears for any sound. Emptiness greeted him. As he moved off again, he was certain that he heard a shuffling. When he strained to listen, he heard nothing.

  “Hmm,” he murmured softly, continuing to his quartzite colored Jaguar. “I must be tired.”

  A few meters away from the car, he pressed the button on the remote. The only indication that he’d unlock the car was the flashing headlights. As he reached out to open the door, something moved. He paused again and turned. He saw nothing. He was about to open the door when from the corner of his eye, a shadow emerged from behind a column. As he turned to see what it was, someone grabbed him from behind.

  A hand clamped over his mouth while another hand held him in a chokehold. The one holding him from behind was as tall as he was, maybe an inch taller. He grabbed at the arm around his neck but the hand tightened.

  Another figure stepped in front of him. Before he could get a grip on the situation, something sharp jabbed his right side just under the ribs. Whatever it was, pierced his flesh and sank into him. At first, he was unsure of what happened. There wasn’t much pain. The only indication that they stabbed him was the warmth of fluid trickling down his side.

  Quinn’s eyes widened as he tried freeing himself of the hold on his neck. Before him stood a figure in a black ski mask and navy baseball cap. Trying to twist around to see the one who held him from behind was futile. Somehow he knew there was a third person but could not see him either.

  With some amount of strength, he struggled against the hold as pain spread across his lower torso. In the struggle, he moved his elbow. The elbow rammed into something cushiony.

  “Oomph!” />
  The sound only meant he had struck someone. That was good. Quinn pulled on his inner strength and struggled against the chokehold while trying to breathe. It was difficult as he felt the air leaving his lungs.

  The grip on his neck tightened the more he resisted. As he fought to breathe, weakness overcame him. While trying to grip the hand that was cutting off his windpipe his briefcase slipped from his hand.

  The man holding him was hard and muscular. Quinn knew this by the way his forearm bulged against his neck. He felt the strength of his attacker from behind and knew it was pointless to struggle.

  “T-a-k-e wha…,” he tried to say, in a bid to tell them to take whatever they wanted.

  Gasping for air was as difficult as trying to talk. His lungs were empty and he found it impossible to inhale. In his struggle, he struck his elbow back, and again it hit something soft. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it wasn’t the fellow choking him.

  “Say goodbye, pretty boy,” the man in front roughly said.

  An excruciating pain rent his rib cage as he felt the knife sink deeper into his flesh. His eyes watered as the pain sliced through him. Another sharp blade pierced the left of his chest. With a groan, he tried to fight against the pain while fighting to remain conscious. The arm slipped from around his neck and he gulped for fresh air.

  A wave of dizziness washed over him as he listened to their feet shuffle away. Quinn made a staggering step to reach out and grab the car door. With all his strength, he tried to turn to see his attackers.

  Everything was a blur. Weakness overcame him as his knees started to buckle. With all his might, he reached for the car door, but he was tumbling to the ground. As he hit the cold pavement, his head swirled. In that moment he knew he was about to take his last breath.

  The blood oozed from his side, leaving weakness in its place. This was the end. He knew it. Yet, Quinn was not ready to die. In the small space of consciousness that remained, he willed himself to live.

  Was that the tolling of bells? Was heaven calling? The sound seemed distant. No, he wouldn’t be heading to heaven, would he? A laugh welled in his chest but came out as a soft moan. The sound got closer… closer….

  Straining to listen, he thought he heard music. It was not heaven’s bells, he concluded. It was heaven’s music. The rhythm soothed him. He listened. Tap-tap…tap-tap… it was getting closer. The music was now upon him, louder and faster. Willing his eyes to stay open, he wanted more of the music, but he was fading.

  Without notice, the rhythm changed. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. It then occurred to him that this was not music. He recognized the sound. Running! Then it stopped and there was talking. Help me! He screamed but he knew no one heard him.

  His eyelids were closing, and then a face loomed over him. With his blurry eyes, he tried to focus. The face danced hazily before him. Music again? No. It was a voice. The face spoke, a sound that seemed to echo and bounced off the walls. His eyes slammed shut and everything went black.

  ~4~

  Weary feet shuffled from the elevator. On stiff legs, Leah moved toward her car. The alarm echoed, interrupting the quietness of the sublevel parking garage as she pressed her finger to the remote.

  It was a long exhausting day of putting the final additions to her new office space. Moving her wedding planning business from her living room to an office in the business district was tiresome. She hadn’t realized just how much work was involved. In fact, Leah hadn’t realized just how huge her business had grown until now.

  Thankfully, she was due to attend a bridal expo in Hawaii in a few days. That would give her time to recover this move, leaving her assistant in charge. She needed the break, having never taken a vacation since starting her business six years ago.

  The break was needed as her doctor had warned about a burnout syndrome. Although her time away was work related, she promised her best friend and assistant, Bridget that she would take a couple of days to herself to relax. Her friend told her never to return until she was rested and ready to take charge of the new office. Fortunately, the next wedding was due in two weeks and all the preparations were already made.

  Thinking that she heard a sound, Leah halted. With heart pounding heavily, she turned her head to look left and right of her. She saw nothing. Hastening her steps, she continued to her car.

  “There are security guards here, Leah,” she reminded herself. “No need to be afraid.”

  The sound came once again. This time she was certain of it. Pausing, she cocked her ears to listen. A sound similar to that of groaning greeted her. Heart rate shooting through the roof and the hairs on her head on end, she clutched her purse to her chest and looked around.

  She was near her car, but she turned to look across the almost empty area. On the opposite side of the space, was a figure lying beside a Jaguar.

  Eyes widening, she stepped back with a gasp.

  “Oh my God!” She whispered. “Oh god.”

  Rooted to the spot, she stared at the man, wondering if he was dead. Her mind went blank for a moment as fear gripped her. What appeared to be a pool of blood was all around him. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a leather briefcase and a jacket lying beside him. In his left hand, he clutched his keys.

  “What should I do?”

  Leah started backing away, but a small voice entered her mind. You can’t just leave him there. She was new to the building. In fact, she knew almost no one there. Should she call the security guard?

  The questions ran through her mind as she kept her eyes on him. Another groan reached her and his foot moved. That told her he wasn’t dead. She wasn’t sure she should approach, but his entire chest area was red, staining his baby blue dress shirt.

  “He needs help,” she whispered. “Get a grip Leah.”

  Her human nature kicked in and she sprinted in his direction. By this time, she’d gained some control over her fear and pushed it aside. Having attended medical school for over a year, she knew exactly what to do. This man needed assistance and she switched her mind in emergency mode. Kneeling beside him, she observed him from head to toe. He’d lost quite a huge amount of blood, but Leah could not tell by what means or where the injury was. Plucking her cellphone from her purse, she dialed emergency.

  “Nine-one-one, how may I be of assistance?” A male operator answered.

  “There’s a man hurt … there’s lots of blood,” she spoke calmly into the phone. “An artery may be damaged.”

  “Are you a medic ma’am?”

  Leah winced. “No, I went to med school briefly.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Ma’am, where are you?”

  “The Lake Towers, on 7th Street,” she told him. “Basement level parking area.”

  “Okay, is he still breathing?” The man asked. “Is he alive?”

  “I not sure,” she replied, kneeling beside the injured man. “I will check.”

  She touched his shoulder. “Hello, can you hear me?” Leaning forward, she asked. His eyes were opened a slit. That was good.

  Placing her hand under his nose, a feather-like breath touched the back of it. She was surprised to see his eyes widen. As she looked into them, she felt like they were pulling her into their ocean. They were the most magnetic cobalt eyes she’d ever seen. She had to tear her eyes away to answer the operator.

  “Yes, he’s alive,” she said into the phone. “I think he might be bleeding from his chest since the area is covered in blood.”

  “Okay ma’am, we’ll send help, but I need you to take care of him in the meantime,” the calm voice of the operator said.

  “Okay,” she replied. “I will do as you instruct.”

  “Can you find anything to stop the bleeding, you said he was bleeding from his chest, am I right?”

  “Yes, it appears so.”

  “Can you find something?”

  She caught sight of his jacket lying beside him at which time she grabbed it. “Yes, his jacket.”

  “That’s good, press
that to the wound and keep pressure on it.”

  Looking carefully, Leah found the wound site on the left of his chest. They were aiming for the heart, she concluded. By her calculation, they might have missed the organ. When she pressed the jacket to the wound, on his chest, blood gushed from his right side. She would have missed it if he hadn’t groaned.

  “Oh no!” she exclaimed in dismay.

  “Ma’am, what’s wrong?”

  “He’s bleeding from his right side as well,” she replied.

  The operator paused, only for a second before continuing, “Can you find something else? I know it’s difficult, but please try.”

  Leah looked around. The lot was almost empty. She was tempted to take of her top and use it to stop the blood. It was then she remembered that she had the suit she’d picked up from the dry cleaners in her car.

  “My jacket. I have to get it from my car. I will hang up so I can tend to him while you send the ambulance.”

  “I understand,” the operator replied. “You’re doing great. Help is on the way.”

  Leah hung up and ran across to her car where she retrieved her jacket. This was one of her favorite suits. She liked the light lavender color and though she’d had it a long time, it was the most comfortable suit she had.

  She bunched up the jacket and pressed it to his side. It was awkward since she had to lean halfway across him to press on both wounds. In doing this, her chest quickly covered with his blood. Checking to make sure he was still breathing, she brought her cheeks to his nose. His breath was faint.

  “Hang in there, the police is on their way,” she whispered, her voice a little croaky. Slowly his eyes closed. “Don’t go to sleep,” she urged, but his eyes closed anyway.

  She stared at him for a moment. There were beads of sweat on his face and a lock of dark hair pressed to his forehead. Time passed slowly. Leaning across him in that awkward position was beginning to make her back ache.

  Not once in eight minutes did the security guards on duty check the parking area. This was not good. Leah was scared that the attackers may return and she would be their next victim. The police were taking their sweet time getting there as well.