FUSE

by Deborah Bladon

  FUSE

  THE STANDALONE

  New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  Deborah Bladon

  COPYRIGHT

  First Original Edition, January 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Deborah Bladon

  ISBN: 9781926440194

  Cover Design by Wolf & Eagle Media

  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 situations either are the product of the author's imagination or are used factiously.

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.

  Also by Deborah Bladon

  The Obsessed Series

  The Exposed Series

  The Pulse Series

  The VAIN Series

  The RUIN Series

  IMPULSE

  SOLO

  The GONE Series

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Preview of Ember

  Thank You

  Subscribe to Deborah’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Zoe

  "I don't have trouble finding women who want to fuck me," he says the words with so much effortless ease it's as though he actually believes them. "Once I tell a woman who I am, I'm usually in bed with her within the hour."

  Um... what? Is this real? Is this what my friends meant when they told me to stay clear of men who are New York born and raised? Is he serious? "You're not serious?"

  "I'm Beck. Brighton Beck." He extends his hand and it hangs in the air between us.

  "Good for you." I move my eyes from his outstretched, vacant hand to his vibrant blue eyes. "I'm new here so that means nothing to me."

  A slight smirk pulls at the edge of his full lips. "New here?"

  "Not just here." I wave my arm around the crowded bar. "I'm new to Manhattan."

  He nods as if that small detail is going to give him more understanding. He doesn't want to know about me. That's not why he's here. I've been watching him since my shift started. I'm the third waitress he's hit on. Both of the ones before me were blonde with big blue, puppy dog, eyes. I finally realized he didn't have a type when he waved me over. The fact that I'm a brunette with brown eyes cements the fact that this man is after one thing and one thing only. He wants a fuck partner for the night.

  "Is there something I can get you?" I look past him to where a new group of frat boys has just settled into a booth. It's not my station, unfortunately. I've learned quickly that flirting will get me a full tip jar by the end of the night and frat boys don't hold too tightly to their wallets once they have a few beers in them.

  "What's your name?" Brighton shifts slightly on the stool he's perched himself on. "I bet you have a beautiful name."

  He'd lose that bet. I have a name that my mother thought was perfect until I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. "My name is Zoe."

  "Zoe?" He skims it over his lips. "That's gorgeous."

  "Do you want anything?" I stare directly at his face. He's actually striking. His hair is dark and a tousled mess. His jaw is covered with the beginnings of a beard. If I wasn't so focused on keeping my mind in the game of life right now, I might take him up on his offer to spend the night together. I haven't slept with a man in months and jumping into bed with a guy like this would be a nice distraction.

  "You," he says a little too happily.

  I shake my head. I don't need this. "I have other customers to tend to, so unless there's something I can get you..."

  "My girlfriend got married today." He slams his hand down on the small, circular table so hard the empty glass in front of him teeters slightly. "She got married to my best friend at the hotel across the street an hour ago."

  I'm not a bartender. I don't hear the stories of woe and trouble that dot the landscape of the bar on any given night. I usually take orders, drop them off and collect my tips at the end of my shift. I'm not equipped for this. "I'm sorry to hear that."

  "She wasn't really my girlfriend." He reaches up to run his finger over his lips. "I slept with her in Paris."

  "What's her name?" I ask before I dive into the more important question. "Do you want a refill?"

  "Alexa." He nods briefly, pushing the glass towards me. "Whiskey."

  I place it on the tray I'm holding before I turn to walk away. "I'll be back in a flash."

  "Have you ever been in love, Zoe?" I feel his hand on my elbow. "Have you ever loved someone so much it tore you apart inside?"

  My breath stalls at the question. He can't possibly know what he's asking me. I should ignore him and walk away. I can send his drink back with one of the other girls he was hitting on. They'll take the tip and maybe give him the comfort he needs. He's obviously falling apart emotionally.

  "Do you know what it's like to lose someone?" I can feel him lean closer to me as he asks the question. "No one knows what I feel inside."

  "I know." I turn back around and look directly into his face. "I know exactly how it feels."

  "So a guy you loved," he hesitates as his eyes lock on mine. "So you loved a guy who married someone else?"

  I squeeze my eyes shut briefly not wanting them to betray me as I answer the question. I know I shouldn't do it. I don't owe this man a thing other than the drink he just ordered but I've opened the door to this now so I have to walk through. "It's not like that," I say quietly as I pull my gaze back to his face. "He didn't get married to anyone."

  "You can't know what I'm feeling then," he spits back at me. "Alexa married Noah because she loves him. Liz never wanted me at all. I'm not sure I ever knew what the fuck love was in the first place."

  The names he's throwing out mean nothing to me at all. I shift my left foot slightly knowing that all I have to do is walk away, fill his drink order and forget about him. I can't though. I can tell that it took all the emotional strength the man has left within him to say the names of the woman he's obviously hung up on and her husband.

  "You have to move on," I offer because there's really nothing else I can say to him. I don't know him. I can't suggest any expected words of comfort because I don't understand the scope of what he's feeling. All I do know is that he's trying to drown the devastating pain he's feeling in whiskey and in the bed of another woman.

  "It's hard," he whispers just under his breath. "I've fucked up so much."

  The wave of a hand behind his head catches my gaze. It's a group of women, my age, who've just sat down at a table in the corner. The promise of a big tab and equally large tip is calling to me and I need to walk away.

  "I need to get back to work." I grip tightly to his empty glass that is sitting atop my tray. "I'll bring you a refill."

  His brow furrows together and I see
a brief flash of disappointment dash over his expression. "Don't bother. I'm out of here."

  I'd argue the point but he's obviously had more than his fill of spirits for the night. If he closes his tab right now, I'll be the benefactor. The ten minutes I've spent talking to him may just pay off. "I'll tally up your tab. I'll be right back."

  "Here." He fumbles with his wallet before he tucks a few bills into one of the front pockets of the small, black apron I have tied around my waist. "Thanks for listening, Zoe."

  I nod my head as he brushes past me before he pushes his way through a crowd gathered near the entrance.

  "You let him walk out of here?" A hand on my shoulder accompanies the unmistakable sound of my roommate, Bridget's voice. "You let Brighton Beck walk out of here?"

  I've known Bridget Grant for all of two months. She's a friend of a friend who quickly became my best friend, and my savior, when I moved to Manhattan. When she mentioned they needed another server at Easton Pub I didn't have to ask her to put in a good word for me. She talked to the owner and came home with a job offer in hand before I even had my boxes unpacked. Now, we not only live together, but we share many of the same shifts.

  "Zoe Cameron?" She taps her manicured fingernail on my nose. "Is anyone in there?"

  I grab her hand playfully. "I'm here."

  "Did he hit on you?" She squeezes my palm in hers. "He did, didn't he?"

  I pull my hand free. I've already wasted at least fifteen minutes on him and now, if I don't get my head back into the game, I'm going to lose the table of exuberant college girls to another server. "He hit on everybody, Bridget. I saw him flirting with you an hour ago."

  "Briefly." She skims her hand across the shoulder of the black t-shirt I'm wearing. "It took me a whole two minutes to realize who he was and then I couldn't say anything. I just stood in awe, drooling and looking like an idiot."

  I chuckle at the image of Bridget not holding her own with any man. Not only have I been witness to her going on dates with a few different men since I moved in with her, but I've seen her go toe-to-toe with more than one gorgeous man right here in the pub. She's beautiful and she knows it.

  I saw you talking to him, Zoe." She tilts her head just slightly to the left as if she's studying my face. "How did you do it? How did you not freeze in place?"

  "Freeze in place?" I parrot back. "Why would I freeze in place?"

  "He's Brighton Beck. No one that famous ever comes in here."

  "Famous?" My mouth thins as I absorb the word. I wouldn't classify myself as a movie buff but I do take in a new release every couple of months as a way to treat myself. I haven't seen his face on the silver screen and I'd definitely remember seeing it on television. He's not burly enough to be a football player so that leaves only one other possibility in my mind. "Does he play for the Yankees?"

  "The Yankees? As in the New York Yankees?" Her head falls back in laughter. Wayward strands of her shoulder length blonde hair cling to the side of her cheek. "He's not a Yankee, Zoe."

  Playing twenty questions is costing me more than I can afford right now. "I need to get back to work, Bridge. I don't care who he is. He was here, now he's gone and I've got work to do."

  "Fine with me but if he comes in again, don't let him leave. I'd kill for another crack at that." She dips her hand into one of the pockets of her apron. "I'm making shit tonight in tips. What about you?"

  I glance one last time at the group of women waiting for me to take their order. I mouth to one that I'll be right over before pushing my hand into my apron pocket. My eyes skim over a few singles, three five dollar bills and a twenty that I picked up earlier from a middle-aged businessman who told me I reminded him of a younger version of his wife. I push the money back into my apron and my fingers catch on another stack of bills. I slowly pull them out. My stomach drops as I fan the edge of the pile open with my thumb. They're hundreds. Not one, not two, but five. Brighton Beck, whoever the hell he is, just gave me the biggest tip I've ever seen.

  Chapter 2

  Beck

  "You're so full of shit, Brighton."

  I hear his voice but there's no way in hell he's actually in the room with me. My younger brother, Jax, is away on business. I know that for a fact because I called his wife last night after he ignored the six calls I made to his cell number. Ivy, his saint of a wife, told me that he was in Boston meeting with an associate about some boring business deal he wants to get involved with. I pull the pillow closer around my head. The stream of daylight pouring in through the narrow gap between the heavy curtains that cover my bedroom window is reminding me that there's a life out there waiting for me. Since it's a life that I don't want any part of, I'm going to hang out here for as long as possible.

  "Get your ass out of bed. It's three o'clock."

  If this is a dream, it's the worst fucking one I've had in a long time. Why can't I be dreaming about that beautiful brunette server that I met last night at the pub? Come to think of it, why can't I stop thinking about her? When I finally got home just after midnight, I sat in the dark, drinking a beer and thinking about the way her eyes looked. She's not my type but the fact that she didn't bat a long, perfectly curled eyelash when I told her I wanted to fuck her, made her irresistible to me. She's exactly what I need to move on or at the very least, she's exactly what I need to wash the memory of every failed relationship I've had out of my mind.

  "Brighton," Jax's voice is louder. "Ivy's worried about you. She said you sounded wasted on the phone last night."

  Fuck it. This is real. He's here and unless I play dead, he's not leaving until I turn over and deal with him. Mornings like this, correction, days like this are when I wish we'd stayed estranged. I love my younger brother but since he's become a father, he's determined to get me to be as settled down as he is. That's not happening. I'm swearing off everything related to commitment.

  "Go to hell, Jax," I murmur out of the corner of my mouth. "I'm sleeping."

  "How much did you drink last night?" he asks as he pulls open the curtains.

  "Jesus," I hiss back at him as I try to shield my eyes from the brilliant sunlight that pours into the room. "Get out."

  "You need to get up now." The flash of navy trouser that I catch out of the corner of my eye precedes the shake of the bed and the ringing of his smartphone.

  "Did you just fucking kick my bed?" I squint against the onslaught of sensations. "Who do you think you are?"

  He ignores me in favor of answering his phone. I mutter under my breath as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, thankful that I kept my boxer briefs on last night. I already feel overexposed given the fact that he's dressed in a tailored suit, his hair neatly trimmed and his face freshly shaven. I don't need a mirror to tell me that I'm the exact opposite of that right at this moment.

  "Watch yourself when you stand up, Brighton." He tucks the phone next to his lapel to shield our conversation from whoever is on the other end of that call. "You look like a truck ran over you. You're hung over."

  It's that fatherly thing kicking in again. I know I'm hung over. I didn't need him to march uptown to my place to clue me into that. "Thanks," I say with as much blatant sarcasm as I can muster.

  He turns his back to me to rattle off some meaningless numbers into the phone. I have to admit, I'm glad to see him back in a suit and in a boardroom. He'd given up the corporate world when he found the love of his life. He opted to take an active role in building her jewelry brand. Once that was established, they dove into their happily-ever-after at warp speed. Now, they're raising a family and living the life that I thought I wanted. It's been hard to swallow the painful reality that even though he's four years younger than I am, Jax has his act together. I'm still flailing aimlessly. Christ, I'm thirty-three-years-old. I'm too old to be this hung over.

  I push myself to my feet. The instant I'm upright I feel my stomach drop. I reach to grab hold of a leather chair a few feet from the bed. I need to find my footing. If I can shuffle my feet into
the bathroom, I know a shower is going to wash away most of what I'm feeling. I've done this enough times since I got back from Europe to know the drill.

  "I brought you some coffee," Jax calls after me as I walk onto the heated, tiled floor towards the large shower stall I had installed when the place was remodeled a few months ago.

  "I need more than that," I mumble before I push the door closed with my foot.

  ***

  "It's about Liz, isn't it?" Jax bites heartily into a sandwich he obviously brought with him as I round the corner into the kitchen. "You're still not over her, are you?"

  Christ. Liz? Next to Alexa she's the one woman I never want to think about again. I fell head over heels for Liz the first moment I saw her. She was cultured, refined and in love with my work. She's an artist too so she understood the creative parts of me that no one woman had before her. When she was hurt in an accident, I rushed to take care of her and our relationship blossomed from there. Then I met Alexa and my life unraveled at warp speed.

  I'm the first to admit that my track record with beautiful women the past few years hasn't been stellar. I was crazy about both of them, and they both wanted someone else. At least in Alexa's case, the guy she's madly in love with is alive. Liz can't go over her ex-lover, Mark, even though he's been dead for more than two years.

  "Why bring her up?" I ask as I sit across from him. "I haven't talked about her since I got back from Paris. That was more than a year ago."

  I haven't. Jax has no idea about what happened in Paris. He doesn't know that while I was helping nurse Liz back to health after the car accident that killed her ex-lover, Mark, and left her with multiple injuries, that I was subjected to listening to her cry almost non-stop about losing him. He has no idea that more than once when I was fucking her, she was screaming out Mark's name. I haven't confided in my younger brother that I met a beautiful, young woman there named Alexa Jackson who took me into her bed. I couldn't see it then, but she was offering me her heart. I was too blinded by my need to help Liz. Now that I've finally forgotten about her, I've also lost my chance with Alexa. My life is fucked. It's so fucked I can't see more than ten minutes in front of me at any given moment.