RISE - Part One (The RISE Series Book 1)

by Deborah Bladon

  COPYRIGHT

  First Original Edition, July 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Deborah Bladon

  ISBN: 9781926440293

  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

  FUSE

  The Trace Series

  CHANCE

  The Ember 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

  Thank You

  Subscribe to Deborah’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  "I know you, don't I?"

  He doesn't. He's been watching me from across the room since he walked in right after the first model hit the catwalk. I expected all kinds of men to file through the door tonight. Even though I arranged for the premiere fashion show of the Liore lingerie brand to be held in an abandoned warehouse on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, I knew it would draw a specific, upscale crowd.

  One glance around the room and it's easy to spot the familiar celebrity faces, but hidden within the throngs of people who have gathered in this space are friends of the company's owner and the competition, clearly visible beneath the mask of a grin and a small lie about being an acquaintance of one of the models.

  I'd tossed the guest list aside when I saw the first media crew approaching the sliding metal door that leads into the space. I wanted the attention, and if it meant people who weren't invited drifted in to watch the parade of scantily clad women march up and down the makeshift stage that was constructed hours ago, I'm on board. Gabriel Foster, the owner of the Liore boutiques, paid me well to get as many eyes as I can manage on his product, and I've done that, in spades.

  "Excuse me." The stranger taps me on the forearm. "I think we've met."

  I look up and into his face. It's handsome. It's so handsome that I'd remember meeting him, or even seeing him in passing on the street.

  "I'm sorry," I say patiently. "I'm very busy right now. I assure you that we've never met."

  "You're 2B," he murmurs in a deep growl. "I remember you from the lavatory."

  I moved to New York City six months ago after graduating from college. I've had my fair share of men hit on me, which says little about the way I look and more about the fact that single women in this city seem to be a rarity. I may have stood out in a crowd back in the small town I lived in on the outskirts of Boston, but here, in one of the most populous cities in the world, my long dark hair and green eyes don't set me apart. I'm just another woman who doesn't sport a diamond ring on her left hand which means I'm ripe for the attention of any man who is looking for someone to warm the other half of his bed.

  I've grown accustomed to the expected requests to buy me a drink and within that there have been a few who have actually approached me with an intelligent conversation in their back pocket, but this one, this may be the one that I'll remember long after tonight.

  "The lavatory?" I adjust my left heel, hoping that the movement will relieve the pressure I feel on the ball of my foot. I've been wearing these shoes all day and I'm ready to head home to kick them off so I can crawl into a warm tub.

  "You were on a flight from Milan to JFK the week before last." His blue eyes rake over my black dress. "You were wearing a red skirt, white blouse and your hair was pulled back, tight, into a ponytail."

  What the fuck?

  I part my lips to say something, anything, but the dark haired, bearded stranger isn't done yet.

  "You sat in business class, first class, actually on that flight. You were assigned seat 2B."

  I was. I remember it clearly because I'd asked for that specific seat. It's the one I always request. I wouldn't say I'm a nervous flyer but if I can quiet my anxiety over being thousands of miles in the air in a confined space with dozens of strangers, I'll do it. That particular seat has always kept me safe so why mess with a good thing?

  "You walked out of the lavatory. I was standing there, next to you and I remember the scent of your perfume." His hand reaches down. I don't protest as he gently grabs my wrist and brings it to his face. He inhales, slowly.

  I look around the room, wanting to find a familiar face that will ground me in this moment. There's no way this is happening. I'd remember if this man sat next to me on a flight. I'd recall the curve of his strong jaw and the sound of his voice.

  "I'm sorry. I don't remember," I admit.

  "Allow me to introduce myself then." He slides his fingers up my wrist until his hand is cradling mine. "I'm Landon Beckett. Captain Landon Beckett."

  "Captain?" I ask tentatively, realization washing over me.

  His full lips curve into a wry smile. "Yes. I was piloting the airplane."

  My stomach knots. It's him. I thought I'd never see him again. There's no way he knows about the conversation I had with the woman sitting next to me. He can't know that, can he? "It's nice to meet you."

  "It's my pleasure, Ms. Marlow, or can I call you Tess?"

  I take a step back as I feel a flush race over my body. "How do you know my name?"

  "That's an interesting story." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Where do I begin?"

  `My gaze falls past his shoulder to where Gabriel is motioning towards me. He's the man who wrote me a sizable check tonight. I'm technically still on the clock and if I drop the ball at any point before the end of this evening, the chances of me landing another job planning an event for Foster Enterprises is going to evaporate as quickly as all that expensive champagne I had the servers bring out before the fashion show began. My plan has always been to secure at least one event under the hand of either Gabriel or his brother, Caleb Foster. I know that if I impress tonight, I'm on my way to an exclusive contract with their global organization which will finally put my burgeoning event planning company on the Manhattan social scene map.

  "I'm sorry," I say as I level my eyes back on Landon's face. "I'm working."

  "I know." He dips his chin towards me as he adjusts his navy blue tie.

  My eyes dart from Gabriel's waving hand to the smug grin on Landon's face. He knows? I shouldn't be surprised by that fact. People have been approaching me all evening. Some have been looking for answers to the most mundane questions about seating, where the washroom facilities are and whether there's going to be a media area for the models to be interviewed. Others, including many of the wait staff, are in search of who to talk to regarding their stipend for the night. It's been a whirlwind few hours, but judging by the grin on Gabriel's face, I've don
e my job.

  "I need to go." I move to brush past him. "It was nice to meet you."

  The words carry the same hollow meaning as my expression. At any other moment in time, I'd likely stay to talk. I'd ask him the expected questions about how he knows my name and where he gained the knowledge that I'm working at the event, but at best, he'd captivate me long enough to take me to bed for a night or two. I know all about the unspoken expectations in this city. Sex is great. Great sex is even better but it's not going to pay my bills.

  "You're not even curious about how I know your name?"

  There it is. That's the bait that he hopes will lure me back. My racing mind has quieted enough to find its logical balance again. When he arrived at the fashion show tonight he recognized me from the flight. It's not surprising given the fact that I let out a shrill scream and fisted the front of his shirt with both hands as I exited the lavatory right when the plane tipped to the left because of turbulence. In my focused fear I had one thing on my mind. That was survival, so the fact that I don't recognize his face shouldn't surprise me as much as it does.

  If I was the type of woman to place a wager, I'd bet that the handsome man standing in front of me asked someone in this room for my name before he approached me. It was the right thing to say to get me to stop dead in my tracks. He can't know that tonight is the single most important evening in my career. If I stumble off that course, I'll lose the advantage that I've worked so hard to gain.

  "Someone is waiting to speak to me." I absentmindedly gesture in Gabriel's vicinity. "Please enjoy yourself. Again, it was nice to meet you."

  "Wait." His hand leaps back to mine and I'm suddenly aware of how strongly his touch impacts me. I stare at our hands. Mine is hidden within the palm of his. I'm struck by how soft his skin is. The contrast between that and the firmness etched into his one word command stops me again.

  I open my mouth to protest but any words that may have jumped from my lips are forced back into the pit of my stomach when the gravity of what he says next hits me. "You forgot an envelope on the airplane. Someone from the airline should have called you about it by now."

  "No." I pull free from his grasp. "That's not mine. I didn't forget it."

  "It's not yours?" He pauses as his eyes study my face. "The letter inside the envelope was addressed to you."

  I blush when I realize that he most likely read the letter in its entirety. It was meant for my eyes only. I had reread it for a fifth time before I had deliberately tucked it into the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me as the airplane began its descent into New York. I hadn't questioned my decision to leave it there knowing that it saved me the pain of having to toss it directly into the trash myself. "It was mine. I just meant that I don't want it anymore."

  "You don't want it?" His jaw tightens with the words.

  "It can be thrown away." I nod towards Gabriel as I take a step away from Landon. "I left it on the plane because it's garbage."

  "Garbage?" A disarming smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "You consider it to be garbage?"

  "Yes." I exhale as the word floats quietly from me. "I have to go."

  His tongue darts over his bottom lip before his eyes fall to the floor. "It's a marriage proposal. The guy who wrote it clearly is crazy about you."

  He has no idea what he's talking about. A few hastily-jotted-down romantic words don't negate all the pain that preceded them. A big diamond ring and a lavish wedding won't cure what plagued my last relationship. "I'll call the lost and found department of the airline tomorrow to take care of it myself. You didn't have to come all the way down here to tell me about it."

  The bereft look on his face almost seems genuine but the glint in his eye quells any question about the amusement he's finding in my obvious discomfort. "I didn't come all the way down here to tell you about it. I was invited here. I happened to recognize you when I walked in."

  "You were invited here?" Any attempt I may have made to hide the surprise in my voice hasn't worked. I highly doubt this man's interest in tonight's fashion show has anything to do with the business side of the Liore brand. He must be dating one of the models. I can't stifle my curiosity so I blurt out one last question just as I catch sight, out of the corner of my eye, of someone quickly approaching us. "Who invited you?"

  "It was at my request. We're old friends." Gabriel steps into my view just as he rests his hand on Landon's shoulder. "How do you two know each other?"

  I open my mouth to try and explain why I've spent the past five minutes appearing to ignore Gabriel in favor of talking to Landon. I should have walked away the moment he approached me. "I was on a flight…"

  "Tess," Landon interrupts me with a soft touch on my forearm. "Allow me. Tess was on a flight I piloted a couple of weeks ago. We met briefly then."

  I feel a sigh of relief pour through me when he neglects to mention the mini panic attack I had. I know that part of being the exclusive event planner for Gabriel's company is going to involve lots of travel. I don't want him to view me as a scared doe who can't handle that aspect of the job.

  "I didn't know you two were friends," I begin as my mind searches for a way to move the conversation away from the flight and into the present, and more importantly, the future. I'm determined to prove to Gabriel Foster that I'm the woman who should be planning each and every event his company, and all of its subsidiaries, has lined up for the next year, and beyond.

  "Gabriel, has your mother mentioned meeting Tess?" Landon scoops his arm around my waist. "They actually sat next to one another on that flight."

  "No." I absentmindedly feel my head shake slightly from side-to-side. Whenever I'm anxious, I can't shut myself up and on that long flight from Milan to New York, I talked non-stop to Gianna, the beautiful, older woman, seated in 2A. One subject of discussion I got stuck on was the pilot of the airplane. I had rambled on incessantly about how deep his voice was and how expertly he handled the aircraft. I can't be certain, but after my second glass of wine, I may have whispered to her, that I'd even consider joining the mile high club with him. "That can't be right."

  "It's right." Landon cocks a brow as he looks down at me. "It's a small world, isn't it?"

  "It's a small world indeed." Gabriel nods. "I need a moment, Tess."

  I need a cave to hide in.

  "We'll catch up after you're done." Landon's voice carries through the air behind me as Gabriel guides me towards a quiet corner. I don't turn to look back. I won't. Any catching up he has to do is with Gabriel. I have no intention of ever seeing Captain Beckett again.

  Chapter 2

  "I believe this belongs to you."

  You would think that this nightmare would have ended when I woke up this morning in a cold sweat. I might be able to attribute my damp skin to the fact that my air conditioning isn't working again, but the cool breeze that was flowing in from my open bedroom window did little to shake off the overwhelming feeling of doom that has been stuck with me since last night.

  Now, as I settle into my day behind my desk in the small office I rented on the Upper West Side, I don't need to look up to know that the pilot who haunted my broken dreams all night is standing in my doorway. When I do look at him, I clearly see one of my pale blue business cards in his hand.

  When I'd strategically placed a small pile of them by a table situated at the entrance to the fashion show it wasn't with the hope that someone like him would pick one up. It was a ploy to grab a new client or two and he doesn't strike me as someone who throws many elaborate events.

  "What belongs to me?" I ask without thought.

  "This." He steps towards me with a familiar pale yellow envelope in his other hand. My eyes trail across the open flap before they settle on him. He's as striking as he was last night when he was dressed in a suit. Today he's opted for a black t-shirt and jeans but the impact is just as overwhelming. He's muscular, trim and his brilliant smile is on full display once again.

  "I told you that was trash." I gesture
towards the simple, silver wastebasket that is next to my desk. "I don't want that back."

  Without invitation he lowers himself into one of the white leather straight back chairs I purchased at a second hand store around the corner. The budget to decorate my office had been restricted to no more than a few hundred dollars, and I had used each and every penny wisely. The space is compact, but it's welcoming and hints of a business that is more successful than it really is. I may have to fake it for now, but I have little doubt that I'm going to make it.

  He scratches the edge of his nose with one of his long fingers and that's when I notice the elaborate tattoo that is partially visible on his bicep. It's an intricate blending of shaded black and grey hues. There's no mistaking the beauty of several roses but woven into the design are other details that make it captivating. "Do you like tattoos, Tess?"

  The question jars me enough that I push my back into my chair. I feel the leather on the seat pull apart as I shift and I wince. I'd taken the least attractive of the three chairs I bought and tucked it behind my desk. What is hidden from potential clients' eyes won't hurt them. It only hurts me or more specifically, the back of my thighs when I wear a dress or skirt. The hard, cheap leather of the worn seat scratches my skin almost daily but it's a reminder of what I'm working towards. My dreams of a beautiful office in a building on Fifth Avenue fuel me and make this used chair that much more tolerable.

  "I guess," I breathe, pulling my gaze from his arm back to his hand. That doesn’t help. He's holding an intimate reminder of a life I willingly walked away from and a man who, at one time, was my future. "I told you that I'd call the airline today about that."

  "About this?" He taps the edge of the envelope against his knee. "I thought you might regret asking them to throw it out so I went JFK this morning to pick it up for you."

  I glance quickly at the pearl encrusted watch on my wrist. Normally just the sight of it gives me a sense of comfort. My cousin, Ivy Marlow-Walker, designed it for me as a special graduation gift. Right now it's doing little to quiet my racing heart. I stare down at the delicate hands on its circular face. If he went to the airport this morning, he must have gotten up at the crack of dawn. It's barely past nine now.