Follow Me Darkly
Page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Acknowledgments
About the Author
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Helen Hardt. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Road
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
rights@entangledpublishing.com
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover images by heckmannoleg/GettyImages
iStock/Getty Images Plus
Interior design by Toni Kerr
ISBN 978-1-68281-499-4
Ebook ISBN 978-1-68281-500-7
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2020
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Also by Helen Hardt
WOLFES OF MANHATTAN
Rebel
Recluse
STEEL BROTHERS SAGA
Craving
Obsession
Possession
Melt
Burn
Surrender
Shattered
Twisted
Unraveled
Breathless
Ravenous
Insatiable
Fate
Legacy
For Dean, Eric, and Grant
Chapter One
Addison Ames hates coffee.
In fact, she says the smell of it gags her.
But here she stands, cinnamon mocha latte in hand, as I snap a photo with her smartphone. She extends her left arm because it has to look like a selfie. A perfect selfie, which is where I come in. A normal selfie is subject to silly things like an arm’s length and faulty lighting, so we have to create the illusion that it’s a selfie.
Bean There Done That, a new coffee joint hoping to give Starbucks a run for its money, just paid Addison a buttload to post a “selfie” with one of their hipster drinks. Apparently having their brew sipped by a Boston hotel heiress means something.
I just haven’t figured out what.
Addison couldn’t possibly spend her fortune in three lifetimes, yet she’s getting paid to pose with a pouty fake smile and a latte.
I edit it quickly, making her look even more gorgeous than she is, and hand the phone to her.
She shakes her head. “No. I look fat in this one, and my hair’s a mess.”
Fat? Addison weighs all of a hundred pounds soaking wet. Still, I take the phone back. I hate not getting it right the first time—I’m a control freak by nature—but I’m used to her. She grabs a compact out of her purse, fiddles with her blond hair, and then resumes her pose.
I need this job. I’m lucky to have this job. I worked my butt off to get this job, calculating every move I made. How else would Skye Manning, Kansas farm girl and aspiring photographer, be hired as assistant to Addison Ames, hotel heiress and Instagram influencer extraordinaire? This was a business move on my part, and I’m not about to screw it up, no matter how much my employer grates on my nerves.
I shoot the photo again. It’s nearly identical to the first. I edit and hand her the phone.
“Much better,” she says. “Get this up right away. Use the copy the company sent us. They’re already after me about not posting it earlier this week.”
I nod, tag the location, and post the photo.
Hanging out at the new Bean There Done That coffee shop in downtown Boston. The cinnamon mocha latte is to die for! @beantheredonethat #sponsored #coffeeisdope #coffeeaddict #coffee #latte #beantheredonethat
Within five minutes, Addison has a thousand likes and a hundred comments.
Unbelievable.
Sometimes Addison writes her own copy. More often, I write it. This time, we go with Bean There’s copy, since Addison has nothing good to say about coffee of any kind.
I disagree about coffee. I can’t get enough of the stuff, and my mouth waters over the cinnamon mocha latte that will end up in the trash. Does she ever think of offering it to me?
Nope.
Addison Ames doesn’t concern herself with the “help.”
My phone dings constantly with new comments on Addison’s latest post. I look down. Yeah, more of the same.
You rock, Addison! #luvyourface
Love me some cinnamon mocha latte!
Love your lip gloss. What’s the brand?
Bean There is the greatest! #whoneedsstarbucks
You and I both love cinnamon mocha lattes!
Love you, @realaddisonames!
Until my jaw drops.
Nice try, @realaddisonames. Coffee makes you puke. I should know. #youreafake
Uh-oh.
Part of my job is to delete all negative comments as soon as they post, and I’m about to, until I notice the sender.
@bradenblackinc
Braden Black?
The billionaire? Can’t be.
Except it is.
His profile pic is on the money. Gorgeous dark hair and blue eyes the color of the hottest flame. I know, because I’ve spent the last month drooling over his spread in GQ. It’s Braden Black all right. He’s fairly new
to his money, not born into it like Addison, and definitely from a blue-collar background. How do they know each other?
Doesn’t really matter. I quickly delete the offending comment and search through the rest. This part of my job is unending. Social media posts are forever, so a negative comment can pop up anytime. My only consolation is that Addison rarely checks her Instagram account. Those questions she sometimes answers? That’s me, not her. She has a private Instagram for her large circle of rich friends, and she also uses other social media. Her public Instagram, though, is where she makes money.
I catch an Uber by myself back to her office. It’s in one of Daddy’s most posh hotels in the heart of Boston. Although Addison doesn’t keep normal hours, I’m expected to. I don’t mind. It’s a job. A job is supposed to have normal hours. Of course, oftentimes she calls me outside those normal hours if she needs a “selfie.” “No one takes a selfie like you do, Skye,” she says with a smile.
I should be flattered. My skill as a photographer had a big part in landing me this position. So it’s not exactly art. At least I’m doing what I love.
Sort of.
It’s all part of the master plan.
A few minutes after I return, Addison walks through the office door.
“Hey, Addie,” I say.
She’s staring at her phone, rapidly typing, when—
“What the hell?” Her cheeks turn a fiery red.
“What is it?”
“This comment. Shit! Why didn’t you delete it?”
“The one from Braden Black? I did.”
“Uh…no, you didn’t. Damn!” She throws the phone against the wall, where it clatters to the floor.
I quickly pull up her Instagram.
Crap.
It’s still there.
I was sure I’d gotten rid of it. I must not have pressed Delete hard enough. That’s not like me. My attention to detail is usually freakishly impeccable. Why did she pick today to actually look at the account?
This time I make certain it’s gone and then read through the rest of the hordes of comments, looking for anything that might reflect badly on Addison or Bean There. Nothing else so far.
Addison picks up her phone. It’s fine. She has the most shock-absorbent cover available. Good thing. She throws the phone a lot.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “I saw it at Bean There and I thought I deleted it then.”
She doesn’t reply.
“Your followers love the photo,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “Bean There will be happy.”
“Not if they think I hate coffee.”
“It’s gone now.”
“No thanks to you.”
She’s being a bitch, but I can’t fault her this time. I screwed up. I roll my shoulders, trying to dislodge the tension between them. Will she fire me over this? I inhale a deep breath and flip through her last couple of posts. Nothing I need to delete.
“He’s such a douchebag,” Addison says.
Not firing me after all. Good. I look up. “Who?”
“Who do you think? Braden Black.”
“I didn’t know you knew him.”
“For about five minutes the summer after I graduated from high school,” she says. “We had kind of a thing.”
I stop my eyes from widening into circles. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” She taps her foot on the marble floor. “In fact, contact him. He’s not going to get away with this.”
“Sure. I’m on it.”
Braden Black is based here in Boston. Everyone in town knows the Black, Inc. building. I put a call through.
“Black, Inc.”
“Good afternoon. This is Skye Manning from Addison Ames’s office. I’m calling for Braden Black.”
“Mr. Black is in a meeting. I’ll have to take a message.”
“Addison Ames. The number is—”
Addison still taps her foot, hovering above me. “Tell them to connect you to his voicemail.”
I clear my throat. “Actually, I’d like to leave a voicemail, please.”
“Mr. Black prefers a paper message.”
“He prefers a paper message,” I say to Addison.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Give me the phone.” She grabs it from me. “This is Addison Ames. Braden and I go way back. Connect me to his voicemail at once.”
She continues tapping her Prada-clad foot.
“That’s ridiculous. Give me his voicemail, or I’ll have your job.”
More tapping.
Addison huffs. “Fine. Tell him to call Addison Ames right away.” She hands the phone back to me. “See? Douche.”
“That wasn’t him. That was a receptionist.”
“Carrying out the douchebag’s orders. Who the hell doesn’t take voicemails?”
I have no answer for that, so I say nothing.
Addison stomps into her plush private office, shutting the door behind her. Thank God. Time to answer this afternoon’s emails.
Mostly fan mail, and I have a canned response I copy and paste, adding just the name and any other personal details to make it sound like the response is actually from Addison.
Another offer from Susanne Cosmetics. Addison scoffed at their first offer, fifty grand for a photo with their new lip plumper that’s guaranteed to get rid of those lines on the upper lip. They’ve upped it to one fifty. I forward that one to Her Highness. She’ll probably turn it down.
I delete all the sales pitches and spam, and then I take another look at today’s post, scanning for negative comments and those that require a response. I respond to two. Then I check the time. Five thirty. Nothing more to do today. I’ll watch the post from home, but I’m now free to leave the office. I gather my purse and—
The office door opens.
And my jaw drops.
Chapter Two
“Good evening,” a deep and husky voice says.
The deep and husky voice belongs to Braden Black.
Braden Black is standing in Addison’s office, right in front of me. I gulp, stand, walk out from behind my desk…and unceremoniously drop my purse. Its contents spill over the marble floor.
Kill me now.
Front and center is a condom.
So I’m ready for anything. Good policy, right? Still, my cheeks warm. “I’m sorry. I was just leaving for the day.” I kneel and begin to gather the items. Should I take the condom first? Or would that just draw attention to it?
My humiliation is complete when Braden Black kneels down across from me. “Let me help.”
I meet his searing blue gaze, wishing I were invisible. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve got it.” I grab the condom along with a tube of lip gloss and shove them back into my purse. Then I gather the rest and rise.
He’s standing again. He’s nearly a foot taller than I am, with shoulders so broad, I could get lost in them. He seems to darken the room—not in a bad way, though.
I force out a laugh. “That was embarrassing. Would you believe I meant to do that so you’d know I’m not hiding a knife in my purse?”
“Do you really think whether you’re hiding a knife—or anything else dangerous—would be my first thought when looking at you?”
His voice. Shivers crawl up my spine. “What woman doesn’t want to appear a little dangerous?”
“You don’t seem dangerous so much as someone who likes to be in charge.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
His lips quiver. Just a touch, but I notice. How can I not notice every little thing about him? He fills up the room.
“I guess it depends on whether you’re horizontal,” he replies.
Warmth gushes through me. I must be red as a beet. And I thought dropping my purse was embarrassing? I’m hardly the type to be engaging in sexual banter with a billionaire. I’m
intrigued, though. More than intrigued. Already my body is responding. To him or to his dark manner? I’m not sure.
I draw in a deep breath and clear my throat. “What can I help you with?”
“I’m Braden Black. I’m here to see Addison.”
“She’s in her office. Did you have an appointment?”
I know very well he doesn’t have an appointment. I keep Addison’s calendar. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m not fooling him by the sly half smile he gives me.
“No. She’s an old friend.”
“Of course. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“No need.” He cocks his head toward her closed door. “She in there?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He walks toward Addison’s private office.
“You can’t,” I say.
“Sure I can. Watch me.”
Before he knocks, however, the door opens.
“Skye, can you—” Addison’s lips curve downward into an angry frown. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come over to tell you if you ever bully my receptionist again, I’ll make sure every one of your followers knows the truth about you.”
“Truth about me? Are you kidding? I’m not the one with something to hide, Braden.”
“You have a lot more to hide than a hatred of coffee,” he says.
“And what about you? You want your business associates to know—”
“Enough!”
Braden Black’s voice booms through the office, making me shiver. I swear the walls vibrate and shrink back against the darkness exuding from him.
I wait for Addison to say more, to mention what he’s hiding. She doesn’t. His command seems to stop her.
Oddly, I understand. I stop what I’m doing as well. Something about the ominous tone in his voice makes me want to obey without question.
Which isn’t like me at all.
Finally, Addison says simply, “Stay off my Instagram.”
“I’m not sure you should be telling me what to do,” Braden says, “but I’ll play it your way for now.”
“Good.” Addison stomps back into her office and slams the door.
He stands still for a moment and stares at her closed door, running his fingers through his hair. What is he thinking? I have no idea…until he turns around and meets my gaze.
“She hasn’t changed,” he says.
Am I supposed to respond? “You mean she’s slammed a door in your face before?”