Chase: A Secret Millionaire Romance Novel

by Violette Paradis

  “Excuse me.” I wave to get the attention of the old man sitting behind the counter. “Where’s the closest place to get a ham and cheese sandwich around here?”

  The old man looks at me from under his half-moon spectacles. “Huh?”

  “Is there a diner nearby?”

  He lets out a stifled chuckle that sounds more like a wheeze.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “The closest diner is over two hundred miles away!”

  “Two hundred miles?”

  He nods. “Nothing’s close in these parts.”

  “But you work all the way out here. Where do you live?”

  “I’ve got my shed out back.” He lifts a frail hand and gestures in a vague direction. “Only truckers and people who are lost find themselves out here. And Marigold, of course.”

  “Marigold?”

  The man standing at the magazine stand shoots a sharp look at the old man behind the counter. The old man waves off what he just said.

  “I’m guessing since you’re not a trucker, you’re lost,” the old man says.

  I nod. “It seems that way.”

  Resigning myself to over-processed beef jerky and chips, I grab a few more things including Chuck’s precious energy drinks. My hand hovers over the tortilla chips as I eye the last bag of cheese puffs.

  Chuck would hate me.

  Looking outside, I see him changing (underwear and all) right there in the parking lot. Gross. At least he’s changing. The fact that my standards for him are that low is depressing. Looking back at the cheese puffs, I smile wickedly as I grab them. Pissing off Chuck will be my small bit of rock star anarchy for the day. Sticking my hand in my dress pocket, I feel around for my last few bills. Barely a few bills left. Damn. Anyone who thinks being a rock star is glamorous clearly has never been one before. Still, I make my way to the magazine stand. If there’s that much empty road coming up, then maybe I can treat myself with some reading material.

  The mysterious stranger with the beefy build is still standing by the magazines. As I get closer, he slowly turns away so that I can’t see his face. I roll my eyes.

  Whatever.

  As an alternative girl with pale skin and tattoos, I’m used to having preppy self-absorbed guys turn their noses up at me. Guys like these are a dime a dozen. The roundness of his shoulders, the thickness of his biceps… he reminds me of all those preppy jocks who never gave me the time of day back in high school. Those guys always came off as self-important narcissists constantly obsessing over their precious gains. Who cares about muscles anyway? I’m more of a strung-out rock star kind of girl. Although… now that I’ve experienced Chuck’s disappointing performance, I gag at the memory of it. Besides, it’s not like wannabe rock stars are any less douchey than self-centered jocks. Maybe all guys are self-obsessed jerks.

  Sigh.

  It’s a hard lesson to learn.

  Pushing past the jock, I smell the scent of fresh wood and clean deodorant. I instinctively take a deep breath. It’s been so long since I’ve been near a well-groomed man that I forgot just how good one could smell. For a moment, I wonder what this stranger is doing out here in the middle of the woods. He turns away again. Growing disinterested, I turn away and scan the magazine covers.

  Any Bad Apples in your Diet?

  Only one, and he wears unwashed skinny jeans.

  I continue scanning.

  Chase Hotels Announce New Luxury NYC Location

  Maybe if Dirty Laundry scores an album contract, I’d be able to treat myself to a fancy hotel room. All the places we stay in now are dirty motels with nothing more than a vending machine. It’d be nice to have access to a hot tub and room service for once. I continue reading the headlines.

  Actress Sophie Dawson to marry Valentine Chase heir. Wedding details inside!

  Who? I look at the large photo of a young woman with long black hair. She’s sparkling and beautiful in every way—the epitome of glamour. Beside her is a handsome dark-haired man hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Don’t care. My eyes drift down to the inset picture on the bottom corner of the cover.

  Love in the air? Actress Lula Ledger dating rocker Henry Sinner.

  My eyes widen as I see the small image of my favorite musician. Henry Sinner is dating Lu-Ledge? I’m about to grab the magazine when the beefy stranger bumps into me. Dropping all my snacks, I lose my footing and tilt back dangerously.

  “Oh, fudge!” Everything moves in slow motion for a few seconds. I prepare myself for an embarrassing fall into the soda display but at the last second, the beefy stranger grabs me and pulls me against him. I put my hands on his chest and look up into a pair of stunning brown eyes.

  Holy effing unicorns. He’s hot!

  Everything about him in sunkissed—the blond streaks of hair, the tanned skin. He’s beefy but baby-faced. He’s also got a few days of scruff—not the messy kind like Chuck’s, but the well-groomed kind. I give the handsome stranger a subtle smile—the friendliest I can under the present circumstances. His eyes search mine. For what? I don’t know.

  “Are you okay?” He asks in a soft and silky voice.

  Blood rushes to my head. “I’m fine… I think.”

  Still holding me, he smiles a cute lazy how-ya-doing smile, showing off the dimples that are hiding under the scruff. He makes sure I’m stable before reclaiming his hands. He bends down to help me pick up the bags of beef jerky and cheese puffs.

  “Here you go,” he says.

  “Thanks.” My eyes linger on him just a little too long before he finally turns away.

  “BABE!” Chuck yells from outside. “HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

  The obnoxious horn blares outside. We both look out the window at the van which is painted with a mural of a topless warrior woman riding a giant metal eagle. Although faded, the image has been untouched since the ‘70s. Bob is in the driver’s seat using the pull-down mirror to dig something out of his nostril. Meanwhile, Chuck is adjusting his crotch in his too-tight jeans. I wrinkle my nose.

  Charming.

  How embarrassing can they be?

  “Come on, babe!” Chuck yells again. “We’re about to leave and we’re not waiting!”

  A cloud of black smoke farts out the van’s tailpipe.

  “Your boyfriend sounds a bit… hostile,” the stranger says. There’s that delicious voice again.

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  The van’s engine wheezes to life as the tires skid across the rubble. The noise grips my heart with terror.

  “What the hell?” I look out the window.

  The van is pulling out of the lot, leaving a trail of smoke in its place.

  “Shit!” I drop my snacks and run for the door. The bell rings as I push my way outside. Swirls of dust and gasoline fumes burn my sinuses. Coughing, I watch helplessly as the van pulls down the road at full speed.

  “GUYS! STOP!”

  But the van keeps driving. Running into the middle of the road, I jump and wave.

  “GUYS!”

  This is just a prank, right? Right?

  They have to come back. They need me. They can’t play the rest of the tour without me. Can they?

  “CHUCK! BOB! STOP! Come on guys, this isn’t funny.”

  But the van doesn’t stop. I watch as it shrinks to a dot on the horizon before disappearing altogether. Then there’s silence. Horrible, deafening silence.

  My stomach sinks to my feet.

  They left without me.

  Is this real?

  They left without me.

  This can’t be real.

  My bag and white hand-me-down guitar are sitting on the side of the road confirming that this was no mistake on Chuck’s part. He meant to leave me behind. Walking over, I grab the guitar and grip it tightly by the neck. I have no ride, no money, and no band. I pull my phone out of my pocket. No signal either. Great.

  I feel nauseous.

  What am I supposed to do? I’m completely isolated in the m
iddle of nowhere.

  I can’t think of anything else to do but scream.

  “ASSHOLES!”

  3

  SOMETHING SWEET

  Gabriel

  Great. I come to the most isolated place I can think of and I still run into drama with other people. The seclusion was nice while it lasted which was… two? Three weeks? I’ve lost track of time since coming out here. Standing at the window, I watch the spectacle unfold outside. The woman screams obscenities at the empty road.

  “You can’t just leave me here!” She yells.

  I exchange a concerned look with Fred, the old man behind the counter.

  Why would they leave without her?

  Maybe she’s a nightmare to hang out with. Perhaps those guys already spent hours in the car with her and couldn’t stand another second with her. But she seems nice enough. It was the men who seemed unpleasant. But why would they kick her out?

  A thought strikes me: maybe she’s an undercover reporter, here to infiltrate my secret hiding spot. Maybe this whole thing is an elaborate setup to expose me. I shake my head at the ridiculousness of it. Victor’s tactics are making me paranoid. Besides, I don’t think she knows who I am. There was no sense of recognition in her eyes, even though she spent ten seconds staring at a magazine with my face on it. My new beard and the sunglasses in the photo seem to have saved me, and so did my brilliant plan to bump into her to distract her from the magazine. Judging by her chipped black nail polish, combat boots, and visible tattoos, I’m inclined to believe that she’s not the type to care about a high-profile bachelor heir like me or a snobby actress like Sophie Dawson. Besides, if this mystery woman recognized me, she would’ve asked me for a selfie or started flirting with me. That’s usually what happens when women find out who am.

  “I’m a phoenix!” The woman yells. She’s still standing in the middle of the road yelling. “You haven’t seen—or heard—the last of me!” I’ll rise from the ashes and haunt the shit out of you!

  There’s nothing I want to do more than to sneak out, get on my motorcycle, and leave without saying a word. But I know that’ll just make things more complicated. She’s stuck out here, meaning I’ll run into her sooner or later. Paying for her snacks, I make my way outside. The bell rings as I open the door, capturing her attention. She quickly turns away. Either she’s disinterested or embarrassed. I can’t tell which. She holds her phone up to the sky, waving it back and forth and jumping like she’s doing some kind of dancing ritual. Okay, so she’s definitely not embarrassed. Leaning back against my motorcycle, I watch with mild amusement. She’s not like the women I rub elbows with at galas and movie premieres. She’s tough-looking and a bit brash. She has black-line tattoos of flowers and birds on her left arm. Although I usually associate tattoos with the guys on my old hockey team, these tattoos are feminine and beautiful—not at all like the skulls and snakes that I’m used to. And even though she looks alternative with her combat boots and dark eyeliner, she’s wearing a black floral dress. She’s equal parts soft and hard, feminine and dark. Her long brown hair is blowing in the wind. Checking to see if I’m still here, she turns and catches my gaze. She’s got stunning hazel eyes that flash green in the sunlight.

  “You won’t find a signal out here,” I say casually.

  “Why not?”

  “We’re in the dead zone.”

  “The dead zone?” She laughs. She’s still holding her phone up to the sky. “What the fudge does that mean?”

  Fudge? Cute.

  “It means you won’t find a signal for another sixty miles or so.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “Seriously.”

  “Damn.” She stares at her phone.

  Putting myself at risk of giving myself away, I take a step closer.

  “Here.” I hand her the bag. “Your snacks.”

  She hesitates before grabbing it.

  “Thanks.” She reaches into her dress pocket. “I think I have a few dollars—”

  I wave her off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She watches me with suspicion before handing the bag back.

  “Thanks but no thanks. I don’t want to owe you anything.”

  I laugh. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s just a favor.”

  “Yeah? And how many favors will I have to owe you?” She uses air quotes as she says the word ‘favors’.

  “Wow.” I shake my head in astonishment. “You hang around sketchy people if that’s your first instinct.”

  I hold out the bag.

  “Just take it.”

  “Fine.” She takes the bag. “Thanks.”

  Her eyes flash to the motorcycle.

  “What are you, rich or something?”

  I laugh. “Because I bought you twenty dollars worth of snacks?”

  “Your motorcycle,” she says.

  Crap. I knew talking to her would be risky. She recognizes the Chase brand.

  “It’s not mine,” I say.

  It’s not a lie. The motorcycle belongs to Victor. She doesn’t need to know that I have a multi-million dollar inheritance from my mother’s side. This conversation is getting too close for comfort. I look around, hoping to find a way out of this. I can just get on my motorcycle and leave, but what will happen to her? She’s the first stranger I’ve seen since I got here. The chances of another car passing through is slim to none. And I have low hopes for those deranged losers who left her behind. If it was a joke, they’d be back by now.

  “What happened to your friends?” I ask.

  “They’re not my friends, they’re my band. And they’ll be back.” Her voice wavers as if she doesn’t believe her own words.

  “Your band?”

  “I sing and play guitar.” She’s still looking for a signal with one hand as she gestures at the old white guitar with the other. The guitar is with the rest of her stuff in a pile on the ground.

  “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, being in a band is just peachy.” She rolls her eyes.

  I smile to myself. I can’t remember the last time a woman was this disinterested in me. It makes me feel like a normal person again. She marches past me back toward the gas station.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m just gonna call them with the phone in the store.”

  I scratch the back of my head. “Can’t do that either.”

  Her nostrils flare as she exhales. “Well, why not?”

  I point up at the telephone pole behind the cabin which is cracked in half.

  “A huge lightning storm struck it down a few weeks ago. There are a bunch of trees around here that got hit.”

  She narrows her gaze. “Do you live around here?”

  I hesitate. As I think about how to answer, she grows bored.

  “Whatever.” She walks back out to the street to see if anyone is coming.

  As I watch her, my heart silently breaks for her. Any lingering suspicion I have that she’s an undercover journalist completely dissolves.

  “There’s a place nearby,” I say, catching her attention again. I must be crazy telling her about my secret haven in the woods but what else am I supposed to do? Leave her here? “There’s a working telephone there. I can give you a ride and you can call your band.”

  She walks over to me. I’m sure she’s going to recognize me any moment but so far, nothing. She hesitates before looking back at the road.

  “You want to take me to a secret spot in the middle of the woods?”

  “So you can use the phone.”

  “You’ll take me to a random spot in the middle of the woods, but you won’t help me follow the band so that I can catch up with them?”

  I shake my head. “Can’t do that.”

  Lifting her chin, she walks over to the road and puts her thumb out.

  I laugh. “What are you doing?”

  “If you can’t help me catch up with them, then I’ll do it myself.”

 
“By hitchhiking?”

  “Got a better plan?” She holds her thumb a bit higher.

  Laughing to myself, I start the bike and crawl up the road, pulling up next to her.

  “Nobody’s going to pick you up,” I say as I lean forward on the bike.

  “You wanna bet?” She grins. “I happen to be very personable.”

  “This is an abandoned highway. Nobody comes by here anymore.”

  She shrugs. “You’re here.”

  “So are you. But that doesn’t make this place any less abandoned.”

  She pauses and furrows her brow. “How abandoned are we talking about?”

  “Well… they took it off the map in the nineties. Even GPS doesn’t put it on their maps.”

  Her hopeful expression disappears. “Fudge. Well, that’s just great. Bob just had to take the detour.”

  “Sorry, Phoenix.”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Phoenix?”

  “That’s what you said, right? That you’re a phoenix?”

  A slight smile plays on her lips as a hint of pink burns her cheeks. I smirk to myself knowing that I finally broke past her tough exterior. We stand there. Staring. Her hazel eyes shine green in the sun, contrasting with her pale skin and pink lips. She really is quite beautiful. Glancing at those full lips, I wonder what they’d taste like.

  No.

  No getting involved with the woman who’s been abandoned at the gas station. I already have a fake high-profile engagement, I don’t need to complicate things further by flirting with a beautiful stranger—emphasis on the word strange. All I’m doing is bringing her to the house so that she can call her friends and leave.

  She looks out toward the road. “What if the guys come back and I’m not here?”

  “I’ll tell Fred—the guy inside—to direct them back to the house.”

  Pulling on her lip, she looks back at the road as if they might come back any second now. The silence tells a different story. She instinctively checks her phone again before remembering that there’s no service. She glances back up at me and sighs.

  “This is either the beginning of a low-budget horror movie or a porno.”