Chase: A Secret Millionaire Romance Novel

by Violette Paradis

  “I play hockey. And I made a hockey stick. Remember? I used the wood from the tree that got struck by lightning.”

  “Yeah… like two weeks ago,” Rita says.

  “He is good with wood,” Marigold says. “That’s why he’s using the other broken trees to make new cabinets for the kitchen.”

  “Finally, you’re doing something useful!” Rita grins as she taunts me. The first few weeks of this were tiresome but I quickly learned to tune her out.

  “Rita,” Marigold warns.

  Rita sighs as she focuses on her plate again.

  Marigold looks at me. “I think this will be good for you. It’ll be nice for you to interact with some feminine energy.”

  “More feminine energy?” I look at both Marigold and Rita. “Is this not enough?”

  “Yeah, he prefers to be in the locker room with twenty guys,” Rita says.

  “Rita!” Marigold scolds.

  “It’s just a joke!”

  I simply smirk and shake my head. Rita sticks her tongue out at me. I stick mine out right back.

  Marigold looks back at me. “What I meant was… it’ll be good for you to have some age-appropriate feminine energy. It helps that she’s not your aunt or cousin.”

  I sit back in my chair. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’ll be annoying having to hide everything about myself.”

  “You won’t have to hide everything.” Marigold’s violet eyes widen as she smiles. “Just be yourself.”

  “Too bad he’s boring,” Rita mumbles as she pokes at her mashed potatoes, fashioning them into a lumpy-looking sculpture.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rita.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says as she adds peas to her sculpture.

  When we finish dinner, we clear the dining room table.

  “Rita, why don’t you arrange a plate for Amber?” Marigold points at the leftovers. “She must be hungry. If she doesn’t answer, just place it outside her room.”

  Rita sighs in annoyance.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Let me do it. My room is right next to hers anyway.”

  “Yes!” Happy to be off the hook, Rita grabs her book and rushes away before Marigold has a chance to assign her any more tasks.

  As I put away the leftovers, Marigold walks up to me.

  “I think you know who you are inside. Don’t be afraid to show it.” She taps me on the cheek. “Good night.”

  I smirk. “Night.”

  As the soft guitar plays in the distance, I prepare a dish for Amber. With the plate in hand, I head up to the east wing. Walking down the hallway, I notice that the music is not coming from there. The door to the balcony at the end of the hall is open. Amber is sitting outside on the wicker chair, playing her guitar as she looks out at the forest. Quietly walking up behind her, I stand in the doorway—careful not to give myself away. I watch as her fingers move up the neck of the guitar as she plucks the strings and plays a sad, soulful song rhythm. She hums a haunting melody as her feathery voice dances from one note to another. As she tilts her head to the side, her dark brown hair cascades down her back. Her voice is like magic, lulling me into a hypnotic state as I watch her fingers move across the string. I’m so enchanted that I don’t even notice she spots me until she stops strumming.

  “How long have you been watching me?” She asks.

  “Long enough to know that you’re really good.”

  She looks down as her fingers trace over the neck of the guitar. “You know, you don’t have to flatter me.”

  “No, I mean it! You’re really really good.”

  “I was just goofing around.”

  “You should goof around more often.”

  She watches me for a moment as if trying to figure out if I’m telling her the truth or not. Slowly, a hint of a smile plays on her lips.

  “Thanks,” she says. She looks out at the forest.

  “We missed you at dinner.” I walk out onto the balcony with her. The nighttime air is warm and the waning moon is still full.

  “I didn’t feel like coming down.” She rests her cheek on her guitar. The milky moonlight brightens her cool skin.

  “Are you hungry? I brought you something.” I hold out the plate.

  She perks up. “You made me food?”

  “Yeah, of course. It depresses me thinking about you eating beef jerky and cheese puffs alone in your room.”

  She laughs.

  “If it depresses you thinking about it, imagine living it!” Lifting her gaze, she tries to catch a glimpse of the plate. “What is it? A sandwich?”

  I put the plate on the small table in front of her. “A croque monsieur.”

  She lets out a soft laugh.

  “A what?” She leans in to inspect it. “It looks like a grilled cheese.”

  “A croque monsieur. It’s like a fancy ham and cheese sandwich. It’s heated up so everything is all melted and toasted.”

  “So… a grilled cheese?”

  I grin. “A grilled cheese with ham. That’s what you said you wanted back at the gas station, right? A ham and cheese sandwich?”

  Pulling back, she looks up at me with wide eyes. “How do you remember that?”

  “It’s one of the few things I know about you.”

  She half-smiles. “Well… thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Setting her guitar aside, she lifts the sandwich to her lips and takes a bite.

  “Oh my god. This is amazing.” Taking another bite, she closes her eyes and lets out an orgasmic moan.

  “Should I look away?” I ask. “Should I leave you two alone?”

  She covers her mouth as she laughs. “Sorry. I just haven’t had real food in so long. How did you learn to make this?”

  “When I lived in France for a few months. It’s not that hard. I can teach you.”

  “Or I can just let you make them for me.”

  I laugh. “I’m not sure if I agree with that plan.”

  Her eyes watch me curiously.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You lived in France?”

  “Oh. Yeah, um… a long time ago.”

  Shit. I should stop talking about myself. I’m so used to everyone knowing my whole life story that I keep forgetting that I’m a stranger to her.

  “What’s with your guitar?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Oh, this mess?” She picks up the oversized white guitar. “Ghost has seen better days.”

  “Ghost?” I laugh. “You named your guitar?”

  “Of course. A guitar has to have a name.”

  “Why Ghost?”

  “Well… that’s what Chuck called it.” Her expression sours as she mentions his name. “Ghost was his guitar before he bought an expensive replacement with all our merchandise money.”

  She runs her fingers over the porous wood.

  “Ouch!” She winces and brings her finger to her lips. “Ghost is full of splinters and the pegs barely hold any tension, meaning the strings are constantly out of tune. It’s a piece of junk, but it’s the only piece of junk I’ve got.”

  “Chuck was the guy back at the gas station, right?” I think back to the guy changing his underwear in the middle of the parking lot.

  “The one and only.”

  As I stare at the guitar’s thin wood, I feel a pang of guilt for growing up with two rich parents. Even though Harlow tried to give me as normal an upbringing as possible, I was never left wanting anything. Or to be more specific… I was never left wanting anything that could be bought.

  “Despite the guitar’s flaws, you play beautifully on it.”

  A sincere smile plays on her lips. “Thanks.”

  “It must be cool being a musician.”

  She laughs sarcastically. “Yeah, it’s a hoot.”

  “I mean it though. Playing music, being creative, going wherever the wind takes you. It sounds like it can be pretty fun.”

  “Yeah, well… sometimes the wind takes you to a
gas station in the middle of nowhere and dumps you there like yesterday’s garbage.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m glad the wind brought you here.”

  She looks at me with a curious gaze. “You are?”

  Fuck. I don’t know why I said that. It just kind of came out.

  “I just mean… it can get lonely hanging out with Marigold and Rita. They’re great people but they can be a bit… eccentric.”

  She laughs. “You don’t know how eccentric I can get.”

  I smirk. “I guess I’ll find out.”

  A symphony of cicadas buzzes in the distance as the tension lingers between us.

  “So…” I hold back for a moment, not sure if I should ask the following question. I ask anyway. “How did you get involved with those jerks back there? You seem too nice for that.”

  She smirks. “How do you know I’m nice?”

  “It’s just a vibe I’m getting.”

  “Well, maybe you’re wrong.” She lifts her chin. “Maybe I’m a horrible person and you just don’t know it yet.”

  I laugh. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  She smiles as she finishes the sandwich and pushes the plate aside. Sitting back, she looks out at the forest again. The trees glow under the white moon. Her smile wavers.

  “I should be playing with them right now,” she says.

  Grabbing the chair next to her, I sit down. “You think they’d play without you?”

  “They’ll at least try. Whether they sound good or not is another story.”

  Pulling her guitar in close to her, she rests her chin on the porous wood. She sighs as she stares longingly out at the forest. Her skin looks impossibly soft and luminescent under the moon’s glow.

  “Why would you still want to tour with them after what they did to you?”

  She thinks for a moment. “Because the tour is the path to the Rock Heart Festival. I need to play at that festival.”

  “The Rock Heart Festival?”

  “It’s a big music festival for amateur musicians that takes place in July. There are usually a bunch of record producers that show up to sign new talent. If Dirty Laundry can play on that stage, we can get a record deal.”

  There’s passion in her voice and light in her eyes as she speaks.

  “And what happens if you don’t get a record deal?”

  The light fades from her eyes. “Then I go back to living with my parents. That’s the deal I made with my dad. He said he’d support me for just one summer, and if I fail—well, then it’s off to law school in the fall.”

  “That’s an interesting deal.”

  “Yeah, well… you can’t succeed without taking a risk.”

  I watch her with amused appreciation.

  “That’s true.” I pause. “It’s funny… I have similar issues with my father.”

  “You do?”

  “He’s always telling me what to do, how to live my life. That kind of stuff.”

  “It’s annoying… but they just want to see us succeed.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” I mumble.

  “What was that?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing. I didn’t mean to share my life story with a stranger.”

  “Am I a stranger?” She looks at me with those hazel eyes. “At this point, I think we can call ourselves friends.”

  I smirk. “Can we?”

  She sits up in her chair. “If you don’t think we’re there yet, then maybe you should tell me more about yourself.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “Well, you already know that Marigold and Rita are my aunt and cousin.”

  “Rita told me you’re running from someone.”

  My shoulders tense. “She said that?”

  “Yeah… she said that you’re running from the CIA or the FBI or something.”

  I laugh. “You can’t rely on her… she reads a lot of books.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You stole that motorcycle, didn’t you?”

  I look at her in surprise.

  “You don’t have to confirm or deny it,” she says. “I can see the answer in your eyes.”

  I laugh. “What makes you say that?”

  “It takes a rebel to know one.” Her lips pull into a sly smile. I can’t help but smile back.

  “What else did Rita say about me?”

  “That you’re hockey-playing construction worker… and possibly a werewolf?”

  I laugh again. “Are my eyes telling you that these are true too?”

  She looks at me as she taps her pursed lips. “Well, I saw you chopping wood earlier…”

  “You were watching me chop wood?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Not on purpose,” she says defensively. Even in the dark, I can see her cheeks getting pink. “You just happened to be in my eye-line. It’s hard not to notice you.”

  “Hard not to notice me?” I repeat.

  She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  I smirk. “You’re right, I am pretty skilled when it comes to wood.”

  “Oh, are you?” She raises her eyebrows.

  Rein it in.

  I’m not supposed to be flirting with her.

  “How’d you get into that?” She asks.

  “I helped build sets when I was a teenager.”

  “Sets? Like movie sets?”

  “Er… theater sets. Marigold did a lot of Shakespeare in the Park. You’ll notice a lot of costumes and theater stuff around the house.” I look away, hoping that Amber can’t tell that I’m holding back the truth.

  Amber raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t peg you for the artistic type.”

  “Well… I built the sets. I didn’t act.”

  “Construction still requires a bit of creativity.”

  I watch her for a moment. “That’s true.”

  “And I saw your hockey stick earlier,” she says. “I’m assuming the hockey rumor is true too?”

  Don’t lie, I urge myself.

  “I played on a few teams.”

  It’s the truth.

  “Playing on hockey teams and building theater sets… when did you have the time for school?”

  “My tu—” I’m about to tell her about my tutor but I stop myself. Normal people don’t grow up with tutors. Normal people don’t travel from location to location with their famous mother. I barely went to school because we were never in the same location for too long. The only time I stayed in one place for more than four consecutive months was when I lived in Helsinki while Harlow filmed Phantasma Foray. The time allowed me to play with the Finnish junior men’s hockey team.

  “What was that?” She asks.

  “I had classes in between all my extra-curricular activities.”

  “All that talent and you’re here in the middle of nowhere… doing what exactly?”

  I smirk. “I learned the hard way that a jack of all trades is a master of none.”

  “Brave of you to admit that.”

  “What can I say? I’m a realist.” I look out at the forest. “I guess I’m out here looking for my Bermuda.”

  “Your Bermuda?”

  “A place to get lost.”

  “Ahh, I see.”

  She watches me for a moment.

  “What?” I ask.

  She gives me a subtle smile. “Hockey, woodworking… that’s two for two. Are you a werewolf too?”

  I laugh. I played a werewolf for a small role in Phantasma Funeral, the first movie in the Phastasma trilogy. That was years ago. It’s a funny memory now but I can’t give myself away that easily.

  “Rita lets her imagination go wild sometimes,” I say. “She lives out here without TV or internet. Having an active imagination is a necessity.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.” Amber relaxes in the wicker chair as she looks out at the white moon. “I liked the thought of you possibly turning into a cute human in the morning.”

  Amused, I touch my scruff. “I’m not that scruffy, am I?”

  She smirks.
“I’ve seen worse.”

  My gaze lingers on those playful hazel eyes. “You know, you should visit me outside and check out the project I’m working on.”

  “We’ll see,” she says, seeming disinterested. “I don’t want to ignore my chores on the first day of work.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?” She looks at me.

  “I thought rock stars liked breaking rules.”

  She smirks. “We pick and choose our battles. Besides… I won’t be here long.”

  “You sure about that?”

  She nods. “When I want something, I usually get it.”

  I can’t help but admire her confidence.

  “Seriously,” I say. “Come by and take a look.”

  She gives me a lazy half-shrug. “Maybe. I’m still trying to figure you out.”

  Laughing, I touch my chest. “Can’t you trust me yet? I got you a phone, a bed for the night… and don’t forget the croque monsieur.”

  She suppresses a smile. “That’s true. I guess you’re not so bad.”

  Grabbing her guitar, she gets up.

  “I should get to bed. I don’t want to be late on my first day. Thanks for the chat… and the croque monsieur.”

  I smirk. “My pleasure.”

  As she walks by me, I smell her peachy cherry scent.

  “Oh, and Phoenix… don’t be shy about playing that thing.” I point at her guitar. “I’ve been deprived of good music out here. You’ll find out soon enough when Marigold plays some of her crazy music.”

  She laughs. “I’m kind of looking forward to hearing it now.”

  “Careful what you wish for.”

  Smiling, she steps back inside. Turning around, she leans against the doorframe.

  “Hey, Gabe?” Her hazel eyes reflect the moon’s glow.

  “Yeah?”

  “So, you’re not a werewolf?”

  I smirk. “Aooooooooo!”

  She smiles again before pulling away.

  8

  A LEGEND

  Amber

  I wake up in a beautiful room even though I’m living in a nightmare. Part of me wants to sleep all day and I almost do. Pulling myself out of bed, I rummage through my backpack for some clean clothes. I only have five outfits and none of them are work-appropriate. They’re my feminine but badass rock star clothes. Putting on an electric blue babydoll dress that’s way too short, I check myself out in the mirror before pulling on some ripped black tights as an afterthought. I look like a hot mess but at least I won’t accidentally flash anyone.