Deep Dive: An enemies-to-lovers billionaire romance (Deep Love Series) Read online

  Deep Dive

  Lauren Winter

  Copyright © 2021 Lauren Winter

  Cover Photo Credit: Deposit Photo

  Cover Design: Canva

  Follow Lauren Winter at: www.facebook.com/heylauren

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  Created with Vellum

  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

  Epilogue

  Also by Lauren Winter

  Deep Cover

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Amelia

  “We are lost, aren’t we?”

  Before I can respond, Meghan taps hard at her phone and busily studies the little map on the screen. “We’re lost,” she concludes.

  Her colorful bracelets slip from her wrist toward her elbow. Her side ponytail matches the many plastic bracelets on her wrists, not to mention her bedazzled jean jacket. Even though she has been my best friend for the past five years, I have never asked why she always dresses like a teenager in the eighties.

  But I have a much bigger problem than my friend’s wardrobe in front of me. “No, we’re not,” I protest. Then I stop short. “I don’t think so?” I watch out for the names of the street but it’s too dark to see any of the street signs. The dim lights of my headlights can barely illuminate the outlines of the road. Now I’m even less sure. “I hope we’re not,” I admit with a tinge of defeat.

  Meghan snaps a quick selfie and makes another post of our nocturnal adventure on social media, then she flips back to the map. “Okay, turn right here,” she orders. I have never met anyone who is as obsessed with social media as my friend. She can get 100 likes before breakfast every morning.

  “But I know it’s on this street.” I try to keep my eyes on the winding road while glancing down at my phone. I’m not familiar with this part of town. There are a lot of old houses and small windy roads. The air here is colder and fresher than where we live, since it is closer to the coast. I can smell the salty air seeping through the cracked car windows. The basement apartment Mom and I live in is dank and musty from years of humidity. Poor. That’s how people would describe us. I’ve never thought of us as poor, but I guess that’s what we are. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be cruising the streets at night for free furniture.

  “We’ve been circling this block for thirty minutes now. Just turn here.” Meghan is getting impatient. She isn’t someone who can sit still for long. She’d rather get us even more lost just to see what happens rather than circling the same block again. While we speak, she makes another social media posting with a poll on whether to advise me to go down a different street, and twenty of her friends have already given her the thumbs up virtually.

  First, I bite down on my lips. Then my shoulders shake. With my peripheral vision, I can tell that Meghan is doing the same. That’s why we’re friends. No matter what ridiculous situation we find ourselves in, we can still find humor in things and laugh.

  “What? They don’t even know where we are!” I laugh so hard that tears come to my eyes, and I continue on my route and ignore Meghan’s protests. I focus on the road and know that I’m going the right way. I don’t want to wind up on some small, unlit side road by the sea and actually drive off a cliff. The engine rattles and hums under the hood of the truck. The speedometer has been broken for years, but I have always been able to tell what speed I’m going by the various sounds and clicks the old girl makes. I pray that I have enough gas to get us home. The gas gauge is also broken.

  A ring of light dazzles my eyes. Meghan has just pulled out her lighted makeup mirror next to me. From the corner of my eyes, I can tell that she is putting on lipstick.

  “What are you doing?”

  She gives a loud smack and wipes off the corner of her mouth with her fingers. “Am,” she calls me by her nickname for me. “In case we get rescued by cute state troopers, I want to look nice.”

  “We’re not lost.” I laugh and yell into the darkness in front of us.

  “There it is!” Meghan elbows me in the ribs, pointing to the side of the road with her other hand. Her bracelets click against each other.

  By the dim yellow streetlight, I see a two-story blue house with a gray shingled roof and a black door. It’s a small, modest house that looks like all the other houses in the neighborhood. The yard is in desperate need of maintenance, but it’s not the murder shack that I have feared. To be honest, I was worried for my safety when I decided to come here. That’s why I dragged Meghan out on a Saturday night. I don’t want to wind up dead in a ditch only for a free couch.

  It’s too dark for me to see the address numbers. “Is this the right place?” Even in park, I am still clutching my steering wheel with both hands. I wonder how Meghan is so sure that this is the right place. I don’t want to be knocking on some stranger’s door at night. I reach for my phone and decide that I am going to call first.

  Earlier today, I saw a posting online about free furniture. “Old, good quality furniture looking for a suitable home. Free.” Looking for a suitable home? The ad makes it sounds like they are giving away a puppy. But Mom and I desperately need a new couch and some chairs. Since I have no money, I decided to try my luck. I called the number and a crisp male voice answered. He was polite but terse, just like his posting. He’s cleaning out his parents’ old house and has a lot of furniture that he is trying to get rid of. I arranged to come in the same evening and move everything myself.

  “What? We’re already here.” Meghan opens the car door and steps out of the passenger seat. “Let’s just knock.” Quickly, I shut off the engine and follow her.

  Before Meghan’s knuckles even reach the door, it opens swiftly and an enormous shadow looms over us. We gasp in fear. Then a porch light flicks on overhead, revealing a man with dark brown hair standing in the doorway. The light from the single porch light bulb casts long shadows over his stern expression, making him seem even more imposing.

  I gulp and say meekly, “Hi, I’m here for the furniture.”

  “Amelia?” His voice sounds deeper than on the phone. It reverberates with deep timber, reminding me of a dark frozen lake. His brows are high and his eyes are deep-set, giving him a perpetual scowl.

  I startle at the sound of my name, but I remember I gave it to him earlier over the phone. “Yes, that’s me.” I gesture toward Meghan. “My friend is here to give me a hand.”

  “Hi, I’m Meghan,” she says as she stretches out her hand and stares at the man with obvious curiosity. He ignores her hand and says nothing.

  I clear my throat and ask, “Do you still want us to take your furniture?” He doesn’t seem happy that we are here. Maybe he has changed his mind or he has already given everything away.

  With his broad shoulders blocking the doorway, he looks like a medieval knight who is fighting off marauders trying to intrude into his castle. He gives Meghan a mistrustful look and turns back toward me. “You can come in, but just you.” He points at me, rather rudely. “You stay here.” He barks at Meghan. She stops in her tracks and scowls at me. I shrug apologetically at
my friend. Beggars can’t be choosers. Free is free and I’m not worried about him pulling off something funny with Meghan right here.

  Obediently, I follow him into the house. My sneakers squeak on the smooth hardwood floor. The house is small but neatly arranged with lots of windows and open space. Despite the dustiness and disarray, the house feels inviting and lived in. Family pictures and knickknacks are hanging off the walls. As if the family that lives here has just gone on a long vacation. It is an old house, for sure, and it looks like the man is in the middle of a move, like he said. There are boxes and piles of things everywhere. “You’re not going to sell them, are you?” he asks suspiciously, scanning me up and down as if I’m a thief.

  I blush. The idea has crossed my mind, but I actually need the furniture for myself. I’m sick of sitting on the floor or the bed while I eat dinner, and we need a couch, too. “No, I’m going to use them. I’m looking for a couch and a dining set if you have them.” Under the pink glow of the frilly living room lamp, his features look softer and way less menacing than earlier. He has dark eyes, a straight nose, and a squared jaw. His shoulders are broad and confident, and he has a steady gaze to match. The man is actually quite good-looking, when he isn’t scowling at you, and dressed in a crisp blue shirt and brown khakis. From my experience in a former life, I can tell his clothes, despite their unassuming character, are expensive. Not just shopping-at-the-mall expensive, but private-yacht-and-country-club-membership expensive. He looks like he has been packing all day. Strands of dark brown hair tousle over his dark eyes and there is a five o’clock shadow on his face. He moves with outright confidence that makes him seem completely out of place among the working-class decor and the suburban clutter strewn about the place.

  Leaning back on the dining room table, he nods with approval. “Are you a student?”

  Shaking my head, I quietly shuffle my feet. I know that I look young, and Meghan definitely thinks that I dress young. I wish I had the money to go to school so that I can get a better job. There was a time when I could count on family money, an expensive college degree, and an easy life, but that was a lifetime ago. I’ve made my choice.

  “Are you new in town?” He cocks a dark brow at me, still trying to figure me out.

  I shake my head again. “I’ve lived here for five years now. I live on the east side of town.”

  His brows raise with genuine surprise. “Then why don’t you have any furniture already?” he asks.

  A perfectly legit question, yet I turn scarlet. I know he isn’t trying to pry, but I can’t bring myself to tell this stranger that we had to sell most of our things to help pay for rent and food. Between Mom’s meager savings and my part-time job, we can barely scrape by as it is. I can’t bring myself to tell someone wearing a five-hundred-dollar shirt that I can barely afford to eat.

  I think he notices my awkwardness and presses his lips together. He gives a quick sway of the hand toward the rest of the house. “These things are old but they are in good condition. They belonged to my family, so I want them to go to people who will have a good use for them. Since you’re the first one here, you can take your pick of pretty much anything you want.”

  “Really? Anything?” I ask hopefully. He blinks for a second and chuckles. I didn’t expect the ringing sound of his laugh. It is as if spring has melted and cracked the frozen lake. To him, I must seem like an eager child in a candy store. I look around, carefully pacing between the kitchen and the living room. “Can I take this dining room set?” I slip closer to him and run my fingers over the back of one of the chairs. Solid wood. The seat cushions look a little dusty, but I can easily clean that. “And the couch?” I look up and watch his face carefully.

  He lowers his eyes and increases the distance between us with a small step. “Sure.” A genuine smile softens the hard corners of his lips, and he has the cheekbones that can sell designer jeans. His dark hazel eyes twinkle with flecks of gray. Damn, he’s good-looking. I take a deep breath and ignore the pounding in my chest. His smile makes me nervous.

  I tug at one end of the couch. It is made of genuine leather with a heavy wooden frame. “Is it okay if I ask my friend to come in here to help me? She’ll be careful, I swear.” There is no way that I can move everything by myself.

  “I’ll give you a hand.” He rolls up his sleeves and reveals tanned, muscular arms. I watch as he bends down and embraces one end of the couch. I stare at the sinews and tendons on his arms bulge with masculine strength, and I wonder how a pair of arms can look so sexy.

  “Lift with your legs. Not so fast. Okay, now go faster.” I bite down on my lower lip as I try to follow exactly what he says. I am backing up while he moves forward, so I have to rely on his instructions to tell me where to go. “Watch your feet. Follow my lead. To the right. My right. The other right. Are you lifting with your legs?” I turn scarlet as I try to keep up with his deluge of verbal orders. My hands slip and I give him a warning grunt to stop so that I can adjust my grip.

  “Lift with your legs,” he barks at me again, so I wince and adjust the positions of my hands.

  Meghan’s eyes widen as she watches the two of us carry the couch from the house into the back of my truck. His brows raise at the sight of my beat-up truck, and I think he just upgraded his opinion of me from “idiot” to “destitute.”

  I ignore the look in his eyes. The truck works perfectly fine despite how it looks.

  “Here, I can help you guys load.” He ignores Meghan’s offer to help and loads the couch, four chairs, the dining room table, and a small study lamp into the truck by himself. Placing each item in just the right way, he quickly makes sure everything fits perfectly. He even pulls out the length of rope I left in the truck bed and secures everything.

  “Thank you so much for giving me the furniture and helping me load. I honestly don’t know what to say. This is so generous of you, I really appreciate everything you have done for me. I don’t have any money, but is there anything I can do for you?” I ask him and blush.

  He chuckles without malice, but I can tell that he is thinking dismissively that there is nothing someone like me can do for him. His shoes cost more than my car.

  “Well.” I can hear Meghan impatiently tapping her foot next to me. “Thanks anyways,” I say before hitting the gas pedal and slamming my truck into his garage door. It breaks into two.

  “Why are you always so stubborn? Why are you always like this?” Meghan shouts at me right before I park the truck next to our apartment. “Just let me loan you the money. I know that you’ll pay me back.”

  “You need the money more than I do. You’re still in school,” I retort.

  “But I’ll be working soon and make real money.” She points out.

  “You won’t make much as a first-year nurse.” I counter. “And you still have your student loans.”

  “I’ll make more than a barista.”

  I ignore her and descend the stairs leading to my underground home.

  “Mom!” I call out before entering our basement apartment. “We’re back.” The dank air hits me in the face as soon as I open the door at the base of the stairs.

  I catch my mom’s frail figure, sitting in her wheelchair and slumping over the sink. She is scrubbing a few dirty dishes that I left earlier. “What are you doing? You need to rest.” I chastise her softly. “I can do these.”

  Even at almost fifty, Mom is still a beautiful woman. She has ashen blonde hair, a pert nose, and big pale blue eyes. Unlike her, I have dark hair and a stocky frame that I got from my father. She drops the dish sponge into the sink and wipes her long fingers on the wool fabric that wraps around her frail, immobile legs. She gives me an apologetic smile. “I was just looking for something to do.”

  I pull her wheelchair away out of the kitchen like a baby in a stroller. “You just recovered from the flu. You should stay in bed.” Mom gets sick about ten times a year. I can’t risk having her going to the ER again. I also can’t afford it.

  “
I’m not an invalid, my dear.”

  Meghan gives her a hug as soon as she enters. “How did it go?” Mom asks the both of us.

  I flash her a quick smile that I hope looks genuine. “I got a huge haul.”

  Meghan shuffles her feet and gives me a knowing look, and I am thankful that she knows when to keep her mouth shut. I don’t even know how I am going to come up with the money to pay for the broken garage door. I don’t want Mom to know or worry about it.

  “That’s wonderful.” Mom clasps her hands together and smiles. Meghan gives her a sheepish smile and helps me move all the furniture into our tiny studio apartment. It has never been so packed with furniture. I can barely squeeze myself between the couch and one of the dining room chairs. We have lived here for five years, but now that the place is furnished, it finally looks like a home. After Meghan leaves to go back to the home she shares with her parents and three sisters, Mom and I sigh with pleasure as we settle into our new living space.

  “Are you sure?” Mom sounds hesitant. “They just gave everything to you? For free?” She sounds like someone who can’t believe they just won the lottery. Her hands stroke the buttery soft leather of the couch and she practically purrs.

  “Yes. Everything is old. They would have thrown it all away anyway.” Yeah, it was free. Except I now easily owe them a couple of thousand dollars for the broken garage door because of my own stupidity.

  “What is this?” I pick up a slip of paper that has fallen from the kitchen counter.

  Mom sputters, “It must be, I mean, I think—”