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

  I sigh. “It’s an eviction notice, isn’t it?”

  I hate watching my mom wring her hands and her soft features twist with embarrassment and worry. “I’ll talk to the landlord. This isn’t what we agreed on last time. I’m sure we can work something out.” We have been behind on rent for a while now, but I have been paying them as much as I can every month. The coffee shop doesn’t pay much and doctor appointments are expensive.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll just find another job. The coffee shop is only part-time.”

  Tears come to her lovely eyes and her lips tremble as she says, “You can’t just work all the time. What about school, Amelia? What about your life? You can’t live like this forever.”

  Sick of having this argument again, I leave her alone. I close the bathroom door behind me and then I slam my hands on the bathroom counter, which is littered with Mom’s pill bottles. I try to find the humor in my situation, but there is none. There is never enough money or time for school. Of course, I don’t want to live like this forever, but I don’t want to live on the streets either. With Mom’s condition, she needs a warm and comfortable home and stability. I stare at the red-rimmed eyes in the mirror and scream silently. What am I supposed to do? Eventually, I splash cold water on my face before going to bed. Mom is already in bed with her back toward me. Her wheelchair sits empty by her side of the bed. Stealing into the double bed that I share with her, I try to make as little noise as possible. Mom stirs on the other side.

  Before she opens her mouth, I rush to speak first. “Don’t worry, Mom.” I place a comforting hand on her thin shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Chapter 2

  Fletcher

  Bits of debris fly into my face. For a moment, all three of us are choking on the painted wood chips and dust in the air. The girl with the side ponytail sits in the passenger seat and fans her hands in front of her nose.

  The driver who has caused so much trouble is sitting in her monster of a vehicle, completely dazed at what she has just done. Her green eyes stare ahead while her hands are still clutching the steering wheel.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I ignore it. I have enough headaches without a truck driving through my garage door.

  “I, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I must have forgotten to put the car in reverse. I’ve never done this before,” she murmurs. “I’ll pay you to get it fixed,” she adds quickly.

  Her friend glares as she speaks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that she has no money to pay for the repairs.

  My phone buzzes again, irritating me even further.

  “Just leave.” They both open their mouths to speak, but I wave them away impatiently.

  I check my phone and see a text message.

  I’m in the bedroom.

  I glance quickly and put the phone back into my pocket. I don’t want to deal with this now. I can feel a massive headache coming on, and it’s not just caused by the gaping hole in my garage door.

  I scavenge around in the bathroom and find what I need behind the medicine cabinet. A bottle of expired aspirin sitting right next to Dad’s old heart pills. I take two without water and scan around me. The surrounding shambles seem to mirror the rest of my life, and I rub my face with my hands and try to clear my head.

  It is strange to come back to this house after all these years. I left when I was just a kid. I didn’t come back when my first company struck it rich because I was too busy enjoying the accolades of my success. When my father fell ill, I sent money and arranged for doctors and nurses, but I was too busy trying to sell my second company. After he passed, I didn’t come back because I was trying to get my third and current company off the ground and dealing with the mess that Rachel left me.

  Now, it is too late. The place has been boarded up for years and I have no family left and no reason to keep this house. Before getting rid of the place for good, I decide that the least I can do is go through everything that my father left me.

  “Hello, Fletcher.” A sultry voice greets me as I enter the master bedroom. A woman with platinum blond hair in a dark red silk robe lounges leisurely on the bed. She bites the bright red tip of her manicured thumb and grins at me like a mischievous child sucking on a lollipop. Her robe is falling open and one of her shoulders is exposed. I can tell that she is completely naked underneath.

  “How did you get in here?” My whole body tenses.

  “Oh, I have my ways.” She winks at me with a heavy-lidded eye. She pushes herself off the bed and lets her robe fall even further. “You like?” She displays her body like a piece of cheap ware.

  I know what these women want, and it has nothing to do with my personality. They are fun distractions, but it doesn’t mean I want to re-visit them again. This is why I left New York and came back to my hometown.

  “How did you know I was here?” I inch closer to the bed. My shadow towers over the sultry figure.

  “Does it matter?” she says coyly as she sits at the edge of the bed. Her naked toes playfully tug at the edge of my pant leg.

  “If you don’t tell me.” My tone is jagged. “I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” I have no idea who she is and I don’t care what happens to her as long as I can get rid of her.

  Panic flashes in her eyes. She jumps off the bed and tightens the robe around her slim frame. “I didn’t know, okay? I was on your flight from New York and I followed you here.”

  I sneer. I don’t even bait my hook, and she is fighting tooth and nail to climb onto my fishing rod. Women like her scheme and plot to make use of their measly brain cells to land a husband with a fat bank account.

  “Great, now get out.” I point to the door. She mutters and curses as she scrambles. As soon as the front door is shut behind her, I rip the sheets off the bed and throw them into the washer. The room retains the cloyingly sweet scent of the woman’s expensive perfume, and it makes me want to gag. I force open all the windows right away.

  The girl who was here for the furniture doesn’t smell like that. I caught a whiff of her natural feminine scent when I reached over to help her load the couch into the truck bed. She smells faintly of lilacs and sunshine. Short and small with green eyes like a cat’s, she moves with the litheness of one as well. She has a dainty nose covered with freckles and a round face framed by dark hair in loose spiral waves that tumble over her shoulders. Something about the way she just quietly watches when you talk, as if she can see right into you. I bet those clever eyes see and note everything. She wears a big gray hoodie and baggy jeans like a little brother wearing his bigger sibling’s clothes, but I wonder what she looks like under her frumpy clothes.

  My phone buzzes again. You’ll be sorry. I sneer and don’t even bother with a response. I refuse to take any woman or their threats seriously.

  Since Rachel left me at the altar three years ago, my life has been filled with these type of women. It was fun at first, having a new woman over every night. Then it grew old and stale. Women flood to you and they will do or say anything you want just to cling to you and your money. Mostly just your money. It did help me forget Rachel, but it didn’t make me feel any better about my life or myself. I finally had it with the gold-diggers and the paparazzi, so I skipped town and wound up here, across the country in my hometown where no one knows I am here.

  Did the girl know who I was? Probably not. Most people who did either fall into a nervous chatter or stand slack-jawed. She just answered my questions a little shyly, but honestly. I sensed her embarrassment when I asked why she didn’t already have any furniture. I knew the answer before she could tell me.

  I walk into the garage and flick on the lights. Two of the bulbs don’t work. There is still Dad’s old chevy sitting here, and some of his old scuba gear. Cold sea air blows right through the gaping hole in the door. I can taste the ocean on the tip of my tongue and excitement tingles under my skin. I long to jump into the salty water and feel the coldness splashing over my skin. I didn’t grow up
rich either, but I never had to take strangers’ hand-me-downs. Dad ran a dive shop and scuba school and supported our family. We loved the sea. Dad led a simple life and loved what he did. When I was young, I thought I would live here forever as well.

  Instead, I moved to New York right after school. Instantly, I was hooked. The sounds, the sights, and the people. I felt like I was at the center of the universe and the top of the world. So despite my father’s chagrin, I stayed. I dug my heels in and persevered. I worked, and I hustled. I built an empire from nothing with my bare hands. Now I am the king of my own domain. I have gotten everything I have ever wanted.

  In an old plastic bin, I find an old tarp and a roll of tape and fix up the hole temporarily. The girl, Amelia, that’s her name, promised that she will pay me for the door. She left me with her phone number and address. As if she will ever be able to scrape together the cash to pay me. If she has the money, she should buy herself a new truck. As if I need her money or anything from anyone.

  There is a long row of old wetsuits, and some scuba gears hanging by the wall. I haven’t gone diving in years. To run three successful tech companies, I barely have time for vacations and rarely have weekends where I don’t work. For my first Thanksgiving in New York, because I didn’t have time or money to come home, Dad flew out to visit me. Standing around Times Square in his old fleece and shabby work boots, he was completely out of place with my new life. So he never visited me again.

  Yet when I was a kid, I used to spend hours after school at my dad’s shop and work with him on the weekends. I was always the most content standing by and watching quietly as my father cleaned the gears or instructed a student. I was never happier than when I was floating in the infinite ocean alone, experiencing a world that is not my own. The colors and the sights are not anything you ever see on land. I reach for the old wetsuits and the aged materials disintegrate under my touch. I need to pick up more garbage bags tomorrow and boxes, too. It seems like Dad kept all of his old pieces of equipment and just stored them here, waiting for the day when I would return and take over the family business once again.

  Even though I got everything I’ve ever wanted, it was never enough. I always wanted more. I was working, always working. I rarely slept at the Midtown penthouse that I shared with my fiancé since I was always staying late at the office. It wasn’t a problem. Rachel had her own high-power law career to wrestle with. We both worked hard and rarely saw each other.

  Maybe I should have seen the signs. The unusual flashes of temper, the hasty goodbyes, and the faraway look I sometimes caught in her eyes. But I had too much on my mind. I had just sold my second company and trying to get the third one off the ground. There was a constant rotation of meetings with employees, investors, and customers. I had just lost Dad. I worked like a maniac and to make up for my absence; I gave her a blank check for whatever she wanted for our wedding.

  “I never wanted a fancy wedding. I just wanted you, but you couldn’t even keep that promise.” I remember her saying on the morning of our wedding, which was supposed to be held at the fanciest, most lavish hotel in town and where we invited five hundred people including the mayor of the city. Her bags were by her feet. “I’m sorry, Fletch,” she said, but her eyes were not apologetic.

  Picking up the pieces is never easy, and you have to start from the beginning. My parents’ house has been boarded up for years now, and it’s time for me to finally get it in order. I could’ve just hired someone to put everything into storage and then sell the house for me, but it feels too much like just kicking the can down the street. I can’t just hide from my problems anymore. I need to face my life and the consequences of my actions, whether I like them or not.

  Also, I couldn’t trust someone else to just deal with everything and decide for me. This is the house that I grew up in, that I thought I would grow old in. I have to give up on those dreams, as well as dreams I had with Rachel. A stranger wouldn’t know what is important to me or what I want to keep, or to whom I am comfortable giving it away to. The girl from today seems alright. She doesn’t seem local. There is a quiet and reserved vibe about her. She seems to struggle with life and could use the free stuff. There are shadows on her face that tell of hardworking days and sleepless nights.

  Something about her makes it hard for me to get her out of my mind. Maybe it’s the way her full hips sway even though she hides them well under her frumpy clothes or how her quiet intelligent eyes speak volumes. I shake my head. No, my instinct tells me that girl is trouble. My instincts tell me.

  She is not like the woman in the silk robe who was here earlier. It’s so transparent what women like her want from me. It’s easy for me to fritter away boredom with them while never taking any of them seriously. They are more than happy to trade sex and attention for money and fame, and I can get rid of them as soon as I tire of them, which would be rather quick.

  The local non-profit calls me to confirm their appointment to pick up the Chevy for donation later this week. Then I delete the messages from the woman in the silk robe without responding. Women like these are a dime a dozen, I have no trouble letting them go.

  But the girl from earlier today is not one to be trifled with. She wears her poverty proudly, the way some people wear their wealth. She lives life the way she wants to. And proudly so. She’s got spirit. Those other women are not even real human beings compared to her. They are just empty shells wrapped in nice clothes and expensive jewelry.

  I’m used to dealing with people who want money or fame. They are easy. I can manage and control them and get whatever I want from them. With this girl, the usual tricks wouldn’t work. Money and status mean nothing to people like her. They want things I can promise but can never give.

  I’m a selfish man and I refuse to take any woman seriously.

  Chapter 3

  Amelia

  I despise rich people.

  The cafe where I work is situated right next to the most expensive office park in town. Every morning and afternoon, we get a constant rotation of high-maintenance, rich clients who think that by paying five dollars for coffee they can treat you like dirt.

  The worst is Penelope Winston, who comes here a few times a week because it is on the way to her father’s business. It is Sunday, so I wasn’t expecting her at all. It is my usual day off, but I need the extra cash. It also happens to be the day when the cappuccino machine breaks (again) and I am soaked in ugly patches of brown coffee stains and doubting my life choices on the whole.

  “I’ll have a double latte with ice please,” a high, stilted voice calls to me over the counter while I mop up the spilled coffee from the machine.

  After getting no response, she adds with emphasis, “and no sugar.” The speaker, a tall shapely blonde wearing a colorful silk neckerchief around her swan-like neck, looks over the stains on my apron and sleeves with disdain. She is holding a beautifully crafted leather handbag in one hand and her platinum credit card in the other hand. The same membership tier as her rich daddy. Penelope Winston has not only inherited her father’s real estate business, but his snobbishness as well.

  I think the only reason she comes here a few times a week is just so that she can relish seeing me working behind the counter, or even better, cleaning the bathroom. Last time, she intentionally kicked up a wad of used tissues into my face as I scrubbed the toilet in the next stall. Then she took her double latte to whatever fancy luncheon or hair appointment she had next. She does this periodically just so she could feel good about herself, even though she leeches off of her rich father and is a waste of clothes and dyed blond hair. I think she doesn’t like me because I refuse to kiss her ass, despite me not having any money. Because I know that there are things that money just can’t buy, like good manners.

  “Oops,” she grins as she opens her perfectly manicured fingers and her credit card slips out and falls behind the counter. I glare at her as I take a deep breath and then stoop down to retrieve it from the floor.

  “Su
re, no sugar.” I straighten up and give her a plastered smile. I try not to stare with jealousy at her leather bag and expensive five-inch heels. I remind myself that my discount sneakers are much more comfortable for working on my feet all day.

  Her grin splits wider now. Gosh, how much makeup is this woman wearing? I can see the bits of powder flaking off of the corners of her scarlet mouth.

  “Please remember, unlike last time,” she says to me as if she is chastising a disobedient child, “I can’t eat any sugar if I want to keep my figure. I honestly don’t know what you’ve got for brains,” she spits out.

  I swipe the credit card across the machine with enough force to break it in half, silently vowing that I’m going to dump so much sugar in her coffee that it’ll give her diabetes. I turn my head away from her while I wait for the transaction to go through so that I don’t punch her in the face because of the next thing that comes out of her bright red mouth.

  “Hello? Are you even listening to me?” Her voice raises even higher.

  Come on. Come on. I chew on my lower lip and tap my fingers on the counter. Ping! The transaction finally goes through and I eagerly hand back her credit card.

  “Ugh, is this how you treat your customers, freak?” I try really hard not to roll my eyes at her.

  “No,” I reply as I push her credit card across on the table. “This is how I treat you. Also, my name is Amelia, not ‘freak.’ Please remember. Or has money rotted your brains along with your heart?”

  “I don’t care what your name is. You can’t talk to me like this,” she hisses. Uh-oh. I can see the nasty scowl on her blood-red lips. People like her don’t like it when other people cross her, so she won’t stop until they get what she thinks they deserve. “I want to see your manager.”

  I slam my palms down on the counter and tilt my head defiantly. “My manager doesn’t come here in the mornings.” My boss, Charlie, a blond surfer who cares more about catching the waves than his business, could care less about what she thinks. He treats me like a kind big brother and lets me run the cafe completely on my own. Also, what can he do if he gets mad at me? Fire me? I took the last job in town that no one wanted. He’ll have a hell of a time trying to fill my spot. The only perk of being at the bottom of the food chain.