Chapter 1
Olivia
“Olivia!”
“Olivia, is it true that your family is under attack?”
“Olivia, can I get a quote from you about your father's condition? Olivia?”
“Olivia, do you think this is a retaliatory attack for your relationship with Samantha?”
Hotel security clears a path for me as I push through the throng of questions and camera flashes. The ravenous press howled all around me like a pack of hungry wolves. The hotel doors closed and I let out a quick sigh of relief.
Olivia. It was amazing how much I’d come to loathe my own first name. Had I ever liked it? The people who shouted it at me were either awestruck or wanted something from me.
Or, in the case of my father, perpetually disappointed.
The urge to text Samantha when I was safely in the lobby popped into my head automatically. I quickly cleared her from my mind. That was definitely over. It’d been weeks, and the hardest part of the breakup so far was just the loneliness.
I didn’t have anyone to share my concerns, fears, or just vent to and not feel judged.
Ever since I was a little girl it was always hard for me to make real friends and, now that I had ended things with Samantha, I didn’t have anyone to go through this scary time with. I was all alone in a sea of flashing lights.
I texted my stepmother, Trish, to let her know I was on my way up. She gave me the scoop about my father early this morning over the phone. I had no interest in visiting, but no. My presence was requested; Trish said that my father insisted.
My father was alright of course, he's too mean and bitter to die.
We weren’t close. This visit was just a formality; appearances for the press. “We are what the public perceives we are,” he'd always remind me. And that perception was that we were the first family of film. We were an 'acting dynasty, the Ward Legacy,' he'd say.
Granted since word got out about my relationship with Samantha he didn’t throw words like family and dynasty around much anymore.
Even still, he was my father. I couldn’t just turn my back on him, especially not after someone had tried to kill him!
“Olivia!” I froze for a moment, then hustled to the elevator without turning back. In here, like most of the high-end places we stayed, I was Miss Ward, not simply Olivia.
“Olivia!” The man behind me hollered. “Just a few words for the Observing Enquirer! What can you tell us about the attack? Are the rumors true about your father owing money to The Mafia?” It was no surprise a reporter from that magazine made it inside. Of all the press I'd ever dealt with, they were by far the most aggressive.
In truth, they made me very nervous.
I hustled away faster, my heels clicking loudly off the immaculate marble flooring. There were shouts from security, but they sounded even farther away. A well-dressed concierge in a red vest held the elevator door open for me. I just needed to get there to escape.
I shouldn't have worn these damn heels!
A hand grabbed my arm and jerked me around. I saw the microphone before I saw the man holding it, as it was almost shoved into my mouth. An exhalation of cigarette breath and wafting cheap cologne hit me like a slap. “Just a few words, Olivia. Your father’s debt. Was that what the attack—”
As quickly as the scent hit me, it was gone. It was replaced by the smell of a memory just out of my mind’s grasp. The reporter was violently thrown up against a nearby stone column. My first thought was that security finally caught up, but the guy who had the reporter pinned didn't look like any hotel employee I'd ever seen.
I could only see my savior's broad, muscular back. He wore a black baseball cap over short-cropped black hair, and a button-down shirt that was left open, untucked, with the sleeves rolled up. Both his chiseled arms were covered in tattoos, and his jeans had non-designer oil and paint stains. Definitely not a security guard, at least not for this place.
The man was a mass of muscle and action that made my heart race. He had to be some sort of athlete that just happened to be staying here, a football player or something. I caught myself smiling despite the rush of adrenaline. It made me think of a boy I used to know, a boy who had stolen my heart then abandoned me.
“She doesn't seem to want to talk to you, pal,” the athlete wrenched the man's arm over with the skill and ease of a professional fighter. The reporter was flipped onto his back like a sack of old produce. At first he whined with threats, now it was just pain he whined with. “Now leave before you lose the use of your legs.”
That voice, though... Where did I know that voice from? It was driving me crazy! The athlete released the man into the care of the building's actual security. When he stood and turned to face me, all the color seemed to drain from the room.
“Hey, Olive.” His mischievous smirk held hints of danger. I would never forget those fierce brown eyes, but it was the way he looked at me that was unmistakable. It was confident and careless, yet intense. “Long time.”
Olive? Suddenly I was seventeen all over again. It was like the last six years never happened.
“Bastien?” I asked, in a daze.
Bastien Kontos was a dream given form. He had moved to our high school at the beginning of senior year. He was mysterious and oh-so-gorgeous, every girl fell at his feet. But it was me that he spent most of that year with. It was impossible to look at him and not think of our incredible prom night together. It was nearly overwhelming.
God, he looked so different now. He was so...manly!
My wonderment was quickly replaced by the flash of heat from old wounds; the kind that only came after a severe burn. I didn't know if Bastien expected a hug, but he sure as hell didn't expect to be slapped across the face.