Page 2 of Pretend You're Mine

Glancing at my watch, I realized that despite all the time I had spent working, I still had three more hours till the interview at the coffee shop. It was scheduled to start at 8 a.m. I groaned and climbed into my car again. Maybe, I could fix my tires and get some gas in the meantime.

I turned on the radio, letting Drake's “God's Plan” boom from the speakers. It was true that I no longer believed in a big daddy above the bright, blue skies but that didn't stop me from hoping for a miracle.

Beyond exhausted, I willed time to magically race forward at a faster rate so I could see what my luck had in store for me. The constant pulling of the car to the right side and the shaking of the steering wheel had finally stopped, at least.

I drove slowly, staring hard to see clearly out my window. I didn't doubt that my tired face was contorted in a frown. The onset of the headache I'd been fighting since I woke up spiked another notch. I wondered if it was because I hadn't had my breakfast yet.

I heaved a sigh of relief as I spotted the gas station, my self-deprecating thoughts fading into the background. I focusedon pumping gas, contemplating how to call the gas attendant's attention to my snow-covered windshield and windows.

"Couldn't have had a bad enough day without the fucking snow ruining it for me," I groaned to myself. I whirled, about to put the fuel pump back in place, when I noticed a gas attendant standing behind me.

"It's a mix of rubbing alcohol and water,” she said, tossing a spray bottle to me. “Should do the work."

I caught the plastic bottle.

Her red hair swished as she made her way back to the main building. I yelled out a loud "thank you" as she ambled out of sight.

I sprayed a miserly quantity on my windshield. There was no telling when I would need it again.

A few months ago, none of this would have posed a problem to me. I was paid twice every month and with no one else in my life to cater to, I barely had any need for the money so I had stashed it away. It was what now kept me from being on the streets.

Losing my job suddenly taught me a lot of lessons, chief among them being the importance of financial investments. Just saving wasn't enough. That was what had me getting doors slammed in my face, especially when they found out how I'd been discharged.

My dishonorable discharge makes me ineligible for veterans benefits. But I joined the Marines as soon as I turned eighteen, and all the skills I had were what they taught me, and what my Marine father taught me before that. I'd bet my last buck that getting a DD was what slammed every job door shut before I could even blink.

But I fucking refused to grift like my dad had ended up doing; I'd find honest work, thank you very much. Even if “honest” meant “Nine-to-Fiver at the Bottom.” Or “Low-Cash Crusader.”So I put some air in my tires, used a couple bucks for gas, and de-iced my windshield. When I was satisfied with the condition of the car, I drove out again. I tucked my lip in between my teeth, gnawing the skin as I tried to focus on the upcoming interview.

My stomach growled like a beast hunting for prey, and I’d have killed for a hot cup of coffee, but I didn’t have time to wait in line at a soup kitchen (or the patience to listen to the obligatory church sermon that came with it, as if God didn’t abandon me a hell of a long time ago) and still make the interview.

Maybe when I got to the coffee shop, they’d at least give me a cup of coffee before they rejected me. Right? Maybe I could just let go and stop trying to fix my life when it was clear that I was part of the percentage that were likely to remain the underdogs, despite how hard they tried. There was no assurance that the management of the coffee shop would overlook my records. If they didn't, then all I could do was hang around and wait for the end to come. It wasn't like it was much further.

The negativity isn't going to help you, I mentally chastised myself. It wasn't what I'd learned from training camp. Marines weren't losers. Besides, the negativity wasn't going to change anything. All I had to do was walk in there, confident that I was just as good and deserving of the position as anyone else. Surely, there had to be someone who would take a chance on me.

Trying to make my face hold the expression of someone not having the worst months of their life, I headed to the interview.

CHAPTER 2

AVERY

I shivered.

This time of morning was always cold. Too fucking cold. And today was no exception. The chilly air nipped at my face—the only part of my body that was exposed—as I shuffled across the sidewalk, my coat pulled tightly around me in a futile attempt to keep warm. It was the quiet before the storm of daily life; most people were still tucked away in their warm beds, blissfully unaware of the world outside.

But not me. As the newly appointed head of Branson Resorts, one of the most luxurious international hotel chains in the world, I had to be up and about at this ungodly hour. It was one of the downsides of working in such a prestigious establishment, known for its opulent accommodations, exquisite dining, and unparalleled hospitality. I rolled my eyes internally at the thought, recalling the cheesy phrases I'd read in our advertisements in various travel magazines.

My father, Victor Branson, was a visionary businessman who’d transformed a small boutique hotel into a global empire. When I was old enough, I'd worked my ass off as an intern and then as temporary staff to show I was just as good as the others, maybe even better. I wanted to know that every positionI achieved, every dollar I earned was due, in full, because of my hard work and intelligence, not because of nepotism.

A haze swam in front of my eyes. I was so fucking tired of the weight of responsibilities sitting pretty on my shoulders. But then the death of my father had yielded big changes for our family. I, the youngest of the Branson kids, was now at the helm of the company. My mother still lived in the house I'd been raised in, out in the country, with only the servants to keep her company. Since Dad’s death, I'd had to make extra efforts to be emotionally present for her.

So when I'd woken up this morning to a call from Mother, which was always a not-so-good way to get my adrenaline pumping in the morning, I'd begged her to at least give me a chance to take a shower and get ready for work and promised I'd call her back. But I immediately regretted following through and returning her call.

“Hey, Mom.” I cleared my throat.

"Good morning again, dear!" she said in a breezy, carefree voice. "I know it's early, but I wanted to catch you before your busy day."

"I'm heading to work. Need anything?"

“I've been worried about you, Avery. You don’t call very often and you hardly ever come home for a visit.”

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