Once the company was mine, I put back all of the money that my father stole from the employees’ pension funds by selling three of my parents’ houses and the majority of their other real estate holdings. The company is barely solvent but with a lot of hard work and additional product lines, I know that I can get it back to profitability.
The trials of the men involved who appeared in Franklin’s video collection are all ongoing. Only two have pled guilty in exchange for reduced sentences and others are fighting their charges. It will be years before the victims get any justice but at least everything those evil men have done is out in the open. For that I am thankful.
My father waited a long time to make a deal with the FBI regarding the fraud that he’d perpetuated against Tate Media. He is serving a seven-year sentence. His partner in the video hoax and the fraud got ten years. I don’t know if my father’s life is still in danger because I’m currently taking a long hiatus from communicating with my parents. Instead, I’m trying to figure out my own role in this world.
I meet with Henry for lunch at our favorite diner not far away from work. He has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize as a result of the investigative research that he had done for this case and for the stories that he has published.
“It’s so nice to see you,” he says. “How’s everything?”
I work ten floors up from him and we rarely see each other during the day.
“What are you doing Friday night?” he asks.
I shrug. “No plans.”
“Mom wants to have us over for dinner. She has some news.”
My throat closes up. No, not again. My mind immediately goes to the worst possible place; the cancer is back.
“No,” Henry says, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “This has nothing to do with that. She’s fine. Remember, the doctor said that she won’t have to come in for a checkup for another six months.”
“Okay, good,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief. “You just never know, right? I mean, it’s like pins and needles with the checkups.”
We’re in the back booth and he leans over and kisses me.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Just for being so wonderful,” he says.
“I just love your mom and I hope she’s okay,” I say. “Given how I grew up, I had no idea that there were actually nice moms out there.”
“Still, it makes me happy,” he says, bringing my hand to his lips.
“So, why are we going to Montauk?”
“Apparently, she has a new boyfriend. He’s a high school history teacher and they’re in love. Her words, not mine.”
I laugh. “Your mom deserves to be happy.”
“I know, but I still have to grill him. I wouldn’t be a good son if I didn’t do that.”
I stare into his eyes for a long time, feeling utterly at peace. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like, I don’t have a worry in the world because I know that he will always be there for me.
“I love you,” I whisper, intertwining his fingers with my own.
“I love you, too,” Henry says, leaning over the table and kissing me on the mouth. “I will always love you. Forever. Until the end of time.”
I hope you enjoyed the Wedlocked Trilogy! Can’t get enough of my books? I have a new hate-love, enemies-to-lovers romance full of angst, twists and turns, steamy scenes and second chances. One-click NOT INTO YOU now!
I hate you.
I hate your swagger and your attitude.
Once, you were everything that I wanted. After you left, I lost everything.
But then you waltzed back into my life: confident, cocky, and as dark and as beautiful as ever.
You never cheated and you never lied, but that doesn’t mean that what you did didn’t hurt.
My hatred for you is a fire, you’ll never extinguish.
You know this and you take my hand anyway. I want to push you away, but you won’t let me.
What happens when I start to cave?
What happens when all of my rage becomes the opposite of hate?
One-click NOT INTO YOU now!
** NOT INTO YOU is the first book of the bestselling author Charlotte Byrd’s enemies-to-lovers DUET that will leave you head spinning.
It was previously published as One Semester but the text has been substantially expanded and revised.
Chapter 1
I walk into my dorm room for the first time and take a deep breath. This is the beginning of something new. Something special. All through high school, I felt like college was going to be some sort of epilogue in the chapters of my life. It was everything I worked for, everything I tried so hard to achieve. While everyone else was hanging out, drinking, and going to parties, I kept my nose in my books. But when this day finally arrived, it no longer felt like an epilogue. No, this is a prologue. The beginning of something special.
“What a large room!” my mom exclaims, looking around my new home. The room is quite spacious. However, it’s not quite like the walls college students have on television and in movies. The ceiling is pretty high, but the walls are made of painted cinderblocks. White. Barren. So unlike the cozy, light pink room that I have back home.
I walk over to the window. It’s a beautiful late August day. I’m on the 16th floor, and from here I can see into other people’s apartments across the street.
“I just can’t believe that I’m here.” I turn around with a puddle of tears stacking up on the bottom of my eyelids. “In New York.”
“Oh, sweetie.” My mom puts her arms around me. She knows this has been my dream since I was in middle school. Mom gives me a quick hug and looks out of the window with me.
“I just don’t know how people live here. It’s so crammed!”
I smile. My mom is not a fan of New York. I grew up in Calabasas, a town just north of Los Angeles, where the sky is almost always cloudless and blue and the temperature never gets cooler than seventy degrees Fahrenheit. My family’s upper middle class, but not what’s considered rich. At least not by LA standards. Still, our family of five lived comfortably in a 3,000 square foot house with a 6,000 square foot yard and a pool.
“I hope you have nice roommates,” Mom says.
“Of course she will,” Dad pipes in. He’s standing in the doorway, clearly not impressed. “I just can’t believe that this room costs $17,000 a year! And you have three other roommates.”
Mom and I laugh it off. Even though my dad isn’t cheap, he always likes to complain about how much things cost.
“Suite mates,” I correct him. “I have one roommate and three suite mates.” Our rooms are separated by a living room with a little kitchen and there’s only one bathroom for everyone to share.
“The room would be just as big if I’d gone to USC and the school would’ve cost just as much,” I add. University of Southern California is both of my parents’ alma mater. That’s where they met thirty years ago.
“Yeah, at least you would’ve been closer to home and wouldn’t need a plane ticket to come see us.” He shrugs. I roll my eyes. We’ve been over this thousands of times before. Now, they joke about it more than anything else. They both know that Columbia has been my dream school for as long as I could remember. And when I got my acceptance packet, I think pretty much everyone knew that that’s where I was headed.