One Contract (The Game Book 1) Read online

  One Contract

  The Game #1

  LP Lovell

  Stevie J. Cole

  Contents

  One Contract

  Also from LP Lovell and Stevie J. Cole

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Two Guys

  About The Authors

  One Contract

  The Game Series #1

  LP Lovell and Stevie J. Cole

  Also from LP Lovell and Stevie J. Cole

  Wrong is FREE on all platforms. Here.

  Tor

  My life was mapped out and planned to perfection. I knew exactly what I wanted and where I was going, until I was thrust into his world and ripped from mine. In the blink of an eye everything shattered, proving to be nothing more than a cheap illusion. Now I'm living in this twisted form of hell, where enemies and friends are one and the same. I thought I wanted perfection. Now I don't know what I want - perhaps not even my own freedom.

  Jude

  I'm the definition of wrong. I'm violent, I'm greedy, and I stop at nothing to win. I'm a notorious bookie and in my game paying with your life is not just a figure of speech. You lose, I collect. I take whatever you have. She's collateral for a debt, and if that debt's not paid someone will die. This should be just business, so why can't I kill her?

  Everything is not always as it seems.

  Lust. Blood. Lies

  Nothing this wrong should feel so right.

  1

  Groaning, I rip the yellow piece of paper off the door and read over the first few lines: This Eviction Notice from Plymouth Rentals is given to you on this day (March 21, 2017). You are being asked to leave the premises...

  I ball the notice up, sighing as I step inside my apartment. My eyes immediately land on the empty spot where Sawyer's prized painting once hung, a constant reminder of that failed relationship. Six months ago, I thought my life was perfect. I thought I had the perfect boyfriend, the perfect job...I glance down at the mounting pile of bills on the counter, over half of them marked with a red stamp that reads: Final Notice. I laugh. Maybe I should be thankful they give you notice, because that's a hell of a lot more than my old job or Sawyer gave me. When the company I worked for went bankrupt, I found out less than 24 hours before the bank seized it. And then, two weeks later, I came home to a note from Sawyer saying he'd found someone else. A twenty-year old brunette. I should have known. He was too perfect. Good looking, great job, wealthy. He asked me to move in with him after just a few months and we got this apartment in the most expensive part of Manhattan. In the nicest of buildings, because with Sawyer, everything was about appearance. And stupid me never worried because he said he loved me, and well, of course, he paid for it all, so what was there to worry about? And now I'm left, without a job, and with no choice but to drain my savings account in a pitiful attempt to pay the remaining two months on the lease. My life is now far from perfect.

  Grabbing the mail, I sort through it. Ad. Bill. Bill. Junk mail.

  I stop on a light blue envelope with no return address, my name written in calligraphy. Turning it over, I slip my finger beneath the flap and tear it open. I pull out the thick gold paper and unfold it.

  Written in white lettering, it reads:

  You're invited to interview with Tobias Benton on March 22 at 1:00.

  Business attire, please.

  187 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  Tomorrow?

  I stare at the paper, trying to recall the name Tobias Benton, thinking nothing of it when I fail to recognize it. I've put in countless applications to an endless list of companies. I set the invitation aside, and grab my phone, typing in his name and hitting search. My screen fills with pictures and information. Tobias Benton. CEO of Six-degrees—the social media platform that knocked Facebook out of the water. Net worth 3.5 billion. My heart goes into a sprint. A marketing job for this company would be a dream come true. And then, I look at his picture. Dark hair, stubble-covered jawline, and bright green eyes that seem to pierce through the phone screen. Of course, a man worth that much money, that successful would look like he belongs on the cover of a magazine enticing you to buy expensive designer perfume.

  I lay the paper to the side and inhale. I have to get this job.

  Sunlight filters through the large floor to ceiling windows on the far side of the conference room. The receptionist who led me in, motions towards the leather chair at the head of a long conference table, and I take a seat, glancing up at her. Her bright red lips lay straight across her face, popping against her pale skin. She's stunningly beautiful and I find it hard not to stare at her.

  "Mr. Benton will be in shortly," she says.

  "Thank you."

  She nods before she shows herself out. And here I sit, my nerves bunching in my stomach, my palms sweating. Why the CEO is interviewing me? I’m not quite able to grasp, and it makes me uneasy. I nervously adjust the collar on my dress shirt then tug at the hem of my skirt.

  The door swings open and bangs against the wall, causing me to I jump. I shift my gaze to the man approaching the table. Tanned skin, dark hair, straight jaw, and then there's the crisp suit clinging to his broad shoulders and trim waist. My mouth goes dry, and I swipe my clammy palms down my thighs. Confidence pours off him as though he owns everything around him, and I swear, it feels like every ounce of air in the room has suddenly been absorbed by him. The power emanating from him wraps around me like a living thing until I want to bow beneath the pressure of it. The moment his green eyes lock with mine, my chest seizes. I know I should look away, but I can't bring myself to.

  "Ms. Taylor," he says, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking a seat.

  "Mr. Benton." My voice sounds strained and raspy, so I clear my throat, fidgeting uncomfortably.

  He casually unfastens the button of his suit jacket, leans back, and props his ankle on his knee. He taps his index finger over those unreasonably perfect lips as he grabs the file from the table and skims over it. I can't help but watch him, and when his eyes flick up, he catches me staring at him. His lips tip up into a small smirk, and I blush. He tosses the file onto the table and it skates a several inches across the wood. Narrowing his eyes, he watches me for a few seconds, his finger now resting on his bottom lip and drawing my attention back to his mouth. I'm caught between wanting to stare at him and wanting to run as far away as possible.

  "Harvard." He smirks. "Impressive..."

  I shift in my seat and smile.

  He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. Everything about him is seemingly causal, yet effortlessly calculated. "And you were a marketing executive for SFX. They went bankrupt."

  "Yes, they did." My heart hammers in my chest.

  There's that smirk again—as if he knows something I don't and I'm being painfully dense. "A company is made up of thousands of tiny links. One weak link is all it takes to put strain on the others. One weak link can jeopardize the whole.” He pauses and stares at me for a moment before he smiles. “Are you weak?"

  "No." I straighten in my seat. "The marketing I oversaw was the only thing that kept that company afloat for the last five months of operation."

  He scrubs his hand over his jaw before standing and making his way to the windows overlooking the dismal New York skyline, the roofs to most of the other buildings looming far below this one. "So you were the tiny life raft to their sinking ship."

  My nostrils flare. "I did my job. And I did it well, which
I will do here at Six-degrees, if I'm offered the position." I'm now certain the reason he is conducting this interview is only so he can be assured, if I do well, it's because I was chosen by him.

  He turns, bracing his back against the glass as he folds his arms over his chest. "Why should I hire you, Ms. Taylor?"

  And this is my pitch. I clear my throat and lock my gaze with his. "I'm hardworking. I'm willing to do whatever it takes, whatever you need." His eyes flash with something, but I ignore it. "I'm a perfectionist. I will go to great lengths to make sure anything I touch turns to gold. This company succeeds, I succeed, you succeed." His stare is making me unnerved and even though I want to look away from him, I will not back down from this man because I will not let him see me as weak. "And isn't that what everything is about?" I ask. "Success."

  Inhaling, he pushes away from the window and slowly walks around the conference table, moving behind me. I want to turn and look at him, but I don't, and the longer I force myself to remain facing forward, the faster my heart races. All I can hear is him breathing behind me and my pulse pounding in my ears as anticipation crawls across my skin. Stilling, I feel the faintest touch of his breath on my neck, and I close my eyes. The alluring scent of expensive cologne hits me, and it's so intoxicating I'm tempted to lean into him, but I remain rigidly still.

  "Everything," he whispers near my ear. Too close and yet not close enough. "Success is measurable. After all, isn't this all just one big game? We're players, trying to win, hoping to claim the ultimate prize." His voice is deep and smooth, almost hypnotic. I release a shuddering breath before I swallow, gripping the arms of the leather chair so hard I fear my nails may rip the material.

  "Do you have what it takes to win, Ms. Taylor?"

  "Definitely."

  A low chuckle leaves his throat and I glance over my shoulder, meeting his calculated gaze. "Good."

  He leans over my shoulder, his jacket brushing it as he collects the file from the desk. Goosebumps race across my skin as I watch him turn away and leave without a word.

  As soon as the door closes, it feels as though the air becomes lighter and I exhale, sinking down into the chair. There's a soft knock on the door before it opens again. The secretary steps in, her brow scrunched with confusion. "Mr. Benton said you may go," she says.

  I stand and walk past her. "Please tell him I thank him for his time."

  The lobby is nearly empty when I step off the elevator and make my way out onto the sidewalk. A warm breeze kicks up and blows the smell of exhaust in my face. I stroll along the busy street, replaying that strange interview over and over in my head. Something about him is...I fail to find the right word. Intriguing? Mysterious? Dangerous? Grabbing onto the handrail, I head down into the subway. When I step onto the platform, I pull my phone from my purse and begin scrolling Six-degrees and check in to my most recent location.

  The noise of the subway echoes down the tunnel. Soon enough the brakes are screeching and the wind from the passing train blows my hair across my face. As soon as the doors open, I step inside and sit on the orange, plastic seat. People pour in, each finding their spot, and then, just as the doors go to close, a straggler hops on. He moves in front of me. I glance up just enough to see his hand grab onto the rail, and then I go back to my phone reading over the latest news Six-degrees has shared. The subway takes off, bumping along the tunnel and an eerie feeling falls over me. Slowly, I Iift my gaze to the man in front of me, taking note of his tight dress shirt and finely pressed slacks. His dirty blond hair is piled in a messy bun. He looks like the type of man you'd have a filthy one night stand with, the kind of man you'd never expect to settle down. His dark eyes are aimed at me and there’s the slightest hint of a smirk on his face. I smile before diverting my gaze back to my phone. A few seconds go by before I glance back up. He's still watching me, smiling as he rakes his white teeth over his bottom lip. He's beautiful in every aspect, but more than anything, he’s unsettling. The train comes to a stop and I quickly stand to find the man has now moved right in front of the open door.

  "Excuse me," I say, then swallow around the lump in my throat.

  "Sorry." He steps to the side, motioning me through, and I hurry off, my heart pounding as I make my way up the stairs and onto the street.

  Very strange.

  2

  Sweat drips down my neck. I'm out of breath. My legs ache, but I only have another quarter mile to go, so I push through it and keep running along the trail that weaves through Central Park. The song cuts off when my phone rings through my earbuds. I glance at the armband and see it's from Six-degrees. I stop dead in my tracks, and the man jogging behind me nearly runs me over, cursing as he stumbles to maneuver around me.

  "Hello?" I practically gasp.

  "Ms. Taylor. Do you need a minute?" I'd recognize that deep, condescending voice anywhere.

  "I'm fine." I take a deep breath, my lungs burning. "Just running."

  "I have a proposition for you. Meet me tomorrow at seven pm. I'll send you the address." And…he hangs up. I stare at my phone, frowning.

  From my brief encounter with him, I believe Tobias Benton is a rule unto himself, an anomaly in a world of aging businessman and standard protocols.

  A few seconds later, my phone pings with a text. There's an address along with the words, “formal attire required”.

  **break***

  The second I emerge from the subway I’m swallowed up by the busy Manhattan crowd. I quickly make my way down the bustling sidewalk, not stopping for a second until I reach 1801 Vanderbilt Avenue. The facing on the building is white marble and the name, The Club, is in black script above the doorway. I ring the bell and a man in a tuxedo opens the door. "You're a guest of..." His eyes slowly roam over my body.

  "Mr. Benton."

  His lips twitch slightly. "But, of course." And he motions me inside. "This way."

  He leads me to the elevator and when it opens, he steps inside, presses the button to the 37th floor, then steps out again. "If it stops on any other floors, don't get off. You won't be able to get back on." I open my mouth to speak, but the doors slide shut. My stomach kinks and knots, slipping around itself like a serpent. Pachelbel's Canon in D plays over the speakers, but does little to settle my nerves.

  Thankfully, the elevator goes straight to the top floor. When the doors open, a cool breeze blows inside, tousling my hair and wrapping the material of my dress tightly around my thighs. I step out onto a roof terrace overlooking the glittering city. Empty wrought iron tables are scattered about, but in the very center of the terrace is a single table covered with a crisp, white table cloth that’s blowing in the wind. There’s an ice bucket and champagne. The peculiarity of the situation has me backing toward the elevator. When I turn around, there are no buttons, only a place for a cardkey. Panic rattles through me, and I chastise myself for letting my nerves get the better of me. I am here as the result of an interview, no matter how odd this all seems.

  When I spin around I spot a man leaning against the railing at the far end of the terrace. Tobias. I could recognize him simply from the way he holds himself. Another man stands to his side. Smoke from a cigarette billows around him. Tobias slowly turns to face me, and there it is again, that breathless feeling, as though the simple touch of his gaze could pause time itself.

  The click of my heels echo through the silence as I make my way across the patio. Tobias's gaze never falters. He nudges the man next to him, who then turns around to watch as I approach. Everything inside of me is telling me to run away from him, from them, but I can't. I need this job too much, and if I'm honest, curiosity is eating me alive. My heart bangs against my chest, adrenaline buzzes like an electric current through my body, and when I stop mere inches in front of the two men, I feel I could drown within the tension brooding between them.

  "Ms. Taylor," Tobias says, "this is Preston Lucas, my business associate."

  My attention turns to the guy now smiling at me. I've saw him. Yesterday, on t
he train. Coincidence? It must be.

  Preston and Tobias are night and day. Preston's long blond hair is, once again, piled in a messy bun, wildly contradicting his expensive suit. His dark brown eyes twinkle beneath the dim patio lighting as he flashes me his perfect smile. That unsettled feeling swirls around me, the same way it did when he looked at me yesterday.

  "Nice to meet you," I say, holding out my hand.

  He takes my hand and his smile widens just before he yanks me closer to him. His arm comes around my waist as his lips brush my cheek. "Ella," he whispers.

  Every inch of my skin heats as his hand slowly creeps across my waist. I step back, dropping my gaze to the ground.

  A low, throaty chuckle slips from his lips. "She's perfect."

  "I'm sorry?" I say as I take a step back, my eyes flicking to Tobias.

  Smirking, he gestures behind me. “Take a seat.”

  And despite my better judgement, I turn my back on them, walking over to the table. I focus on the silver bucket in the middle of the table, on the bottle of opened champagne resting inside it as I think about how they're too alluring, too perfect, too damn beautiful. My gut tells me they're dangerous while my mind reminds me that I need a job, and my body, well...that’s a whole different story. Tobias pulls my chair out, and I sit, my body tense. They then sit on either side of me.

  Preston grabs the bottle of champagne and pours us each a glass, handing me the first one. I take it, and it's then, as I raise the flute to my lips, that I notice I'm visibly shaking.

  "I have a proposition for you," Tobias says, narrowing his eyes.

  Relief washes over me and my muscles relax. A proposition, a job offer. "Okay."