Adored Read online

  Adored

  Copyright © 2023 Billie Bloom

  All rights reserved

  Billiebloomromance.com

  Edited by

  Ann Attwood

  &

  Julia Griffis

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Synopsis

  Coming down from his homestead in the mountains to the hustle of L.A. is the last thing widower and secret millionaire Henry Benson wants, especially since he unexpectedly has become the most eligible bachelor in the eyes of social media. Hiding from the world is his superpower, after all. Thankfully, his friend Chloe steps in as his fake girlfriend to take off the pressure as he faces a week of media scrutiny.

  Chloe may melt his icy walls, but Henry will need to jump heart-first into a future he ruled out long ago if he wants a chance at happiness.

  Chapter 1

  Chloe

  “You thought I’d like that guy?” I scoff at Beth from across the table at our favorite diner.

  Beth looks guilty. She knows what she has done. “You never know. Sometimes opposites attract,” she defends.

  Well, if that isn’t the understatement of the year. “And sometimes they repel each other,” I remind her.

  If I am water, the guy from last night is oil. Make that snake oil.

  We do not mix.

  He is wealthy and good-looking, from a well-known family and has an important job in Silicon Valley, drives a nice car, and keeps himself in shape. These are all selling points for many women, but not for me. Guys like this make me self-conscious.

  “The first words out of his mouth were that I should get shorter heels, because I was too tall, and because I walked like a dog in socks.”

  Beth’s eyes go wide, and she tucks in her lips to hold back a laugh. “That wasn’t very nice of him.”

  “He actually tried to order my food for me. Not as in, I told him what I wanted, and he told our waiter…” I pause to shake my head at the audacity of it. “…but as in, he tried to order me a salad without consulting me.”

  “Damn, that’s cold.” Beth’s smile fades. “You have a perfect body,” she adds for good measure.

  There is no perfect body in my opinion. Bodies are bodies. They come in all shapes and sizes. That’s a good thing. I wish more people could see that. Especially because mine doesn’t qualify as perfect in L.A. I’m too curvy and I guess too tall, according to my date last night.

  I shake my head. “It gets worse. As we’re talking over dinner, he tells me that his favorite movies are the ones that show how his life is supposed to be. His favorite, he tells me, is The Wolf of Wall Street.”

  “Jesus,” Beth gasps, a worried look coming over her face.

  “Yeah. Apparently doing drugs, committing white-collar crimes, and cheating on his wife with prostitutes is his dream life.”

  Beth sighs. “Please, don’t tell me there’s more.”

  “I wish I could,” I say with a laugh this time. With some distance between me and this bad date, it is starting to seem a little funny. “After dinner, he pulls out his phone, and he’s swiping sort of rapidly for quite a while before he turns the phone to me and asks if I think the girl on the screen is likely hot under all her makeup.”

  “Wait, what?” I appreciate that Beth almost spits out a sip of water at that.

  I nod. “Yup. He’s already back on the dating site. During our date. And when the check comes, he asks if I can cover it. Then he asks if I want to go fuck in his car.”

  Beth buries her face in her hands with a groan.

  Finally, I break down in laughter that shakes my shoulders. “Is this what men are like?”

  “You asked to be set up,” Beth says in a total non-answer. “And you couldn’t describe your type to me. That means you might have to have a slew of bad first dates. Kiss a few dozen frogs before one turns into a prince. Hell, I’ve been on dozens myself over the years.”

  “Any that top this one?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  Beth fixes a guilty look on her face. “No, sorry.”

  It’s not her fault, though. This guy had done some consulting with our studio, and when I asked Beth if she thought he was cute, she said she’d set us up. She failed to warn me what he was like. Then again, maybe he’d been a little more normal in the office around clients.

  The waiter comes by and sets two steaming cups of coffee in front of us, and I wrap my fingers around it for warmth. My fingers are always cold, even though I live in sunny L.A., where the weather is sunny and warm all year round.

  I order my usual, avocado toast with poached eggs on top and fruit on the side. My parents would probably call this a new-fangled L.A. breakfast. They don’t know that avocados can be used in many things in addition to guacamole. They still live where I grew up, in a small town in the middle-of-nowhere, New York.

  “So, no more setups?” Beth holds back a smile. That cheeky brat. But it’s fine, because I love her dearly.

  With a sigh, I relent. “Yes, more setups.” I am probably crazy for it, but I have promised myself that this year I will try that thing people call dating. After Jolie, my best friend and fellow camerawoman, met a guy on location filming in Alaska and moved there to marry him, it started dawning on me that I may need to take action if I want to get on with my life.

  Dating never has been a priority to me in the past, but now my life feels sort of stalled and a little lonely. Sure, I have great friends like Beth, who coincidentally I have also met through the production studio where we both work, but I do have dreams of having a family someday.

  After we finish breakfast, Beth drives us through the dense L.A. traffic to work. My car has been broken down for months, and I still can’t remotely afford to fix it. No money, no relationship… at least I love my crappy-paying job.

  Film is my first love, and I have the NYU film-school debt to prove it. Being a cameraperson perhaps isn’t exactly the dream I had in mind at eighteen, but at least it (sort of) pays the bills now.

  “A second season in Alaska,” I hum as we pull into the station lot, lost in a reverie. We heard a couple weeks ago, and I still can’t believe it’s happening. Not for many months yet, but it is happening.

  “Port Providence is definitely the best town I’ve ever filmed in. I miss the guys.” Beth cranks the shifter into park.

  We both miss the guys from the small off-grid island in Alaska. The guys in this case being a group of five marines just a little older than us, who happened to have been beaten a few dozen times with a beauty stick. Tall, chiseled, rugged…yeah, they do it for me. Maybe I have a type after all.

  Of course, they are all completely unobtainable, mainly because they moved to the remote wilderness after finishing their last tour. There isn’t even a bridge that connects them to the mainland.

  Our fellow camerawoman, Jolie, has fallen in love with the marine squad leader, Jameson. Her little sister has even stayed and moved in with two of the guys,
JP and Tucker. The production company found it less than funny that they had lost two camera people in the span of a week, but Beth and I are happy for our friends.

  “Hear, hear, sister.” I throw an arm around her as we walk through the door. Truth is, I do miss everything about that particular job. We had gone last fall to film a pilot and then returned in the spring to film the complete first season for the now very popular docuseries.

  The town of Port Providence is so unique_just a hundred people on a rocky and hostile island, neighbors helping neighbors, a robust system of trading and bartering, and most importantly, Henry Benson.

  “So, he’s flying in tonight for promos. Are you excited?” Beth whispers as we get to my desk space. There isn’t much I need to do at a desk, being a cameraperson, but we are forced to read prompts and various plans from the higher-ups to prepare for upcoming shoots. So today is an office day, not a field day.

  My face softens at the idea. “Of course, I am. I miss Henry.” That sounds innocent enough, I assume.

  Beth raises a brow at me, letting me know she’s on to me.

  “Hush, you,” I snap, and she backs away from my desk with her hands in her pockets, an innocent look on her face.

  Maybe I am a little mixed up about Henry’s arrival. Both times we have been in Alaska, our crew has split up and crashed with a few of the marines. I stayed with Henry both times, and we became friends, even though he loves to pretend I annoy him. I know that’s just who he is.

  In a different world, maybe something would spark between me and Henry. But I haven’t held onto my v-card all these years just to sleep with someone who lives two thousand miles away, who I’ll rarely, if ever, see again. When I finally do meet the man that I want to become intimate with, I need to know we have a reasonable shot at a lasting relationship. No judgement on anyone else’s preferences, but I have known this about myself since I was sixteen.

  I will never admit my crush to Beth, it’s pointless to hear her harp about how I should go after him. Still, it’s fun to dream. Henry is my type in every way except one: he is emotionally unavailable. I didn’t understand why until my friends told me what they found out about him, that he lost his wife a few years ago. After I heard that, everything about his prickly personality made sense. He may not have said as much, but I believe he impersonates a cactus as a tactic to keep people away. And who can blame him?

  Not that any of us have found out what had happened to his wife. I certainly don’t need to know.

  Anyway, my silly little crush on Henry doesn’t matter. I am just happy to have him here for a week, as my friend, of course.

  ***

  After a long bus ride, I step out in front of the Thai restaurant. This is unfortunately the place I call home. Not the restaurant, but the little gray door next to it with the graffiti tag on it. I jiggle the dented lock and hoof it up the steep squeaky stairs to the second floor. The hall light blinks at me in welcome. Depending on how I want to look at it, the light is either a prop from a Stephen King novel or my own personal fairy godmother blinking hello to me. Today, I choose the latter image. It’s a cheery day, after all.

  There are only two doors at the top of the stairs and a little landing space with scratched wood floors. On the left is my apartment. I painted the door cherry red last summer, added the cheerful wreath made of faux greenery, and used a buffalo checked mat that says Hello! to cover an unfortunate looking marinara sauce stain on the floor. On the right side of the landing is a white door stained with dirt around the handle and a spot that I swear looks like dried blood. Inside resides my creepy neighbor, Rob.

  The smell of Thai food fills my nostrils and begins the process of embedding itself into my skin, my hair, my clothes… it is something people comment on about me, a lot. It’s a shame, because I happen to love Thai food. Now, basically, this smell has become the bane of my existence. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to wash it off. Needless to say, I have not enjoyed the cuisine in many years.

  As I click on the light to my studio apartment, I set my bag down on the kidney-shaped antique table I found on the side of the road last year and painted matte black. For a girl on a budget, I’m decently proud of my place. I have also managed to score a green velvet couch from a studio set sale two years ago, which really brings the mish-mash of bright eclectic objects together. I’m slowly mastering the bohemian chic vibes.

  In the corner of my eye, I note a movement and my head snaps to the kitchen where a roach scurries into the shadows. My skin crawls at the sight. A good portion of my monthly budget has gone to paying for treatments for the problem that my landlord refuses to acknowledge. The exterminator says until the restaurant and neighbor deal with their roach problems, though, I’ll keep seeing these nasty little buggers.

  Grabbing the spray off the table, I chase it to the corner of the room and unload half a can before coughing my way to the window to get some fresh air. Of course, it’s the day before trash day, and my window faces the alley… that means six days’ worth of rotting food wafts up into my nostrils. If anyone needs to go on a diet, they just need to stay at my place. There is no way I’ll be eating tonight.

  Amazingly, I have been here for three years now. The first year I lived here, I was above a charming used bookstore and my neighbor was the sweet elderly lady who owned the shop. It was more than ideal for that first thirteen months, until she began to suffer from severe and sudden memory loss. She almost burned the place down one afternoon when she left oatmeal cooking on the stove. After that, her kids showed up, moved her out, and sold the building.

  That’s when the Thai restaurant moved in, and Rob rented the empty apartment. I enjoyed the smell of Thai at first, but boy did that soon change. And at first, I thought I could get rid of the roaches… wow, did that fail spectacularly. I won’t even let myself think right now of Rob. The roach in my apartment is trauma enough for the day.

  Anyway, I’m pretty much stuck here. I couldn’t afford to pay movers when my lease was up, so I’ve signed for another year. In reality, I’m still not sure I’ll be able to move, but the thought is too depressing to consider, so I try to ignore that reality.

  Only nine months to go, then hopefully, I will have the funds to break myself out of this overpriced house of horrors.

  Chapter 2

  Henry

  “Don’t look so angry,” Jameson tells me as he drops off Jolie’s empty suitcase at my cabin. I’m flying out at two today, so I guess it’s finally time to pack.

  How can I not look angry, though? Going to L.A. is the last thing in the world I want to do. I hate it there, with every fiber of my being. Nothing good can come from this trip.

  “We got a second season, that means more money for the town. This is good for us,” Jameson reminds me, but the look on his face tells me even he doesn’t believe the shit he’s selling me.

  It’s times like this that I have to stop and rethink my life choices. “If you say so,” I grumble. Maybe most people would like this kind of media attention, but I know all too well the costs of celebrity culture. Why did I ever agree to be on camera? Probably because I never thought people would want to watch me bake bread and wash dishes. People are weird.

  Of course, none of my friends understand my protests to the L.A. trip because none of them know that I grew up in the thick of the film industry.

  “It’s not my fault the camera loves you and West so much,” Jameson teases.

  I frown deep so he can see it. It is very much his fault. After all, Jameson does whatever Nina says, because she’s like a big sister to him, and Nina wanted to take part in this documentary series about our little town. I should have known this idea would come back to bite me in the ass. No one, not even my marine brothers_my best friends in the whole damn world_know where I come from. And I am determined to keep it that way.

  “If you hadn’t refused screen time for season one...” I scowl at him. It’s a low shot, I know. He had been burned by Jolie, his now-pregnant fianc
ée, as far as the show goes. She accidentally filmed him talking about some really private things, and that dialogue was heavily featured in the pilot episode. At the time, he thought refusing to be a part of the filming of season one would help him get over her, but he’s hopelessly smitten. We all knew he’d fold when she came back for filming, which of course, he did.

  Jameson laughs. “True. I owe you one then.”

  “And West owes me,” I remind him.

  “And West.” He nods in agreement.

  I know I’m a grumpy person and so is West, so I still have a hard time believing that there are fans of the show who actually want to meet us, or media outlets that want to interview us. That alone tells me something is very wrong with our country. The weirder part is the production company told us they only want the single former marines to come. Are there actually fans of the show who have designs on us? It’s hard to imagine anyone enjoys watching me get all sweaty as I chop wood.

  Anyway, that little detail_that they want single marines_means that JP and Tucker are off the hook too, leaving just me and West as the only eligible guys who can make the trek. Unfortunately, I lost an ill-fated game of rock, paper, scissors with West. So, now I’m readying my cabin for my absence.

  Since arriving here three years ago, I’ve never left. Never wanted to. Hell, I don’t want to go now. Change is not something I seek out. I like things consistent, stable, predictable.

  There is only one realistic way on and off the island of Port Providence, and that’s by the helicopter piloted by Dale and Kate Westover.

  When I settle into the chopper, I try to drown out my thoughts by focusing on the voices in my headset. The Westovers are a fabulous couple who service our little island about once a month. This trip is a special add-on of course, paid for by the production company.

  Six hours on a bumpy helicopter to Juneau, Alaska_where I’ll catch the flight to my final destination_means that I have way too much time to stress out about arriving in L.A. It will be the first time in eighteen years I set foot in that city. I try my best to enjoy the view from up here. Endless thick dense forest, peaks of turquoise blue ocean, mountaintops covered in fluffy white snow. The northern hemisphere is really spectacular, and my heart aches to leave it behind, even if only for a short while.