Anonymous Encounters(24)

Stupefied, I looked out the window. Because we were in front of a  towering apartment complex, an imposing glass and steel complex with  windows that look like mirrors. No, this was wrong. My apartment  building was a crumbling block of concrete, with sad-eyed windows and  peeling pink paint. This definitely wasn't it.

"No, I'm sorry, wrong place," I said shortly. Damnit, but the saddest  day of my life was only getting worse. Now we were going to have to  drive forty minutes in traffic, a fitting end to this tragedy. "I'm  sorry, we're in the wrong place, turn around and I'll show you how to  get to where I live."

Hopefully, my key would still work since I'd missed rent on the first,  but they can't kick you out for being a week late, right? The lump in my  throat grew again, eyes watering, but this was my fate. I'd given  everything to Donovan for two weeks, and he'd promised nothing. I only  prayed I had an apartment to come back to.

But it was too late because the chauffeur had already jumped out and swung my door open.

"Here you are!" he said, dangling a shiny key in his hand. "Penthouse 1,  someone must like you!" he added brightly. And to my astonishment, a  doorman came rushing over as well, sprightly in a red and gold  embellished uniform.

"Ms. Smith!" he exclaimed. "I'm Jonas, head concierge at the Avalon.  We've been expecting you, we've got your place ready, it's just waiting  for your lovely presence," he added with a sweeping bow.

At that, I stepped out numbly, shaking my head.

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong person," I mumbled, but it was  like no one heard. Instead, the concierge and driver bustled busily,  escorting me into an imposing lobby and pressing the button to a  discreet elevator on the side.         

     



 

"You've got your own entrance," winked Jonas, tipping his hat. "It's one  of the benefits of the penthouse," he whispered, like he was letting me  on a secret.

And in a daze, I got into the gleaming cube, blinking silently as we  were whisked up a dozen stories. Because what could I say? I'd already  told them that they had the wrong girl, but my protests had fallen on  deaf ears. Both men seemed utterly convinced that I was the Rachel  Smith, a princess who lived in a sumptuous aerie in the sky, and not a  ramshackle one-bedroom on the other side of the tracks. I shrugged  tiredly. Frankly, I was too exhausted to fight, too wrung out and  emotionally drained to protest again.

But when the door opened, even I had to blink with surprise. Because the  apartment was beyond my wildest dreams. Done all in white, it had a  floor to ceiling windows with a sweeping view of the stark Nevada  desert. A double, if not triple-height ceiling opened to a loft above,  decorated with a gleaming chandelier.

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "But this is for Rachel Smith? Rachel Jane Smith?"

"That's right," burbled the concierge. "That's you Miss! Welcome to your new home," he said, stepping inside with my bag.

I followed with numb feet. How could this be happening? I was a poor  girl, barely able to scrape by on my librarian's salary, constantly  behind on bills and eating ramen to get by before payday. How could I,  Ms. Plain Jane, be living in a luxurious pad like this?

Slowly, I turned to the concierge.

"Whose name is on the lease?" I asked slowly. "Who signed the application to rent?"

The concierge looked at me puzzled.

"This isn't a rental," he replied courteously. "Wes don't permit rentals here at the Avalon. Owners only," he stated proudly.

I shook my head.

"Then who's the owner?" I whispered, almost unable to ask.

But Jonas didn't hesitate.

"Why you, of course! Who else could it be?" he asked, cocking his head.

I shook my head again.

"Jonas, I couldn't possibly afford a place like this, you should see my  old place. I'm just a librarian at one of the branches downtown. I  couldn't even afford a mailbox in a building like this."

The concierge cocked his head curiously then.

"Well, the apartment was purchased a week ago. Let me see who the buyer  was if it wasn't you. But I know for sure that you're on the title, I  wouldn't let someone in who wasn't," he added pompously.

"Please, if you could check, I'd appreciate it," I said urgently. "As soon as possible, if you wouldn't mind."

And happy to be of use, the small man hurried over to the elevator.

"Will do!" he added cheerily. "I'll call from downstairs when I find  out. And in the meantime, there's also this," he said with a flourish,  whipping out a bouquet of flowers.

I gasped. The arrangement was gorgeous, my favorite white calla lilies, sumptuous and fragrant.

"Who's this from?" I stammered. "No one even knows I'm here."

"Why don't you look at the card?" winked Jonas. And with that, the door slid shut, cutting off his words.

But I couldn't, not just yet. Everything that had happened was  incredible, absolutely unbelievable, and it hadn't sunk in yet. I  wandered with numb steps around the apartment, taking in the view, the  sun's rays warm yet not uncomfortable on my skin. Trust a building as  fancy as this to have just the right amount of reflective shading so  that even the Nevada summer felt moderate and pleasant.

But what was going on? And deep in my heart, I knew there could only be  one answer. It had to be Donovan. It had to be my lover. I snorted  painfully, tears filling my eyes again. He was a bastard, throwing me  out on the trash heap, but at least he was a rich bastard. Instead of  the requisite jewels, the fancy good-bye gift, he'd given me this. A  luxury pad to my name, completely outfitted with every amenity, likely  paid off in full.

The house phone rang then.

"Yes?" I answered, hand trembling slightly as I picked up.

"Miss," came Jonas's cheery voice. "My records here show that the  apartment was purchased by BC44 Holdings, and then transferred into the  name of Rachel Jane Smith. Do you know who BC44 Holdings is?"         

     



 

I shook my head.

"No, no I don't," I mumbled.

"Well sorry that wasn't more helpful then," replied the old man. "Anything else I can do?"

"No, no thanks, thank you Jonas," I replied, hanging up with a soft click.

But the news only added to my conviction that Donovan was behind all  this. Because BC had to stand for Billionaires Club. Who knew what the  44 represented, but BC had to be Billionaires Club, my former lover had  to be behind this.

And with a pained cry, I slumped against the wall and collapsed to the  ground, crumpling in a mess on the floor. Because despite the beautiful  living space, despite the immaculate furnishings and white glove  service, I still had nothing. I had nothing without Donovan, and living  here would only make it worse. Living here would only keep him alive in  my mind, every second filled with memories of the alpha, his money a  constant reminder.

And I can't live like that. The Avalon is a million times better than my  old cockroach-infested place, but at least Sunrise Heavens wasn't  imbued with Donovan, a painful reminder of what I once had and lost. And  with another mewling cry, I buried my head in my arms and began to  really cry, giving up my heart, letting loose in the privacy of the  apartment. The tears ran hot and fast down my cheeks, sobs so strong  they were painful, wracking my frame with violent shudders. Because I  loved Donovan, but he didn't love me back. The alpha had gifted me a  gorgeous living space, something that I could never afford on my own,  but I didn't want it. All I wanted was more time with the billionaire  …   but that wasn't an option.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Donovan




What the fuck? I could hardly believe it as I pulled the Maserati to a  stop before the crumbling curb. Because I bought Rachel a gorgeous  penthouse, a luxury outfit, and instead, she was back here? What the  fuck? Did the girl not like nice things or something? Hell no, this  wasn't happening.

But sure enough, as I pounded on the front door, some decrepit dude answered, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah?" he rasped, eyes going wide at my big frame in a perfectly-cut suit, the forty-thousand dollar watch on my wrist.

"Rachel," I rasped. "Where is she?"

The ratty looking dude merely shrugged.

"Lives upstairs," he shrugged. "3C? 4C?" He indicated with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.

And with that, I was up the stairs in a flash. Of course, my best girl  was in 3D, I remembered from our illicit anonymous fuck so long ago. The  thing is it felt like a long time ago, but it wasn't. Only two weeks  past, I'd let myself into her apartment supposedly to drop off some  birth control, but instead I'd ended up burying myself in that sweet  cunt, taking her virginity while pulsing my sperm into that hot, wet  twat. Oh god, had that really happened? Back then, we hadn't even seen  each other's faces yet, not really, I'd been more of a man in the  shadows, still stuck on my anonymous finger fuck idea.