Bound To Gold: Drunken Marriage Romance (Bound To The Billionaires Book 2) Read online

  The piano plays, and someone sings ‘Amazing Grace’ as the pallbearers take their place next to the casket. The only person left to get up is Duncan, but by the grip he has on my hand, I have a feeling he doesn’t want to go anywhere.

  “Duncan,” I make sure to sound sincere and soft in an attempt to get his attention.

  “I can’t bury my mother today, Naomi.”

  “Duncan, you have to hold yourself together a little longer, okay? For her. Do it for her.”

  “For her.”

  Duncan realizes the only way he can get through the rest of the day now is if he keeps his mother at the forefront of his mind. I knew he would. He lets go of my hand, letting our fingers slide over each other until he is too far.

  We break apart and I can tell the strength he has is dissipating. Duncan depended on me, but this is something he has to do for himself. He has to realize that now. As he takes his place in front of Easton, I see Easton’s hand patting his shoulder as a sign of support.

  The men walk down the aisle, passing by the burning candles at the end of every pew as the piano plays a melancholy song that makes everything feel sadder. Everyone's cries fill the church, echoing off the acoustic ceiling. Rain taps against the roof as a slight smile starts to curl from my lips when a memory of Ms. Gold surfaces.

  “There goes the angels again. You’d think they would use a cloud as a tissue, right?” she would say every time I cried and nudged my shoulder.

  I stare up to the vaulted ceiling with massive beams and listen, hoping that Ms. Gold is one of those angels, and right now I’m hoping she’s telling Duncan everything is going to be okay.

  Duncan’s soul just lost a piece of itself. His bright disposition darkened today, and I know if he isn’t careful, he will lose himself to the shadows.

  We will all lose him.

  3

  Duncan

  I think it’s been two weeks.

  Maybe.

  I don't know. I've been drinking too much to care to keep track. Like right now, my head is drumming against my skull, and the light peeking through the curtains is too much for my alcohol ridden brain right now. So I turn over in my bed, throwing the covers over my face as I try to go back to sleep.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  At first, I thought it was the throbbing in my head smashing against my skull, but when the sound continues, it riles me from my drunken stupor. Someone is at the door.

  "I'm coming!" I slur.

  I stumble from the beer cans crunching under my feet and catch myself on the wall. Okay, I don't catch myself, the wall catches me. Same thing.

  “Duncan!” Easton’s voice comes from outside. “Open this damn door, now!”

  “I’m coming! Fuck, you’re the one interrupting me,” I yell when I turn the corner and my elbows slams into the sharp edge of the wall. "Ow, dammit.”

  That would have never happened if Easton wasn't behind my door. I trip over my shoes in the middle of the entranceway and kick them away…somewhere. I open the door a smidge, only letting Easton see one eye.

  "What?"

  “Duncan,” his voice drips with pity.

  “No, if you’re going to do that, you could have called.”

  “I tried. Your phone goes straight to voicemail.”

  “Oh.” Right, I haven’t charged it. “What do you want?”

  "I'm checking in on you, man. It's been two weeks since we spoke.” He leans forward and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shit, Duncan. When was the last time you showered?”

  I hold my weight up on the door handle when the case of beer I finished yesterday makes be a bit off−balance. I lift my arm and take a whiff, but I don’t smell anything. He’s lying.

  “Do not.”

  “Yes, the hell you do. Duncan, people are worried about you. What about your company? Let me in. We need to talk."

  "No," I try to shut the door, but his foot slips in the crack, stopping me and then he kicks it open, sending me falling on my ass, crunching more beer cans.

  I don’t bother getting up. I lay there as Easton spins in a circle, staring at how I’ve kind of let my house go the past few weeks. The floor is cold, sobering me up a bit, and I reach under me to grab an empty beer can. I crush it with my fist and throw it, hitting something in the distance. I have a feeling Easton is going to give me a lecture. I don't want a speech. Anything he says won't matter. Everyone has the right to go through his emotions.

  It's not like I got a parking ticket or lost my job and I'm overreacting. I lost my fucking mom. It's not like I got a parking ticket or lost my job, and I'm acting dramatic. I lost my fucking mom. Everyone can go to hell if they can't understand that. I did not only lose my mom; I lost my best friend and the only family I had left. It's just me, and it's never been just me. It terrifies me.

  Easton squats next to my head, placing his elbows on his knees and sighs, “I’m worried about you, man.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine.”

  “This isn’t fine.”

  Easton grabs my hand to help me up, but I yank it away from him and scoot against the wall.

  "It is fine!" I shout. "Let me fucking grieve in peace. Get out."

  “No.”

  “I said, get out!” I stand, teetering on each foot from lack of coordination and too many days of drinking.

  "I'm not leaving you," Easton wraps his arms around me in a bear hold and I struggle pushing him away, but the fucker locks his palms behind my back. "I'm not going anywhere. I gave you time. I gave you time to be alone, and I only left you alone because Naomi said to for a little bit, but then to kick your ass if you don’t come up for air.”

  "Naomi?" I whisper it as a question. She was there. At the funeral. "She was there."

  “Of course she was,” Easton pulls back and shakes his head. “Man, you are choosing to do this alone. You aren’t alone. I’m here. We are all here, okay?”

  I lay my forehead on his shoulder and think his words over. I know they are there, but them being here doesn’t stop the loneliness. I have a piece of me that's numb and broken now, and I don't think I can fix it. No, I know I can't. The sooner my friends realize that, the better.

  Easton pushes me down the hallway and shoves me in the bathroom.

  "What are you doing?"

  He turns on the water, not caring that I'm in sweatpants, and pushes me over the edge of the tub. I land hard, yanking the shower curtain down on top of me as the metal rings that held it up snapped and scatter in the porcelain tub. One even hits me in the face while cold water starts to stream down on me.

  "Step one; you need to bathe — you fucking stink. While you soak the last two weeks away, I'm going to clean your place. After you're through with step one, step two is to repeat step one, and then when you're finished with that, start over. I don't want to see you for an hour."

  "Fine," I grumble, tossing the shower curtain off of me. The cold water sobers me up some, and the blurry edges around the sides of my eyes clear.

  "I'm sorry, Duncan. Your mom was a good woman, but she wouldn't want you like this and you know it. She was too hungry to live life, and she'd be disappointed to see you're squandering the opportunity."

  “Whatever.”

  After saying words that make guilt eat my drunken soul alive, Easton shuts the door behind him. "I locked you in! There's a chair under the door handle, so you can't think about getting out of this.”

  Asshole.

  Easton thought of everything. He's right, though. If mom were still alive, she'd be furious at me. I need to be better. It will take some time, but I'm willing to try and get back on track.

  I toss the curtain off of me and plop my wet sweats on the floor. I don't bother adjusting the water temperature. I leave it ice cold, letting the frigid temperature awaken my bones. I can hardly remember these last two weeks. It's all been a blur. My days and nights ran together, and I didn't know my left from my right.

  The water washes away the guilt, depression, anger, a
nd only a chip of sadness. I figure it will take longer to get used to living a life without her. I still have her number in my phone, her last messages, the pie she made in the fridge, and her famous beef stew recipe sat on the counter because she was going to make it last weekend.

  My eyes start to burn again and a part of me hates how I've become. I need to get over this. Dying is a natural and inevitable part of living. But when I try to get past the pain, something pulls me back. I want to be stronger, but how when I'm surrounded by everything my mother loved. She lived with me for the last year, when the cancer got too bad. I knew my time with her would be cut short, so I didn't give her any other options but to be with me. I'm glad I got that time.

  I'm so angry I didn't get any more.

  With a heavy exhale and a languid arm, I wash my body. Scrubbing alcohol, sweat, tears, pity, and a bit of pathetic off. The drain gurgles, struggling to contain how much grime is coming off my body. I do what Easton says. I bathe three times until the water runs clean and my mind is somewhat clear.

  "You almost done?" he shouts from the other side, and the word 'shit' follows quickly behind. A bag of cans rustles before I hear the crashing of aluminum falling to the ground. I'd laugh if I didn't know all of those cans were beer. I'd laugh if I didn't know all of those cans weren't beer bottles.

  “Yeah, I’m done. I’m going to brush my teeth.”

  "Good, then you're going to pack your bag and we are getting out of here, maybe burn this place down. I don't know if there is hope for it.”

  "It's not that bad," I say, running the toothbrush under the water before the paste, then under the water again. It's the law.

  "It's worse. When we leave, I'll get someone to come to clean this place."

  “Can you unlock the door now and tell me where we are going? I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

  “Too bad, Duncan.” He moves the chair and opens the door, and I notice how clean the hallway is. I owe him one. “We are going to Vegas.”

  "What? No. I don't feel like stepping outside the house and you want to take me to Vegas?"

  “Yes, you don’t feel like it because you’re depressed. I understand, which is why I’m taking my best friend to Vegas with a few other buddies of mine.”

  I know there's nothing I can say to get me out of this. The minty fresh toothpaste burns the rancid after beer taste off my tongue, and the clean sensation has me feeling a little brighter, like when a dying plant finally finds water and sunlight.

  “Maybe we can swing by the company and update them since we are going to be out by the west coast.”

  I cringe, remembering one last thing I did before I tossed myself in a cave. “No need to do that.”

  “Why? It isn’t a big deal. It’s only a few hours away—”

  "I said it isn't needed, okay?" I grip the counter with my palms and debate on how to form the next words. I finally did what I've wanted to do after I made my first billion.

  “Duncan, what the hell did you do?”

  I don’t need to tell him. It’s my business not his.

  I double check the towel around my waist to make sure it's secure and stroll by him. When I get to my room, it's completely different from when I left it an hour ago. The floor can be seen. All the shiny beer cans are gone. There's a few stains on the floor and an old pizza box sitting on my computer table, but it's better than it was.

  "I didn't do anything," I reply with a shrug. "Nothing that I haven't wanted to do for a long time anyway."

  I fish through my closet and find a plain green t-shirt and throw on a pair of sweatpants.

  “Are you broke? You fucking went broke, didn’t you? Damn it, Duncan. I told you—how could you let this happen? You built an empire on investments! I can help if you need money—”

  I hold my hand up to stop him from talking and then grab the deodorant off my dresser.

  “I sold the company. Before you freak out—”

  Easton shut his mouth so hard his teeth clank together.

  "I sold it for a lot of money, Duncan. Money isn't the problem. I sold it because the thought of working right now is too much. I have a lot going through my head that I need to work through. I might travel or something but I need time and work doesn't give that to me."

  A sly smile crosses his face as he leans against the wall and crosses his arms. “It sounds like to me that you have money to burn.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “Vegas is going to be so much fun, man. All your worries. All your stress. Poof,” he flicks his fingers in the air to gesture something disappearing from thin air. “Gone.”

  Gone.

  I like the sound of that.

  4

  Naomi

  I have only returned home because not only did I lose my job, but because of the funeral. It has been two weeks though, and I haven’t heard a word from Duncan.

  I’ve tried reaching out a few times, but my calls went straight to voicemail so I did the next best thing– I called Easton. Easton gave me updates telling me that he finally got Duncan to shower, and then he told me that he threw away so many beer cans in the recycling bin, that he had to make a cardboard box to go next to it and label it 'recycling.'

  It only made me worry about Duncan more. Maybe coming to Vegas was a bad idea. I should have been a good friend and stayed with Duncan. Perhaps I should have barged my way into his place. I chose not to though because I know the kind of person he is. He needs time to process everything, no matter how he does it, but I remember the pact we made when we were teenagers. If either of us got lost in the darkness for too long, it was time to reel the other back in.

  I bet he forgot about it, but I never did.

  I debate on texting him again to see how he’s coping after being in the dark, but I don’t have time. I have a job interview at Caesar’s Palace to be a blackjack dealer. There’s the training I need to do, but it's paid and the money is fantastic; and if it doesn't work out, I don't want to go back home because there are no opportunities for me there. Vegas has a hundred options, and when I saw their ad on Twitter, looking for people to join the blackjack training program, I packed a bag immediately.

  Now here I am, sitting in the lobby, waiting for my name to be called, and I'm starting to wonder if I’m out of my element. I'm dressed in an ugly pink button-up shirt that's tucked into a black pencil skirt and wearing black heels that have a cute bow tie on the back. The rest of the women are in crop tops and short shorts.

  I know prostitution is legal in Vegas but to interview for it? That’s odd.

  “Naomi Banks?”

  A woman who seems to be in her early thirties calls out from the door that holds all my hopes and dreams into making it in the adult world. An endeavor that I'm hopelessly failing at.

  I haven't had a steady job in years. I've just been bouncing around from one minimum wage job to another and I'm sick of it. Vegas is kind of an off the whim idea just to try. I have never been here before but I love new places. My dream is to travel and see the world, but I have no idea what to do to make that come true. Perhaps getting this job will be the start of that.

  I stand up and run my hands down my skirt to straighten it, hold my head up high, and stick my hand out, "Hi, I'm Naomi Banks."

  She blows out a breath and stares at my hand, “That’s good to know. Follow me.” My hand is left in the air as she turns around and walks away from me.

  Awesome.

  I follow her down a bright hallway with large candlestick lights hanging from the ceilings, glistening off the marble floor. On the walls are pictures of showgirls, cocktail waitress, blackjack dealer, customers who hit the jackpot, and everyone is happy and smiling. Well, it has to be fake considering how that woman just greeted me.

  “In here. Mr. Salvatore will be with you in a moment.”

  “Great,” I say, flashing her with another dazzling smile.

  She rolls her eyes, “Newbies.” When she shuts the door, I’m left with my mouth hanging o
pen. The audacity of her! She doesn’t need to treat prospective employees like this. I’m nervous enough. Now, I’m going to think this guy is rude and dismissive, just like her.

  I sit down as I cast my eyes around the room. It’s luxurious. An expansive onyx desk reflects the chandelier hanging above it. The marble that makes up the hallway stops at the door and hardwood replaces it, giving the office a more professional look. Bookcases line the wall behind the desk, and to the right there are floor to ceiling windows offering a view of the strip. The sun has set now, and the eccentric show of lights flash from different buildings.

  “Wow,” I say, standing as close to the glass I can get to take in the view.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I scream, throwing my hand to my chest and take a few deep breaths. A man is sitting behind his desk now, a bit older with silver teasing his hairline.

  "I'm sorry you startled me.”

  “Are you all right?” he asks. “Please, take a seat.”

  I nod and make my way over to the leather chaise lounge with gold buttons outlining the seam.

  "I'm fine. I was so enraptured by your view that I didn't hear you come in."

  “I understand. It’s why I refuse to move offices when they recommend it. So–” He rests one arm on the desk and grabs a few papers. “I see here you have a lot of experience but none in the hospitality industry.”

  "I read the job requirements, and it said that there is a training program and no experience was necessary?”

  I start to sweat. It’s a possibility my chances are blown.

  “You are correct. I’m just curious what brought you to Vegas, Ms. Banks.”

  I sigh, contemplating in my head how to not make myself sound like an unemployed dreamer.

  “Well, honestly, ever since my job laid me off two years ago, it’s been hard to get back on my feet. I want to be happy with my work. I want to interact with people. I want more than the slow-paced life my hometown has to offer me. I came to Vegas for a new start.”