A Bright Summer: A Seasons Novel: Office Billionaire Romance, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Kate Smoak
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and
incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination.
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is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
For those chasing their dreams,
and for those supporting mine – you
know who you are.
– Kate Smoak
Content Warning
This book contains scenes of graphic sexual content, depictions of alcohol and drug use, and deals with mental health issues like anxiety and eating disorders. We advise readers accordingly.
Please note: this is the first book in a series of four where the HEA develops over the series.
Chapter
One
Elissa
The shrill ringing of my alarm blares into the quiet of my bedroom, drowning out the sound of the soft drum of rain on the window.
I’m naked.
Something hard and warm squishes against my bosom as I lay on my stomach. I’ve buried half my face in my pillow, which is now damp from sleeping with my mouth open, and a sheet is haphazardly draped over my waist. I reach blindly for my phone and tap around the screen until the ringing stops. Sucking in a deep breath, I blow my hair out of my face and roll my eyes open. The room materializes in front of me, and it takes me a minute to realize where I am as my eyes adjust to the lighting.
“Uuughhh,” I moan. My head throbs and my mouth feels like it’s filled with sand.
I squint over at the hard body next to me and the night comes flooding back. The loud, pounding music, the lights and colours blurring around our sweaty bodies pressed together — and that was only at the club. His name has temporarily escaped me, but I’m sure it will come back to me eventually. I push off his chest, slink out of my bed, and stumble to the washroom.
I lean on the vanity to steady myself as I rub my face, trying to make the dizziness go away. Swinging the mirrored cabinet door open, I rustle through the assortment of bottles and boxes, trying to find the aspirin.
“Come on, come on…Riley!” My head tips back between my shoulders and my knuckles are white from gripping the mirror. I slam the cabinet shut, questioning why I drank my weight in liquor.
“Riley! Where the hell is the aspirin?”
Riley darts into the bathroom wearing an oversized navy t-shirt, her once sleek lob now standing up like a peacock, looking as rough as I feel.
“Can you be any louder?” Riley hisses at me. “It’s not like you’re the only one with a massive hangover. This is the last time I drink tequila excessively.” She grunts as she lowers herself to the toilet to take a piss. I scoff at her empty promise, knowing full well that tonight will be the same for us.
“I think the aspirin is in the kitchen. Doug took some last night before sleeping.” Nodding my appreciation, I march to the kitchen for a glass of water and the pills to cure my headache. The flush of the toilet echoes down the hallway and Riley emerges a moment later with her hair smooth and perfect. I’ll never understand how she can tame her hair with such ease — and that’s without a shower or any product. Lucky bitch.
“God, I am craving carbs and maple syrup,” I call out over my shoulder as I fill a glass of water at the sink. “Do you want to go for breakfast?”
I turn to Riley and toss the aspirin back, chasing them with a slug of water just as my bedroom door creaks open. The hard body from my bed walks up to me, stark naked, wraps his arms around my waist and places a gentle kiss on the side of my head. Riley wiggles her brows with astonishment and approval when she notices his thick, glorious eight inches and Viking body, and I have a brief flashback to him filling me to the brim as my legs draped over his shoulders. When he notices Riley standing there shamelessly checking him out, a smug grin pulls at his lips, and he grabs her hand to shake it.
“Liam. And you must be…” he pauses for just a moment, not long enough for Riley to introduce herself, and saving me the nervous stuttering and awkward tension of not remembering his name.
“…Riley. Right? Elissa’s roommate and bestie?” My mouth forms a small “o” in surprise.
“Yeah, that’s me. And good morning to you,” she says. With a wink, she spins on her heel, marches toward her bedroom, and slips through the door, closing it behind her with a soft click. I turn to Liam and give him a small smile.
“I’d love to join you guys for those pancakes if you don’t mind. Last night’s activities have left me rather…ravenous.” He grins as his eyes darken, clearly recalling the memories of last night’s frolicking. Suddenly, he yanks me into his chest, fists my hair in one hand, and pushes his tongue through my lips, kissing me hard. After a few moments, he pulls away and smacks my ass before turning and walking to the washroom. I hear the telltale sputter of the shower turning on.
“You coming, babe?” he shouts from the bathroom. A shiver shoots down my spine in distaste at the pet name, but I decide to join him. Knowing I won’t see him again makes everything simpler. I don’t do back-to-back, and I won’t let him join us for breakfast. Then again, this technically wouldn’t be a back-to-back since it hasn’t ended yet…it’s just more of last night. Right?
My glass clinks as I set it in the sink, and I follow the sound of the shower stream bouncing off this guy’s chiseled chest.
•••
Riley stares at me, eyebrows raised, from across the booth as I pour an unhealthy amount of sugar into my coffee. Griddle Cakes, our pancake house of choice, is alive and humming with chatter as the rain pelts down on the asphalt outside. Riley is practically bouncing out of the booth to hear everything about this guy…Liam, right? She’s been seeing Doug more frequently, so she claims she’s living vicariously through my flings, although I know for a fact she and Doug aren’t serious.
“How was it? He has an enormous dick, so he must have been good,” she says brightly, anticipation written across her face. The clinking of cutlery against the plates grates on my nerves as my hangover rears its ugly head.
“Just because he has an enormous dick doesn’t mean he’s automatically good with it. He could’ve been terrible,” I reply distractedly, scratching my spoon against the bottom of the mug as I stir in the mountain of sugar I poured into my coffee. Riley grimaces and sneers in my direction.
“So, in other words, you blacked out and don’t remember?”
I shoot her an affirmative finger gun and click my tongue. “Yep. You got it.”
I pick up my coffee and take a gulp. “Oh, ever-loving God, bless you for this delicious coffee,” I say as a quiet moan escapes my lips. Riley shakes her head and laughs. A few moments later, a pile of steaming, fluffy pancakes is sitting in front of me. I grab the bottle of syrup — real maple syrup — and douse the cakes in the golden, sticky nectar. After a moment of us wolfing down some much-needed carbs and sugar, Riley breaks the silence.
“So, about tomorrow…”
I shoot her a pointed look as if to say, “Don’t go there.” She sighs.
“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but we need to plan for how to deal with your parents at graduation.”
I laugh scornfully at her and shake my head, pretending I didn’t hear her as I continue to shovel pancakes into my mouth. Unlike most people, the thought of my parents attending my graduation doesn’t appeal to me. They don’t deserve to sit there and be “proud” of me. I haven’t even spoken to them since before Christmas, and it’s now April. My body tingles with anxiety as Riley drones on about my parents. A cold bead of sweat threatens to trickle down my spine, and a wave of dread washes over me. My feet twitch with the need to get away, to run. It’s a feeling I know well. I’ve been running from my parents my entire life, or trying to. My therapist once said that my body doesn’t know the difference between fight or flight, which sometimes triggers panic attacks. So, I’ve used actual running as my coping mechani
It’s easy to explain. Running is like breathing for me. Most people struggle with breathing when running, but for me it’s the opposite — running is the puffer for my metaphorical asthma. When I’m under stress or feeling anxious, it feels like I’m suffocating when I’m not running. Once my feet hit the pavement, all the tension drains out of my body, swirling around as it pours out from my feet, and I feel light again; weightless, like when you’ve reached the precipice of a rollercoaster and then it drops you over the edge. Running is one of the few things that allows me to clear my mind. I’ve tried meditation and yoga; they didn’t work for me. They’re too quiet of an activity, and that quiet just opens my mind for chaos to grow. I need exertion, I need to push myself to the limit.
Any fast-paced activity or sport will do when I need to release steam. Volleyball, ball hockey, lacrosse, I’m in. But running is where I feel I can soar; just fly away from here. The ultimate freedom. So, I lock my mind in brain jail and run. I know this isn’t healthy, and I need to distance myself from them, but I can’t say no to my parents because deep down, I just want them to love me. There’s an incessant hollowness inside that gnaws at me. Although I crave love, I keep myself far away from any attachments, because in my mind, I can’t give what I’ve never had.
The only thing getting me excited about the ceremony tomorrow was my parents’ request for an extra ticket to my graduation. My heart flutters knowing they thought of bringing Lana with them. I miss her so much. She didn’t let me know she was coming, but I think she’s just trying to surprise me. She’s the only one I care about coming to the ceremony and seeing my speech.
“I don’t think I need to worry about it. They’re sitting with your parents, and we’ll take a few group shots together for the press. Then, we’ll go out for an early dinner with your parents and Lana and end our night at the bar, picking up some hot asshole for me to fuck,” I say around a mouthful of pancake.
Riley cringes at the harsh words and my emotionless tone, but she says nothing. She knows better than anyone how my relationship (or lack thereof) with my parents is. She’s been my best friend since we were in diapers, and even though I sometimes get jealous of her relationship with her parents, she loves me anyway. Her parents love me too, and have been kind enough to welcome me into their family. If I’m not spending my holidays and breaks with Lana, I’m tagging along with Riley and her family.
Riley takes over the conversation and starts describing what she is wearing under the gown and how she will style her hair, and I nod as if I am paying attention. She moves on to how she wants to style my hair, because mine is much longer and it’s fun to play with it, when my phone beeps in my purse. I pull it out and groan when I see the name lit up on my screen.
Mother Dearest: Congrats on graduating. We’ll see you tomorrow. Please make sure Riley does your hair and makeup if you refuse to hire someone to do it for you.
I wrestle with a pang of loneliness in my heart at seeing the message from my mother. A reminder that she hasn’t reached out since Christmas. I suppress the moisture springing to my eyes — just a moment of weakness. Another beep comes from my phone, and I look down at the screen.
Mother Dearest: Oh, your father wanted me to remind you that you need to pack up your suite. You have a week before the movers arrive and bring everything to your condo in Toronto.
The tears rimming my eyes evaporate faster than water in the desert. My fists clench as I squeeze the phone and my vision clouds with red. Only twenty-four hours left until I lose the last bit of temporary freedom I have. I need to make these twenty-four hours count before I am a prisoner within my family once again.
Chapter
Two
Elissa
It’s 9 PM, and I am getting ready in the bathroom, swiping some eyeliner onto my lash line, creating that smoky look I love. I step back and pull my curly hair away from my face. In the mirror I see Riley at the end of the hall, in the living room. She holds up two dresses, with a towel wrapped tightly around her slender frame. Her phone sits in the middle of a ring light on a tripod, and she’s talking to her voiceless viewers live.
“Now, this backless, black cocktail dress is from Chanel,” she says, as she swings the dress in front of her body, tilting her head back and forth. Her lips are pursed in thought as she debates how it looks against her complexion.
“I feel this might be a tad too dark for me. Since it’s only April, I haven’t worked on my tan, so I feel as though it might wash me out.” Her lips pull into a pout before she swings the second option in front of the camera.
“This one,” she explains, “is an emerald green silk strapless dress with a sweetheart neckline. It totes gives me Bella Goth vibes from The Sims franchise. I only wish Versace sent me this in a red! My black lob with this dress in red…hello?? I would drip sex appeal and cosplay at the same time!”
She chatters to her silent audience, and I smirk to myself. Riley is popular with her social media channels because she’s gorgeous, realistic, and has hints of nerdiness thrown in. She’s a down-to-earth girl, although some people think she’s pretentious. She is an ambassador for the Canadian Mental Health Association because of her ongoing battle with anorexia, and she’s been very candid with her journey and recovery on social media. The past four years have been successful for her.
Riley blows kisses to the camera, asks them to vote in her story about which outfit she should choose, and signs off. I turn back to fixing my hair until she appears behind me.
“So, what colour do you think? Black or green?” She asks me this knowing full well I am colour-blind in my left eye, but only partially in my right eye. Only shades of blue and some hues of green are missing in my right eye’s vision. The green hues I can see are always dull and lacklustre. I don’t answer her, knowing full well that her viewers will choose anyway. Instead, I flip her off and blow her a kiss.
Moments later, I am wriggling into my jeans, which are like a second skin that hugs every curve of my ass and hips, when Riley lets me know the car she ordered will be here soon. I slip on some black pumps and throw open my closet door, sliding hangers across the rail trying to find my favourite shirt. When I find it, I hug it to my chest and then pull it over my head. The amethyst halter top complements my dark blue eyes, or so Riley always tells me. With a scoop neck and low cut back, it fits my torso and breasts perfectly. The low back inhibits me from wearing a bra. Thankfully, I’m perky enough and don’t need one. The silky texture of the top glides across my nipples, forcing them to pucker. With a quick glance in my full-length mirror, I ruffle my long, chestnut hair that smells of warm vanilla shampoo, shake loose the curls so they’re more of a beach wave, and head out the door.
Our favourite haunt, Xion, is right in downtown Kingston on Princess Street. It is a fancy little place that has cheap booze, quality service, and hot patrons. It even has a rooftop bar and lounge for the VIPs. We arrive just before 11:30 PM, and the place is overflowing. We walk straight up to the door, ignoring the line, to talk to Teddy, the bouncer. We smile and flirt with him, and he lets us through, as always. When we found this place as freshmen in university, Teddy was working here, too. He is a couple years older than us, and Riley went home with him that night. We know everyone who works here and we always get exceptional service.
The first stop is the bar. We each grab a stool and wave at Liza, the bartender. She comes over with our drinks in her hands, shimmying to Belly Dancer by Imanbek and BYOR as the song pumps into the room from the DJ stand. We needn’t order, as she already knows what we’re having.
“Cosmo for Riley and a Johnnie Walker on the rocks for ’Lissa.”
“Thanks Liza,” I say. “Open a tab for us and keep them coming!”
“As per usual,” she chortles. “Oh, there are quite a few good-looking men here tonight. You’ll have them buying you drinks all night. You girls look smokin’ hot.”
Sure enough, not even five minutes later, two guys walk up to us, one on either side of me and Riley. I feel the burn of their eyes undressing us as they flag down Liza.
“Another round for the ladies,” the one beside Riley says. He oozes masculinity, with a sharp, defined jaw and a clean, short beard with a few days of growth. He’s also got what I assume to be stunning crystal blue eyes, because of the way they reflect any bit of light that hits them. His hands are big and strong as he grasps his beer, with his broad shoulders emphasizing his tapered torso as he leans against the bar. He flashes us a bright smile.
