My Unexpected Serenity: California Billionaires Book 1 Read online

  My Unexpected Serenity

  California Billionaires Book 1

  Harlow James

  Copyright © 2021 Harlow James

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 979-8585507380

  ISBN-10: B08SH41W2G

  Cover design by: Pink Elephant Designs

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my husband:

  For proposing to me in Santa Barbara and showing me the beauty of that place.

  One day we will retire there, baby.

  And we will bask in the serenity we've created together.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  “Forgive. Forgive yourself for your past transgressions. You know better now. Accept that you will fall short at times and you may stray away from your values. What matters most is how you use it to do better next time. Offer yourself another chance to get it right.”

  Ash Alves

  Prologue

  Wes

  “I wasn’t sure years ago when I first attended one of these meetings that I would ever get to this point.” I take a deep breath and assess multiple pairs of eyes locked on me, but I know I need to follow this through. The circle of people sitting in folded metal chairs waits anxiously for me to continue, to share my story just like so many of them have bravely done today.

  “We’re told to trust the process, to work our steps, and remember to accept our faults with the intent to make amends. Well, today I am humbled to share that I finally feel like I’ve accomplished that.”

  I sit up taller in my seat and inhale a breath of courage as my knee bounces up and down, prepared to admit out loud how my story has unfolded. “My name is Wes, and I am an alcoholic. I chose booze over everything else each day for a year of my life. I chose to drink and put my selfishness above others. I chose to deal with grief, loss, and the overwhelming feeling of failure by drowning my feelings with alcohol. But I did not choose to hurt someone so innocent in my life that I’ve punished myself and doubted everything I’ve accomplished since.” I stop for a moment, feeling the emotion of the last few weeks sneak up on me.

  “It’s okay, Wes. Take your time.” Hank, the sponsor leading the AA meeting, nods encouragingly at me.

  My eyes fill with moisture as I think back to last week—the smile on Nolan’s face when he saw the facility, the acceptance from Lydia that their lives would be easier from here on out, and the admiration in Shayla’s eyes as she stood by me while I completed what I set out to do.

  “I convinced myself after getting sober that I didn’t deserve happiness. But now I can see that there are waves on the path to redemption. Some are low and easy to swim through, and some can hit you out of nowhere, pushing you under until you feel like you can’t breathe. But today—today I broke through the surface and sucked air into my lungs for the first time in years. I felt a sense of purpose. I made something positive come from tragedy, just like my grandfather encouraged me to do. And I was able to help others in the process.”

  The lady next to me reaches over and clasps my forearm. “You made amends.”

  I nod. “I did. And I fell in love in the process.”

  Chapter 1

  Shayla

  Four Months Earlier

  Pulsing techno beats. Flashing neon lights. The sounds and sights of another night in paradise—not my version of paradise, but a version of the mythical land for twenty-somethings looking to let loose, hook up, or drink away their stress. And I guess my assumptions that every person in here is in their twenties is an ageist statement to make as well. I just know most of our usual clientele and I rarely see a slightly older crowd in Loft 24, the up-and-coming night club in Ventura, California—at least on a Thursday night, that is.

  “I need to run to the back to get a few more bottles of vodka,” Slater, one of the other bartenders on shift tonight, calls out to me while holding two empty bottles in the air. His sun-tanned skin from his ritual of surfing every morning still glistens in the dark lighting of the club.

  “Go ahead. I’ll hold down the fort.” I turn back to depositing a few empty glasses in the tubs underneath the counter and wiping down the marble counter in front of me as the noise grows louder in the club, signaling that rush hour is upon us.

  Bartending isn’t my dream job by any means, but it sure as hell pays the bills, especially for a twenty-six-year-old woman trying to finish up her college degree while living in Santa Barbara, California. The forty-five minute drive with traffic to the club from where I live is worth the money I make working at the club four nights a week. The other nights are spent studying or picking up shifts at the coffee shop where I also work, just primarily during the day. However, those long days and nights are quickly coming to a close as my mid-year graduation in December looms just four months away, which means the rush to find a job and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life as a full-fledged adult is a pressing matter I need to start thinking about.

  “Hey, grab some Crown Royal while you’re at it,” I call after him just in time for him to acknowledge me with a head bob before striding through the doors that lead to the back of the establishment.

  Tik Tok by Kesha blares through the speakers, sending a beacon to my hips to sway to the beat. One perk of the job is the never-ending supply of good dance music. And hey, if I shimmy my hips a bit and it helps with the tips, then so be it.

  “Nice moves,” a voice of the male variety hollers, pulling my attention back over the bar.

  I flash him a smile while ignoring his line. It comes as no surprise I get hit on quite a bit in this line of work, and at this point, I think I’ve heard every pick up line known to man.

  “What can I get you?”

  “A shot of you topped with a cherry,” he says, grinning at me like a fool while his eyes dance up and down my body—my toned and tanned body that I take pride in maintaining. I’m sure the black crop top I’m wearing in addition to the very mini denim skirt doesn’t deter men from paying me extra attention. But like I said, whatever helps the tips roll in.

  “That’s not on the menu, unfortunately.”

  “Shame. Not even the secret menu that the employees know about but keep under tight wraps with the customers?”

  I lean over with a knowing smile, giving him a full view of my cleavage because I just love stringing them along—it’s
like putting a steak on a plate in front of a lion and expecting it not to take a bite.

  “Not even that one.”

  “Damn. Well, in that case I guess I’ll take a gin and tonic, beautiful.” Strike one—he ordered a gin and tonic, which tells me this guy is trying to impress me, make me think he’s overly sophisticated when he’s probably no older than me and living with three other guys in a studio apartment and living paycheck to paycheck. Second, he called me beautiful—and while most women would swoon at a classic term of endearment, I’m not one of them.

  “Coming right up.” I side step his play for my affection, mix up his drink, and then slide it across the bar as he slides me his card.

  “Start me a tab?”

  “You got it.”

  “Save me a dance?” he adds, just before I turn to my next task.

  “Highly unlikely.”

  His chuckle is deep and dirty, like he’s keeping a secret but really wants to spill it to everyone he can. “Damn, you’re a ballbuster.”

  And that makes me laugh. “Finally, a compliment I agree with wholeheartedly.”

  He shakes his head and walks away and I stand proudly, knowing I tackled the first of many flirtatious attempts of the evening.

  I consider myself an attractive woman, but being hit on regularly by inebriated men doesn’t exactly help with my genuine interest detection. It’s part of the reason I’ve avoided company of the male population for quite a while now, relying on my trusty vibrator to dull the ache between my thighs that likes to remind me from time to time that my vagina needs attention sooner or later.

  “Damn, these bottles are heavy.” Slater returns and sets a large cardboard box down on the bar beside me, huffing dramatically and then swiping the imaginary sweat off of his brow.

  I roll my eyes as I extract the bottles and place them on the shelves behind us. “You can fight off ocean waves to surf every morning, but this is too much for you to handle?’

  “Damn. Calling me out, Shayla?”

  “What other talent do I possess?”

  He smirks and then helps with the last two bottles, lining them up perfectly so you can see the line of reflection in the mirror behind the glass shelves. “Swearing, drinking, and oh, I don’t know,” he says, playfully tapping his chin, “avoiding every man that throws his attention your way.”

  “Damn. That’s it. With that resume, I need to go on America’s Got Talent, stat.”

  We share a good laugh before turning around and noticing a rather large group of people attack the bar in need of alcohol, effectively pulling us back to our jobs and making the time tick by even faster.

  An hour later, the club is at max capacity and I have entered my zone—the one where nothing but the music and slinging drinks is on my radar. I make small talk where necessary, avoid a few more blatant attempts for my attention, and watch as the tip jar continues to fill to the top with bills of various amounts.

  “Shayla! I need to piss!”

  “Thanks for letting me know!” I call back as Slater spins around Cassie, another one of the bartenders.

  “Don’t worry. We got this. It’s not like we’re slammed or anything,” she says as he gives us a thumbs up and strides to the employee restroom. “I swear, at least he’s pretty to look at,” she throws my way as I glance in her direction.

  “He does like to give us a play by play of his every move and dip out at the most inconvenient times, although I’m not so sure you hate it as much as you try to play it off.”

  Her eyes find the floor instead of refuting my accusation with her gaze.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “It’s not like he even notices me,” she finally says, her head still down.

  “Then make him notice you.” This isn’t the first time I’ve called Cassie on her crush on our fellow employee, but this is the first time I can see her despair so clearly.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re practically a supermodel, Shayla. Men flock to you and you don’t even bother giving them the time of day.”

  I huff and then refill a beer for a guy that has taken residence at the bar. “I might get attention, but it’s not the kind you necessarily want, Cassie.”

  “Still. You could have any guy you want and you turn them all down. Why is that?” She tilts her head at me and her movement makes it feel like the entire bar has frozen around us.

  “Not every guy is worth your time,” I state matter of factly, even though I could probably teach a class on why I don’t entertain every ounce of male attention I garner. Learning that not every man has pure intentions from first and second-hand experience is enough to jade any woman’s views of the prospect of love.

  “Not even the hottie in a suit in the corner?” she asks, pointing to a dark corner of the club where a few black leather booths reside, mostly to accommodate our more affluent clientele. I have to squint my eyes to make out the harsh lines of a face staring in my direction, but the shiver that races down my spine when I assume his eyes are pinpointed on me is enough to raise my level of awareness.

  If the club feels frozen around me, time has also paused in this tunnel of magnetism flowing between me and the handsome stranger across the room—at least I think he’s handsome. It’s still hard to see him entirely between bodies dancing, red and purple lights flashing, and the lack of luminosity in the space.

  “Hey, beautiful! Can I get another gin and tonic?” The guy from earlier calls out to me, breaking the intense stare between me and Mr. Suit as the world continues to spin around me and reality comes back to the forefront of my mind.

  “Oh. Yeah. Sure.” I reach for his glass as Cassie closes in to my side. With a wink, he trades me his empty glass and then dances back in the direction he came from.

  “Holy shit, Shayla. That guy is hot.”

  “Gin and tonic?”

  She furrows her brow and curls her lips as if I’m stupid. “No. The guy in the booth.”

  “Oh. Um, yeah, I guess. I couldn’t really see his face.” I fight every synopsis in my brain to look back in his direction. I refuse to be dragged into some staring contest with a man tonight, especially one I don’t know with one-hundred percent certainty is actually looking at me.

  “I mean, I couldn’t make out every detail either. But just the way he’s wearing that suit, and the dark and mysterious thing he has going on is enough to confirm his level of hotness. And I think he was definitely staring at you.” Her head slowly turns to the side as she exhales, “Damn, what an ass.”

  I turn to her. “What? How can you see his ass?”

  “He’s walking to the restroom,” she declares, pointing in the direction of the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. And damn, I hate that she’s right. The man’s pants are molded to his ass cheeks as if they were painted on.

  “Why are we staring at some guys’ ass?” Slater comes up behind us, resting a hand on each of our shoulders, startling us both. Cassie and I jump at the same time as our hands cover our racing hearts.

  “Jesus, Slater. Warn a person you’re there, will you?”

  “Sorry. But while you two stare off at God knows what, there’s a line of people waiting to keep their buzz going.”

  We spin back around, immersing ourselves in refilling drink orders as if the last few minutes never happened.

  And to me, they didn’t.

  So some guy, who may or may not be hotter than sin, stared at me across the club for a whole thirty seconds and knows how to wear a suit that was probably custom tailored to fit his body. He could be covered in boils or hair. Yeah, he’s probably hairy as fuck.

  Therefore, it doesn’t matter that my body tingled from the eye contact, or that my heart pounded as I watched his long legs eat up the floor when he walked away from us.

  Nope. Those things don’t matter because his hairy back and balls were the reason my body reacted, as if my hairier-than-normal radar were beeping from him just being in the room. Trust me, after you encounter a man that could g
ive Big Foot a run for his money, you’re predisposed to think the worst.

  “You should go talk to him,” Cassie mutters in my ear a few minutes later once we clear out the crowd of people that gathered at the bar during Slater’s bathroom break and our perusal of Mr. Suit.

  “What? No.”

  She rolls her eyes and then stomps her foot, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Come on. You never talk to any guys.”

  “I told you. They aren’t worth my time. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m kind of working here,” I respond before bopping her on the nose playfully.

  “How do you know if you never give them a chance?”

  I place my hands on my hips, popping one out to the side. “Fine. If I go talk to him, then you have to ask out Slater,” I challenge, knowing damn well she’ll never cave.

  The visible fall of her shoulders lets me know I’ve won, even though I feel really shitty for going there. But seriously, I’m not going to make a fool of myself after a brief eye contact encounter, especially since I didn’t know for certain that he was actually staring at me.

  “That’s what I thought.” I turn back to refilling an order for one of the cocktail waitresses as Cassie remains quiet next to me.

  Breaking the silence and uncomfortable air, Cassie continues with less confidence than I wish she had. “For what it’s worth, I’m going to put myself out there one of these days.” Her smile is small and more self-assuring than anything.

  Clasping my hand on her shoulder, I pull her in for a hug. “I know you will. Maybe I can help Slater see what’s right in front of him,” I offer as I peek behind us and see him shamelessly flirting with a girl over the bar. But when he turns away, his eyes seek us out, landing on mine.

  “Is she okay?” he mouths as I nod my head at him. He relaxes a bit before turning around and getting back to work.

  I know he cares about her, which means it’s only a matter of time before they both give in to what they want.

  “You think that would help?” She looks up at me with so much hope in her eyes, it hits me hard in the chest. I’ve seen that look before, the hint of desperation there, but not in such an innocent way as the way Cassie is looking at me right now. No, the look I’m all too familiar with is that of a grown woman desperately waiting for a man to come and save her.