Nate

  Nate

  Tijan

  Copyright © 2021 by Tijan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited: Elaine York and Editing4Indies

  Proofread: Rochelle Paige, Chris O’Neil Parece, Paige Smith, Kimberley Holm, Amy English, and Crystal R Solis

  Nate Monson is a character from the Fallen Crest series, but his book can be read as a standalone!

  I hope you enjoy!

  Contents

  1. Nate

  2. Nate

  3. Quincey

  4. Nate

  5. Nate

  6. Nate

  7. Quincey

  8. Nate

  9. Nate

  10. Quincey

  11. Nate

  12. Quincey

  13. Later that same day

  14. Quincey

  15. Quincey

  16. Nate

  17. Quincey

  18. Nate

  19. Quincey

  20. Quincey

  21. Nate

  22. Quincey

  23. Quincey

  24. Nate

  25. Quincey

  26. Nate

  27. Quincey

  28. Quincey

  29. Nate

  30. Nate

  31. Quincey

  32. Quincey

  33. Nate

  34. Quincey

  35. Nate

  36. Quincey

  37. Nate

  38. Quincey

  39. Nate

  40. Nate

  41. Quincey

  42. Quincey

  43. Nate

  44. Quincey

  45. Nate

  46. Quincey

  47. Quincey

  48. Quincey

  49. Quincey

  50. Nate

  51. Quincey

  52. Nate

  53. Nate

  54. Quincey

  55. Quincey

  56. Nate

  57. Quincey

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Tijan

  Bennett Mafia

  Rich Prick

  1

  Nate

  I wanted to beat the shit out of my stalker.

  He’d been fine at first, putting some effort into being secretive and following me at a distance, but then he started getting lazy. And lazier. My last straw had been when I saw him pull out the camera, and I’d had enough. It was now insulting how stupid he thought I was. He was sitting three tables away.

  The dude had been following me for the past three weeks. I caught glimpses of him every now and then. He showed up in Boston, then Chicago, and now he was following me in Seattle.

  I was here looking at investment properties.

  “Is that guy taking pictures of us?”

  Now my realtor had noticed the guy.

  Standing from the table, I gave a polite smile to both my realtor and colleague. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment?”

  Both looked dazed at me as they nodded.

  I headed for the bathroom. This wasn’t my first rodeo dealing with people like this guy. Having a best friend who played pro football, his wife an Olympic runner, and a brother-in-law as a soccer superstar, I was well versed in sneaking in and out of places. Not to mention my folks, both movie producers and directors. They were known.

  I was known.

  It was a byproduct of who I was and who I was connected to, but for fuck’s sake, this guy was a new problem for me.

  Dining in a high-end restaurant, I found the majority of the patrons wearing business suits and dresses. And they were formal dresses like my mom would’ve worn to a fundraising gala, not the nightclub kind of dresses. The staff all wore tuxedo-like uniforms—black dress pants and buttoned-down white tops—and some even did the whole white gloves thing when they were serving.

  So, all that to say, it was almost painful how much this guy stood out.

  I headed toward the bathroom, but then swung through the kitchen, ignoring the startled staff, and came up behind him. He had just put down his camera and was reaching for his coffee when I swung into the chair, taking the camera on my way and flipping open the back to expose the film.

  “Hey—” His voice stopped once he got a good look at my face.

  “Hey, yourself.” I put the camera back on the table. “What are you? I’m aware some circles know me, but I’m not paparazzi worthy. Your pictures won’t sell. If you’re one of those lovesick fucks, then I’ll call you a police escort to the nearest psych hospital. If you’re anyone else, you better speak up now while we both aren’t bloody. I’ve been patient, but you’re so sloppy now that I’m embarrassed for you.”

  I had to give him props.

  After his initial surprise, he was a cool customer.

  During my whole speech, he didn’t move. He didn’t react. He didn’t show a thing. He closed down, and he watched me back with almost-dead eyes. His brown suit was pressed to the point it could cut through paper, so he at least had the self-respect to use an iron. He looked to be in his fifties, but he kept himself trimmed. His hair was kept short, and he was staring back at me, not a feather ruffled.

  I waited for a beat.

  He didn’t talk, so I did.

  “You were police once.” I motioned to his eyes. “Those give it away. What are you now?”

  Without responding to me, he pulled out his wallet. He laid out two twenty-dollar bills, then took a business card and slid it across the table to me. “My client will be in touch.”

  I was picking up the card as he stood, smoothed down his suit jacket, and left.

  Carl Mallone, Private Investigator.

  2

  Nate

  “Someone’s investigating you? That seems like the beginning of a joke.”

  I could hear Logan laughing from his end of the phone. He thought the whole thing was hilarious, but I didn’t know why. I had a few childhood friends who were my family. Logan was one of them, along with his brother, and now a whole slew of people we had included in our group. Logan was the lawyer, and like now, he rarely acted like one except when he was gearing up for a case.

  I scowled, letting myself into my hotel room and dropping my suit jacket on the desk. “When are you going to grow up? You’re thirty.”

  “Never, dude. Never. What was his name?”

  I told him, and I could hear him typing on his computer.

  “You’re looking him up?”

  I needed a drink.

  And a shower.

  And a workout.

  And a good fuck.

  And all that wasn’t in any sort of order.

  I was restless, and I needed to move.

  I already knew how this phone call would play out.

  Logan would do what he did. He’d investigate him, maybe send a text or make a call to his father, who had some questionable connections, and he’d relay to me what he was told by the people who knew the answers. This would either happen over this phone call or later this weekend. After that, Logan would want to make up a plan on how to “handle” this guy because in Logan’s family, that was what they did.

  They handled their adversaries.

  That wasn’t my first response, but I’d been inducted enough into their family to go with the flow. Usually.

  Not this time, though. This time, it felt different.

  I felt different.

  I didn’t know what was happening, but something was.

  It was crawling under my skin, slowly coming up and covering my whole body. It was like a weird awareness that I had no control over and c
ouldn’t stop, and it was annoying the shit out of me.

  Tucking the phone into the crook of my head and shoulder, I went to the minibar and poured myself a glass of brandy. I carried it out onto the wraparound balcony, where one side looked out over Seattle, and the other had a view of the water.

  I loved Seattle.

  I loved Boston and Fallen Crest, but Seattle was different. It felt different, or maybe it was just me. Maybe I was different here?

  I loved it in a way I didn’t love the other places.

  “Bro.”

  Logan was speaking in my ear.

  “Yeah?” I had the glass in my one hand and grabbed the phone in my other one, hitting the button so it was now on speaker. I needed to feel free for some reason, and keeping a phone pressed to my ear couldn’t give me that sensation.

  “You okay? I’ve been talking for the past three minutes, and you haven’t said a word.”

  “Bro.” I used his word right back. “You talk a lot.”

  He grunted. “True. Still. My Soul Brotha Connection sensations are tingling. Something’s up with you. What is it?”

  I had to grin at that.

  Logan Kade was a lot. He could be a dick, annoying, loyal, funny, but sometimes, like just now, he was endearing. And if you were one of the people he cared about, it was a privileged world to live in. I never took it for granted, not anymore. He and his brother.

  “I’m good. I think I just need a hard run, that’s all.”

  “Too many business meetings. You should stick to a max of two a week. You’re rich. You can afford it.”

  “Like you can talk. You’re a workaholic.”

  “Sticking it to someone is my life’s passion. That shit ain’t work.”

  “You still work a lot.”

  “It’s called playing. I play a lot, and I know what you’re doing. Stop distracting me, dude. What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. I mean it. Just need a hard workout. That’s all.”

  Logan was quiet for a moment. “Okay, but I’m here. I always give you shit, but I love you.”

  See? Endearing.

  “I know. I appreciate it. Right back at you.”

  “Go and get fucked.”

  We said our goodbyes, and Logan was right.

  I was best friends with him and his brother, Mason. I knew Mason first, but then Logan and I became tighter later in the years. I might talk to Logan more, but my bond with Mason went deeper at times. I couldn’t explain it. Both were family to me, so I wasn’t surprised Logan had picked up on my restlessness.

  A good fuck was needed.

  Tossing the rest of my drink back, I ignored the burn and scrolled through my phone.

  Valerie was from here. She traveled almost as much as I did now, but she and I weren’t a steady item. We were more steady bedmates. No exclusivity. No relationship. That’d never been her and me, even since the first time we hooked up back in college. It was after a big game for Mason, so the festivities had been extreme. I went to a bar and picked up a redhead who had me smiling the first second I saw her. She had me laughing within the next thirty seconds of talking, and I then took her home.

  I meant to reach out later, maybe see what could be there, but I didn’t. I didn’t know why I didn’t, I just didn’t. Then she reached out six months later.

  We met up and had a hot night.

  The day after, she flew to Chicago, and I had my first investment meeting.

  No phone calls were exchanged. No texts.

  Until the next time she was in Boston, and we had a repeat. After that, it became our thing. If we were ever in the area of the other one, we shared a night, then went on with our normal lives the next day.

  That all ended two years ago, and I had no idea why.

  I called that night two years ago and was sent straight to voicemail.

  I texted her. No response.

  A few months into ghosting me, she changed her phone number.

  Nothing new had been posted to her social media.

  I tried looking her up at her job, but nothing. She wasn’t on their website.

  Then I got an event notice online for her engagement party. She and another guy were smiling all nice for the photographer so that explained what happened. Still, though. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about her.

  Something still nagged in the back of my mind about her.

  Tonight, looking at her phone number in my phone all these years later brought back memories that didn’t necessarily improve my mood. She’d be married by now. Maybe even have a kid, too.

  A hard run it was then.

  That was what I needed to push the niggling out of my mind.

  After that, well… I’d see who was in the hotel bar.

  3

  Quincey

  I was annoyed.

  I was annoyed Carl got made.

  I was annoyed I had to leave my studio.

  I was annoyed I’d been putting this meeting off for a full month but couldn’t any longer.

  I didn’t want to see this guy.

  I didn’t want to meet this guy.

  I didn’t want anything to do with this guy, but Valerie was having none of it.

  I was following her wishes, doing what she wanted. Though I hadn’t a clue why she was doing it this way.

  She met the guy, hooked up with the guy, and here I was, giving him the 411? Me?

  That wasn’t my job.

  It wasn’t supposed to be my job. It was hers.

  But, damn.

  Maybe my anger wasn’t anger at all as a tear worked its way up my throat. I was not doing that shit. I couldn’t. Tightening my hands around the steering wheel, I forced that emotion to the bottom of my stomach, and I was hoping to wash it out of me forever. I would not could not break down now.

  No way.

  Not ever, to be honest.

  Ring, ring.

  I reached over to hit the accept button on my car and heard my dad’s voice come over the car’s speakers. “Are you there?”

  I heard shrieking, followed by high-pitched giggling, and I automatically smiled. “Is that Nova?”

  “It’s the kid I kidnapped on the way home from the bakery today.”

  I flicked my eyes up, but I was relaxing. “Not funny, Duke.”

  He was my father, but in so many ways, he wasn’t fatherly at all. I’d been calling him by his first name since I was ten years old. He never said a word about it, and neither did I. I was supposed to follow orders, and I had all my life, except now.

  I wasn’t following his orders. I was following Val’s.

  “Are you there yet?” he asked again.

  “No. Not yet. But I’m not far.”

  My hands tightened on the wheel once again, and just then, I turned the corner, and the hotel where he was staying came into view. The Corebar Hotel was small and exclusive and well-known among the famous and wealthy.

  “I’m here.”

  I was so tense.

  I felt like two fists had been thrust into my stomach, holding my organs with a firm grip, and wouldn’t let go. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted them to let loose or just rip my organs out of me. It was an I-need-a-drink kinda feeling. A strong drink. I should have gotten trashed before I saw him.

  I still could.

  I wasn’t a drinker, never had been with what I did for my profession, but today was an exception. A very big exception. My body would forgive me eventually.

  “How’s everything at home with Nova?” I needed a slight distraction.

  “She’s good. You know Nova.”

  Yeah, I did. And I loved her, so that was why I was doing what I was doing.

  Emotion swept through me, causing my throat to close up. Again.

  God. The breakdown.

  No, no, no.

  And I gripped that steering wheel like it was about to fall off. “It’s not fair.”

  I waited, but he didn’t reply.

  I knew he wouldn’t.

 
I could almost hear what he’d inevitably say because he’d said it so many other times.

  Life wasn’t fair. There were winners and losers. If I didn’t want to be a loser, I needed to “buck up,” get my head on straight, and wage war with cold ruthlessness. It was better to keep walking over the bloodied corpses than to join them. And my father thought anyone who shed a tear deserved to be a bloodied corpse.

  I never knew if he actually meant bloodied corpse as in dead people, but that was another topic—like how I called him Duke instead of Dad—that never got discussed.

  I didn’t think I wanted to know how he would clarify that phrase.

  Fucking dammit.

  I’d gone the block and another.

  I stifled a second curse. “There are no parking spots. I’m going to have to valet the car.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You do what you need to do. The nannies are here, so you stay as long as you need to get this done.”

  “I know.”

  I was mentally saluting him. When he said take my time, he meant it. I brought a bag even though we lived just outside the city. Nate Monson was staying at this hotel, so as long as it took, I would be here as well.

  Pulling up to the front of the Corebar Hotel, I grabbed my purse first. I’d get the bag later if it was necessary. I was still hoping it was a last-ditch effort.