No Reservations Read online

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  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

  Epilogue

  PART 2

  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

  PART 3

  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

  Epilogue

  No Reservations

  Natalia Banks

  Contents

  No Reservations

  Copyright

  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

  Epilogue

  Billionaire Benefactor Daddy

  Copyright

  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

  Epilogue

  PART 2

  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

  PART 3

  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

  Epilogue

  No Reservations

  Natalia Banks

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 by Natalia Banks

  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.

  NOTE: This is a work of fiction, names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real life is coincidental. All characters in the story are 18 years of age or older. Intended reading audience 18+

  Chapter 1

  Cindy

  Outside, I can see the snow beginning to fall and I hold my breath. I love the holiday season and I hate it. Being poor makes everything more difficult and the dreams I had as a child for holidays were never realized.

  And as an adult, I know that gifts mean so much more when you’ve got no money to spend. Things tend to come from the heart rather than the wallet.

  I glance at the clock, wondering why dad’s running late. I know that living at home at twenty-five is kind of ridiculous, but he can’t survive without my income. And I couldn’t afford a place on my own anyway.

  It’s not for a lack of work—I work two jobs. But it’s not work that’s got me stressed about dad being late today. Nope, it’s almost time for me to be at the local soup kitchen. I volunteer there five days a week at five o'clock sharp. Right after dad gets off his shift at The Lighthouse—the same kitchen that donates the food we serve at the soup kitchen.

  The snow begins to come down in flurries and I shiver under my sweater. The heat’s on, but it’s not cranked as hot as I’d like. It’s warm enough to keep us from freezing to death, but I swear that’s about it.

  Finally, I see dad trudging home. But my delight is quickly whisked away by the slump to his shoulders. Something’s wrong. I see it in his movements. In the way he’s dragging his feet and taking his time. Usually he’s glad to come through that door and wrap me up in a hug.

  Because we’ve got a great relationship, despite all our worries.

  Maybe it’s because mom walked out when I was three for some suit and tie fast-talker who promised her shiny things and a big house if she left us behind. Maybe it’s because I stepped up the moment I could take an odd job. Maybe it’s just because we’ve only ever had each other to lean on that we’re so close. I’m not sure.

  It was absolutely strange to know that other kid’s relationships with their parents was one of the adults taking care of the kids, but ours has always been a mutual care for each other. I’d made him dinner from the time I could stand on a chair and reach the counters. Countless nights I’d rubbed his feet for him even when they were so swollen he couldn’t get his damn shoes off from fifteen-hour shifts.

  He turns the door handle now and I hand him the dinner I’d made, something I’d picked up just for him. He takes the plate and stares at the burger I’d made especially for him.

  When his eyes meet mine, I see how they’re swimming in tears and I pull him into a hug. “What’s wrong?” I whisper, holding him tightly. Whatever it is, we’ll prevail. We always do. We always ha
ve. Nothing can destroy us.

  He says nothing and I back off, struggling to figure out what’s going on as he stares past me at something behind us on the wall. Something I have a feeling I won’t see even if I turn and look. And for the first time ever, I see something new in his expression. He looks… defeated.

  And old. When did all those wrinkles settle around his eyes? How long have those dark bags ringed his blue eyes? And when did they get so watery? When did he get old?

  “Daddy?” I whisper, feeling frightened for some unknown reason. This is just so out of character for him. I can’t help but feel something really, really bad happened.

  His eyes finally meet mine and he struggles to give me a smile. But it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And I know for certain something very bad happened. Something life changing. Did mom die?

  He sounds tired as he finally speaks. “They fired me, Cindy.”

  The words hit me like a sucker punch to the gut. Instinctively, I begin to shake my head no. They couldn’t have. It’s only a month until Christmas. They need him. How will they make it through the holiday without him?

  “Why?” I ask, but it’s futile. Dad’s checked out. The light behind his eyes is gone and I almost worry about leaving him. I take out my phone—a shitty little pay by the minute cell phone I needed for my job.

  I call the kitchen first. I have to call out. My brain is scrambling, searching for some fix to all of this. I have to find a way to fix it. Without dad’s income, we’ll sink. We’re barely scraping paycheck to paycheck as it is.

  This isn’t fair. Something is wrong. Dad’s a good employee. He works hard. He’s not lazy or stupid. Why the hell would they fire him? My astonishment shifts to fury and I decide to talk to his boss. Because clearly, dad can’t even function.

  I take his shoulder and lead him to his chair. He sits and I push the food into his lap. “Eat, daddy. I love you.” I kiss his forehead and he gives me a vacant smile.

  “I love you too, Cin.” He makes no motion to eat and I feel my heart sinking in my chest. Daddy’s a guy who learned young not to eat unless he earned his meal—a throwback to growing up as one of six kids on a farm.

  And he’s not eating.

  Angry, I walk out the door and close it behind me while doing my best to not let even a little heat out. The snow laces me in silence and I love it, even as I shiver and hate the stress of the day. I hate missing a night of helping at the kitchen. But this is important.

  I zone out and feel consumed with anger during the walk to the office. I know dad’s boss would be in. He runs ten kitchens in the city and he has a central office that he sits on the top floor of, barking orders and sipping strong drinks, I’m sure.

  What the hell does the boss do if not enjoy the high life?

  I march up and walk in the front door. A desk takes up the whole front of the room and a pretty blond looks up at me with a smile that’s all false warmth. “Can I help you?” she asks in a sunny voice that belongs in California, not here in the snow.

  “I need to speak to Mr. Rossi.” I make my voice as forceful as possible.

  But the blond shakes her head. “I’m sorry, he has no more appointments tonight. May I take a message?” she asks, her smile glued in place.

  Of course he won’t see me. I’m not fucking important enough.

  Well, I’ve got a backup plan. Daddy didn’t raise a quitter. Or an idiot. I shake my head and walk out the door, her cheerful voice on my heels.

  I know it’s close to closing time, and I hold my breath, hoping I’m not wrong about when Rossi will be off. I hide out and wait as the building’s garage stands forlorn and dusted with snow. I shiver, hoping he’ll be leaving soon.

  As if my prayers are answered, the little gate lifts and a dark sedan with tinted windows drives out of the garage. I hold my breath and dash out in front of it, thinking a moment too late that the ice might make it impossible for him to stop in time.

  His tires squeal and I hear the sound of skidding as I close my eyes and hope beyond hope that I didn’t make a terrible mistake.

  Chapter 2

  Gavin

  I’m fucking annoyed and tired; it’s been a long damn day. I’ve had three damn companies fail to deliver stock when they said they would with some bullshit excuses about the holiday season and how swamped they are. No matter how many businesses I told today that a signature and agreement that a set date is a set date, not a flexible time frame, none seemed to fucking listen.

  I hate the goddamned holidays.

  It only means trouble and issues. Missed shipments, arguing with vendors, arguing over delivery dates. And holiday bonus checks—not that I mind paying my employees well, I just hate the entitlement that comes with overtime and holiday hours—unscheduled time off, employees coming to me rather than their managers about time off they said they scheduled even though there’s not a mention of it anywhere in any computers or on any schedules.

  And now, I’m ready to go the hell home and pass out until the holidays are over.

  But no such luck, of course. I’m busy planning the final details of the company fundraising event. An event I can expect to be exhausting; especially if Evelyn comes. She’s been after me to ask her out for the last three years. No matter how many times I tell her I’m just not interested in her, she pushes and tries to wrestle me under the mistletoe every fucking year.

  At least right now, behind the wheel of my car, I can relax a tiny bit. Between work and home I do my very best to forget who I am, why I’m here, and that work will inevitably follow me right the fuck home.

  As I pull into the road, I see a girl step off the curb and practically lunge in front of my fucking car. I slam on the brakes before remembering the roads are likely icy. I jerk the wheel to the left, praying there’s no oncoming traffic on the quiet street.

  Thankfully, there’s no one but her and I and I come to a gentle rest on the opposite curb a bit askew from the parking spot there. I get out, leaving the car—and the heat—running.

  “What the hell are you thinking jumping in front of me like that?” I shout, my anger from the day boiling over on this crazy woman.

  She takes a moment to straighten her thin sweater before looking at me. I take in her tawny hair and bright blue eyes. Her face is beautiful. Strikingly high and wide cheekbones with a delicate curve between them and the line of her slightly flared jaw bone; big, wide eyes, a fine, soft brow; an overall combination that’s breathtaking.

  “I didn’t jump,” she states, her voice high and sweet, but forceful with the words, as if she’s insulted I’d insinuate she’d do such a thing. “I stepped off the curb,” she says, her hands trembling as she presses them to her slim thighs. She’s such a whisper of a thing. Her frame is so slight I feel a sense of concern about her. And a protective urge to make sure she’s all right, I shove it away.

  She’s probably a crack head.

  “Why did you step out in front of me like that?” I demand, hearing the anger still simmering in my tone.

  Her eyes finally meet mine and I realize she’s familiar somehow. But I would have remembered meeting her, I’m sure of it.

  “I needed you to stop,” she says. As ominous as the words are, I sense she’s not ambushing me. Somehow, I doubt she got me to stop so some burly bastards can creep out and mug me. There’s more going on here. I know it. But she shivers and I make a quick judgment call.

  “Want some coffee?” I ask, hoping she’ll agree. Partially because I want to get her out of the cold and partially because I’d like some time to talk to her. What made this girl make such a desperate move that might have gotten her killed? And I gather that she’s wanting to talk to me as well. “I’ll buy,” I add as she seems to hesitate.

  She studies my face, a flash of distrust behind her eyes. But she finally nods as another shiver rolls through her, nearly off balancing her thin body.

  “Come on,” I say, leading her back toward my car. She follows, her motions slower than mine.
But I sense she’s not totally sure about what’s transpiring. And I wonder if I’ve somehow surprised her. What did she expect from me?

  While I’m wondering if I should take her home or to some diner, I usher her into the passenger seat. “Buckle up,” I say, making sure she’s clear of the door before shutting her in and hurrying around the front to slide in the driver’s seat.

  She’s buckled when I get in. Her fingers reach out to the heaters and she rubs her hands together in the hot air to warm them. Since I don’t want to deal with being recognized, I decide to take her back to my place. The problem with being so high profile is that people know me no matter where I go.

  She’s quiet as I pull away from the curb. On the radio, a soft Christmas song comes on and her voice rises with it. I listen, enjoying her pretty voice as she sings along. Driving slowly because of the icy roads—at least, that’s what I’m telling myself - I listen to her sing and wonder if maybe the holidays aren’t so bad after all. I just hate them because all I get is the consumer side, the pain in the ass parts, not the beauty that she’s singing about.