Meant to Love

  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

  Epilogue

  CONNECT WITH ME!

  Meant to Love

  Lucy Darling

  Meant to Love

  Colden ‘Cold’ Jackson is as cold as his name. He has one purpose in life, to clean up the mess his father left behind and give his younger sister a better life. That is until Penelope shows up, piercing him to his core with her warm smile and soft innocence. She makes him long for things he never knew he wanted.

  Penelope’s on the brink of being homeless. With only a few dollars left in her pocket and nowhere to go, she takes a job that sounds too good to be true. She soon discovers the only position her boss will accept is her being his wife. Colden can’t let go of her warmth, and she wants to trust him with her heart. He only has to convince her that she’s changed him forever.

  A friend is one that knows you as you are, understands where you have been, accepts what you have become, and still, gently allows you to grow. -William Shakespeare

  1

  Colden

  I jerk to a sitting position at the loud banging at my front door. A small ache pounds at the back of my head as I try and clear the fog out of my eyes. I am used to falling asleep at my desk but never my sofa. The thing is fucking uncomfortable. I’ve had it for two years and this might be the first time I’ve actually used it. I stretch, trying to work the knot out of my neck that has formed. For as much as that couch probably fucking cost, you would think it would at least be comfortable.

  “Colden. Open the door. If you have one of those Clementine sisters in there I swear to God, I’ll fucking quit!” Charla, my assistant, yells through the door. She is the only person on the planet with the balls to actually yell at me. Sure, my sister, Rochelle, could get away with it but she’s never done it. My boss, Leo, too, but we are like brothers. When we used to get pissed at each other it would come to blows. Those days are long gone. Not to mention he lives on the other side of the country. Most of our dealings are over the phone or by email. I haven’t seen him in person for a while now.

  Charla bangs on the door again. Luckily I’m the only one that lives on this floor. In fact, I'm the only person that actually lives in the building at all. All of the other floors are offices. I did it mostly out of convenience. I practically live at the office these days and it is easier for me to have everything in one place. I pull myself from the sofa knowing she won’t leave until I open the door. I can still smell the scotch I drank last night on me. I need a shower and a good run.

  Things got out of hand rather quickly last night, apparently. My head is pounding in the aftermath. I stumble over to my front door, flipping the lock to see one very pissed off executive assistant standing there with her hands on her hips. As always, she’s in a suit, her dark hair pulled back tight. The woman is small but a force to be reckoned with. I am lucky to have stolen her from another company. She is good at her job and has been doing it since I was probably still in diapers.

  I don’t think she’s ever come to my house before. Probably because there was never a need to. I am always in the office. I live and breathe work, except for the rare times I have to make an appearance somewhere off premises. Last night was one of those nights. Charla made me go. I blame half of this on her. I got drunk out of boredom. I’m thinking the alcohol and lack of sleep are what have me feeling like utter shit this morning.

  “You look like hell.” She pushes past me into my home. It’s then I see Kent, my other executive assistant, follow in after her. He’s her mini clone in male form but closer to my age. Maybe a few years younger. I close the door behind them. “I don’t see one of them.” Charla looks around my living room before heading back to my bedroom and stomping back down the hallway toward me.

  “Who are you looking for?” I run my hand down my face. She looks at me like I’m a complete idiot as she holds up a paper in her hand. “It says that you went home with one of the Clementine sisters. They are trying to speculate which one it was.”

  Charla’s words do not help my sour stomach. “I’m offended you’d think I’d go home with one of them.” Those two women are vultures. They’re known to circle around whenever there is a successful man around. They don’t want to just suck the life out of a man, but his money too. That said, their father is mayor of the city, so I play somewhat nice with them. The best I can, at least. Nice and I aren’t words that often go together. You don’t get to the top and stay there by being nice. The staff calls me Cold, dropping the “en” off my name behind my back, like I give a shit. I don’t care what they call me as long as they do their jobs.

  “I told you to play nice with them,” she reminds me.

  “You’re not helping my headache here, Charla. First you’re mad I took one home and now you’re telling me I was supposed to be playing nice.” I shake my head at her before making my way to my kitchen. I search my cabinets for something for my head. I pop two pills, then turn on the water, leaning down to get a drink straight from the faucet to swallow them down.

  “This place is a mess,” I hear Kent say from somewhere behind me. My place is a mess. I am never here and I can admit my faults. One is cleaning up after myself. I didn't know how much of a slob I could be until I no longer had my little sister, Rochelle, to take care of me. At least now when I look back I can see that’s what she’d been doing. She really did fill the role our mother left when she’d booked it. Not that I can blame my mother. I, too, wanted to be as far away from my piece of shit father as possible. It’s why I am in New York and his worthless ass is God knows where at this given moment. I keep money in his bank account just for that reason. That way he is never home.

  I pay the bills for our childhood home myself. Rochelle just graduated high school and will be off to college soon enough. I’d worry about her being alone if it wasn’t for the fact that my best friend and boss live one floor above her. They are close and I know he’ll keep an eye on her. If I keep my father's bank account flush with money he won’t be home bothering Rochelle. I’ll make sure she has a roof over her head and money for whatever college she chooses.

  “You don’t have a cleaner.” Charla reminds me.

  I turn to look at both my assistants.

  “I don’t like people like in my space,” I remind them both. Kent takes a step back but Charla rolls her eyes.

  “You’re never here. How is this place so dirty anyway?” Kent looks around at his own question.

  The kitchen is filled with to-go boxes. Hell, I still have boxes I’ve never unpacked from when I moved here. What does it matter? It’s a place where I sleep and often work.

  Charla drops the newspaper down onto the counter. I get a good look at it now. Indeed, both of the Clementine sisters are next to me, one on either side. The red-headed one, whose name I can’t recall, looks to be whispering something into my ear. I don’t remember any of this but what does it matter?

  “I don’t care.” I push the newspaper back at her. There is no way I did shit with either one of those women. I’m not that stupid. I don’t need the mayor pissed off at me over something as stupid as fucking one of his daughters. Again, my stomach turns at the thought of those vultures getting their claws into me. I really do need a shower, food and a run.

  “You’re going to care,” Charla snaps back.


  “I’ll be down to the office in an hour.” I dismiss them both.

  “You’re having dinner with Paisley Clementine tonight.” That stops me dead in my tracks. I turn to square off with Charla. “You made this bed.”

  “I told you I didn’t touch those women,” I grit out.

  “Not the point. Half the city thinks you did and the mayor doesn’t want his daughter looking like some one-night stand.”

  “No.”

  “A dinner isn’t going to kill you.”

  “The company might,” I retort. The Clementines play nice in public but I can see past their fake smiles and sugary sweet words. That shit only pisses me off. I might be an asshole but at least I don’t hide it. You know what you’re getting when it comes to me. It’s the people that try to hide that shit that get under my skin. I’d have more respect for the women if they laid their cards out on the table. They want a husband with money and to be kept. I get that. There are men out there that would be more than willing to strike that bargain with them in order to have a pretty thing on their arm, but I wasn’t one of them. I didn’t want to have to worry about another person except my sister. That’s enough for me. I think with me it’s about more than money. Their father is likely pushing them my way, too. He wants his daughters with men who have some power. Money gives you that.

  “I’m serious Colden. Do the stupid dinner. Make the mayor happy. Smile so not everyone thinks you’re an asshole and be done with it. We don’t need him as an enemy if a simple dinner makes the man happy.”

  I don’t think it will make him happy. I think it’s his way of trying to actually get me to date one of his daughters. He’s joked about setting me up with one of them before.

  “One dinner,” I agree. She’s right. I don’t need to make an enemy of the man. I could use him one day. Plus I do need to eat. I also don’t need word getting back to Leo that I am burning bridges out here in New York. He trusts me to run his East Coast office and I don’t want to lose that trust.

  “And I’m getting you an assistant,” she adds.

  “I have two.” I point to them.

  “A personal one. Someone to take care of non-work things.” She glances around my home, her face scrunched.

  “I don’t like people in my space,” I repeat.

  “Then you’ll just have one person to get used to that can do it all.” She nods, not waiting for my approval.

  I’m not fighting with her about this right now. Shower and food. I turn, already dreading tonight. This is going to be a long day.

  2

  Penelope

  “Here.” I look up from my cracked phone to the woman holding out a folder to me. “Go to this address now. It’s the best I have and to be honest I don’t think you’ll get the job.”

  I take the folder from her hand. I’ve been sitting in the temp agency office all morning. They said they would call when they found something but I didn't have anywhere else to be, so I sat and waited, hoping something would pop up. I wanted them to see how persistent and determined to work I am.

  “Thank you. I’ll take anything I can get.”

  The woman’s eyes go soft for a minute and I know she’s taking pity on me. I am in need of not only a job but a place to stay. I am down to two hundred dollars to my name and a few more nights in a cheap hotel will eat through that in no time. My mom royally screwed me over. I am lucky I’m not sitting in a jail cell next to her. I’m even more lucky that the owner of the accounting company that I was working for, alongside my mother, didn't believe I’d been in on her little money stealing scheme. I don’t know all of the details but I know she stole over a hundred grand.

  It’s hard for me to believe it because I couldn’t tell you where a cent of that money went. I know it didn't go to the tiny apartment we shared. I was the one always using my check to pay the bills. I’m sure with time more things will come to light about what she did, but while the owner doesn’t think I am a part of the money laundering operation, he did say I had to leave. I can’t really say that I blame him, even though it really puts me in a bad position.

  With no job and rent past due, the landlord threw me out. I grabbed as many things as I could. Well, anything that would fit in my giant suitcase. The only other thing I took was my purse. I open the folder and type the address into my phone the best I can. The screen is cracked but that’s the least of my worries. If I don’t pay the bill soon, my service is going to be disconnected. When I slide my finger across it to hit enter, a tiny piece sticks me, cutting the top of my finger.

  “Shit,” I mumble to myself. I pause for a moment, fear hitting me fast, but it slides away quickly when I realize my mom isn’t here to scold me about my slip of the tongue. I put my thumb in my mouth to try to get the bleeding to stop as I make my way down the busy sidewalk trying to keep my suitcase out of everyone’s way. I almost fall a few times when people body check me but after a two-mile walk I finally make it.

  I stare up at the giant building, feeling intimidated and way underdressed. When I enter, I give my name and show my ID. The man at the front desk picks up the phone, making a quick call before motioning me toward the elevators.

  I steal a moment to read over the file to actually see what I’ll be doing. I cringe when I see I’ve gotten a smidge of blood on the paper. I hope they don’t need it.

  Personal assistant is on the first line. The word personal is in bold. My mind goes to something dirty, but I push the thought away. That can’t be right. I used a legitimate temp agency so I know that’s not the case. Why my mind even went there is strange. I read on to see why this Colden Jackson needs a personal assistant and I get it now. It’s not to run the work side of his life, but the actual day-to-day things that normal people do for themselves. It almost reads as though I’m a nanny to a full-grown man.

  The elevator dings, pulling my attention from the folder. I step off, not sure where to go. I feel underdressed and awkward with my suitcase in tow but I had nowhere to leave it. Everything here is shiny and clean. Clear glass lets you see into the offices, but a giant desk sits in the center.

  I wait there for a moment before someone pops up from behind the desk. I don’t know if she was under it or too short for me to see. She has a pen in her hand that I’m guessing she’d dropped and was fishing out from under the desk.

  “Charla is coming,” she tells me before dropping back down into her chair so that I can only see the top of her head. The giant reception desk all but hides most of her. I hear her answer a call. I don’t think she is trying to be rude; she’s just busy. In fact when I look through the glass walls everyone is working.

  “Penelope?” A woman says my name as she pushes open one of the glass doors. Her eyes flash to my suitcase. “I don’t think I asked for a live-in caretaker.” She lets out a laugh. “But maybe he needs one.” She gives me a warm smile. “I guess I should do the interview first, though, before we start talking about all those details.” She has a kind smile and I immediately feel comfortable around her.

  “Sorry. I had the bag with me. I can put it away somewhere.” Charla waves her hands. “Don’t worry about it. Follow me.” She doesn’t head back through the glass doors; instead she makes her way toward the elevators. “That your folder?” She points to the one I’m holding. I was really hoping she would have her own since I got a little blood on this one.

  “Yeah. Sorry. It got a little damaged when I tried to read it over on the way here,” I admit as I give her the file as the elevator doors open. She hits the button for the top floor.

  “As you can see, it’s Colden Jackson whom I need a little help with. As you can imagine.” I stare at her blankly. “You have no idea who he is, do you?”

  I scrunch my nose. I don’t have much of a social life because I was always focused on trying to survive. I didn’t have time to keep up with other people's lives when I was too busy trying to keep mine on track. Something I’ve obviously failed at. I sigh internally, thinking about the predicament
I’m in. If I don’t get this job, I’m going to be homeless. I snap out of my thoughts and answer Charla honestly.

  “Sorry. No.” She stares at me for a moment, her eyes roaming up and down, really taking me in for the first time. Shit. I should have tried to Google the guy on the way here. I figured he was just some business man. I didn't know his name held any weight or was well known. I wouldn't think the temp agency would give me someone like that. Maybe I was given the wrong folder or something?

  “You know what? I think that makes it all the better.” Her eyes flick back to the file that lists everything about me. Not that there is much. Then back to my suitcase.

  “You need a place to live, dear?” Her eyes go soft when she asks me. My cheeks pinken a little with embarrassment but I straighten my shoulders and feign confidence.

  “I’m in the middle of moving, yes.”

  “Then maybe a live-in isn’t such a bad idea. Not like Colden doesn't have the room.” The elevator dings and the doors slide open, only to reveal two more doors. “I stole his key. Don’t snitch on me. I had to come find him this morning and I got annoyed I had to bang on the door for five minutes before he answered. What if he’d been dead?” She shakes her head.

  “Is he older?” I ask. She chuckles.

  “No, but he acts like a grumpy old man most of the time with a terrible addiction.”

  I pause. “Addiction.” I’m not sure I’m cut out for that kind of care taking.

  Charla must see the worry cross my face because she immediately begins to clarify her statement. “He’s addicted to work and being an asshole.” This time I snort a laugh. That is, until I see his place. “Oh. Did I mention he’s a mess and doesn't like people in his place?”