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Chapter One

Aspen

“Fuck off, you human equivalents of a participation award!”

Sure, it’s not the best insult I’ve ever thought up, but I’m furious and walking backward, away from the house, while my two ex-roommates watch me leave. I flip them off. Apparently they have wanted to ask me to move out for a while because I make their boyfriends uncomfortable.

Well, fuck their boyfriends!

All because Simon touched my ass, and I gave him a bloody nose. He deserved it, and yet I’m the one being punished. The fuck stain. And what is with fucking S names?

“Just so you know, your boyfriend has herpes. I overheard Lisa saying he blamed her.”

Sunny’s mouth drops open, and her face turns red. Yeah bitch, how do you like that shit? Your boyfriend is a whore and sleeps with the entire female population at Pinehaven University. Though Sunny had to know; she is head cheer bitch.

Honestly, I shouldn’t have accepted the room. It was a pity invite because her mother was best friends with mine back when they were in high school. Well, then my mom had me. But she dumped me on my grandmother’s doorstep and Gran raised me until she was sent to an old-age home. I work my ass off to make sure she has what she needs. The woman is a damn saint and deserves the best.

“Eat a dick, Aspen,” Sabrina throws back.

My ass bumps into my Uber. “Shit,” I mumble, before turning and jumping into the back, throwing my bag beside me.

I don’t have many possessions. When I moved in with Sabrina and Sunny, the room came fully furnished, and I was grateful I didn’t have to use my small amount of savings to buy furniture. School and work are all I have ever known. From the time I was old enough, I worked at Mary’s hair salon, sweeping floors and cleaning. I think she felt sorry for me, but from there I picked up as many odd jobs as I could. I now work at the local college bar, The Syllabus. It pays well in tips—from horny rich college guys who think they have a shot with me, which they don’t. The last thing I want is to get knocked up and end up like my parents, or more specifically, my mother. I have not heard from her since my sixteenth birthday. I thought she came to see me, but I was dead wrong—she stormed in and yelled at my grandmother and left, without even a “Happy birthday, daughter.” My father? Who knows who he is? She refuses to tell us and I’m probably better off anyway.

For good measure, as the car pulls away from the curb, I rise on the seat and press my ass cheeks to the window. I’m sure that will end up all over social media, and at this point I don’t care. I slump back in my seat and pull the seatbelt on.

Finally looking up, I blink a few times and scream.

This is not my Uber!

Panic sets in, my heart thumps against my chest, and sweat dampens my armpits. It is my worst nightmare come true. This is a Ridez car. They came out last month, a new technological advancement with no fucking driver—that does not sit well with me. The car continues as I hyperventilate. I’m not scared of much in this life, but cars that drive themselves just ain’t right. How the fuck do they know when to stop? Or what if a rogue driver cuts in front? What then?

In front of me is a screen which shows where I’m going and it’s all the way across town—the opposite direction of where I need to be.

Stabbing the emergency button makes a woman’s voice fill the space.

“How may I help you?”

“I—I need you to let me out.”

“I’m sorry, miss. Once the car auto locks you cannot get out until your destination.”

My head is dizzy and I’m on the verge of throwing up. “You don’t understand. I need to get the fuck out of this car NOW. This is not my ride. LET ME OUT!”

“If you would just calm down . . .”

“Calm down. Calm fucking down?! Put me on to someone who can help me, or I will fuck this car up.” Rummaging through my bag, I pull out a pair of nail scissors. They’re not a great weapon, but I can do damage to these leather seats if needed. I won’t do it, or at least I hope it won’t come to that, but I can’t be held responsible for what I will do when in panic mode.

The voice goes quiet.

“Hello,” a male voice says, and his smooth tone momentarily calms my nerves.

His face appears on the screen.

My chest tightens like a steel band is crushing my ribs. I can’t get enough air—each breath comes too fast, too shallow, like I’m drowning. Pins and needles shoot through my fingers as my hands curl in on their own accord. My vision blurs at the edges, dark spots creeping in as the car sways. My throat feels tight, like I’m breathing through a straw. Panic claws at my ribs, pressing harder.

I know I have to slow down my breathing, but my body refuses to listen. The more I gasp for air, the more I feel like I’m suffocating. Fear grips me—am I dying? Is this it?

“If I’m going to die, just lay the truth on me. Eventually, there will be no air left in here and I will suffocate. Fuck, how much air do we get in here?”

“Breathe. Just breathe,” the soothing voice says.

Everything is moving too fast. I try to count my breaths, but numbers slip from my mind. Reaching out, I grasp for something—someone—to ground me.

Oh shit, I’m going to hurl, and it spews from my mouth to coat the plush black carpet.

“You won’t die, I promise. Just keep breathing.”

I do as he says, drawing in breath after breath.

“The car will bring you to a stop very soon.”

The dizziness fades, but my hands still tremble, my skin now cold and clammy. Each breath slowly evens out, but my lungs still ache, as if I’ve run a marathon. I slump forward, drained, like my body has wrung itself dry. Wetness coats my legs, hands, and even feet.

“Good girl,” he praises.

“You could be a phone sex operator.”

The man chuckles as I close my eyes and rest my head against the window.

“Oh fuck, did we kill a teenybopper?” comes a different male voice.

That has me opening my eyes and glaring at the screen. “Excuse me, asshole, who are you calling a teenybopper? And what are you—Australian? Throw another shrimp on the barbie, mate.”

“I will have you know?—”

“Not now, Zeland. I don’t need my ass sued.”

“Yeah, listen to Mr. Phone Sex,” I mumble .

My entire body slumps back, and I hear someone chuckle. Fuck my life. Right when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse, I get kidnapped by a self-driving car.

I don’t know how long it continues driving, but Mr. Phone Sex keeps talking and I nearly drift off to sleep.

“I think she is asleep,” the one called Zeland whispers. “Since when are you nice to anyone?”

“Since I’ve launched Ridez and this little shit climbed in and fucking vomited all over one of my cars. Do you know how much this will set me back?” Mr. Phone Sex snarls. “Wait until she gets the bill.”

Someone snorts. “Yeah, she looks like she has the money to cover that; she barely looks like she can feed herself.”

They keep arguing as everything around me goes black.

The issue with panic attacks is they hit hard and fast—anywhere, anytime. I hate small spaces. I hate not feeling in control. But no matter how hard I try, I have zero control, and once they’re done, then I black out and sleep hard for a few hours.

“Do you think we killed her?” The whispered question registers as my brain comes back online.

“I fucking hope not—I don’t need this shit right now. You fix it and get rid of her.”

“But look how adorable she is. My cock is so hard right now.”

“Fuck off, Zee. Now isn’t the time for a boner.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t have dressed her in one of your shirts. I’m a weak man.”

“Fix this! You’re the one who sent the car to collect your hookup. You’re the reason we ended up in this mess.”

I grind my teeth together. “I can hear you assholes,” I snap, opening my eyes.

The light assaults my eyeballs as I gaze up at an extremely attractive man. He’s not a douchey jock; rather, he’s the sophisticated suit-wearing type who’s all man. He smiles down at me with his perfectly straight teeth. How tall is this man? Jesus.

“Okay, gigantor, step back.”

The man moves back with a smirk as I sit up.

Looking down, I see I’m now dressed in a white button-up shirt. I know I’m tiny; I stopped growing at a solid five foot one when puberty hit. But in my ass-kicking boots, I’m at least two to three inches taller.

“I’m not that tall. I’m only six foot four. And it’s Zeland, actually.”

With a snort, I stand from the lounge chair.

“Maybe you’re just short,” he adds.

“No shit, Sherlock, you solved the case. Yes, I’m short, but I can still cause major bodily harm. Now where am I?”

“You’re at my house. I redirected the car because, well, you threw up everywhere and now I have to get it detailed. If it goes back to headquarters, it will lock up for the night.”

I shake my head. “So let me get this straight—you sent a car for a hookup, but were sending the poor bitch to your headquarters and not to your house.”

“I don’t need them getting any ideas; women can be crazy.”

My eyes widen, and rage pulses through my veins. “Women are not all crazy! Men are just fucking assholes with no clue.”

His eyes roam over my body, and I wrap my arms around my waist.

“Maybe. But when you have money, you need to separate your real life from the women you fuck. However, I wasn’t hooking up, I was interviewing her for a job. I don’t shit where I eat.”

I raise a brow; I don’t believe a word. “It was nice meeting you, but if you could point me in the direction of my clothes and bag, I will get out of your hair.”

“The housekeeper is washing your clothes—you vomited on everything. It reminded me of my thirteenth birthday and the epic goon bag?—”

“Goon bag?”

He sighs. “Never mind, it’s an Australian thing. Your clothes should be done soon, and then you can leave. Would you like something to eat or drink while you wait?”

“Yes, actually I would. After the shit show of a day I have had, I am hungry, thirsty, and fucking horny, and there is fuck all I can do about them on my own except the last one.”

His eyes go wide and then laughter echoes through the room. This place is massive and decorated minimally. Who would want to live in a house where you can hear an echo when you talk?

“I can help you with all three, but how about we start with something to eat?”

I narrow my eyes at him. As if Mr. Rich and Fancy had any chance of getting into my pants—well, if I was wearing any. His shirt falls to my damn knees, but the material is the softest I have ever felt in my life.

“That sounds great—the food, that is.”

Zeland leads me out of the living room, and I try to keep up with his longer stride. Not that I’m complaining about being behind him because he has a fantastic ass. The man is gorgeous, impeccably put together, his blond hair longer at the top and clipped neatly around the sides. He turns back, smirking at me, and the twinkle in his blue eyes screams he is trouble with a capital T.

We reach the kitchen, and he pulls out a stool at the kitchen island. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” I shrug. “Because there really isn’t much to tell.”

“Your name would be a good start, and how you ended up in my car a close second.”

His smile is contagious, and it’s the only explanation why I smile back. “My name is Aspen. I got kicked out of my share house today. And while I was telling my roommate that her boyfriend has herpes, I jumped into your death trap. And... well, you know the rest.”

“You got kicked out of your house? Why?”

I snort. “Many reasons, but mainly they didn’t like how I punched one of their boyfriends in the nose because he touched my ass.”

“Sounds like he deserved it,” Zeland replies as he opens the fridge and grabs out a plate, putting it into the microwave. “So what are your plans now?”

I shrug. “No idea. I was heading into work to see if one of the girls would let me crash on their couch until I can find something else.”

“Your parents can’t help you out?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t seen my mother in five years, and she refuses to tell me who my father is. Though I have enough saved to get a place on my own, I would prefer not to spend it. My grandmother isn’t doing well, and I help with her expenses, plus I have school.”

“School?” he says, scrunching his nose, and I laugh.

“I go to PHU. I do plan to do more than sell myself on the corner.”

His eyes go wide, and he opens his mouth, which makes me laugh even harder.

“I’m not a prostitute, if that is what you were thinking. The thought has crossed my mind about becoming a stripper, except I can’t dance, I’m really not that sexy, and my tits are way too small to draw a crowd.”

The microwave dings and he turns to grab the plate out, then puts it down in front of me. My mouth waters at the sight of the meat and vegetables; it’s been a while since I had a home-cooked meal.

“Are you sure it’s okay if I eat this? It’s not your dinner?” I ask, picking up the cutlery he places down beside the plate. He shakes his head.

“It’s Ridge’s,” he says as I take my first mouthful.

“Ridge?”

He chuckles. “The dick who you thought had a phone sex voice. He is my business partner, best mate, and stepbrother. Or he was my stepbrother for a brief two years.”

“And you’re letting me eat his food, why?”

“Because...” he says, turning his back to me as he gets two bottles of water from the refrigerator. “It’s fun to piss him off and knowing that the girl who derailed his afternoon also ate his food will be hilarious.”

I contemplate feeling guilty but decide against it. These men look like they have more money than sense.

“Plus, he gets rough when he is angry.”

“So you like it rough? And you left out he’s your boyfriend.”

That makes him throw his head back in laughter, and I see the shadow of a tattoo peeking out from under his business shirt.

“Let me see if he’s still here and you can ask him if we are boyfriends.”

“Somehow, I don’t think he will find that funny.”

Zeland leans on the counter in front of me. “No, he wouldn’t. Ridge Ellington doesn’t do commitment, which suits me fine. I like to fuck. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be talking—we would be fucking right now. I should have been a prostitute, except sucking an old man’s cock doesn’t sound appealing.”

I gag at the thought. That’s a hard no from me. “Hmm, I wouldn’t have pegged you as bi.”

“You could just peg me instead... if you’re into that kind of thing.”

“I wouldn’t know what I’m into. I don’t have time for complications or to get knocked up at twenty-one.”

A huge smile creeps over his face. “You’re a virgin, that’s cute.”

I snort. “Now I didn’t say that—I said I wouldn’t know what I like. I’m not the most experienced, and the handful of times I gave in to a jock were less than stellar. If I had to give a review, they would have gotten one star for at least getting it up.”

“Oh, Pocket Rocket, can I keep you? You could be my own personal fuck toy; we could have so much fun.”

“As appealing as that sounds, I have to go house hunting and find a second job.”

He wiggles his brows at me.

“You are not paying me to fuck you. That brings us full circle to the prostitute thing.”

“What if I offered you a room here while you look for somewhere else? It’s the least we could do for trapping you in one of our cars.”

He is a complete stranger—how could I possibly say yes? Though if I look for a room somewhere else, those people would be strangers too.

“You can call it even for not suing us. ”

“Why would I sue you?”

“Because the Ridez car door should not have opened if you didn’t have the app on your phone with the booking. So technically, it malfunctioned.”

“Oh, well, I still wouldn’t sue you.”

“Please stay, it’s mostly only me here. Ridge stays at the penthouse above the office. We have more than enough room, and I will put you in a separate wing, so you feel safe.”

I’m still skeptical. Why would he offer me a room when he doesn’t know me? But right now I’m in no position to reject his offer. The girls at work barely tolerate me, and I get along with the men, but I know they want to fuck me; most have tried. I have no friends at PHU because I made a point not to make any, as I don’t have time to maintain them.

“Okay, a week max. It shouldn’t take me longer than that to find somewhere.”

That damn smile on his face is fucking contagious.