Page 5 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

ALISHA

As I examine myself in the bathroom mirror, I let out a tired huff.

Bags under my eyes, check. Dull skin tone, check.

After applying foundation, I continue with peachy rose blush to add life to my cheekbones.

Makeup is my armor today. The long lash mascara and my signature red lipstick complete the transformation from exhausted to alive.

My collection of lipsticks—from soft nude to fire engine red—is my secret weapon. Different shade for every battle.

A loud bang on my door sends the lipstick flying across my face. "Fuck." Now I look like the Joker's girlfriend. As I grab a tissue to wipe away the red smear, another bang echoes through my apartment.

"Alisha, open the door!"

I roll my eyes at Amanda's excited voice. "Keep your panties on, girl. I'm coming." When I swing the door open, my friend and boss practically bounces inside, radiating an energy that's too much for my sleep-deprived brain.

"What's with the yelling? Did you score last night? Because that enormous smile is disturbing."

Amanda ignores my grumpiness and heads straight for my kitchen. "I've found the perfect apartment for you."

For the first time in ten days, excitement flutters in my chest. After my call to the police station, an officer had come by, looked at the note, and basically shrugged.

No explicit threat meant no real action.

His brilliant advice? Ask the landlord to install cameras or stay with friends.

Like hell I'm running to my friends with my problems.

"Are you serious?" I follow Amanda into the kitchen, hope warring with suspicion.

"Yep. They've got top-notch security. Twenty-four-hour surveillance, restricted access, the works."

My heart rate picks up. "That's exactly what I need. Where is it? How did you find it?"

"A friend of mine owns this apartment." Amanda suddenly finds her water glass fascinating. "Never thought of that possibility until Nick pointed it out."

I raise a brow. "You spoke with Nick about my problems?"

"Girl, he's my brother who's married to one of your best friends."

I let out a huff. "Fine. Back to the apartment. Who owns it?"

"Y-You've met him."

I narrow my eyes as Amanda fills a glass with water and hands it to me. Her teeth worry her bottom lip—never a good sign. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing! This place is perfect. Non-residents can't even get in without permission." She sees my expression and caves. "Okay, I'll tell you, but promise not to freak out."

I stomp my heel on the floor. "For fuck's sake! Spill it, Amanda."

She crosses her arms. "The apartment belongs to Cole. I've called him, and we're going to visit him together so you can ask about renting it."

Cole?

The name hits like a shot of tequila—burning all the way down. Images flash through my mind: piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, that infuriating smirk...

"No! Not in a million years."

"Alisha, Stop being such a goddamn stubborn mule." Amanda's finger jabs the air between us. "You want a new apartment, and I found you the perfect one. You only need to ask him nicely. What's the problem with that?"

I pinch my nose and close my eyes. Everything is wrong with that. That man's presence affects me in ways that confuse me, and living in his building means... Fuck.

"You need to set away that goddamn pride of yours and accept help. That apartment is perfect for you."

I rub my hands over my face. My wish to feel safe in my house is sky high. But why Cole? That man's presence affects me in ways that confuse me, and living in his building means... Fuck.

"Please, Alisha, do this for yourself and your friends because you can't keep living here. And you'll thank me when you see the place. I promise."

God, this is a bad idea, but Amanda is right. I can't stay here much longer, and living in an apartment building with security would provide me a sense of safety that will help me sleep at night.

"Fine," I grunt. "Wait here. I need to put on my heels."

A friendly uniformed doorman greets us as he opens the door.

I follow Amanda through the luxurious lobby, our heels clicking on the marble floor.

My eyes drift up to the giant chandelier dangling from the sky-high ceiling.

After Amanda registers our arrival with the concierge, we're granted access to the elevators.

"Are you shitting me, Amanda?" I wait until we're inside the elevator before opening my mouth. "This is the most luxurious apartment building in Boston. I can't afford this place."

"You want protection," she declares with a shrug. "This place has a twenty-four-hour concierge service and security."

I let out a huff. "Didn't you listen? I can't..." The ping of the elevator cuts me off. Amanda gives me a side glance and cruises out when the doors slide open.

My throat gets drier with each step, and the knot in my stomach tightens when she knocks on a massive wooden door. It only takes a minute to open, and my heart hammers when Cole fills the doorway.

"What took you so long?" he asks Amanda. "Get in. I need your help." With that, he turns and walks back.

Amanda shrugs at his weird behavior, and we enter.

Cole stands midway in his enormous living room, facing the grand glass panels with an unobstructed outside view.

He's wearing a plain white t-shirt that clings to every muscle.

Never did I find a man in a simple white t-shirt sexy.

But I just found an exception to the rule.

"Please, I need you to talk to a fifteen-year-old who has locked herself in her bedroom." As he rambles, he turns, and when he spots me, his eyes narrow. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His impassioned attitude and spitting voice have an instant effect on me, but before I can react, Amanda cuts in. "Why do you have a teenager in your house?"

He runs his fingers through his messy hair, and I notice his beard is longer than normal, enhancing his rough exterior. Stop staring at him, Alisha.

A hard, high-pitched angry yell fills the air, and everyone's head turns to the right. "These are the wrong ones!"

A box flies, and when it lands on the ground, its contents spill over the floor. Amanda and I zoom in on the tampons rolling through the living room. My eyes fly to Cole, whose brows draw closer together. Amanda laughs as she picks up a torpedo-shaped cotton item and holds it up.

"Who is she?"

Cole rubs the nape of his neck. "My daughter."

"What?" Amanda's voice shrieks.

"I'll explain later." He runs his hands another time through his hair, and I catch the lost look in his eyes. The mighty Cole Walker, brought to his knees by feminine hygiene products. Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest.

"Where is she?" I ask, already moving.

He surveys me for a few seconds, like he's trying to figure out my angle. "Straight ahead, turn left into the hall. It's the third door on your right."

"And her name?"

"Samantha," he adds with defeat.

I make my way to the hallway, chuckling when I catch Amanda saying, "Oh, don't worry. Alisha will handle her just right. Why don't you make me a cup of coffee and tell me how you've become a father of a fifteen-year-old girl?"

He lets out a sigh, and they walk another way. I keep walking until I've arrived at the door he mentioned and knock. As I wait, I rummage through my bag and pull out two items.

"Samantha?" I call in a calm voice. "Are you okay?"

A few moments later, the door opens, and two heavenly blue eyes peek through the crack. Jesus, they remind me of his.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Alisha, and I thought you might need these," I say, holding up my hand.

Her eyes lower, and when she sees what I'm carrying, she walks back while leaving the door open. I enter and find the young girl standing in the middle with her arms crossed in front of her, head downward. I hold out the chocolates and the menstrual warriors.

"Thank you," she murmurs politely, while taking them from me. My lips curl into a soft smile.

"No problem, girls stick together. Especially during their periods."

A faint smile surfaces when I walk further into the sizable bedroom. The walls, bed linens, and ceiling are white, and the only color in the space is greyish carpet. This is not what I'd call a girl's room. Men.

She walks past me, sits on her bed, and places her hands in front of her face. "He's terrible at communication," she whines.

I let out a chuckle. Like father, like daughter—both allergic to using their words.

Her gaze comes up. "I asked him to buy a specific brand of tampon, and he came back with the wrong kind. I want to go back to Los Angeles."

She shifts her head and gazes outside when her eyes get watery. My heart clenches. Poor kid's whole world just got flipped upside down.

"When did you arrive here?" I ask.

She lets out a huff. "A week ago."

After opening the package of chocolate, she places two in her mouth and holds the package out to me. I take one and walk back to the window where I sense her investigative eyes inspecting me.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

I cough, nearly choking on the chocolate. "Oh, no. I'm a friend."

We stay silent, and I can sense she's still observing me. "You're stunning. I love your clothing and makeup style."

I glance her way, and at that moment, I see a shy teenager who struggles with herself and her unfamiliar environment. "Can you talk to him? I don't know how. He doesn't talk very much. Please, Alisha."

I meet the tint-lighter, female version of those bright blue eyes and find myself replying. "Sure, I'll try."

"Thank you." She pops out another chocolate and turns on the flat-screen television hanging on the wall, and I make my way to the door.

"See you later, Samantha."

She sends me a smile as I leave.

As I walk back to the living room over the wide-plank hardwood floor with light-colored finish, I chuckle. His interior suits him. The broad couch and the robust wood and metal dining table remind me of his solid, muscular body. Stop it, Alisha. Focus.