Protect Me From Myself

Welcome to the first book in this box set of 17 books! Believe is the first book in the Archer Series - Sarah and Benton's story. Now, I will forewarn you that these stories were written when I was 15, so they're not my best work. There will be trigger warnings posted in some chapters because most of these books contain trauma, abuse, and PTSD-inducing story lines. I will always warn readers of upcoming chapters that may cause upset. If you would rather skip those chapters, then do so, I will not be offended. Also, please remember I was a child when I wrote these stories as a way of escaping my life at the time. They won't be the best, but I did my best. I could sit for hours, days, weeks, and months rewriting these stories, but I won't. They are what they are, and it's up to you to like them or not. But please remember to be kind, because kindness costs nothing. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but unnecessary and hurtful comments are not needed. Enjoy! Sarah Here goes another drunken customer who can’t take no for an answer. I’m only glad I’m on this side of the bar. He can’t get his grubby hands on me – just as he said he would should he get the chance. I’d break his hands if he touched me! No one touches me without permission. Never again will I let that happen. I wouldn’t usually mind drunken customers, but I’ve been on my feet for the past eight hours, and all I want to do is go home and take a nice, long, hot shower before crawling into my big, comfy bed. But there’s fat chance of that happening, I’m working until midnight. Why did I agree to a ten-hour shift? Did I really need the money this badly? Of course, I did; how else will I make this month’s rent? I hate being broke, it sucks. That doesn’t mean I’ll sell myself as some have suggested I do. I’m not bashing those who do it because they have to, but I’m not desperate enough to do such a thing. I answer to no one, and I work hard to earn enough for what I need. I’ll press on like I always do because I don’t have any other choice. God, I hate my life; it fuc.king sucks! I shouldn’t complain, I love working here at étoiles corail. A French restaurant I’ve worked at for the past six months. I work the bar. Apparently, the boss thinks I have good people skills, and the fact I don’t take shi.t from anyone really helps. I’m friendly with everyone, but I know when to be firm with people. The boss likes that about me, or so she says. I never really see much of her; if I’m honest, she only comes into the restaurant once or twice a week. My boss is a thirty-year-old, highly-strung woman. I sometimes think she’d be much nicer to work for if she had a decent lay. I shouldn’t say such a thing, and though I like Adele, she can be a bit high-maintenance. I like working here at the restaurant. It wasn’t easy gaining employment, but I made an impression. The people I work with are friendly to me. I didn’t get much of that back home, so it was a nice change. The only thing I hate about working here is my uniform: a black pencil skirt, a white blouse, a black vest, and black stockings. It seems so formal. Yes, I’m aware that is the usual attire for a high-class restaurant, but it’s suffocating. I always tie my hair up in a high bun. But for some reason, my hair has a nasty habit of falling out of place, much to my annoyance. I bet I look a mess half the time. Then again, it doesn’t stop men coming on to me all the time. It makes me laugh; I enjoy the attention. What girl doesn’t want the attention of hot men? Not that all of them are hot, but I get a lot of attention from older men who seem to want to be my sugar daddy. I have nothing against older men, but I don’t particularly want to go there again for as long as I live. I don’t engage in anything other than light conversation with anyone, though, and I never give any man the idea I would like more. “Scotch, please.” I sense whoever it is taking a perch on a stool at the bar is feeling disheveled. I wonder if he’s had a hard day. He certainly gives off that feeling; I can sense it in his tone of voice. I have to say that his voice is thick and deep and has my pus.sy clenching before I’ve even taken a look at him. How is that even possible? I don’t even want anything to do with a man for a very long time. The last time I had a relationship, the only time, it left me scarred beyond repair. Not that that should mean I stay away from men altogether, but I don’t need a man for anything, not even se.x. I can pleasure myself better than any man around. Grow up, Sara; you’re still a woman. I chastise myself. I haven’t looked at the guy yet, but I can tell he’s going to be devastatingly handsome in all the right ways. What am I? Physic? Furthermore, why do I always have to imagine what people look like before I actually look at them? He could be some older man with a hot voice. My knack for attracting them is not lost on me. Older men, I mean. They are much older men, I might add. I don’t look at the guy as I hand him a scotch. “Put it on my tab.” “What tab would that be?” I have no choice but to look at him now. The second my eyes meet his, I’m floored. Why did he have to be so gorgeous and young-looking? Why couldn’t he have just had a hot voice and been ugly with it? In his fifties or something? I’ve never seen eyes as blue as this man in front of me. They look like the sky in the middle of summer, and they’re so mesmerizing. His features are that of the most beautiful male model. His hands are large and strong-looking—his hair so dark with light waves coursing through it. I can only imagine the muscles that encase his body. Even wearing a suit, I can see the contours of his muscles through his shirt. Jesus Christ, why did he have to look this good? All I can now think about is how hot he’d look naked, how good he’d make me feel should he fuc.k me. I’ve never thought like that about any man. Okay, I’ve fantasized about men fuc.king me. I’m human, after all, but they’re usually famous people, as sad as that sounds. But my experiences with men in real life are not good. Not good at all. God, I need to get laid! It’s been so long the cobwebs have formed an impregnable forte! “Mon onglet...” “I’m sorry,” I wave my hand at him. “I don’t speak French.” Shi.t, he’s French! That sounds crazy when I work in a French restaurant, and most people who work here can speak some form of French. My French goes as far as, ‘Hello. My name is Sarah’ And, ‘Goodbye’ And I only know that because the chef taught me. You would think I would have tried harder to learn, wouldn’t you? The truth is, I’m not very good at paying attention to things that don’t interest me. Languages don’t interest me, but then nothing much does these days. I’m old before my time, and my life is boring. I exist; I do not live. Maybe it’s time I pulled myself out of this miserable hole I’ve found myself in. There has to be more out there than what I’ve allowed myself to believe. “Excuse me,” He smiles in the way of apology. God, he has the most fantastic smile. “My name is Benton,” Benton. I like it. It’s different. Benton doesn’t have a French accent; his accent is just like mine. Why would he speak French if he’s not French? Was he trying to impress me? I try not to smirk because I wouldn’t mind this Herculean hunk trying to impress me. Wishful thinking because men like him don’t go for women like me. Sh.it, now I’m playing the pity card! I’m not ugly, but my attitude can be off-putting. I push people away before they get too close – a habit I haven’t shaken yet. “What’s yours?” “Sarah,” I offer weakly. “Sarah,” He repeats with a smile on his face. My name falls from his lips like silk. “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.” “It’s nice to meet you too, Ben,” I smirk before walking away from him. Dammit, I still didn’t get his full name to put it down in the tabs book. I’ll have to look it up, which is annoying. The big black book of names is long! Though if this man is asking for a tab, he’ll be in there. It shouldn’t take me long to find him. How many Benton’s can there be? It doesn’t take long to find his name; he’s at the top of the VIP list, which can only mean he’s someone of great importance. Benton R Archer. God, that’s one hell of a sexy name. I’ll be having good dreams about him tonight. Benton I noticed the pretty brunette serving drinks behind the bar from across the room. Her hair was tied in a high bun, and no makeup covered her pretty face, just a little pink lipgloss that made her lips look beyond kissable. If I’m honest, I’d been watching her for the past few days. The way she moves behind that bar, the way her hips sway when she’s waiting tables. Which isn’t technically her job; my sister didn’t hire the girl for that. But she’s the good kind of employee who will help out where and when it’s needed, and she’s damn good at her job. I own this place along with my older half-sister, Adele. I’ve been away for a few months, traveling on business. I do it a lot. It’s not unusual when you run a company as large as my father’s. Which once belonged to my grandfather. Of all the sons my grandfather could have picked to take over his architectural company, and my grandfather has eight sons, he chose my father. Why did he choose my father? Because the six sons older than my father, Roman, all had successful businesses of their own. My grandfather thought that if he gave his company to his son, just older than his youngest, it would sort my father out and give him a sense of responsibility. My father's youngest brother, Philip, was cast out of the family when he was nothing more than a child. I don’t know the ins and outs as to why, but I know that my father loves his youngest brother and has never treated Philip like an outsider. Regardless, my father took the company, but he’s now more what you would call a “silent partner.” My dad would rather travel the world than sit behind a desk. Dad is a lover of the world, of both women and men, and he can’t be tied down to one place or one person. It’s none of my business what he gets up to; Roman is still a handsome man with a lot of charm. Who the hell am I to begrudge him? And so I’m now in charge of Archer Architectural Construction. I also own a few other businesses, such as theater houses, museums, boating companies, and even my own mountain and Island. I’m a financial adviser on Wall Street to add to my list of successes. I’m successful and proud, and nothing stands in my way. People fall at my feet, whether I want them to or not. I don’t want people to bow down to me; I’m not a dictator. However, I do like to be in control when it comes to women, in the bedroom, at least. I’ve never had any complaints, and no one tells me no. So a girl like Sarah should be easy to get into my bed, right? Somehow, I don’t think so. Sarah didn’t even recognize me. Okay, I don’t come here all that often anymore. I leave the running of the place to my sister, but everyone in Manhattan knows who the Archer’s are. But Sara looked right through me. Of course, I like this. It means Sarah doesn’t want me for my money or standing. It means I can take her on a date and fuc.k her because she wants me and not what I can do for her career. Which I might add, every woman I date wants from me. I’ve dated models, actresses, singers, you name it, and all they want is a helping hand in whichever business they’re trying to break into. No, Miss Sarah will be mine. I just have to figure out how to get her to agree to a date. I’m not sure my heavy-handed tactics will work on Sarah. She’s strong and independent, and that’s what I like about her. “Ron, I need you to look through the employee files at étoiles corail.” “Sir?” Ron is my go-to guy when I need information on a person. Right now, I need information on little Miss Sarah. “We have an employee by the name of Sarah. I need a surname, address, and phone number. The usual. I need that information within the hour.” “Yes, sir.” The line goes dead. Yes, Sarah is just what I’m looking for. Beautiful, classy, clean-cut, not fake, on the outside at least, and by the look of her small breasts through her shirt, I could tell they weren’t fake either. Goddammit, I don’t even know the girl, and she’s got my coc.k so fuc.king hard I’m going to have to spend most of the night allowing my coc.k and hand to be best friends! I’m a lover of women, but never has one gotten me so worked up before. Not one I’ve said, just a few words to. Not one whose smile floored me the second I saw it. I don’t give a damn what anyone says about instant attraction being only se.xual; there was something more there. For me, at least. How crazy is that? What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve had infatuations before; I’m a man; we all do. It’s what we do about those infatuations that counts. Sometimes, I’ve acted on them, and sometimes I haven’t. I’m a billionaire, and there is always someone who’ll write shi.t about me; I’ve been through it far too many times to stupidly let my guard down. Money talks in this town, and when you have a lot of it, you can get away with anything! I have no plans to stalk Sarah, and I most definitely will not hurt her. But there’s something about that girl that calls to me. I can see how strong and determined she is. Sarah doesn’t need a man to complete her, and that is so fuc.king appealing to me. All in all, Sarah isn’t a damsel in distress, and I want her, and I will have her. I am Benton Archer, and Archer’s never give up, and they always get what they want.