Sinful Mates (Savage Series Collection)

Imogen The sun is barely breaking through the windshield of my beat-up Honda Civic as I groggily wake up. My body aches as I stretch, trying to get into a comfortable position. I have been living in my car for nearly three months, and my body is protesting my living predicament. Sitting up, I shield my eyes with my hand from the brutal sun and tug my blanket around myself, trying to warm my freezing cold skin. An empty vodka bottle rolls off the seat and onto the passenger side floorboard. Now, I know what you probably think - I'm an alcoholic. I'm not, nor do I ever, drink and drive. The first night I had to sleep in my car, it was minus three degrees. I was in danger of freezing. Luckily for me, my mother's drinks had helped save the day. My trunk was half full of spirits. I wasn't lying when I said she liked a drink. I was going to dispose of it but was glad I hadn't that horrendous night—her bestie, vodka, seconded by her equally harsh friend, tequila. I've never been much of a drinker; watching her was enough to deter me from taking that path. But on that freezing night, I decided, why not? I grabbed a bottle, hoping to help myself sleep and forget that I was now homeless and living in my car. My life was already at a pretty crappy crossroads, so what would one more vice hurt? That night I learned that alcohol could get you through the bitterest wintry nights. You don't feel the sting of the air when you're intoxicated. In fact, you feel little of anything. My alcohol tolerance has become rather impressive. I don't drink myself to oblivion, but on nights like the first night I spent in this cramped car, I knocked a few back to help chase away the cold like last night. Exhaling, I watch the sun slowly rise over the horizon, bringing its warm rays to chase the chills away, the heat filtering through the windshield. There is one plus side to living in your car. I am always on time for work; it helps that I live in the workplace parking garage, making me never late. No one knows that little secret except the janitor, Tom. A sixty-year-old man, balding on top, with kind eyes, a cuddly figure, and a grandfatherly nature. He stumbled upon me sleeping in my car one night. I told him it was only temporary, so he kept my secret. My bosses just think I am an eager and enthusiastic worker. I'm always the first to work besides Tom, who opens the parking garage and the building, and I am always the last to leave. I'm not about to correct them. They can assume whatever they want. I need this job. Reaching for the ignition, I turn my car on; my phone instantly lights up and charges through the lighter socket while my engine growls in complaint. It is 7 AM. Getting up, I lean over into the back and grab my outfit for the day that is hanging from the roof by the back door. Sliding my seat all the way back, I shimmy my track pants off and grab a fresh set of panties. Pulling them up my legs, then putting my black slacks on and buttoning them up. Peeking around to make sure no one is within eyeshot, I grab my bra and duck down behind the steering wheel. I don't want to give Tom a heart attack. After ripping my shirt off, I put my white button-up blouse on. I've just finished slipping my heels on when I notice Tom walking up the driveway to the top level of the parking garage. I toss my sleeping pants on the bottles to hide them and smile at him. Swinging my door open. "Hey, Tom," I greet, waving at him quickly, then reach in and grab my handbag from the passenger seat. Tom walks over, holding two paper cups. My favorite part of the morning, it has become our morning ritual. Every morning Tom walks all the way to the top level of the parking garage, brings me a coffee, and we both walk back down to the entry together. "Hi, love. How was your night?" Tom asks, concern evident in his voice. "It was fine, a bit chilly, but nothing I'm not used to by now," I tell him, grabbing the styrofoam cup from his hand. Wrapping my fingers around the cup, I let the heat warm my palms, almost hesitant to drink the beverage and lose my source of warmth. It is silly; I'd be plenty warm inside the office. "You know you can always stay…." Shaking my head, I cut him off before he can continue. "Tom, I know, but really, I'm fine. This is only temporary." I give him the same smile he gets every time he suggests I come to stay with him. The mask that everything is okay in my world and this is just a minor bump in the road. This small lie slips over me effortlessly like a well-practiced rehearsal. I repeat it daily to him; I sometimes wonder if I'm accepting this as my new normal. He shakes his head. Every morning for the last few months, he's heard the same excuse. He knows there is no use arguing with me. I'm too stubborn and am not one for accepting help, even if it would help prevent frostbite. Tom continues to the door before punching in the security code to let us into the building. He's offered for me to stay with him and his wife more than a dozen times by now. But I don't want to intrude; it isn't so bad here. It is a lot safer than the park I was initially parked at. I shudder at those hazy memories of what could have happened to me. No, being at the top of a parking garage, safe in my car, is far better. Tom lets me in early every morning. I usually go straight upstairs to my desk, which is conveniently directly in front of the air conditioner. Catching the elevator to the top floor, I step into the foyer and walk to my desk, my heels clicking on the marble floors. Grabbing the AC remote, I turn the heater up full blast and stand directly under it, warming myself up while I sip my coffee. Once warmed up, I sit at my desk, start my laptop, and look over the day's schedule and any notes I have left for myself. I have been working at Kane and Madden industries for around twelve months. I'm the secretary for Theo Madden and Tobias Kane. They own the tech company, and I am about 98 percent sure they are a couple. Not that I have seen them officially together or anything at any of the company parties, or even shared a glance with each other outside these doors. They have separate offices, but they have this way of communicating. They always seem so in sync with each other, and I have caught them staring weirdly at each other. I have also walked in on Theo kissing and sucking on Tobias's neck. So that is a pretty big indicator that they are a little more than business partners. I must admit it was hot, and it kind of turned me on, until Tobias noticed me gawking which made Theo freeze, and then it got awkward and tense really fast. I ran from the room. They never mentioned it, so I assumed I was let off the hook. I've since added that memory to the “it never happened” file of my brain. It's a shame they are both gay. They are the hottest gay couple I've ever seen. Or whatever their dynamic is. Tobias is the more imposing one. His intense gaze sends shivers down my spine and chilling vibes that rival my car; even before I'd walked in on him. If he weren't gay, I'd think I am prey with the way he stares. Sometimes, when he speaks to me, he gets this faraway expression, like he is looking straight through me instead of at me. It isn't the only awkward encounter I've had with Tobias; I swear I heard him growl once. People don't growl, not like predators do. I put it down to the 18-hour shift I’d worked that day. Tobias Kane is tall, dark-haired, muscular, has a 5 o'clock shadow, possesses a strong jaw, and is gifted with sharp, piercing blue eyes. Theo Madden, on the other hand, has softer features. He is just as tall as Tobias but has a very casual, laid-back attitude and fluffy brown hair that is short on the sides and a little longer on the top. He has green eyes that sparkle when he talks to me and high cheekbones. Both are breathtakingly handsome. Even after all the time working there, I still get stunned by their godlike appearances. I'm astonished that I haven't been fired. I have been caught way too many times daydreaming, staring off into space, and having very inappropriate thoughts about my bosses. But I also know I'm extremely good at my job. No one has lasted this long as their secretary, and no one is willing to do the sometimes-grueling hours I have endured in my position. Once I finish checking my laptop, I check the time. It is 8:30 AM. I still have half an hour before my bosses arrive. Slipping out of my seat, I rush to the bathroom with my handbag. Setting my makeup on the counter, I quickly pull my hairbrush out and brush my unruly waist-length blonde hair. After deciding to pull it into a high ponytail, I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and quickly brush my teeth. I apply some mascara to my already long, thick eyelashes and some eyeliner to brighten my dark green eyes before putting on some red lipstick. It contrasts nicely with my fair skin. I'm so glad this floor has no cameras because it would be embarrassing if my bosses found out about my morning routine. Plus, they would see me in all my morning bedhead (or car head) glory. Tom doesn't count. He doesn't care what I look like, and I'm always comfortable around him. But if anyone else had seen me, it might have gotten a bit awkward. Once I finish, I quickly duck into the small kitchenette and prepare their coffees for their arrival. I hear the elevator ding just as I finish making them. I place them on a tray and hurry back to my desk, tray in hand. It's the perfect routine, and it has never failed me once.