CHASE (The Heartbreak Club Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Chase

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Chase

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Blayne

  Copyright © 2017 by Elle Harte

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  ELLE HARTE ROMANCE

  www.elleharteromance.com

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Orders by U.S. trade bookstores and wholesalers. Please contact AMAZON PUBLISHING

  Printed in the United States of America

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

  HARTE, ELLE.

  CHASE: A HEARTBREAK CLUB SERIES BOOK / Elle Harte

  ISBN: 9781549828225

  1. The main category of the book —Romance —Other category. New Adult 2. Contemporary Romance. 3.

  First Edition

  The man you want is chasing you but everything about him ticks off all the wrong boxes.

  Blayne Worthington thinks every guy will end up like her ex and doesn't want a relationship.

  Chase Cooper wants Blayne and even though he has a history of running away from relationships, he doesn't want that anymore, because Blayne is the perfect woman for him.

  Will they keep running from their futures or will they finally be able to trust each other long enough to let love heal them?

  Blayne

  The clamor of the L-train was a crude background to my shattered life. It was part of the symphony of the subway system, the consistent drone of mechanical sounds, but it wasn’t drowning out my thoughts.

  While everyone else was on the road to their destination, I was headed to mine. I just didn’t know it yet. And my inability to see the future made it impossible for me to foresee the events that were about to change the course of my destiny. Events that, unbeknownst to my ignorant past self, would lead me to the man who was about to bring such an upheaval in my life, even my worst fears and inhibitions wouldn’t be strong enough to keep him out.

  A man who only cared about winning, and was known to the world as a Heartbreaker—part of an elite secret club of young, enigmatic billionaires. It was the kind of dangerous thrill, I always stayed away from. So, how I got thrust into that world, was both strange and sudden, thanks to a man named Chase Cooper.

  But on that day, when I was in the train, I was still heartbroken over the betrayal of another man, one that I was engaged to and that I was supposed to marry.

  I was stuck with a bunch of strangers, all crammed in together in their unwanted journey. The car was a mélange of strange faces. An alcoholic father sat next to his two kids, pretending to be sober, despite his slurred words; and every time someone spoke, a toddler would launch into agitated cries, forcing his distraught mother to struggle with her composure in public. An old woman sat in one corner, clutching her pocketbook, and pretending she wasn’t legally blind, next to a man in a cheap business suit playing Angry Birds. I felt like the odd one out, but then I always felt that way. This insecurity wasn’t new to me, it was the reason I was so meticulous in my demeanor and articulate about my actions. It was my way of trying to fit in. But right now, I wanted to disappear and not be seen. I wanted to keep my failure a secret.

  A man stood next to my seat in a faded, green army surplus jacket with what I sincerely hoped were old mustard stains, and he was ogling me. I pulled my five thousand-dollar Versace dress over my knees, as though that would keep me safe from the man’s filthy glare. I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. How do you dress for something like betrayal? How do you dress for the upheaval of your world and its sudden and unexpected foray into despair and devastation? It was like I’d stepped into my worst nightmare—if only I could wake up.

  The man was grinning at me with his crooked, malformed teeth and when he lurched toward my seat from the train’s erratic motion, the faint rotten stink of stale urine made me gag. But the two bags I was carrying, made it impossible for me to look for another seat, and standing wasn’t something I could trust my body to do. So, I pretty much stayed glued to my seat the entire ride.

  There was no point in tugging at the dress. I could be wearing a nun’s habit and still get raped. I couldn’t believe that these thoughts were in my head. What if he followed me when I got out? I hated being in some train and being alone. I hated feeling out of place. It was the one thing I’d always feared.

  Ever since I was a kid, I’d found ways to get around my many weaknesses. To overcompensate for my innate lack of confidence, I made sure I wore what was appropriate, and said what was appropriate. So, this ridiculously short dress might have been the perfect choice for an hour-long award ceremony or an after party, but it was the definitive worst for being lost in the streets of New York City at a time when summer was giving in to fall but there was still some resistance before it would surrender completely to cold air and darker months.

  Somewhere along the period of my day dreaming, jacket guy had shifted his attention to someone blonde and more attractive than me and now it was the girl on which the burden of fear had fallen.

  Did anyone have morals anymore? Did people still believe in love or had it become one of those things that hopeless romantics like me uselessly hang on to until they fade? Has loyalty become a past trend?

  I felt the compulsive need to tug at the dress again. It was one of those things you do when you were in shock or recovering from it. I wondered what phase I was in. I had never traveled in public transport before. I felt like a tourist in my own city. I don’t know what that said about my deluded, sheltered upbringing. My legs were shaking. I tug
ged at the hem again, even though safety had proved to be nothing more than an illusion, albeit one that I’d garnered for twenty-four years of my life.

  I’d loved that dress. I loved it more than it deserved. Every stitch on it was done in articulate fashion by literal artists. I trusted this dress. I trusted it to carry me through the event and for the rest of the evening. I trusted it to make me look like the bombshell eye candy twenty-eight year old heartthrob Nick Callahan would have on his designer-clad arms.

  “Your fiancée looks beautiful, is that a Versace?”

  “Nick! You two make a great couple.” “Yes, aren’t they adorable?”

  Smile. Pose. Flirt. Kiss. Hug. Smile. Pose. It was a never-ending performance. Too bad they didn’t give out Oscars for day to day acting skills. “And the award for Best Actress in a Real-Life Role goes to Blayne Worthington of The Nick and Blayne Engagement Ceremony.”

  Yes, these people who knew the price of everything and the value of none, were my own parents. My in laws, surrounded me alongside Mom and Dad, all beaming at this union and proud. I was their prized possession, the most expensive object in their respective vaults.

  The Worthington-Callahan merger was the biggest news in the finance sector. People were either excited or scared. There was speculation Callahan Inc. used the strong reputation of the Worthington title to acquire some property initially deemed unavailable to buyers. The reasons given depended on whatever version of the story you believed. According to Nick, they were being petty and he considered it a form of bullying, and Nick wanted to remain the only bully in town.

  I closed my eyes and his face was all I could see. I trusted him too. I trusted him more than anyone in the world, more than the Versace dress and diamond jewelry that I came decked out in; more than the Italian sous-chef who provided catering services for the ceremony. Even more than the quaint little European flower shop that delivered peonies to our million-dollar estate.

  A million dollars.

  My life reduced to a business merger. Worthington-Callahan. Callahan-Worthington. But I felt like neither Worthington nor Callahan. Those two names were so detached from my person, I was having trouble saying them aloud. If it was up to me, I would reject these and go by my first name, but the world didn’t work that way.

  And now, I was in a train and going nowhere. My knees were weak and I felt like roadkill but no one was in a hurry to come to my aid.

  I think that this unfairness of human nature hurt the most.

  I had no home to go to and no one to turn to. The only person I could trust not to tell Nick about my whereabouts was my friend Chloe but I couldn’t reach her. I didn’t know what I was doing, all I knew was that I didn’t want to go back. I’d never been claustrophobic before, but that day every phobia I’d briefly encountered or read about, was happening. I had to be so far away I couldn’t go back if I wanted.

  The train stopped moving at last. We headed for the door to our right and impatiently waited for our turns to exit the train. I was carrying two Louis Vuitton bags that were getting heavy with the passage of time. I carefully stepped on the side platform, and the Lorimer Street mosaic was right in front of me. Someone pushed past me and the smaller bag I had hanging on one side was knocked off my shoulder.

  The harsh pandemonium of my life falling apart, synchronized perfectly with the hushed outcry of my favorite possessions landing on the platform. We were both silenced by the heavy drone of the train and the people rushing to get on.

  I was still trying hard to not break. Or at least I was keeping up the act. Someone stopped and started to hand my stuff back. I looked up to thank them, but couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face because he was looking down. He was wearing a suit that wasn’t cheap but it wasn’t expensive. The kind of starter suit you might see on a young law intern who didn’t get into Harvard on his father’s trust fund. He also had a Bluetooth device in his right ear. I could hear the faint sound of a male voice on the other end when he tried to hand me back my keys.

  Keys. I always kept a separate set in my purse. It was something that I had no use for anymore, I realized as I still dropped them in the bag. I finally caught a glimpse of the man and saw the long scar on one side of his face. He said nothing when I thanked him and quietly walked back inside the train, beyond the sliding doors.

  In a world, full of cruelty that tiny gesture was an immense act of generosity. I wished I could tell him how grateful I was, but he was gone.

  And once again I was alone.

  I hauled my bags and dragged myself through the station, swiped my metro card into an unattended turnstile and started walking until I reached the Lorimer Street exit at the corner of Metropolitan Avenue. I’d been here before, to visit Chloe but that was two years ago and the place looked different now.

  I didn’t have a phone. In the whole madness, I must have dropped it. I didn’t have any money either, my wallet and all its contents were still in the glove box of Nick’s BMW where I’d forgotten it.

  Passing poor people on the street, I wondered if there was a protocol for becoming homeless. Were there any forms I needed to sign? Do I just start being homeless first?

  I make light of it now but when it occurred to me that I might have to spend the night on a bench, it broke my heart. I’d always comforted everyone. I was the one they turned to if they needed something. Whether it was a tough break-up they needed to recover from or problem more serious like a suicide attempt, I was always there.

  For some reason though, all my attempts to reach my friends had failed. Even when I still had my phone, I tried calling everyone. I went through each one of the hundred or so numbers on my phone and nothing. Something major was going on, a truly great prank and everyone was in on it. Everyone but me. But what I saw tonight was no prank. It was real. I couldn’t even think about calling Nick. He was the only person whose number I remembered. I wanted to forget it.

  I felt like I would shatter and break if I so much as got a paper cut. I didn’t think my heart could take it. After years of taking instructions from people, Mom and Dad, my guidance counselors and Nick, I was lost. My law degree meant nothing. My ivy league education meant nothing. I had spent all those years trying to learn but they never taught me how to deal with being homeless.

  I was cold and thirsty and I couldn’t drag these bags anymore. I wanted relief from carrying all that weight. But I had no choice, so I kept walking.

  The moment I stepped in front of a bistro, the sweet smell of baked goods wafted in the air, making me hungry. I stopped. And that’s when it happened.

  I started to cry.

  The tears just kept coming and I was terrified of going mad. But I was terrified of everything now. Nothing was as it seemed, nothing could be trusted. Not even me. I no longer trusted my instinct. I no longer trusted my decisions.

  And then it started to rain.

  Chase

  Metropolitan Avenue looked reticent and calm, holding a million little secrets and she was one of them.

  “Sir, are you quite certain we’re in the right place?” Stanton, my fifty-two year old bodyguard and chauffeur sounded befittingly confused. It was a good thing he hadn’t noticed her. In his time, Stanton had seen everything from coked out rockstars to egomaniacal billionaires. But obsession with a beautiful woman that went beyond one-night stands was different, and Stanton was unprepared for it. Join the club, buddy.

  I stepped out of the car and left my phone in the car so it wouldn’t get wet. Stanton watched in utter disbelief when I let myself get drenched in the pouring rain.

  Williamsburg was infamous for a history of crime and crude poverty but then it became the quintessential hipster paradise. You don’t come here for the peace and quiet, you come here for the swanky tea houses and the exotic restaurants and to sink your teeth in rainbow bagels. If you are tired of success and everything it entails, you might even enjoy being in close proximity to some of the most talented failed artists and the allure of experiencing a life unique
from your own.

  She looks like a goddess. The street lights falling on her face creating a halo of purity and innocence.

  People around here live life on their own terms. They even have their own idea of success. I’m aware of this because I’ve been here before, about a year back when I used to know someone who lived on Kent Avenue.

  You need to go up to her.

  You can’t just keep standing here…

  Life in these parts was a complete opposite to what we experienced in East Village, and that sounded like a cliché but couldn’t be further from the truth. Live long enough and you’ll realize most clichés are fact. That people hardly went beyond their own stereotypes. Even the ones who thought they did; especially the ones who thought they did.

  I need you.

  There was something about her that was beyond time and space. Incorporeal. She tore me away from reality and there was nothing I could have done. She forced me to step out of my head and pay attention.

  But I was losing control.

  I’d never had someone break my heart before with their sadness. And I don’t think anyone had ever looked that beautiful standing in the rain crying, her flaming red hair dampened to a darker shade and her eyes full of sorrow and a grieving hopelessness.

  She looked so fragile, so unbelievably lost, and ethereal. The man who hurt her was a heartless pig.

  I wanted to put my arms around her, and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  Instead, I was on the opposite end of the road watching helplessly as she drowned heaven with those tears.

  But it wasn’t just her sadness that was keeping me there.

  It was the way she stood in the middle of that road with her head held high. There was something resilient and strong about her, I could sense it. She wasn’t as broken as she looked. Not that it would change anything. I had decided to be with her whether she let herself break or not. I didn’t care if her passion was in chasing dreams or building castles in the air. I simply wanted to love her and I wanted her to love me with the same conviction.

  I wanted the outside of the Williamsburg bistro to be the beginning of our lives, lives that would only make sense if we were together.