Melody Anne's Billionaire Universe: Roadside Assistance (Kindle Worlds Novella) Read online

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  roadside assistance

  Casey Hagen

  Hagen Novels, LLC

  BUSHKILL, PENNSYLVANIA

  For my husband, who puts up with my crap while I pound out all the words. You rock!

  For Vikki, my spirit sister, who whisked me away to Maine, my happy place, for the best week-long road trip a girl could ask for. That trip allowed me to finish this project and get going again on ours…love you!

  And to JA Coffey, a great new friend, my novella sister, and a badass writer who also creates quirky characters readers never forget. Thank you for linking your wonderful stories to a few of mine. I look forward to a lifetime of laughs with you!

  Find more of my books on my website

  www.caseyhagenauthor.com

  While you’re there, sign my guest book, I would love to hear from you!!

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  I just want you. That’s it. All your flaws, mistakes, smiles, giggles, jokes, sarcasm. Everything. I just want you.

  -unknown

  1

  “I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.” Lathan Kincaid slammed his hand against the wheel of his 2016 Porsche 918 Spyder. Twice now he had done everything right, or so he had thought. Two relationships. Two break-ups. It was a damned embarrassment, and, at the moment, he didn’t have time for it.

  He had less than a month before his opportunity to inherit the last ten percent of his family’s company allotted to him, and the rest of his trust fund. After that, it would billow away like the dust rolling off of his car as he worked his way out of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

  The month of October had brought sweet relief from the oppressing heat. Here it was, just after 8 p.m., and the temperature was a cool seventy-one degrees. Lathan lowered his windows and released a tense breath as the wind danced through his hair.

  It was his own damn fault. He’d let his parents manipulate him into that last stipulation. The ironclad contract, scrawled with his messy black signature along the dotted line, made him their puppet. The terms were supposed to be easy. Marry by his thirty-fifth birthday or forfeit his remaining shares and final payment of his trust fund.

  At the time he signed, he had almost two years at his disposal to make it happen. Now he only had seventeen days.

  A quiet ride along the base of the mountains usually quieted his anger, but not tonight. Tonight, the weight of his family’s once-unanticipated expectations threatened to suffocate him. If he were honest, it was his own fault, his own guilt that made him sign the contract.

  His brother Liam was supposed to be the one handling the family business and fulfilling the duties at the helm of Kincaid Industries. Liam had been groomed for taking over the family business, a three-hundred-billion-dollar property-development company built eighty years ago by their great-grandfather. Liam wanted it, he was good at it; he lived and breathed it. Most importantly, he loved it, until the day he died from an undetected heart abnormality. That sneaky bastard killed him instantly, in his office chair while going over contracts.

  Lathan could do the job well enough, but he wasn’t passionate about it the way his brother was. His passion lay with his pet projects. Or that’s how his parents referred to them. They treated his interests as nothing more than child’s play. Most of the time he didn’t care. He had his freedom, and he used it as he wished. Until he lost Liam. Now, he had to honor his professional commitments to his family. Then there was the monetary commitment he had made to provide the last payment for final construction of the Liam T. Kincaid School in Kenya. This was his most important “pet” project.

  At least Liam had understood his need to help the less fortunate, but with Liam gone Lathan had no one to support his plans. So, this school was Lathan’s way of honoring his brother and thanking him for his support. They needed this money, and if he had it to give to them, he would, but without that final payout from his trust he was screwed.

  Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see the debris in the road until it was too late. His wheel jerked. A sharp pop followed by a loud hiss broke through the pounding bass pumping out of his speakers.

  “Son of a bitch!” Pulling off onto the side of the road, he dropped his head back against his head rest and closed his eyes.

  He didn’t care about possessions for the most part. He still hadn’t gotten his own place yet; instead he resided at his brother’s favorite property: a concrete and glass, ten-thousand-square-foot monstrosity in Brentwood, California. Lathan had only one prized possession: his car.

  With a weary sigh, he dug through the glove box for his insurance card holder. Tucked behind the insurance card, he pulled out his AAA card and dialed the 800 number on the front. After getting through the automated selections, a shrill voice greeted him.

  “Thank you for calling AAA Road Service, this is Monica. How can I help you?”

  “Hi Monica, my name is Lathan Kincaid. I’m stuck out here on the Pacific Highway heading west, about a mile past the Pacific Ranger Station. I hit an object in the road and did some damage underneath. I have a Porsche, so I’ll need a tow service with a flatbed.”

  “Absolutely, Mr. Kincaid. We’ll dispatch someone right away. It could be up to an hour. Sit tight and we’ll have someone there as quickly as we can.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  An hour. With the light on his cell, he looked under his car and found a growing puddle. Whatever he hit had done a hell of a number on his car.

  “You’re an idiot, Lathan. Seriously. Get a damn grip.” With time to kill, he leaned against the door and called his friend Jessica Anderson. It was his time in Kenya with her that sparked the idea for the school, so he figured he’d better let her know what’s up. It was a little late, so he dialed her cell to avoid disturbing her family.

  “Hey, Lathan! I’m surprised you’re calling so late. Actually, I’m surprised you’re calling at all. Shouldn’t you be celebrating with Kim, your bride-to-be? By celebrating, I mean naked. What gives?”

  “No bride-to-be. I’m broken down on the Pacific Highway waiting for a tow truck driver, who will likely add a bit more damage to my already-mangled Porsche.”

  She sighed. “Why did you take it into the mountains?”

  He didn’t even want to voice the words. “Kim said no. She said she didn’t want to miss a better prospect, and, I don’t know… I just needed to drive.”

  “A better prospect? You’re wealthy, and after marrying her you would have been disgustingly so.”

  “She wants the country club society wife role. Although I go to some events, the ones I absolutely have to, I’m never going to be country club. Apparently, unless I’m willing to change, she’s out.”

  “You don’t sound too broken up about it. If anything, you sound frustrated.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the problem. This whole thing is forced. I’m dating women I think will fit in with my family, but they’re so…”

  “Sterile?”

  “Yeah.”


  “I hate to break it to you, but I think you’re going to miss the deadline on this. I don’t want you to, but you need to be married in under a month. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know what you need? You need a damned woman to stumble into your lap, one who is the direct opposite of your family. Someone with some backbone. Confidence. Independence. She needs to shake up your world, and for the love of all that’s holy, find someone who isn’t freaking blond this time.”

  “That’s it, huh? That’s not too tall an order. I mean, the world is practically overrun with women like that. How the hell I’ve managed to never once lay my eyes on such a creature is the bigger question.”

  “Smartass. Listen, you know Alex and I are willing—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “It’s my commitment and I’ll figure it out.”

  “And I hope you do, but if it comes down to you letting the school down, call us. Please. I have a soft spot in my heart for those kids in Kenya, and I don’t want them disappointed.”

  “Neither do I, Jessica.”

  “Okay, enough lectures…”

  Headlights approached and slowed as a large truck pulled up. Jack’s Towing, according to the reflective letters emblazoned along the door as the flatbed pulled just ahead of his vehicle.

  “The wrecker just got here, hang on just a minute.”

  A booted foot kicked the door open. A short body clad in a jumpsuit slid out and approached him. The emergency lights shone on perfect bronzed skin. A long dark ponytail hung over her shoulder, ending just above the name “Jack” sewn onto the chest pocket.

  Curious as to who Jack was, and how this enticing woman ended up in his jumpsuit, Lathan put his phone to his ear to wrap up his call. “Hey, Jessica, I’m going to have to call you back.”

  “What is it? You sound weird.”

  “I think the creature we spoke of might have just crossed my path.”

  “Holy crap! Are you serious? You better call me back and give me all the details. All. Of. The. Details! You hear me?”

  “Got it. Gotta go.” He slid his phone into his pocket and directed his undivided attention to the beautiful woman before him. “So, you steal Jack’s uniform?”

  She snorted. “Yeah, because if I were going to steal clothes, an oil-stained jumpsuit would be my first choice.” She stuck her hand out and he took it, surprised by her grip. He shook the hands of at least ten men a day. Most of them could learn a thing or two from shaking hers. “I’m Jack.”

  He laughed.

  She didn’t.

  “You’re serious?”

  She raised a brow.

  “Shit. You are serious. Sorry. I’m Lathan.”

  “I know. Now, if we’re done here, let me get this wounded girl up on the flatbed. You have the address where you want me to take her?”

  “No, it’s new. I don’t have a mechanic for it yet.”

  “I can tow her to Price’s. Best mechanic and body shop around. My brother Jeremy owns and operates a team of highly skilled mechanics, but he does all the work on specialty cars himself. The body shop is excellent, too, but if you didn’t do any cosmetic damage, that doesn’t matter anyway. It’s in Placerville. You can look up the reviews on your phone.” She swung up into the cab of her truck and flipped the switch of a floodlight that lit up the area like a construction site at night. She pulled a duffel bag out, hitched it over her shoulder, and hopped down onto the ground again.

  The whole time he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her hair whipped back and forth, and she dug through the bag and, one by one, set off flares marking off the work area.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Yeah, you can stay out of the way. Trust me… I know what I’m doing.”

  What the hell was wrong with these rich guys, roaming around out here with their fancy cars? He was the third one this week. The first one was texting and got just a bit of his tire into the dirt and, boom, tore up his whole right side. She arrived to find him crying like a baby. The other guy, well, he was so damn loaded, his crying likely didn’t start until the next day, in his jail cell.

  Jack rolled her shoulders to stretch the knots left over from the double shift she’d pulled. Scott called in again; this time, supposedly, he’d injured his foot. He claimed he hurt it on the job, but she knew better. Angela had called to warn her that he had gotten black-out drunk again while bowling. Apparently he dropped his bowling ball on his foot, twice.

  She slid her low-rider jack under the front edge of the car and raised it up. She just needed enough room to see what kind of damage she was working with. She shined her flashlight on the undercarriage, and from the looks of it, his radiator was shot, as well as a few hoses, but nothing that would stop her from getting the car onto the flatbed.

  She pushed herself up to her feet and brushed off her hands. “It doesn’t look horrible under there, but Porsche parts will take longer to come by.” He slid his hands into his pockets, drawing her eyes to the way crisp, perfectly-tailored dress pants hugged his every muscle. The pants probably cost more than she made in a week, but they sure were pretty to look at, as was the man wearing them.

  “That’s fine, whatever it takes.”

  He gave her a small smile, and a deep dimple appeared on his cheek underneath what looked to be a couple days’ worth of dark stubble. Too bad he was a rich playboy. She wouldn’t have minded taking a spin on him for a night or two. Too many complications to get into, climbing that tree.

  “Okay, I’ll get her up. You want me to take her to Price’s?”

  “To start, but I think I’d like to meet your brother before I commit to having him work on it.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you want.” Looping a finger around the hook, she gave it a hard tug to start unwinding the cable. “If you could just step back while I hook it up.”

  “You sure you don’t need any help?”

  He looked unsure of what to do with himself. Not a problem she usually encountered with the rich. Usually, they stood by and gave her crap about how she handled their already- maimed vehicles. Like she was going to hurt them any worse than they already had. “I’ve been doing this job for ten years now. I think I can handle it,” she said as she hitched up the car and let down the jack.

  She took out her paperwork and filled in the information on the vehicle. California license plate AFR 255. Normal. Now that was a first. Usually these guys had vanity plates. When she was truly unlucky, they said something like KUMLORD. True story. She had that one once. On a Lamborghini.

  Gag.

  She told herself that maybe, just maybe, it was short for, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” It was either that, or she would be seeing that license plate in her head every time she tried to have sex. Not that she had much time or opportunity, since most of the guys she hung with were her brother’s friends, but just in case.

  “It’s a Por—”

  She nodded. “Porsche 918 Spyder, I know, I’ve got it.” The single sexiest car on the planet, if you asked her. Not that anyone did. Sleek, low-profile tires, high-arch-fendered wonderfulness. The bucket seats hugged the hips lucky enough to sit in them. She glanced over at him. He had to be at least 6’2”. Almost a foot taller than her 5’4”. His knees probably wrapped around the wheel a bit, his pants pulled tight against those muscled thighs. Damn, sexy cars made her want to—

  “How do you know so much about cars?”

  She stopped writing and stared him right in the eye. Was he for real? “I run a towing company. My brother is a mechanic. I would have to be the village idiot to not know about cars.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I keep putting my damned foot in my mouth.”

  “Yeah, you do. How does it taste?”’

  “Like broken dreams.”

  She laughed. “Good one. So how did you manage
to mangle such a beautiful car?”

  He looked over at the car and she swore she saw him wince. “Thinking too much and not enough attention on the road.”

  “That would do it. You know, you shouldn’t have a car like this out here. There are too many things that can go wrong even if you aren’t distracted.”

  He ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing the waves back from his face. Odd, she missed the way it fell over his forehead. Most women would be drooling over those light blue eyes of his or those muscles hugged by his gray cotton shirt, but not her. She had a thing for hair. A little longer than what was proper, thick, and wavy. She wanted to lock her hands in it while she rode—

  She shook her head. Jesus. She was starting to sound like a freaking girl.

  Forgivable since she was a girl, but she had a job to do. She could drool later. “So, you have a ride?” she asked as she slid the extender ramps out and lined them up with her flatbed and his tires.

  “Shit. I meant to do that after I got off the phone with Jessica.”

  “Girlfriend?” Bummer. “Can’t she come and get you?”

  “Just an old friend… a very married, with a husband and child at home, friend. I wouldn’t have asked her.”

  “Well, why don’t you line someone up while I get this loaded? Then I’ll take you to meet by brother. If we have to kill some time, we can do it with a cold beer since my shift will be over. Do you upper class ever lower yourselves to have the occasional beer?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He grinned, and damned if there wasn’t a dimple on the other side, too.

  She was screwed.

  2

  He had to give it to Jack: she knew what the hell she was doing. She didn’t scrape a single part of his front end as she loaded the car onto the flatbed. Watching her stirred things down south, making him think the idea brewing in his mind might actually work.

  If he could get her to agree to it.