Read Online Broken: A Billionaire Love Story by Heather Chase - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Chase
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, new adult, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, New Adult & College, Inspirational, Billionaire, second chance, Forbidden, redemption
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suddenly. But not in a scared way, in a more sort of expectant way—like she had let her guard down suddenly and then just as suddenly pulled it back up again.
As if, maybe, she had thought he was going to try to kiss her.
He held out his hand, though, and she took it.
“Thanks for the talk,” he said. “I see you again tomorrow?”
She nodded. “That’s right. Every day for the first couple of weeks.”
“That’s great.”
He walked out, still thinking about her beautiful face, this woman who he was sure thought he was going to kiss her.
Chapter 9:
With Shane gone, Olivia sat down at her desk once more.
She had to do something to not think about how horribly he turned her on. Her breaths came heavy, her face flushed, and her nipples hardened, pressing against her thin blouse.
God, she had been this close to falling into his tattooed arms! She could hardly help herself—his eyes just drew her in, and his nose, and his lips, and all that honest-to-god sexy ink...
She could hardly believe she was getting paid just to sit and watch him talk. She had been trying to show a strong front—to be all business, completely disinterested, a stone-hearted, aloof avatar of counseling. And for the most part, she had done it...except for the very end.
And he saw it. She could tell.
Well, forget it, she told herself. It can’t happen.
She, in her heart, didn’t want it to. Not with an addict.
She was going to just be alone for some time. Have her own self back for a while. With everything else happening in her life, feeling attracted to a man inspired feelings of guilt. How could she have anything good happen when her mother was so sick?
Sitting back at her desk, she closed her eyes and tried to think. Something boring. Something that was, for all intents and purposes, the opposite of sex.
Of course, the applications to grad school came to mind.
Back when she had first graduated with her Bachelor’s degree, she had been close with a professor who encouraged her to apply to grad school. There had been a lot of advice—get involved in the community, get a job in your field, and—what stressed Olivia out now—make sure to apply to a wide range of places. Cast a big net. These universities get thousands of applications, and they turn down thousands as well. More than that, she had to make sure to only apply to places that were going to pay for her time. Fellowships and assistantships (which would have her teaching for pay) were honestly the only way to make it work.
Following this advice, Olivia had—late last night on a bedtime laptop session, after winding down with her model—narrowed her choices down to four good nearby universities and four prestigious ones far away. One of them, completely by coincidence, was Shane's alma mater in Vermont. They had a heck of a social work program in addition to their writing school.
Cautiously, she opened up the folder on her computer’s desktop screen containing all the materials she had found so far.
And then, on reflex, she put her face in her hands, unable to even begin to really examine the mess of documents she had downloaded from the universities she had chosen. It was such a wealth of stress waiting for her. There was no step of it that wasn’t its own hours-long project, every minute of which had her success hinged upon it.
First of all, there were just the applications themselves. The official application into any given university required five to ten pages of personal information, job history, education history, and community service records.
So, she would have to trudge through her alma mater’s transcript process and get those transcripts delivered—which included remembering how she had forgotten all her old passwords and probably spending two hours on the phone with tech support.
Then, she needed recommendation letters. The application required three, which could be from previous employers or teachers or supervisors or anything of the like. Some of
As if, maybe, she had thought he was going to try to kiss her.
He held out his hand, though, and she took it.
“Thanks for the talk,” he said. “I see you again tomorrow?”
She nodded. “That’s right. Every day for the first couple of weeks.”
“That’s great.”
He walked out, still thinking about her beautiful face, this woman who he was sure thought he was going to kiss her.
Chapter 9:
With Shane gone, Olivia sat down at her desk once more.
She had to do something to not think about how horribly he turned her on. Her breaths came heavy, her face flushed, and her nipples hardened, pressing against her thin blouse.
God, she had been this close to falling into his tattooed arms! She could hardly help herself—his eyes just drew her in, and his nose, and his lips, and all that honest-to-god sexy ink...
She could hardly believe she was getting paid just to sit and watch him talk. She had been trying to show a strong front—to be all business, completely disinterested, a stone-hearted, aloof avatar of counseling. And for the most part, she had done it...except for the very end.
And he saw it. She could tell.
Well, forget it, she told herself. It can’t happen.
She, in her heart, didn’t want it to. Not with an addict.
She was going to just be alone for some time. Have her own self back for a while. With everything else happening in her life, feeling attracted to a man inspired feelings of guilt. How could she have anything good happen when her mother was so sick?
Sitting back at her desk, she closed her eyes and tried to think. Something boring. Something that was, for all intents and purposes, the opposite of sex.
Of course, the applications to grad school came to mind.
Back when she had first graduated with her Bachelor’s degree, she had been close with a professor who encouraged her to apply to grad school. There had been a lot of advice—get involved in the community, get a job in your field, and—what stressed Olivia out now—make sure to apply to a wide range of places. Cast a big net. These universities get thousands of applications, and they turn down thousands as well. More than that, she had to make sure to only apply to places that were going to pay for her time. Fellowships and assistantships (which would have her teaching for pay) were honestly the only way to make it work.
Following this advice, Olivia had—late last night on a bedtime laptop session, after winding down with her model—narrowed her choices down to four good nearby universities and four prestigious ones far away. One of them, completely by coincidence, was Shane's alma mater in Vermont. They had a heck of a social work program in addition to their writing school.
Cautiously, she opened up the folder on her computer’s desktop screen containing all the materials she had found so far.
And then, on reflex, she put her face in her hands, unable to even begin to really examine the mess of documents she had downloaded from the universities she had chosen. It was such a wealth of stress waiting for her. There was no step of it that wasn’t its own hours-long project, every minute of which had her success hinged upon it.
First of all, there were just the applications themselves. The official application into any given university required five to ten pages of personal information, job history, education history, and community service records.
So, she would have to trudge through her alma mater’s transcript process and get those transcripts delivered—which included remembering how she had forgotten all her old passwords and probably spending two hours on the phone with tech support.
Then, she needed recommendation letters. The application required three, which could be from previous employers or teachers or supervisors or anything of the like. Some of
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