His intimidating height came closer and although she had a wall at her back, she didn’t recoil in the shadow he cast over her.

‘Do you think you’re a tough girl?’ he asked. ‘You have no idea what you did tonight, no idea what I’m capable of. You should never piss off a man who has no conscience.’

‘If you’re like that, then I guess that’s why your buddy Trystan keeps you around,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who you are, or your connection to each other. But threatening me won’t win you any favour with him. So if you’re hoping that this little intervention will get you between his sheets—‘

‘You don’t know when to quit,’ he sneered, bearing down upon her. ‘You couldn’t keep your eyes off me tonight, is that why you’re obsessing about my bedroom?’

Harrow Duet

By

Scarlett Finn

Fighting Fate

By

Scarlett Finn

Copyright © 2015 Scarlett Finn

The right of Scarlett Finn to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

First published in 2015

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Talking about how you broke my heart will never erase the ache that exists within me for you and only you.

I should hate you. Indifference should ring within me when your name is mentioned. But it does not.

I now, and forever, will close my eyes and remember the good times because all I ever wanted to do was please you, yet I failed every time.

Without you I am broken and will always be incomplete because you withhold that one piece of me that can never be replaced.

Forgive me, as I forgive you, and maybe one day I’ll make you proud. That will always be my ultimate, unachievable goal. I strive for the completion that only you can offer.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to April for going over every word with me.

Thanks also to Nicole at IndieSage for all of your hard work in getting Fighting Fate out there.

Thank you to all of the readers who have been in touch and encouraged me in the journey of writing. I am grateful to those who participate and to those who don’t. I appreciate you all.

I thank my friends, the people I love, and everyone who knows what it is to submerge yourself in the adventure of fiction.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter One

Idiots.

The word kept going around in Ivy Dune’s mind while watching the five men sitting on velvet couches in the rounded window area of this Vegas hotel suite.

Seven women danced and drank with the idiots. Either the females were strippers who were hookers, or hookers who stripped. They had to be one of the two because there had already been some fondling and some oral, on top of the floor show.

When Ivy had taken on the role of private attendant at the GoldSpring Hotel she had expected glamour. Her illusions about that were quickly shattered. The role was physically demanding, there was lots of running around required, she was up and down stairs, and heavy lifting every day. Anything the customer wanted, they got, and it was her job to ensure that they did.

She had ended up attending more idiots like these than glamorous starlets or millionaire businessmen, but this gang took the cake. They snorted cocaine from the fake breasts of the hired escorts and took shots from their cleavages; leaving chaos and carpet stains in their wake without a care or consideration in the world.

Everything that happened here stayed here, and the rule was that so long as no one was brandishing a weapon anything went. She stayed at her post, inside the suite, as the guest had requested her to do. But as she stood at the door observing events unfold, the men drank more and more, getting gradually more intoxicated.

All except one of them. The black-haired male who sat closest to the window held a heavy crystal tumbler on the high arm of the couch with his fingertips. The Scotch in that tumbler had barely been touched, none of the others noticed his disinterest or cared that the man wasn’t indulging like they were.

Ivy stayed here, in her position, hoping that she’d be excused very soon. Her shift ended in less than an hour and right now she was counting the minutes. The black-haired male had kept looking at her and now he was openly staring. Ivy tried to keep her focus straight ahead and just ignore him. Except her eyes would insist on sliding back to his, and every time they did she caught him watching her with his electric blue eyes, that were so crisp and clear she could absorb their intense colour from away over here on the other side of the room. Something about those eyes was fascinating, but she couldn’t figure out what their fascination was with her.

‘You! Maid!’ The sandy-haired man, next to the black-haired man, snapped his fingers at her so Ivy crossed the room to attend him.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Have a drink,’ he said, raising a bottle of tequila and sloshing it on her shoes.

‘No, sir, thank you.’

‘Coke then, come and take a line.’

‘No,’ she said, maintaining her neutrality. ‘I’m still working.’

‘What time do you finish?’ he asked, then waved a hand. ‘Doesn’t matter, I’m the guest, I’m always right. Take off your shirt.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Don’t be a party pooper. I’ve always wanted a naked maid,’ he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her onto the couch.

She stumbled forward and landed on top of the sandy-haired man, with her face in the lap of the black-haired man. The sandman smacked her ass, then grabbed the hem of her skirt, but Ivy scrambled away before he could pull it up.

Back on her feet, she began to retreat. ‘That’s unacceptable behaviour,’ Ivy said. The other men and women laughed.

‘Do you know who I am? I’m Trystan Stark. I have more money in my wallet than you’ll make in a lifetime!’

An angry, disrespected man high on drugs and with an audience was a volatile thing. ‘Just take your shirt off,’ one of the girls chirped as if it were no big deal, though at the moment all that female wore was a trail of playboy jerk drool over each of her nipples. The other girls began to jeer along.

Trystan turned to the black-haired man. ‘Can you believe her?’ he said.

The black-haired man elevated his arm to look at the watch on his wrist under his cuff-linked shirt. ‘Her shift ends in thirty-eight minutes. If you want me to do something about her attitude it will have to wait until her colleagues think she’s gone home.’