Free Broken: A Billionaire Love Story by Heather Chase Page A

front, there was a stool open.
    Destiny, wasn’t it? The stool open like that, in a bar like this. Crowded and all.
    Something in him knew it was just chance. Something in him knew that a bar stool being open didn’t mean anything more than a bar stool being open. Someone had gone to the bathroom, or had their fill, or didn’t like crowd, or the smell, or the price of the beer.
    But no, that hammering part of Shane's brain demanded, no! It was destiny. He was supposed to be here. It all made sense, now. This is why he had felt the pull so strong.
    And even so, there was something telling him—nothing had pulled him here. He could walk away at any moment, even now. There was nothing that brought him here but himself—but no, he could feel it, this tight tug in his chest demanding that he go through with this, just like he had gone through with it countless nights before, nights he couldn’t even remember anymore.
    It was sort of like if you woke up every day to go to work, with the same routine. Feed your pets, take a shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, brush your teeth, and then drive away. Only, one day, with your handle on the door to your car, you think—No, today I won’t.
    There was nobody in the world that would accept such a thought.
    He sat down.
    “What’ll you have?”
    The bartender was an older man with a big mustache, wearing a checkered shirt.
    “Beer and a shot. Vodka.” Shane pointed out his choices. Cheap ones.
    The bartender nodded, setting to work on the drinks.
    “On second thought,” said Shane. “Grab me two shots, all right? Put it on a tab. It’s been a rough few days.”
    The bartender nodded again. Shane thought maybe he would ask about his day or his reasons, but he didn’t. He poured the drinks and went back to his game.
    With very little indecision, he downed the two shots and started working on the beer. A reflex action. Easier than he thought it should have been.
    Right away he felt what he wanted to—that distant sense of falling, that lightness in his legs, the fire in his cheeks. The first little tell-tale signs of getting a buzz on. Even with the rest of the crowd so close, he could focus in entirely on himself, his depth of field narrowing to just what was right in front of him.
    Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Shane turned, and saw the orderly, Hector. He was frowning a bit, wearing a heavy coat, but did not look all that surprised. He wasn't even in dressed in uniform—apparently there just to watch the game.
    “How about we get back, huh?” asked Hector.
    Shane turned back to the bar and hung his head down. His hair scraped against the glass in front of him—the beer not even finished.
    “What if I don’t want to go?”
    Hector shrugged. “You don’t have to go. But you should. And you know you should.”
    Shane picked up the glass, half-full.
    Half-empty? Half-full? Who was to say?
    Even he couldn’t explain what he did next. He would think about often over the next few years. He could say, honestly, that there was something of Olivia on his mind.
    “All right,” he said, standing up, teetering just slightly. “Okay. All right. Let’s go back.”

Chapter 11:
    It was the afternoon once more, and once more, Olivia had Shane in front of her on the couch in her office.
    She had heard of his relapse, of course. He wasn’t the first to sneak out in the night, and likely he wouldn’t be the last—that was the way when you were working with addicts. There was always one more instance of stupid, stubborn self-destruction waiting down the line.
    But, this was the first time that Olivia had really had such...complex feelings for a man who relapsed.
    The night before, she had worked at the outlet store, still not making a sale. She had a few opportunities, but her mind was too scattered, focusing in on the brief seconds of their beautiful, hot kiss. The way her breasts had crushed up against his chest, the strong grip of his inked hands on her hips...she had