Struggle: Beautiful Series, book one Read online

  Struggle

  Beautiful Series, book one

  Lilliana Anderson

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  The Backstory

  Also by Lilliana Anderson

  About the Author

  Foreword

  Here we go, people. One last goodbye to our favourite characters. The Beautiful Series has been around since 2012. This group of gorgeous survivors have melted hearts and come to feel like family over the years.

  Knowing the series had to end eventually, I’ve gone back to the beginning and rewritten every single Beautiful Series book, adding new content and tidying up the stories into something new but with the same heart it always had.

  In this new edition of A Beautiful Struggle and Too Close, you’ll find a huge amount of added content. I’ve torn it down to its basic foundation and built it back up again. This is the book it was always meant to be.

  I hope you love it as much as you did the first time—maybe even more.

  Prologue

  “Pay attention.” I giggle, pushing David on the side of the head for fake snoring.

  “Why are you making me sit through this girly movie?” He gestures towards the TV screen as Keira Knightley and James McAvoy struggle with their forbidden attraction. “Just fuck and get it over with already.”

  “Because it was my turn to pick. You made me sit through that horrible action movie that didn’t even have a plot last week. Consider us even.” Atonement is one of my favourite movies. So heartbreaking and beautiful. David could do with a little angst in his life. Especially since he’s the reason for most of the angst in mine—long story.

  “Fine,” he grumbled, tapping my legs where they lay across his lap. “But I’ll need more beer to get through this. You want one?”

  Shaking my head, I shift my position, my eyes glued to the screen as the library scene is about to happen. I’m dying here. I’ve seen this movie five times, and I still get caught up in it.

  Over my shoulder, I hear David at the fridge, twisting the cap off a beer. I know he hates these kinds of movies, but my boyfriend, Christopher hates them even more. Since David has been my best friend since primary school, he gets to be my romantic movie buddy. I don’t really have girlfriends, so…

  “Shit,” David mutters, as a key turns in the door.

  My heart gallops inside my chest. Shit is the understatement of the year. Fuck might be more appropriate because my aforementioned boyfriend—the boyfriend who hates David and forbade me to see him—is home.

  I lock eyes with David, my stomach souring. I know it was wrong to lie to Christopher about seeing David. Just like I know it was wrong to lie to David about Christopher being OK with our friendship. But I feel caught in the middle, forced to choose between my boyfriend and my best friend. When I love them both, how am I supposed to do that? I lied because I hoped that with enough time, they’d figure out their differences and come together for the sake of me. Christopher would accept that David isn’t trying to steal me away, and David would accept that Christopher loves and wants me. But, now isn’t the time. Emotions are still too raw.

  Christopher will lose his shit.

  “Stay,” I whisper, jumping to my feet to meet Christopher at the door and try to explain before he sees David. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “You’re e-early,” I stutter, wincing when my nerves betray me. Without meaning to, I glance at David for support. It’s the worst thing I could do.

  Oh god.

  Christopher’s face darkens as he follows my line of sight, spotting David. I swear I see steam hiss out of his ears as mottled anger climbs up his neck, reddening his skin.

  “G’day, mate,” David says, flashing a smile that’s anything but pleased.

  They lock eyes in silent challenge.

  This is not OK. This is not OK.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Christopher bellows, launching himself at warp speed in David’s direction. He doesn’t even hesitate, he simply cocks his arm back and lands his fist with explosive force into the side of David’s jaw. I hear his teeth clack as the beer slips from his hand and smashes all over the floor.

  “No,” I scream, covering my mouth in horror. David’s eyes roll back and he drops to the floor. “What are you doing, Christopher? Get away from him!”

  Furious, Christopher ignores my plea, grabbing David by the front of the shirt and shaking him. “Think you can come into my house and drink my beer,” he spits, David’s head rocking back and forth.

  “Please, stop!”

  He pulls David close and growls in his unconscious ear. “Did you fuck my woman too?” He releases his shirt, dropping him with a thud.

  The impact jolts him conscious, confusion registering moments before he scrambles to get up, impaired by Christopher’s unyielding grip. Protesting, fighting and kicking, David fails to break free as Christopher opens the front door and throws him into the hall.

  “Stay the fuck away for good this time,” he booms, slamming the door and flicking the lock.

  “Fuck you!” David yells, banging at the door in frustration.

  “What is wrong with you?” I screech, tears streaming down my face.

  When Christopher turns, fear claws its way up my throat. Gone are the soulful brown eyes I spent hours falling into. In their place, sharp angry beads of untamed fury. He’s going to kill me. “You lying bitch.”

  Propelling himself across the room, he grabs my hair and yanks my head back, snarling in my face. “How long have you been fucking him behind my back?”

  “No. I didn’t. Nothing happened,” I scream, eyes closed tight as I wish for this to be over. Like a little girl in trouble, I wish like wishes exist. Please make this stop. Please don’t let this be real.

  “Lies.” Grabbing my face with his free hand, he squeezes my cheeks together until my jaw hurts and I taste blood.

  “Stop,” I whimper, crying uselessly.

  I claw at his arm to stop him. But, the moment my feet leave the ground, I know it’s over.

  As I fly through the air, everything around me slows. A romantic movie continues to play on the TV. The half-eaten box of pizza sits open on the coffee table. Christopher spits as he hurls distorted insults. And the front door rattles on its hinges. I find it strange that I notice a room full of details, but my life doesn’t flash before my eyes like it should. I don’t see every important moment in a slow motion montage. I wish I did. Because then I’d be dancing, dancing with David at the year ten formal, hoping he’ll finally choose me.

  Now it’s too late.

  Time speeds up and I scream. I scream for David, wishing for him as my heart and soul cries out for everything we never were to each other. Everything we never would be.

  I love you...
/>   I’ve always loved you.

  A blinding pain. A thumping heart. My vision blurs. Then…

  Nothing.

  One

  12 months later

  If my life was a movie, it’d be playing Dolly Parton’s Nine to Five, as I enter the building in Sydney’s Martin Place that houses the law offices of Turner, Barlow & Smith. It’s my first day as the part-time librarian. Actually, it’s my first job full-stop, and I’m nervous as hell.

  In that movie, the music would come to a screeching halt the moment I approach the reception area and open my mouth.

  With a finger held up to silence me, the frosty receptionist gives me a look that tells me I’m no better than the crud under her beautifully manicured fingernails. She isn’t even on a call. But she makes me wait until one comes in and she answers it.

  “Turner, Barlow and Smith. How can I direct your call?”

  I have to admit I feel a little intimidated by her looks. She’s beautifully made up and very curvaceous; like one of those sexy cartoon pin-up girls you see from wartime posters. She has jet-black hair cascading down her shoulders, and a bust daring to break through her fitted blouse that a flat-chested girl like me would pay dearly for. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster standing near her.

  I wait while she answers and redirects a few calls. And even when it’s obvious she’s doing nothing, she still makes me wait. I feel my nerves skitter about in my chest before I take a deep breath and clear my throat.

  She looks at me with her lips pursed, and her perfect brows arched. It makes me wonder how she’s kept this job. She’s not good at greeting possible clients.

  Despite feeling ill at ease by the frostiness of her gaze, I take a deep breath. “I’m Katrina Mahoney. I start work here today.” She keeps staring. “Uh, in the library?” It comes out as a question, her blank look making me second guess myself. Am I in the right place?

  “Take a seat.” She tilts her head back and looks down her nose at me—a difficult thing to do to someone as tall as I am, but she succeeds insurmountably. “The office manager will come for you when she’s ready.” Cutting eye contact, she immediately returns her attention to whatever she feels is more important than having some fucking manners.

  Great start. I’m making friends already.

  Taking a deep breath, I turn and look around the waiting area, sighing when I see the low-set furniture. I walk towards it, wondering how the heck I’m going to fold my long legs in some sort of dignified manner—I don’t want to flash the office manager when she comes out to collect me.

  I perch on the edge of a cream leather couch with my knees angling down and my legs tucked to the side. I imagine I look a little like a daddy longlegs, but I don’t have much choice in the matter. This world isn’t built for tall girls in short skirts. #tallgirlproblems

  Being a librarian in a legal firm isn’t my top-tier career goal. I applied for this job in the hopes it would be a foot in the door by the time I graduate. I’m two years into studying a humanities/law degree at Western Sydney University. Ultimately, I want to practise family law and landing a job in a big multi-focused law firm like TBS could be the in I need to get my career off to the right start.

  My skirt isn’t that short. I’m just overly gangly.

  Trying to look conservative for my first day, I put on a black pinstripe skirt that ends above my knees. I’ve teamed it with a crimson satin blouse and black low heeled Mary-Jane shoes. I straightened the natural wave out of my honey-blonde hair so it sits just below my shoulders, and I’m wearing enough makeup to give my lips and cheeks a rosy glow and cover an angry-looking scar that runs along my hairline. Hence the Frankenstein reference.

  I only have to sit awkwardly on the low-set chairs for a few minutes before a small woman who appears to be in her mid-forties and of Indian origin comes out to greet me. “I’m the office manager on this level; Priya.” She extends her hand in greeting. “You must be Katrina Mahoney.”

  I immediately rise, dwarfing Priya with my six feet of height, smile, and shake her hand. “Yes, that’s me. It’s lovely to meet you.”

  Priya looks up at me and says the first thing most people say upon meeting me. “My, you’re a tall one aren’t you?” I smile and nod to be polite, while inwardly rolling my eyes. Thanks for the brilliant deduction there, Watson. “Follow me. I’ll show you around the office.”

  I do as I’m told, following closely behind and trying to take in as much information about my surroundings as possible.

  Priya speaks over her shoulder and points things out as we go along. “In here are the conference rooms. In your position, you’ll only need to know about them for drinks on Friday nights—there’s a social committee in charge of all that. You can join if you like. Mary runs it. She should come and talk to you about it at some point during the day. We like our employees taking part in group activities. Helps us work better as a team.”

  She flashes a smile then continues down the corridor, passing different offices and cubicles. She explains that the corner offices are for the partners, and the window offices are for the junior and senior solicitors. In the area outside their offices, the personal assistant's cubicles reside with a block of windowless offices in the centre of the floor for accounts and other support staff. This centre block also contains the library and the break room.

  “Here’s where you’ll be working.” Priya stops outside a room, two regular offices wide. It’s lined with built-in bookcases on three walls that reach up to the high ceiling. Through the centre are two rows of smaller bookcases, and on the third wall, a reference computer, an ancient-looking microfiche reader, and a photocopier. Crammed behind all of that is my desk.

  Priya walks towards it and places a hand on top of the cubicle divider. “You can put your bag in the bottom drawer,” she says, tapping the desk with her foot. “It locks.” Then she takes me through the computer login process and sifts through my already full desk tray, showing me law journal updates and explaining how the firm’s library system works.

  “The microfiche machine lives in here, but since everything is online now, it isn’t commonly used. However, we do still have a number of solicitors who prefer the old tech. They’ll send you a request for the microfilm and you’ll need to get them from the archives. Elliot—one of our newest junior solicitors—is in charge of those. He’s also responsible for cataloging these law magazines.” She pulls them out of my tray and I wonder why they aren’t just sent to him directly. “I’ll take you to meet him now.”

  Priya leads me down the busy corridor to a small office wedged between the partner’s big corner office and all the regular-sized offices. I would have thought it a storage room if I wasn’t shown different.

  “He’s just in here.” She taps on the closed door and waits patiently for the OK to go in. When she opens the door, a man in his early twenties looks up from his work revealing the most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

  I catch my breath as I drink him in, feeling shocked I’m even reacting to him. Since my altercation with Christopher, I’ve barely even noticed the opposite sex. But this man—this Elliot—well, he’s something else. He’s gorgeous.

  Even through his dress shirt, I can see how well muscled he is, his face showing that smattering of stubble I love on a man. I don’t know how else to describe him, except to say he’s stunning—those blue eyes, that full mouth, his light golden-brown hair and broad shoulders—I feel myself swoon a little but return to reality when I notice him arch one of those perfect eyebrows in question.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Elliot. But, I just wanted to introduce you to our new librarian, Kat,” Priya says, indicating me.

  “Um, no. It’s Katrina,” I correct, hating my name shortened to that of a small furry animal.

  “Sorry—Katrina,” Priya amends with a slight eye roll.

  Elliot doesn’t speak at first. He just sits there, studying me.

  Is there something in my teeth?

  My cheeks flush
involuntarily, as the discomfort of being stared at causes me to look nervously around the room, out the door. Anywhere but at him.

  My apparent unease seems to make him realise he’s staring. He quickly clears his throat and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Katrina.”

  His voice, wow. It’s as beautiful as the rest of him with a deep rumble that sends chills up my spine.

  I’m trying desperately to be cool so he doesn’t notice my immediate attraction. A guy like this must have women swooning all over him. I don’t need him to think I’m one of them—despite his hotness. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my twenty years on this earth, it’s that hot guys and I don’t mix. We’re better off as friends. I’ve dated guys who look as good as him before and it’s never ended well. The scars I bear are the perfect testament to that.

  I manage a tight smile. “Hi, um, uh, Elliot.”

  Inwardly, my eyes roll. You sound like an idiot. And to make matters worse, there’s silence after that. Nobody says a word, and this awkwardness envelops us like a scratchy woollen blanket.

  Say something smart. “Ah…” My eyes dart around the room, trying to find a talking point to move things along. “Nice window.” I wince, regretting the comment the moment it leaves my mouth. You are too stupid to live, woman.

  Elliot’s brow lifts again as he glances over his shoulder at said window “It came with the office.” His blue eyes meet mine but reveal no emotion.