Toxic Love Story
Toxic Love Story
Nikita Slater
Copyright © 2022 Nikita Slater
Toxic Love Story.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Contents
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
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
Nikita’s Newsletter!
Bonus: Loving Vincent
Bonus: Scarred Queen
Also by Nikita Slater
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About the Author
For my fellow lovers of Turkish dramas, Lakorns, K-dramas, telenovelas, soap operas, and all the incredible romantic dramas from around the world.
Chapter One
Yasmin hoisted the heavy bag of garbage and shoved through the back door of the kitchen and into the alley. As the door slammed shut behind her, she huffed in annoyance. The light was out again. Management kept replacing the bulb, but it was something else. The wiring maybe. She didn’t know because she wasn’t an electrician, but if she were, the darn thing would be fixed by now and she wouldn’t be walking through a dark alley again.
The first indication she had that she wasn’t alone was the smell of cigar smoke. Yasmin wrinkled her nose as it invaded her nostrils.
“Is there someone out here?” she asked cautiously, squinting through her glasses.
She should probably be more afraid of a dark alley in the downtown core of Toronto, but she’d taken this trip out to the garbage bin hundreds of times without incident.
She heard footsteps and the smell of cigar smoke got closer.
“You’re not supposed to be out here,” she said firmly. “Staff only out back of the hotel.”
“How do you know I’m not staff?” His voice was a low rumble, but smooth, like river water over stones. He had an accent, but she couldn’t place it. Definitely not Canadian.
Yasmin still wasn’t afraid. Only curious. She’d only once run into someone out back when he’d climbed the fence and was digging through the garbage bin when she threw her bag in. He’d popped his head up, startling her. She’d asked him if he found anything interesting and he’d shown her a couple of items hotel guests had thrown out.
The hotel was one of the most expensive in the city, catering to an exclusive clientele, so she hadn’t been surprised at the guy’s findings. She’d told him to be careful and left him to it.
Somehow, she didn’t think this guy was a dumpster diver. She wished the light was working because she couldn’t make him out.
“I know you’re not staff because there were only three of us left in the kitchen and everyone was still inside when I left.” She frowned at him. “Come to think of it, how did you get out here? I didn’t see anyone come through the kitchen.”
“Over there.” She saw a hand come out of the shadows and point. A couple of rings glinted in the dim light coming from the street.
He was pointing at the discreet exit. A back exit from the hotel, used mainly for celebrities and escorts. Somehow, she didn’t think this guy was an escort. A celebrity maybe?
“Who are you?” she asked bluntly.
She felt tension thrumming through him and nearly took the question back. She shouldn’t be offending hotel guests. She already had one strike against her for telling a hotel guest she wasn’t a pimp when she’d dropped off room service and he’d asked her to arrange an escort for the evening.
“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.
“Fair enough,” she agreed. “My name is Yasmin.”
“Volkan Kartel.”
“Okay, Volkan, you can’t be out here.” She hefted her garbage bag and made her way down the ramp to the dumpster. “You’ll have to finish your smoke and go back inside. Next time, use your room’s balcony.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and friendly. The cigar smoke followed her down the ramp. Before she could shove the metal top of the bin open, he reached up and did it for her.
Taking advantage of his help, Yasmin hurled the bag inside, then wiped her hands down her skirt. “Thanks,” she said, turning to look at him through the dim light.
He was tall… much taller than her 5’3”. Broad shoulders, broad chest, long limbs. He was bigger than average, but not a monster. If he attacked her, she might be able to take him. Besides being a little on the short side of life, Yasmin was pretty much average. She blamed her height for her slightly rounder-than-she-liked curves. If she were five inches taller, everything would stretch out.
The guy was wearing a suit jacket, tailored, she thought, from what little she could see. The jacket seemed to strain at the seams, his biceps outlined beneath the material. His white dress shirt was open at the throat where the strong cords of his neck were clearly defined. He wore his hair clipped short and his face, which was strong and rugged, was clean shaven.
“Do you make it a habit of bossing around hotel guests?”
Thankfully, he didn’t sound angry.
“No,” she said, then thought about it. “Okay, sometimes. But rules are rules and since I work here, it’s my job to enforce hotel rules.”
“Maybe I don’t like rules,” he said casually. “I like to make my own rules.”
“Then you must have a lot of money,” she countered. “Only rich people can get away with breaking rules whenever they like.”
She could feel tension thrumming through him and worried that she’d overstepped and he might complain to her manager.
“Do you always say what you think?” he asked, echoing her thoughts.
“No. Sometimes I keep things to myself.” She fidgeted, then said, “I’m going back in now. Have a good night. Remember to smoke on your balcony from now on.”
She walked back up the ramp toward the door, but his voice reached out through the shadows, stopping her.
“How old are you?”
Frowning, Yasmin turned around. “Twenty-two. Why?” She wasn’t sure why she told him, but she found herself drawn to the mysterious stranger. Fascinated by him. Why w
ould a hotel guest smoke in a dirty alley when he could smoke on his fancy balcony?
“I’m trying to decide if you’re old enough.”
“Old enough for what?” She suspected she knew, given his interest, but wanted to be sure.
“Old enough for me.” She saw a spark as he dropped his cigar to the pavement and stepped on it. “What’s your last name?”
What was this? An interview for a date?
“I don’t give my name out to strangers,” she said, rubbing her hands down her arms. It was late March and the weather was warming up after a cold winter, but her shirt was thin and she was catching a chill standing outside in the dark.
He walked toward her, and when she stepped away from him, edging toward the door to the kitchen, he stopped.
“When do you consider a person no longer a stranger?”
His accent seemed stronger the more he spoke, but she still couldn’t place it. “I don’t know,” she said, thinking about it. “Maybe three meetings.”
“How long?”
“What?” she asked, confused.
“How long does each meeting need to be?”
This guy was an odd duck, but he was amusing, so she answered. “At least five minutes per meeting.”
“And then you will consider us no longer strangers?” he asked seriously. “We will be familiar with each other?”
“Sure,” she said, digging her keys from her apron pocket and fitting them into the back door.
“Until our next meeting then,” he said, the rumble of his voice following her as she slipped through the back door.
Their strange conversation was forgotten as Yasmin continued her shift. She worked the 8 PM to 4 AM shift on weekends, which allowed time to study for school. She was in her fourth and final year of an archaeology degree at the University of Toronto.
The night manager approached while she was finishing her room service order. “Yasmin, you’re up. Room 1202.”
She looked at him in surprise as she took the trolley he pushed toward her. He was sending her to the top floor, reserved for their highest paying customers. The executive suites.
Normally, her boss wouldn’t send her to the top floors because he didn’t want her getting the big tips. He hadn’t liked her since she’d refused to go on a blind date with his failure-to-fly thirty-year-old son. She thought she’d turned him down politely, but he’d banished her to the kitchen after that exchange and she’d been washing dishes and running room service for the lower floors ever since.
The elevator dinged, and she rolled the trolley into the hallway. There were four rooms on the floor. She pushed the food to the far end of the hallway and knocked on the door.
About thirty seconds passed before the door was jerked open.
Yasmin could feel her professional expression slipping as she faced a man who looked like he fell straight out of the pages of a magazine for professional security guards. He wore a black suit, but not an expensive one, and he was absurdly alert for the time of night. An earpiece and a buzz cut finished the look. He even had sunglasses sticking out of his suit jacket pocket.
“Name and business,” he said impatiently, his eyes on something past her shoulder.
“Yasmin Mahdi, room service,” she said just as succinctly as she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Tray, food, uniform. Duh.
“Let her in,” a familiar voice demanded from behind the man.
He stepped aside, allowing Yasmin to pass.
The man from the alley was waiting for her as she rolled the trolley into the room. She’d recognized his voice, but his appearance up close, without the shadows in the alley, was enough to steal her voice and her senses. She stopped short and stared at him for what could only be considered a rude amount of time.
“Uh…” She tried to speak, but it was impossible when faced with the presence of such a man. She totally got why he was ordering room service at 3 AM. Dude probably needed endless snacks to keep up with the men and women who would line up for his eyes alone.
He stood when she entered the room and came around the side of the couch to stand close to her. Too close. The odour of cigar still clung to him, giving the air a faint spicy scent. Up close, he was breathtaking. His frame was thick with muscle, but he was tall enough to carry the extra bulk with ease. His light grey suit was tailored to every part of him in an almost indecent way. She had a quick peek and… yup… his package was nicely outlined by the material.
His hair was clipped short, but slightly longer and styled on top. There was a shadow of coarse dark hair across his jaw, like he needed a shave. His bottom lip was fuller than the top and he had what looked like a permanent frown line between his dark, obsidian eyes. A faint scar slashed down across his lips and another, deeper scar, bisected his left eyebrow. One of his cheeks was pitted with small circular scars. They only enhanced his appearance, giving him a deeply handsome pirate look.
He held his hand up between them and curled two of his fingers and his thumb down to his massive palm, leaving two fingers aloft.
Yasmin frowned, trying to figure out what he was saying. Was he making a peace sign?
“Second meeting,” he said, smirking.
She remembered what she’d said to him in the alley. Three meetings and a person was no longer a stranger. A giggle erupted from her lips.
“Only if I stay for five minutes,” she said cheekily.
Despite his intimidating appearance and air of wealthy privilege, she was starting to like him.
“You’ll stay,” he said with confidence.
She shook her head, then asked, “Where do you want the food?”
He glanced down at the trolley as though he’d forgotten about the food. She suspected he’d called room service to engineer this meeting and the food wasn’t important. Which meant he would’ve had to ask for her specifically.
She shivered as she imagined him asking for her in that deep, cool voice.
“On the table by the window.”
She set the food out, careful not to clatter the dishes, though there was a slight shake to her hands. As she lifted the lids off each dish, she realized there was enough food for several people. Even with his size, he’d have to be starving to get through everything he’d ordered.
When she turned around, she found him standing directly behind her. She stared up at him and something sparked between them, sending a sizzle through the air.
“Will that be everything?” she asked, her words coming out in a breathless rush.
“Eat with me.”
“I can’t,” she said. “It’s against hotel rules. No fraternizing with guests.”
“I’m different,” he said insistently.
“You make your own rules,” she repeated what he’d told her in the alley.
A smile split his face, his teeth flashing in the light as he laughed. The grin was almost sinister, making his resemblance to a pirate even stronger, but she felt drawn to it… to him.
“Maybe you can break the rules, but I can’t,” she insisted. “I need this job. I have loans to pay.”
He frowned. “Loans?”
“Yeah, student loans, bills, that kind of stuff.” She was about to add – things normal people had to pay – but figured his and her idea of normal were probably wildly different. The cost of the suite, topped with his expensive suit and security detail, made her doubt that he’d have to worry about loans and bills.
“You’re a student,” he murmured.
“Yup.” She moved the trolley past him, careful not to touch his hulking form as she made her way quickly to the door. The other guy was standing in her way. He was as big as Volkan and had an air of casual boredom about him, as if he hadn’t seen action in a while and would love it if his client found an enemy for him to beat on.
She felt Volkan at her back and turned to look at him, her heart beating like there was a tiny drummer hammering away in her chest. She was really hoping he wouldn’t turn out to be a creep and try to trap her i
n the room. She’d read a click-bait story on the internet once about a woman who was murdered by a guest while cleaning his hotel room.
There was no chance she could take Volkan physically, but if he touched her wrong, she was going to make darn sure she left forensic evidence all over him, starting with teeth and nail marks.
She flinched when he reached for her, but he only took her wrist in a light grip, lifting it between them. She held her breath as he pressed a piece of paper into her palm.
“That was five minutes. I look forward to our next meeting.” He glanced past her to the man blocking the door. “Henry.”
Henry opened the door and she rushed through it, cart in tow. The door closed, leaving her alone and shaken in the hallway. She uncurled her fingers and looked down at the paper he’d given her. It was a $100 tip.
As she boarded the elevator and headed back down to the kitchen, she wondered about their next meeting. There wasn’t a single doubt in her head that there would be one.
Chapter Two
Yasmin was having trouble keeping her eyes open and was glad when her South American archaeology class finished. She stood and stretched, yawning widely, before packing her books in her bag and pulling it over her shoulder. She left the classroom with her friends, Vanessa and Lilly.
“You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up,” Vanessa commented as they headed out of the building, stepping into the bright afternoon sun.