My Damaged Protector

1. Ian

1

IAN

How do you become a billionaire?

It's quite simple.

You wake up one morning, receive a visitor you had no idea was coming, and they say to you, “Mr. Peele, I’m Christopher, your Aunt Maya’s estate manager and lawyer. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Of course, you tell him sure because what else could you say? Especially since you have no previous knowledge of an Aunt Maya.

He enters, and you offer him a seat. You ask if there's something you can get him. He asks for water, which you provide.

As he drinks the water, and you watch him impatiently, wanting to know who this Aunt Maya is and of what concern she is to you.

After taking his damn time to dramatically swallow more than half the glass, the attorney places the glass down, raises his head so your eyes meet with his, and then he tells you you're now a billionaire .

“Mr. Peele, I’m here to inform you that your aunt has passed away, and she's left behind over a billion dollars, including an estate in Glazer Ville, and it's all yours.”

Yeah, it’s not so weird at all.

But unbelievable as it was then, time has proven that the information is, in fact, very true.

I have an aunt. Had. She lived in Glazer Ville and had a lot of money and real estate investments there, too. It’s now mine but, of course, with a slight condition.

And now you're wondering what the condition is.

Well, it would appear my good aunt wants me to live in Glazer Ville, the town she lived and died in, for a year before I can access all that she left behind.

To anyone else, this is a small feat in exchange for what I have to gain. But as someone who loves what he does and takes so much joy in saving lives, I decided to bench myself from having to go to Glazer Ville indefinitely. That is, until I got suspended from work and had no choice but to make good use of my compulsory leave.

So here I am, standing in front of a cheap motel in a town where I have many properties but can’t visit any yet, deliberating if I really want to be here.

It doesn't help that my account balance badly needs a brush-up, but I refuse to focus on that as I look at my new surroundings, taking note of everything my eyes rest upon.

The place has managed to surpass my expectations. I expected to meet small town, older houses and maybe snobby people. But so far, all I've experienced is very chatty people, a lively environment, and very beautiful houses.

Truthfully, I don't know what I was thinking in expecting shabby houses, but if I'm going to be honest, there's a huge part of me that thinks the whole billion inheritance thing is a scam.

The joke’s on me, though, because the town sure looks like one that hosts a lot of people with money. Which is very weird because it's in the countryside, somewhere you would expect to meet people because they have no choice living there, not because they have so much money.

Oh boy.

I shove my hesitation aside and finally enter the motel. I walk toward the front desk. It's not like I can drive back home anyway. Again, low on funds.

A lady with a warm smile welcomes me, her eyes not so inconspicuously taking me in.

“A tourist, I presume?” she asks when I'm in front of her.

I opened my mouth to say no but then decide against it. I might as well be a tourist.

I nod with a smile, and she smiles back at me.

“Well, allow me to properly welcome you to Glazer Ville; you will enjoy your stay here, I promise, and if you need help locating anywhere around town, please don't hesitate to ask.”

In that case.

“I need a room, and then I need to find a bar. Think you can help me with both?” I ask her with a charming smile.

I refrain from winking at her, knowing the effect it has on women, and I'm not sure that's something I want to involve myself in right now.

Besides, she looks like someone who's probably had a child or two. And I'm quite certain that I’m older than she is, maybe by a decade or a half.

“I can help you with both,” she informs me.

“Ah, good,” I respond, picking up my bag, which I'd dropped beside me on the floor when I first reached the desk.

“How much would it be for a night?”

“Just a hundred bucks. It comes with dinner and breakfast.”

Oh joy, at least I don't have to worry about food for another few hours.

Damn Richard for kicking me off my job and leaving me with no money!

She comes out from behind her desk, motioning for me to follow. She leads me down a hallway with several doors.

Ten minutes later, I've taken a quick shower, changed my clothes, and I'm now heading out to the bar. The lady, Susie, told me it’s just a minute's walk from the motel.

I actually wonder why they don't have a bar of their own in the motel, but I didn't ask her. I'm not sure how long I'll be here anyway.

I find the bar easily. It's a little bit full but nothing overwhelming. As I take my seat in front of the bartender, the guy nods at me in acknowledgment as he attends to another guy three seats away.

When he's done, he comes to stand in front of me, an easy smile on his face.

“New in town?” he asks.

Okay, what about me stands out so much that they can all fish me out at first glance?

“Yeah. Can I have a bottle of beer, please?”

“Sure,” he responds, walking away from me, not minding that I cut him off from saying whatever he is he wanted.

Thirty seconds later, he's placing my beer in front of me and opening it.

I wrap my hand around the bottle, and a relieved sigh leaves me. Chill as hell, just how I like it!

“Enjoy your drink, and welcome to our town,” he says, giving me a pointed look before he walks away.

“Thanks,” I mutter after him and raise the bottle to my lips, gulping more than half of it before I drop it back down.

I feel a belch building up in my throat, and I let it out slowly before I take the bottle to my lips again.

The bottle is empty within a matter of minutes, and soon, I'm beckoning at the guy for another.

The only thing I get from him is a raised brow before he goes to bring me another bottle, taking the empty one with him.

I finish the second bottle in record time and ask for another one.

As the guy places the third bottle in front of me, he holds onto it hesitantly, causing me to meet his eyes.

“I'd like for you to pay for the ones you've had so far, please,” he expresses gently.

I press my lips in amusement, and I dig my hand in my pocket to bring out my wallet. I give him a twenty, knowing it should cover the third bottle I'm about to take, too, and leave some change even.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“Yeah. Can I have my drink now?” I ask, nodding at the beer he's still holding onto.

“Sure.” He quickly releases it and opens it for me.

“You can keep the change,” I want to say, but I don't dare. I am on my last three hundred bucks. If I so much as give out a cent, it'll affect me, because I have no hope of a job, yet.

I shouldn't even be spending any money on alcohol. But it's either this or I'm in that room, thinking about Justin. I choose this.

The thought of him hurts. It always does.

As I down my third bottle of beer for the night, I don't allow myself to think of the many demons I've had to fight to this point in my life. Instead, I take gulps of beer anytime an unwanted thought tries to surface.

Before I know it, I'm done with my third bottle.

A groan escapes me in irritation. Why's the damn thing finished so fast?

I contemplate not getting another bottle, and my need to be high wins against my currently reducing wallet.

Sighing, I signal at the bartender, who brings the bottle without any hesitation this time around.

He leaves me to it.

I do my best to make the bottle last longer than the others, and it does, but eventually, it’s finished.

One more last bottle, and I'll go. I can already feel the alcohol in my blood anyway.

As I raise my hand to signal the bartender again, someone takes the seat beside me. I don't have to turn to know she's a lady. Her smell and the way my body reacts to it tells me that much.

I am definitely leaving after this last bottle.

“Is it me, or are you trying to break a record by drinking so much so fast?” says the woman beside me. I pay no heed as the bartender brings me my fifth bottle for the night.

I’m already digging inside my pocket for my wallet again when I hear her speak.

“This one is on me,” she says.

Somehow, her voice sounds familiar.

“No,” I refuse.

“Don't be silly. I can pay for an old friend’s drink now, can't I?”

Old friend?

That gets me.

Chancing her a glance, I come in contact with a face that once used to haunt me.

“Sarah,” I breathe her name out.

She rolls her eyes at me, pays the bartender, and then turns back to look at me.

“Hello, Ian. Is there any particular reason why you’re drinking your liver to death tonight, or is this just a normal Tuesday night for you?”

A quirky smile graces her lips as she speaks, and I can't help but reciprocate it.

She hasn't changed. Okay, maybe I should rephrase that because the Sarah I'm looking at right now is not the eighteen-year-old girl I knew fifteen years ago.

Her face is as angelic looking as ever. Her red hair has grown more in volume in the past years. Fire engine, I used to call it because of how striking her hair color was, and still is.

Her round-shaped face has become paler, same as her skin, her lips plumper and red. Sarah was a petite girl when I used to know her. Now, she's a full-grown curvy woman, and I don't need her to stand up for me to ascertain this. The full cherries in her bosom are all the indication I need.

In her smile, I still see that eighteen-year-old who tempted me so hard, and in the back of my mind, I register that she probably doesn't find me attractive anymore. I have more gray hair now, some of which I would have plucked if I knew I’d run into her here.

Who am I kidding?

She's probably married now.

“It's good to see you too, Sarah,” is all I say to her.

She chuckles at my words. Her laugh sounds like it used to back in the day. I guess not everything has changed, after all.

“So, how often do you go around paying for people's drinks, or is it just something you do for the special ones?” I ask her, my throat suddenly parched as I wait for her response.

I guess alcohol makes one dehydrated.

She shakes her head, her eyes dead on me as she speaks. “No. I only buy drinks for people I plan to put to use for the rest of the night,” she says and winks at me.

Oh my goodness, did she just… Did she just flirt with me?

Maybe I don't look so old after all, because if the way my blood is pumping so hard in my veins is any indication, I may be ending the night in Sarah's arms.

Hopefully!