Romance: North: (Hot New Adult Bad Boy Romance, Alpha Male Rock Star Rebel Romance) (Contemporary Mystery and Romantic Suspense Short Stories) by Jade Allen Page A
Authors: Jade Allen
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consider an extended break until the media buzz died down. Floating past the newsstands filled with full-page reproductions of her boyfriend’s cheating--or, more likely, the unabashed shame of the socialite--Rayne ambled to the subway, pulled out a worn paperback from her bag and settled onto a bench to immerse herself into a story where the almost-fiancés weren’t caught out on national media cheating with pretty socialites.
Several people had joined Rayne on her bench; one was a stylish woman with a glossy blonde bouffant, designer coat and black patent stilettos. The woman was flipping mindlessly through a thick glossy fashion magazine, paying only slight attention to the fashion spreads. A rush of air across the platform signaled the arrival of another train. The woman folded back several pages of her magazine and tucked it under arm as she hoisted her large leather tote and stepped into the crowd of commuters, disappearing among the throngs of beige trench coats and black jackets. Just as the train was pulling out the station, sucking another gush of air from the platform, Rayne felt a frantic fluttering at her side; a business card had lodged itself into the slats of the bench. Rayne picked it up and was surprised by the weight. It was made of a very luxurious bright white card stock but felt like it contained something heavier—almost as heavy as a credit card. Pressed cleanly into the card were crisp black letters in a take-no-prisoners serif font:
YOUR PARADISE AWAITS…
The other side just had a cryptic web address of letter and numbers. Rayne looked back to see the final train carriage disappear from view; the woman must’ve dropped this. Rayne tucked the card into her book and continued reading, deciding to check out the website once she was within Wi-Fi reach and see if she could drop the card off.
Despite the lust and romance that sprinkled the pages of her favorite books, opening the door of her brownstone apartment brought Rayne back to her immediate future. Mentally exhausted, Rayne began to boil water for tea, getting out her favorite mug. Remembering the special business card tucked in her book, Rayne scrabbled around looking for it before booting up her laptop.
Dropping onto the couch, Rayne turned the card over in her hand and carefully typed in the long URL, double-checking the letter and number sequence twice. Within a fraction of a second of pressing the enter button, Rayne’s screen went black. Of all the people in the world to type in a link to a virus…
Then, the screen faded into white; a set of black letters materialized and faded in a gentle sequence:
“Welcome to Eden. You have been selected to join us for an exclusive getaway. Disappear into a tropical island paradise. For your eyes only.”
Oh crap.
The screen changed to show expensive resort imagery with sweeping tropical landscapes. After one rotation through the images, a registration screen popped up demanding details. Rayne searched the static page looking for contact details, but there was nothing.
I can register, but I’ll explain that it was a mistake and I’m looking for the right person.
Rayne typed in her details and, after a moment of hesitation, pressed ‘submit’.
Another screen popped up among a new gallery of resort images: “Thank you for registering. One of our resort team members will contact you shortly.”
Rayne opened a new search window and typed in “Eden Resort,” only to get back tens of thousands of possible clues. She extended the search with “island paradise,” only to whittle a couple of thousand from the list. Before Rayne could contemplate another search term, her landline phone started ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Rayne Baker?” a bubbly woman’s voice echoed down the phone.
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name is Cassandra from Eden Resort. We just received your registration.”
Wow, that was fast.
“Look, I’m glad you called because I actually think this
Several people had joined Rayne on her bench; one was a stylish woman with a glossy blonde bouffant, designer coat and black patent stilettos. The woman was flipping mindlessly through a thick glossy fashion magazine, paying only slight attention to the fashion spreads. A rush of air across the platform signaled the arrival of another train. The woman folded back several pages of her magazine and tucked it under arm as she hoisted her large leather tote and stepped into the crowd of commuters, disappearing among the throngs of beige trench coats and black jackets. Just as the train was pulling out the station, sucking another gush of air from the platform, Rayne felt a frantic fluttering at her side; a business card had lodged itself into the slats of the bench. Rayne picked it up and was surprised by the weight. It was made of a very luxurious bright white card stock but felt like it contained something heavier—almost as heavy as a credit card. Pressed cleanly into the card were crisp black letters in a take-no-prisoners serif font:
YOUR PARADISE AWAITS…
The other side just had a cryptic web address of letter and numbers. Rayne looked back to see the final train carriage disappear from view; the woman must’ve dropped this. Rayne tucked the card into her book and continued reading, deciding to check out the website once she was within Wi-Fi reach and see if she could drop the card off.
Despite the lust and romance that sprinkled the pages of her favorite books, opening the door of her brownstone apartment brought Rayne back to her immediate future. Mentally exhausted, Rayne began to boil water for tea, getting out her favorite mug. Remembering the special business card tucked in her book, Rayne scrabbled around looking for it before booting up her laptop.
Dropping onto the couch, Rayne turned the card over in her hand and carefully typed in the long URL, double-checking the letter and number sequence twice. Within a fraction of a second of pressing the enter button, Rayne’s screen went black. Of all the people in the world to type in a link to a virus…
Then, the screen faded into white; a set of black letters materialized and faded in a gentle sequence:
“Welcome to Eden. You have been selected to join us for an exclusive getaway. Disappear into a tropical island paradise. For your eyes only.”
Oh crap.
The screen changed to show expensive resort imagery with sweeping tropical landscapes. After one rotation through the images, a registration screen popped up demanding details. Rayne searched the static page looking for contact details, but there was nothing.
I can register, but I’ll explain that it was a mistake and I’m looking for the right person.
Rayne typed in her details and, after a moment of hesitation, pressed ‘submit’.
Another screen popped up among a new gallery of resort images: “Thank you for registering. One of our resort team members will contact you shortly.”
Rayne opened a new search window and typed in “Eden Resort,” only to get back tens of thousands of possible clues. She extended the search with “island paradise,” only to whittle a couple of thousand from the list. Before Rayne could contemplate another search term, her landline phone started ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Rayne Baker?” a bubbly woman’s voice echoed down the phone.
“Yes, who is this?”
“My name is Cassandra from Eden Resort. We just received your registration.”
Wow, that was fast.
“Look, I’m glad you called because I actually think this
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