Author Anonymous - E.K. Blair

Author’s Note

It’s an honor to tell Anonymous’ story. I’m in awe of her bravery to expose her heart and allow me to crawl inside and explore deep down to the cobwebs where her skeletons lurk. When I found them, she allowed me to awaken them. I spoke to them, questioned them, yelled at them, and cried with them. I took her story, wrote notebook’s worth of notes, listened to her words, and then sharpened my tongue to let them bleed through me and onto the pages of this book. This may be told in my voice, but this is her story. Thank you, Anonymous, for trusting me with your darkest everythings.

“Chaos is an angel who fell in love with a demon.”

~ Christopher Poindexter

The dreadful sound of my alarm wakes me from a dream I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. Giggling from my girls echoes through the door of my bedroom as I blink my eyes open, holding on to the vanishing visions before lucidity erases them entirely. I stretch my arms and legs as I breathe in the scent of pancakes and bacon, the aperitif of familiarity and comfort.

Tossing the blankets aside, I leave slumber’s fantasies on the pillow and get out of bed. When I slip on my robe, I head out to the kitchen for some much-needed coffee.

“Look who’s awake, girls,” my husband announces as he flips pancakes onto the kids’ plates.

They give me a fleeting acknowledgment as Landon sets their breakfast on the table. While they stuff their mouths, I focus on making my cup of coffee.

“How late were you up last night?”

Stirring the creamer into my mug, I look over to my husband of eight years and respond, “A little after two.”

“What kept you up so late this time? A fighter? A pilot? A billionaire with a dark past who finally met the one woman that would change him forever?” He laughs as he says this, and I can’t fight the urge to bust out laughing too. Because he’s spot on. “You read such garbage, you know?”

“Hey!” I chastise through my own fit of giggles. “I write that stuff too.”

“So what was it, huh?” he continues to tease.

With a toying glare, I admit, “The billionaire with a dark past.”

“Knew it! You like ’em rich and filthy, which is why you married me.”

“Are you stashing money I don’t know about?” I joke as he begins to wash the dishes. Looking over to our girls, Emily and Jill, I tell them, “Hurry up. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

They shove their last bites in their mouths, jump out of their chairs, and run up the stairs.

“Get back here and clear the table,” I call out, trying not to sound too naggy, and then grab my coffee before heading back into my bedroom to throw myself together.

I’m in the middle of brushing my teeth when Landon walks into the bathroom.

“Don’t forget that I’m working late tonight. Damon and I are testing out a few new recipes for the menu,” he says and then hops into the shower.

Landon is the sous-chef at Chin-Chin, an upscale French steak and seafood restaurant in the heart of Boston. We met when I was in college at Boston University, where I majored in film and television studies. During my third year, I took an internship in the props department at FOX25, Boston’s local news station. At the time, Landon was a young, up-and-coming chef and had landed a guest spot for a demonstration segment on the morning show.

“That guy was so hot.”

“I wonder if he’s single?” Brooke, my best friend who also interns, says as we are down in the kitchen, cleaning all the dishes from the segment.

“I doubt it. He’s probably banging some blue-eyed, blonde tart who drinks spritzers.”

Brooke narrows her eyes at me. “You just pretty much described me.”

I laugh and shake my head at her as I continue to wash the pans and plates while she dries.

“Excuse me.”

Brooke and I turn around to see the hot chef standing in the doorway.

“I think you accidentally took my knife case,” he says.

“Oh . . . I’m so sorry.” I take my hands out of the soapy water, dry them off, and walk over to the cart that we loaded all the props onto. Kneeling down, I find his knives on the bottom rack. When I move to stand, he steps beside me, and I stumble on my feet, hitting my head on the cart and knocking over a few ramekins of sauce onto my