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Mad Gold (Providence Gold #2)
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From the outside looking in, I’ve got it all. An awesome career, an amazing sister, good friends…what else could I ask for?
The answer to that would be – the love of someone not related to me. Specifically, the woman who kissed me at midnight on New Year’s Eve and then disappeared into the crowd. The same woman who reappeared a day ago on the plane that I was on.
She’s trouble and mayhem andI don’t want to obsess over her, but I’ll be damned if I can stop.
It wasn’t my fault he thought I was having an allergic reaction on the flight. I tried to tell him the truth, but my tongue was too swollen. What are the chances of me totally embarrassing myself twice in front of him? For me – it was a given. Same day, not once but twice!
Now, I can’t get those steel gray eyes out of my mind. Every time I allow myself to think, or even blink, there they are front and center. Apparently, we know each other, semi-intimately as well, and he seems offended that I don’t remember, but my mind is one chaotic mess.
A walking chaos, the definition of calamity, shouldn’t be the perfect match for someone who’s organized to the point of being anal – should it? Or will he run for the hills?
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Mad Gold thoughts…
Dear Marshall Mathers III (aka Eminem),
What does happen when a tornado meets a volcano?
The random thoughts of Madix Blue, the day after he sees the woman who disappeared, on the same plane as him and “saves” her life. Well, not really saves her life, more like throws a spanner into it like she did to his.
A calm, organized, methodical man vs an irrational, crazy thinking, somewhat disorganized woman. Putting them together could either result in answering the question to Eminem, or it could end up in an explosion.
That’s why putting them together is nothing but madness.
M (madness, Madix, mayhem, minsanity – totally made that up, miracles, and morons)
G (gold as in oil, giant, gorilla, God almighty they’re freaking nuts and good luck)
W hen I was roughly fourteen years old, I’d taken up smoking. Coach had given me a reaming over it, telling me I wouldn’t be able to run for shit and wouldn’t grow taller, but I hadn’t given a fuck so I continued.
Ironically, I ran faster, and I grew taller. Much taller!
Then, I’d graduated from high school and decided I needed to quit, not realizing until that moment how addicted to it I’d become. It hadn’t been easy, and I’d tried going cold turkey, but that had just sent me spiraling.
Just eating had made me think of a cigarette – the one that felt so good after you’d finished your meal. Sitting on the balcony of my apartment made me think of it. Reading did too, relaxing and letting the nicotine hit as you read the book. Not one thing I did on a daily basis didn’t have cigarettes associated to it for me.
So, I went the down route of gum and cutting back until I was only smoking one a day. At that point, I realized I didn’t even need that one cigarette, so I quit. Since then, I’d picked it up again for brief periods of time, all for work situations because I’d been a cop. When I was working undercover, I had to appear inconspicuous and normal. Well, as inconspicuous and normal as you could when you were six-foot-fucking-eight.
Blending into the crowd – cigarette. Going to a bar – head outside for a cigarette when the subject did. Who’s gonna notice the dude looking at the screen of his phone or staring into the dark with a cigarette in his hand? Regardless of how tall I was, the answer to that had been zero.
Did they really think cops didn’t smoke normally? Seriously? Most of my ex coworkers had been heavy smokers. Then again, a lot of them had also been corrupt fuckers which was why I’d left so using them as an example for anything in life wasn’t a good idea.
I’d never been tempted to take smoking back up again after a case, though. It didn’t taste the same anymore and instead of making me feel calm or satisfied like it had at the beginning, it just left me feeling sick and sluggish.
Thankfully, aside from that one problem in my teens, I didn’t have an addictive personality. I might have come from a good man, but the same couldn’t be said about my mother. She had been a drug addict. She’d hid it from my dad until she went further down the rabbit hole and couldn’t anymore. When he’d found out, he’d kicked her out and filed for divorce, getting custody of me. She’d then shacked up with another addict, had my sister, and had overdosed leaving her daughter with an abusive son of a bitch. So, it was a relief I hadn’t inherited shit like that from her.
I also didn’t rely on alcohol to get me through the day. I did have a beer when I’d had a shit day, but that was normal. I’d never done drugs either – I hated the things given the shit I’d seen on the force on a day-to-day basis and what I’d spent the first years of my life around.
Nope, no addictions – aside from coffee.
Coffee I drank from the moment I woke up, until I went to bed. This wasn’t conducive with sleep though, so I slept for shit, which meant I needed more coffee to keep me moving. It was an evil repetitive cycle, and I’d realized not long ago that I was headed for a major burnout if I didn’t do something.
I hadn’t taken a break from work in years. Even when I’d quit the police and had moved from the area I’d been living in before moving to be closer to my little sister, Luna, I hadn’t taken a break. I’d gone straight into my new position as the head of security for Townsend Oil’s operations and had taken up my duties before I’d even unpacked my boxes.
I was almost twenty-seven years old and I don’t remember a time that I hadn’t been busy doing something, which is how my dad lived his life too. When I thought about it like that, I realized that I’d worked for six years solidly with no holiday, aside from my allocated days and national holidays off, so I’d decided to take a vacation. Nothing too far away from home – Luna was pregnant, and I wanted to be there when she had the baby in case she needed me – but just a break from work and life.