Ruined (Ruined and Redeemed Duet Book 1)

by Marie Johnston

  Jake’s brow furrows as he tries to make it out.

  I ramble nervously. “It’s one of the first recipes Dad used to kick-off his company. He had, like, five of these. One of them is actually the basis of the massage oil I threw together for you.”

  I twirl the bag around. It’s a prototype. The logo isn’t on it yet, but the marketing director wanted my opinion on the overall look and feel before she approved any more changes. I love it, and I brought it with me to remind me of where I started. No man is going to walk into my life and take what he wants. This company is mine and will always be mine.

  I proudly take my bag to Jake and my glow diminishes. His face pales, but then his eyes spark like they’ve been hit with jumper cables.

  I don’t know what’s going on in his mind, but I have the urge to hide the bag behind my body and pretend I never showed him.

  Jacobi

  The handwriting scrawled on that fabric is my mom’s. Two words in her formula stand out.

  Natural and glow.

  That bastard even stole the name of the company from her. My parents might’ve gone with something different, but the original inception came from my mom. The words loop and curl in her elegant style.

  London prattles on, oblivious to my mounting fury. “When I first saw this, I knew I was going to carry it everywhere. Whenever things get tough, or I don’t think I can handle a situation, I take it out. Such a simple recipe grew into a place that provides for so many people and their families. I’m proud to be part of the legacy.”

  I can barely tear my gaze off that bag. I’m caught between wanting to set it on fire and preserving it for the rest of my life. I have very little left of my parents. By the time they were both gone, there wasn’t anything left worth saving. Any pictures that remained are stored in the deepest corner of my house without plans to ever see the light of day.

  London’s so damn proud of that bag. Her eyes shine and her shoulders are held back. This bag is a symbol for her. Is she going to mass produce it so any fuck can walk around with my mom’s passion on their shoulder?

  That tote should not exist, except it’s a snapshot of the most defining part of my mom’s personality. Before Dennis Vanderbeek ruined my family.

  “Oh, yeah?” It’s the best I can do. The other option is to let out my rage in a roar and punch a hole in the wall. That would ruin my plans.

  And I have fucking plans for London Vanderbeek and Natural Glow.

  “Did your dad come up with that?” I use immense effort to keep the sneer out of my voice. “Is that what they accused him of stealing?”

  She frowned. “It’s not his handwriting. I thought it was Diana’s, but when I asked her, she said maybe it was my grandmother’s.” Her eyes flash with sadness. “Dad was older when he had me. Both grandparents died before I was born. Diana quit talking to her parents when she left home.”

  “I had a grandpa.” I kick myself for offering up the info. I haven’t talked to anyone about Grandpa. I think about him. All the time. I wish he could see what I’ve built from nothing. He’d be proud.

  Would he be proud that I was making the one who hurt Mom pay?

  He’d probably say it was no use going after a dead man. He’d probably also point out that London wasn’t the one who hurt Mom. He’d notice that London wasn’t the type to hurt anyone.

  And I’d have to remind him that everything London had was based on a stolen empire. The recipes and formula. The money. The idea. The ambition. The hope. The last one did the most damage.

  “What was he like?” she asked. I rip my glare off the bag and the heartbreaking handwriting. What were we talking about? As if she reads my mind, she says, “Your grandpa.”

  She carefully folds the tote up, treating it as if it was precious, as I would’ve. I contemplate acquiring it without her knowing and taking it with me when I leave, but the real story will all come out in time. Then I’ll get everything without having to lurk in the shadows.

  “He was a good man. He died before my mom.” Thankfully. He didn’t see how far she fell and how much pain she was in.

  “You’ve lost so many people.” Sympathy poured out of her voice. I can’t stand it, but I revel in it. Such an alien feeling.

  “I’ve been alone for a long time, London.” And I keep saying shit that’s better left unsaid.

  “That explains a lot,” she says softly, then gives me an apologetic smile. “I was just thinking about how you’ve changed since I first met you.”

  “Since you first met me…last week?”

  She rolls her eyes, knowing full well I’m trying to deflect a case of the feels. “Yes. You were charming, and you still are, but it’s different. I thought that last week, you were trying hard to be what you thought you should be and now you just are.”

  Now you just are. She has no fucking clue. I’m nothing like I am right now. I’m the bastard forcing her to marry me. I’m the one with a file labeled with her name and enough content that could land me in jail—or labeled as a stalker for the rest of my life—but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.

  “You haven’t changed.” And she hasn’t. Other than being drunk the first night, she’s still the vibrant, optimistic twenty-something I picked up in the cabana.

  Unease filters through me. What I see is what I get with London. I’m not around a lot of people, but after a lifetime of watching from afar, I can read them well. She might be a little different in L.A. Busier. A touch more serious at work, but I doubt it. Is she more oblivious to the world around her there than she is here?

  A girl like that should’ve been eaten alive a long time ago. Luckily she had her father’s protection.

  That’s gone now.

  She clasps her hands in front of her. “You say it like it’s a bad thing that I haven’t changed over the last two weeks.”

  “Is it bad that I have?”

  She tilts her head. “No. I’m glad. I’d rather know the real you during our time together.”

  The naive part of me that has never been in a relationship glows under her words. I stuff the feeling away, but it claws its way back up and lodges in my throat. I struggle for air and can’t escape.

  She’s revenge. She’s the enemy. The way she makes me feel is all because of the entitlement she grew up with. I came here and did what I meant to and it’s backfiring. She’s making me feel special and I can’t spin it in a way that benefits only her. I can’t lie to myself that she’s selfish and deceitful and—

  My resolve wavers dangerously. I imagine flying home, heading straight to my office, and shredding the marriage contract. I imagine telling her who I really am and even worse—apologizing for what I’ve done.

  I can’t take another day with her. She’s warping me. Is this how her dad operated? Gain trust and then twist it?

  My traitorous intuition is screaming no, she’s not like that. I have more to lose than my parents. This is for them. This is for that boy who hid in his room while his dad raged and his mom cried. For that boy who found his mother’s body in vomit and wine.

  I’m going to leave, but not yet. I can’t bring myself to tell her that I’m just running out for some dinner to bring back and then just never return. I have to hold her one more time. I need to be inside her. Need her to say my name and remind me why it’s the wrong one.

  I infuse my tone with suggestion and a sour note tints my voice. “I plan to show you the real me again.”

  That sweet and innocent smile that kicks me right in the gut shines my way. I have to steel myself against it using straight up titanium. She’s the kind of woman who could make you believe the fairytales.

  That makes me the villain in the story.

  She floats toward me and drapes her arms over my shoulders. “I like the real you.”

  That does me in. I can’t talk. I can’t even look at her. Thankfully, I don’t need my eyes open to kiss her. Or to lead her backward until her knees hit the bed.

  It’s better this way. I c
an leave a mystery until later. No tearful goodbyes. It would be a day early, but London isn’t going to hook up with anyone else. I don’t know why I’m so confident about that detail, but I am.

  When I next step foot outside of this room, I’ll be the real me. Or as London called me, The Dick Dixon.

  Chapter 13

  London

  “I can’t believe he left me.” I swirl my spoon in my smoothie. If I don’t drink it soon, it will be nothing but lumpy juice. After I woke up alone to find all signs of Jake Dixon wiped out of my hotel room, I called Diana.

  I’m close to Diana, but getting ditched a day early by a hot guy is more of a friend SOS. But thanks to the NDA, I have no way to explain to Penni or Holland what happened.

  An empty ache resonates in me, loud and low, like a tuning fork that won’t quit.

  I woke up and he was gone.

  Diana encouraged me to fly home. She picked me up at the airport and I told her to take me anywhere, but not close to the office. I’m in no shape to see anyone I know. My face is pale, my eyes red-rimmed, and I’m bone-tired despite getting two weeks of more sleep than I’ve ever gotten in my life.

  It was a real vacation. And I’m afraid I fell in love for real.

  We’re at my favorite smoothie bar in West Hollywood, not far from my penthouse.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” Diana’s wearing her work clothes. She’s been holding down the office after I left for two weeks with almost no notice and it looks good on her.

  My earliest memories of Diana are of bleached blond hair, lots of makeup, and skin-tight clothing. I loved her then and I love her now. She spent her youth getting written off because of her looks and now she helps run a multi-million dollar company.

  I heard the whispers after Dad died. Will Diana make a power grab? It wasn’t as much our employees, but what they heard from our business associates, investors, and overseas clients. All people who don’t know Diana. She has a good head for numbers, claims she’s too young to retire even though she could, and enjoys working with me. When we get into our brainstorming sessions, we can sketch out ideas for hours.

  So, yes. I will marry that asshole and Diana and I will figure out how to defeat him together. No capes needed.

  “What’s been going on while I was gone?” Work talk will distract me. It’ll also cue Diana that I’m doing okay. She can take me home and return to work. I don’t want to be a downer.

  “Our contact in Paris called. She received the first shipment of product and wants to know if we’ll be there for the grand opening.”

  My stomach sinks. Getting Natural Glow overseas—and in the fashion capital of the world no less—was a dream of mine, an achievement that Dad said he was too old for. I secretly think he left that hurdle alone, for me. If I crossed it, I’d earn the respect of everyone we did business with.

  Their grand opening is in a month. I’ll be London Vanderbeek Dixon. Married to a man who claimed he’d “take care of” my company after we wed.

  Fuck that.

  “I…” I push the smoothie away and slump in my chair. “I don’t know. Of course, I’d love to. Both of us should be there, but I don’t know what’s going to happen after Saturday.” The day after tomorrow.

  Diana’s expression is grim. “I told her we’d both love to, but that I’d confirm in the middle of next week.”

  “Thank you.” I stare at the small ice chunks sliding down the inside of my glass. “What should I wear Saturday?”

  “Definitely not a wedding dress.” Her eyes mist over. “This isn’t how I imagined your big day would go.”

  “Me either.” I always planned to have both Dad and Diana walk me down the aisle. Dad’s gone, but Diana is here. “I don’t think there’s a wedding dress that says fuck you loud enough.”

  “We could wear solemn black suits.”

  The corner of my mouth hitches up. “Kind of like a funeral. I still have the suit I wore to Dad’s funeral.” I wrinkle my nose. That day was sad, but the memory is still one I don’t want tainted by Jacobi Dixon. “No, that won’t work.”

  “There’s that shop we’ve gone to before at the end of the street. Let’s hit it up.”

  “At least we’ll still get the chance to shop for my wedding garb,” I say wryly, but she doesn’t smile.

  Her eyes cloud over. “London, you don’t have to.”

  I grab her hand across the table and give it a squeeze. “I’m contractually obligated. Once I’m in, it’ll be easier to destroy him.”

  She squeezes back. We leave the smoothie shop and find the business wear shop that I’ve been in before.

  The sales lady, Sienna, recognizes me. Her smile is sincere. “Miss Vanderbeek, welcome back.” She nods toward Diana. “Ms. Vanderbeek. What can I help you find?”

  “Something black,” Diana answered.

  “And depressing,” I add. “I want it to say ‘I don’t want to be here’ and ‘I don’t like you.’”

  “One for each of us.” Diana flashes her best wicked stepmother grin.

  After a brief flare of her eyes, Sienna looks over both of us. “Do you want to make more of a ‘I don’t like you’ or ‘you wish I liked you’ statement?”

  Diana chuckles. “The first for me and the latter for London.”

  “I have the perfect outfits in mind.” Sienna walks to a rack tucked in the back corner. “Off the record, we call it our first wives mourning rack. You know, the ones they wear to the kid’s graduation to show the new young wife that they didn’t miss a thing getting left for her.”

  Diana’s fitted with a form hugging black skirt suit that shows off her Zumba and power walking figure. The shoulders aren’t padded, but the ensemble screams strength and fortitude. Pair it with heels and she’ll look so untouchable that she might as well be wearing a suit of armor.

  I stare at myself in the mirror. My outfit is black as well, only it’s a pantsuit that folds around my breasts, dips through the cleavage, hugs in at the waist, and flares dramatically at the hips. If I pair this with four inch heels, I might as well wield a sword. My overall look screams money and status, but more importantly, the sophistication that The Dick Dixon will never possess but wishes he could.

  Diana’s behind me. She lifts a flute of water that Sienna gave us as if it’s the most expensive champagne. “He’ll regret messing with us.”

  My triumphant smile doesn’t improve my ragged look. Messy hair that’s the result of my hasty departure from the resort and circles under my eyes from the long flight home trying to ignore the guy next to me who wanted to make small talk as if my heart wasn’t shattering into a million fragments.

  My grin falters at the reminder of Jake. Why did he leave a day early? Was it his way of saving us both from an ugly goodbye? After this morning, there was no way I could’ve played it cool.

  But he gave me one last time with him in bed. That last time was different. I couldn’t figure out why, only that after confessing that I liked the real him, he seemed distant. The sex was still off the charts, but somewhat perfunctory. Now I know it was because he planned to leave me.

  Sienna beams at my side. “I think that makes the statement you want.”

  I looked over my pale, drawn reflection. Somehow, Sienna found a shade of black that doesn’t wash me out. Or she put me under the right lighting and Saturday when I put it on, I’m going to appear ready to vomit as soon as I say ‘I do.’

  As long as I spew all over him, either statement works for me.

  Jacobi

  Business as usual isn’t the same. Since I got back, things are different. It has to be because of the wedding tomorrow. The anticipation. The curiosity over how she’ll react when she learns who I really am—and who I’m not. The added stress about taking Natural Glow away from her isn’t helping.

  What the hell am I going to do with the company? I want to destroy it, but at the same time, I want to go to Mom’s little burial plot and tell her how brilliant she was. Show Dad that he was on the rig
ht track and that it wasn’t their fault they destroyed themselves. That it wasn’t their fault they couldn’t keep trying for me.

  Isn’t that the rub? I should hate them more than I hated Dennis Vanderbeek. They abandoned me long before they left this Earth. But it wasn’t their fault.

  I stare out the window in my lower-level office. My house was built in an arc and all the inner rooms view the ocean. Across from my courtyard with lounge chairs and an outdoor kitchen and fire pit is a wide stretch of beach where blue waves lap the shore. I went swimming this morning and had to quit early. Memories of my lessons with London and whether they were good enough to keep her from drowning in the Pacific wouldn’t leave me alone.

  Is she going to try to swim in the ocean? She’s not a strong swimmer.

  Acid churns in my stomach thinking of tomorrow. My patience and my planning come to fruition in twenty-four hours. In this office.

  This is the space I use when I need to have people over. My real office is a renovated master suite and no one’s allowed in there, not even my housekeeper. She’s been more interested in getting in my pants anyway, but I haven’t had time to deal with her.

  Only one woman has consumed my thoughts, and she’s dominated them for far too long.

  I sweep my gaze around the office. What is London going to think about getting married in here? Arguably, she won’t care once she learns the first level of my deception. She won’t learn the rest.

  Did she dream about a wedding fit for a princess? One with a pristine white dress, in a magnificent chapel, a solemn priest, followed by birdseed gently tossed over her as she exits the church? The image of her laughing and running with billowy skirts puffing up around her as she’s showered with seeds goes through my mind.

  I can’t give her that.

  I’m giving her an office, with cherry wood trim and an imposing desk to match. The walls are devoid of anything but my diploma, and the bookshelves have books that are mostly for show. First editions of the classics that I never bothered to read. The few bookends I had could do some damage if she decided to throw them—at me or anywhere else.