Undone

by Mia Kayla

  He took another drag from his cig, his cheeks pulling in. “Nope. Mobs of fans, stalkers—yes, plural—on the loose. Restraining order against one of them.”

  “Stalkers on the loose?”

  “Yeah. Not about to go into it. Plus, it’s more for the studio than me. They want their moneymaker to stay in one piece.” He shrugged. “It’s normal in my line of work.” His tone was flat, monotone, as though that were the regular life for everyone—being watched, someone on your tail all the time.

  I couldn’t imagine it. I wondered if, in the same position, I’d take the money and fame and give up my privacy and my ability to be free. Nope. I couldn’t do it.

  Our eyes locked for a moment, and I blurted my thoughts out loud, “It sucks to be you.”

  He winced, a short, immediate reaction, and if I had blinked, I would have missed it.

  “Some would say I live the life.” There was no inflection in his voice, no heart in his tone.

  “Of a prisoner.”

  He lived a life confined by his fortunes.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” I bit my cheek to prevent myself from being too honest.

  His gaze clouded, his eyes going distant, and then he surprised me. “Yeah, sometimes.”

  I hadn’t expected those words to come out of his mouth. I sensed we were built the same—cocky and with a lot of pride inside. My brain-to-mouth filter was emotion-proof, meaning I’d never reveal my true vulnerabilities. I guessed his wasn’t.

  He flicked his cig to the ground and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Want to get inside?” Then, his lips tipped up into a confident smile, and it was as if I’d imagined that tiny, unprotected side I’d witnessed. “Because I want to get inside …” His voice trailed off, seductive and alluding to things that made a shiver of pleasure run through me.

  When his eyes roamed my body, I laughed and slapped his shoulder. “For an actor, I’d think you’d have more game.”

  The ovary-bursting smile made an appearance again, and I strolled past him to get to the doors of Allswell to join the rest of the party.

  Chapter 2

  The music was bumping, and the restaurant was decked out in purple and white balloons, matching the white table linen and purple napkins, which were my sister’s favorite colors. The ambience was perfect, just how I’d planned it.

  Fine, the surprise had been ruined, but that didn’t mean the rest of the night wouldn’t flow effortlessly. It had to. Dinner would be served at eight p.m., dancing until nine forty-five, and cake and candle blowing at ten. After which, I’d be done and at home and in bed by eleven p.m. I had to be. I had an early morning meeting with a potential client to lease the Wells property. This had to happen. I needed to rent that property.

  I greeted friends as I made my way to my family’s regular table at the other end of the restaurant. It seemed as though Cade had invited the whole town. The restaurant wasn’t closed to the public, but the majority of people were here for my sister.

  When I glanced behind me, Jordan was a few feet away, but now, his cap hovered over his eyes, drawn low over his head to hide his high-profile self. I reached for his hand, ignoring the shock of his skin against mine and the warmth of our connection spreading down my arm.

  I tipped his baseball cap and leaned in. “Let it go. No one will know who you are here in Rosendell. You might be big and bad and beautiful in Hollywood, but not here.”

  “I’m not used to a crowd this big unless it’s for a work function, and then I’m there to do a job.” He shifted with unease. “When I hang outside of work, it’s usually just with my brothers.”

  I noticed that his bodyguard hadn’t trailed him. Maybe he had given him instructions not to come inside. Who knew?

  “Well, your brothers are here.” I angled my head toward the long table on the side, taking in Cade and Wyatt—his adopted brothers—chatting it up with my parents.

  My sister joined in the conversation with her overly animated facial expressions and hand gestures. I smiled. Man, did I love that little squirt. I had to make sure the DJ I’d hired had Angie’s favorite dancing songs.

  When Jordan didn’t budge, I gripped his hand tighter and pulled him toward the table.

  For a minute, I was a breathless girl of thirteen, palms sweaty, pulse pumping, and mouth dry. I was holding hands with Jordan Ryder. I dimmed my fangirl moment, but inside, my heartbeat raced.

  Keep it together.

  When Angie saw us approaching the table, she jumped up from her spot. “Tene! Jordan!” Her voice echoed throughout the room.

  My mother’s eyes were trained on Jordan and our intertwined fingers. I couldn’t read her face. Over time, she’d perfected the ability to remain stone-faced while her mind went into overdrive. Bravo for my mother. It was how I’d learned my poker face so well.

  The stern look on Cade’s face made it clear what he thought of our friendly hand-holding.

  Jordan noticed, too, because he dropped my fingers as though I had some sort of hand disease.

  The rejection pricked like a pin through my skin, piercing and sharp. That was what I got for changing up my tune and being nice for once. I’d been trying to put him at ease but no more of that.

  Angie’s arms wrapped around me first before embracing Jordan. “I’m so glad you came. I know your schedule is crazy busy with filming.”

  I pushed my way past them and went toward my nana. I hugged her fiercely.

  “Tene, you dating that hot bod over there?” Her smile lit up my insides.

  My grandmother—Nana—was the queen of celebrity gossip. She had subscriptions to every single celebrity magazine, watched every award show, and binge-watched practically every sitcom featuring all the hottest stars. Plus, she lived at the movie theater on the weekends.

  “You know who that is, don’t you?” I whispered, leaning into her.

  She squinted and angled closer as though it would better her vision. She stared at the hottie talking it up with Cade and Wyatt, and I knew the exact second she recognized him. Her mouth opened, and her lips formed a small O.

  Nana was the cutest, hippest, five-foot-nothing grandma. Other grandmas were knitting and going to bridge club. My grandma was memorizing star stats and going to the movies by herself to make sure she wasn’t missing out.

  “That can’t be …” Her wrinkled hand flew to her heart. She pushed her eyeglasses up her nose, bent forward, and squinted. “Jordan Ryder?” In the next beat, she stood. “Excuse me. I think I might introduce myself.” Nana was a cougar on a mission.

  I shook my head, amused, and then walked over to greet Wyatt, who was standing aloof by himself in the corner, ditching the crowd he’d been talking to. Wyatt Ryder. What could I say about him other than he was quieter than a mouse and easily as attractive as the other brothers? And I’d heard he was richer than the other two Ryder boys, combined.

  His shoulders were slumped, his head downturned. If you didn’t initiate conversation, Wyatt would stay to himself the whole night. A few months ago, I’d seen he was growing out a dark brown beard. Now, it was in full scruffy, lumberjack mode. It was pretty hot if you were into beards. Me? I preferred the good-looking, clean-cut types.

  The brothers all had their separate, distinct characteristics. No doubt all gorgeous, but there was something deep and dark and hidden in Wyatt’s soul. I had good people radar. And my radar read this man as someone who was still searching for who he wanted to be.

  “Hey, Wyatt.”

  “Hey.” He waved with his free hand while the other held a beer.

  I followed his gaze to the ground. What the hell is he staring at?

  “Have you been in town long?”

  He nodded, his eyes focused anywhere but on mine. “Yeah.”

  “How long will you be staying?”

  “For a little bit. I’ve started filming my documentary on social situations.” The corners of his lips tipped upward, and his eyes flickered toward me and then back to the ground.
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  “In Rosendell?”

  Angie hadn’t mentioned that Wyatt was in town long or that he was filming here. Wyatt had a bachelor’s in fine arts with a concentration in film and cinema. Ironic, given the father he’d just met within the last few years, was the biggest media mogul in the nation.

  “Yeah, it’s nothing, really. Just in certain pockets of Rosendell. But I think it’s going to be good.” His smile widened. Whatever he was working on, he either enjoyed or believed in his project—or both.

  “So, is this project for one of your dad’s companies?”

  His facial features dropped, the smile no longer on his face. “Yeah.” He blew out an audible breath, and silence ticked on between us. “And just because we share the same blood, he’s not my dad.”

  Noted. And awkward. “Yeah. I get that. Sorry.”

  I stared at him, noticing a scar I hadn’t seen before at his temple. It was faint, but it was a scar, nonetheless. I wondered what building he’d jumped off, thinking he was Superman. I wondered what age he’d gotten that scar. And I wondered how I could change the subject and quick.

  “You staying with Cade and Angie?”

  “Yeah.”

  A man with only one-word answers.

  And then the conversation was over, and I was done.

  “Well, drink up, man. It’s open bar.” I slapped his shoulder, smirked, and then headed to meet the rest of the family—my father first, seated at the head of the table.

  His jolly laughter had me smiling, and when he pulled me into his Santa Claus hug, I relaxed into him. The heart surgery that had happened a few months ago seemed to be successful, but he had retired permanently, and now, Angie and I were taking the reins of our multi-million-dollar real estate company—Armstrong Realty LLC.

  He squeezed me harder, and my smile widened.

  Where Angie was everyone’s girl, I was Daddy’s girl. He was the toughest on me, but only because he wanted me to succeed, as though he was always rooting for me, rooting for the underdog to win. That was why I’d made it my lifelong mission to never, ever let him down. Tomorrow, I had to secure this deal and rent out the Wells property, which had been causing a bleed in our bottom line for too long.

  When Dad released me, I turned to greet my mother.

  “Tene.” There it was—the flat, disparaging tone. Her way of letting me know I had just done something wrong, even though I’d only been in the room a few minutes.

  “Mother,” I uttered. My tone lacked its chipper mood. I scratched at my brow and fidgeted under her scrutiny.

  She was still mad at me for breaking her dead mother’s china last week at a formal family function. A single plate. Did she care that it had been an accident? Did she care that I felt horrible? Did she care that I’d apologized left and right and up and down and in and out? No. She never even liked Grandmother.

  All she cared about was that I had done it, and she had someone to blame—me.

  And I still had to hug her and pretend we had a perfect relationship because it would only upset my father if I didn’t.

  I leaned into her, and she pressed her cheek against mine, like the Europeans we weren’t.

  When she pulled back, she lifted an eyebrow, eyeing Jordan and Nana chatting it up. “So, is that the new man of the hour?” She adjusted her diamond stud earring and lifted her chin. “Isn’t that Cade’s brother?”

  “I just walked in with him, Mom. I’m not dating him.”

  “You wouldn’t want to ruin things between Angie and Cade, would you? Mess things up for them with another one of your flings?”

  The ringing in my ears heightened, the sound of my blood buzzing behind my ears, something only associated with Mother dearest. I wished the noise could drown her out, but it never did.

  “I’m not going to ruin anything Cade and Angie have.” Tension rose to my shoulders and strained the veins in my neck. My hands clenched and unclenched, but my tone was utterly even. One quality that I’d inherited from her was self-control and the ability to master the poker face.

  “That’s good. Angie’s promotional party was already ruined.” She paused long and hard, staring at me as though it were my fault.

  I rubbed at my temple and held back the colorful word on the tip of my tongue. Technically, Jordan had ruined the surprise.

  She blamed me for practically everything—for the high-crime statistics, for the outcome of the election, for global warming. I could never get a break from this woman—ever. It wasn’t like I’d done anything to her. I just refused to play by her rules, unlike perfect Angie. It didn’t matter because everything I did would be criticized, along with every move I made and every breath I took. If there was a wrong way or right way to breathe, my mother would find fault in mine.

  “And now, it’s time for drinks.” I pointed and headed to the bar, feeling her judgmental eyes on me the whole time.

  I walked toward my sister and linked my arm through hers, dragging us to our drinking destination. “Shots. Shots. Shots.”

  Cade was footing the bill, so the point of tonight would be to keep drinking and drinking to drown my mother’s disappointing voice in my head.

  Chapter 3

  “Oh, hell,” Tara, my sassy friend, spat out, draining the last of her beer.

  I followed her line of sight to the door, and my stomach dropped and kept on going.

  Of all the places that Logan could show up, it was at this restaurant on this night, where I couldn’t escape.

  “What’s that asshole doing here?” She scowled in his direction. “Why couldn’t he move to Mexico or to some remote island where we wouldn’t have to see his face?”

  God, did I love my friends. They always had my back.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s fine. You told Emery you’d help her at JobOps.”

  Tara and Emery were my closest friends from college. But with life and jobs and family in the way, we hardly hung out anymore.

  I pressed my cheek against Tara’s. “Later, babe.”

  He strolled in, wearing his pressed dark slacks and signature favorite white polo shirt that I had bought him for Christmas.

  Logan Price. The one. The only. The Ex.

  The ex-boyfriend who had broken my heart but not “on purpose,” as he’d said. Yeah, fucking right.

  Camilla was on his arm.

  Memories of heartbreak bombarded my brain. The breakup had once weakened me to a woman I didn’t recognize. And it was all his fault.

  I’d lost weight, lost my love of food, my love of laughter, my love of life. He’d done that to me with his betrayal. Grief and despair tore at my heart, and at times, taking my will to live. It had taken months to get over him, to get some semblance of normalcy back. Even now, I knew I’d never be the same after him. He’d taken a part of me—that innocent part of me that had hope; hope that believed in forever love.

  Camilla stood right beside him—his first choice, the girl before and after me. And she merely stared, tongue-tied.

  Camilla’s blonde hair was tucked into a low ponytail, and her features screamed innocence, though she was anything but. She had known we were dating. The problem was, she’d wanted Logan back, and she’d won.

  What I couldn’t do on a night like tonight was lose composure, go psycho Tene, and cause a scene. Not on my baby sister’s special night.

  They both paused at the door and took everything in—from the balloons to the decor to the crazy-ass sign that my parents had made that said, Congratulations.

  Maybe they’d leave. It wasn’t a private event, but other patrons had left, knowing it wasn’t a regular night at Allswell.

  But Nana spotted them first and waved them over to my family’s table. My mother stood to greet them, pressing her cheek against Logan’s and shaking Camilla’s hand.

  My family thought we’d ended amicably. It seemed as though my father knew better because he remained rooted in his seat, turned the other way, ch
atting it up with Wyatt.

  I loved my daddy through and through.

  My mother had loved Logan because she thought he was the perfect man to tame my wild self. When we had broken up, she had been relentless with the unending questions of why—Why isn’t he coming around anymore? Why are you broken up?

  The answer I never gave her was the truth. He didn’t want me. I wasn’t good enough.

  “You going to drink the night away?”

  The stark, familiar blue eyes raked over my face, and I shifted on the barstool, focusing my attention on something new—Jordan.

  “There’s nothing like having a good time.” At times, I believed I got drunk on purpose for my mother to see. To be more defiant. Or maybe … maybe it was to forget about her entirely.

  “Baby, I’m all about a good time, but there’s also something called alcohol poisoning.”

  His smile was actor beautiful—too good to be real, too impossible not to fall for. I bet he paid to have his teeth whitened daily.

  My eyes teetered to the far end of the restaurant, where my family was chatting it up with The Ex, and I shrank into myself, not wanting to be seen.

  “What’s the sour face for?” Jordan raised his hand to the bartender to get another drink.

  I tipped my chin to the left, and Jordan followed my line of sight to our families congregated at the other end of the restaurant.

  “Who is that?”

  “The Ex,” I spat out like acid was at the back of my throat.

  “And I take it you two didn’t end well.” Jordan eyed Logan across the room.

  “Nope.” I tipped back my beer, feeling the cold liquid hit the back of my throat. “That’s his first girlfriend. Let’s just say, she never got over him and begged him to come back—literally, on her knees.”

  He threw a few bills on the counter and grabbed his beer. “Literally?”

  “Yes. I caught him with his pants down. Her on her knees.” I laughed without humor.