“Mind if I join you?” A deep voice yanked my attention to the man standing next to my table. Blackwood stared down at me. A snug-fitting black Henley stretched across his chest above dark blue jeans. Before I could answer, he slipped into the chair across from me. “I hate eating alone, don’t you?”
“Is it safe? You have the reputation of a troublemaker.”
He grinned and waggled an eyebrow.
“Fine. Yes.” Pushing aside my reservations, I made room for his coffee and two oversized muffins. Most of the time, I ate alone—either at my desk or over the kitchen sink at home. Sometimes Muriel joined me, but being her boss had put a weird strain on our relationship. With a sharp pang, I realized that I didn’t really have friends anymore.
“Why on earth would you call me a troublemaker?” With long, tanned fingers, he unwrapped both muffins and set them in the center of his plate.
“Sam doesn’t like you. Why is that?” I watched, fascinated, as he slathered butter on the muffins.
“Maybe because I was poor.” Next he poured half a bottle of maple syrup over the tops of the sugar-crusted muffins. “Or maybe because I’m mixed race.”
“Sam doesn’t care about where people come from.” I took a sip of my latte.
“Or maybe because I put myself through college by working as a male escort.”
The latte shot down the wrong pipe. I sputtered and choked. Blackwood handed me a napkin and patted my back, waiting patiently until I recovered.
“Thank you,” I gasped.
“No worries. It’s not a secret.” He shrugged and returned to the sugary monstrosity on his place. After the first bite, he moaned in appreciation, a deep, throaty purr. “Mmmm. This is so good.”
I tried to concentrate on the panini but set it down after the first bite. “I’m sorry. You can’t say something like that without an explanation.”
“What’s to explain?” He continued to hum over the muffins and paused to lick a grain of sugar off his thick lower lip. “Wealthy women paid me to have sex with them. I took their money and invested it in my future.” In a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “And one of them financed my first business venture. That’s what Sam doesn’t like.”
“Really?” Despite my initial shock, I grinned at his complete lack of remorse. “I can’t imagine that Sam cares one way or the other. He’s not usually judgmental.”
“Well, I can’t say that I blame him. After all, it was his mother.”
Chapter 18
DAKOTA
THE ONLY thing standing between me and my happily-ever-after was the box resting on the corner of my desk. It came a week after my breakfast with Blackwood, on a Wednesday. I had a new job, a new home, and a new husband. Not just any husband—Samuel Seaforth. With the advent of his father’s troubles, Sam’s face was plastered on every magazine cover and newspaper. As a handsome, cosmopolitan guy, he’d captured the media’s attention, along with the eye of every female under the age of sixty.
I had everything a girl could ask for. I should’ve been happy, content, ecstatic at the turnaround in my formerly miserable life. But the fairytale had lost its luster. Instead, I stared at the damn box with a knot in my stomach and a strong premonition of impending doom.
Blood-red paper and a black velvet ribbon wrapped the box. Simple. Elegant. Symbolic. It was no bigger than a deck of cards and weighed even less. I tapped a finger on my desk calendar and narrowed my eyes. Part of me wanted to fling the box out the window. The other, less sane part, wanted to rip away the paper to discover the contents.
“Are you going to open it, or are you just going to stare it to death?” Muriel’s voice interrupted my musings.
“No.” The wheels on my chair squeaked as I pushed back from the desk.
“Can I?” Her hopeful tone brought a reluctant twitch of a smile to my mouth.
“No.” The package reminded me of just how much I hated Maxwell Seaforth. In true Maxwell fashion, he’d found a way to interfere with my happy ever after.
“Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious about what’s in there?” Muriel adjusted the six colorful bracelets on her wrist. Always one to push the boundaries of acceptable fashion, today she wore a pink poodle skirt, complete with petticoats and a tight white sweater.
“Well, yes, I’m dying to know, but I made a pact with Sam.”
“Maybe you did, but I didn’t.” Muriel blinked innocently. “I’ll just take a quick peek to see if it’s, you know, dangerous or something.”
Before I could stop her, she snatched the box from the desk and peeled away the wrapping. I watched her face, entranced, hoping to find a hint in her expression as to the contents. With purple-tipped fingernails, she pried the lid open and stared inside. Unable to contain myself any longer, I grabbed the box and peered into the depths. An antique silver locket rested on a bed of velvet. I drew out the heart-shaped pendent and held it up by the long chain. It was heavy and by the patina of the metal, very old. After a deep breath, I opened it to find the picture of a baby Samuel peering back at me on the left. The right side was empty, presumably for our child.
Sam’s wide, expressive eyes brought a lump to my throat. I’d never seen a picture of him as such a small child. Blond ringlets curled around his infant head. Even as a baby, his mouth bore a humorous quirk, the bow of the upper lip exaggerated and full. I trailed a fingertip over his portrait. Would our child be as beautiful? This glimpse into the future brought with it a new excitement. Looking at Sam was like looking at our unborn baby.
“Who’s inside?” Muriel left her chair to peer over my shoulder. Her eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s one beautiful kid.”
“I know.” My voice sounded unfamiliar, the pitch made higher by emotion. I snapped the locket shut with gentle fingers and was about to replace it inside the box when an inscription on the back caught my eye. All my love, Jeremiah. 02-17-1846.
“Oh my God. You’re not sending that back. No way.” Muriel’s words echoed my thoughts.
I closed my fingers around the locket. For the first time, Maxwell had sent something precious, more valuable to me for sentimental reasons than monetary worth. Sam had the deepest respect for his ancestors. He’d told me the story of their struggle to success on more than one occasion. We’d shared our first kiss in the abandoned foyer of his great-great-grandparents’ home. Now I held a piece of their history in the palm of my hand. How could I send it back? Sam would understand if I kept it. Wouldn’t he?
By lunchtime, I’d convinced myself to keep the gift. I’d show it to Sam when he returned from his trip. Until then, I wore it around my neck, over my heart. When I got home, I shoved the box into the back of my dresser drawer and forgot it.
Chapter 19
DAKOTA
SAM’S ONE-week trip to New York turned into two. He flew home to sign the closing documents for the new apartment then left again for Tokyo. I began the arduous task of moving alone. Crockett got the job and took over the lease to our apartment. We left the old furniture for him and, with Venetia’s help, I transferred our things to the condo. The strain of sixteen-hour days at the office, a new home, and the pregnancy left me exhausted. Somehow, I managed to drag myself to work every morning. The morning sickness eased, and I breathed a little easier, knowing it had been nothing.
Sam spent more time away from our new home than in it. By the end of the month, he’d amassed a total of three nights in the massive king-size bed I’d bought. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Pittman, had taken an instant dislike to me, and I had no idea why.
“The extra linens should go in the closet at the end of the hall,” she stated for the third time. A tall, thin woman, she towered over me by a good five inches. Her black hair molded to the shape of her skull, gathered in a tight bun at the back of her neck.
“I’d prefer them in this closet,” I said in as gentle a tone as I could muster, and pointed to the door next to our bedroom.
“I’ve run homes twice this size. I know what I’m talking
about,” she said, penciled eyebrows drawn sharply together. “If you don’t have confidence in my experience…”
“Sam says you’re very competent,” I replied. “But I don’t want to walk all the way down there when I want something.”
“Very well,” she replied and lifted her nose. If it got any higher, she was going to trip and fall over something. “We’ll see what Mr. Seaforth has to say when he gets back.”
“If he gets back,” I grumbled then drew in a deep breath, counted to ten, and continued on my path down the stairs. The past few days had been a constant battle of wills. The woman tested my opinions at every turn.
As if sensing his name in conversation, my phone vibrated with Sam’s incoming call. His low, smooth voice eased some of the anxiety building in my chest.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, yourself,” he replied.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Seaforth?” I smiled and toyed with a strand of my hair, instantly happy again.
“On my way home, baby. Time to celebrate. As of this moment, we’ve got four new acquisitions in play.” The amount of pride and excitement in his usually stoic voice caused a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.
“Really? That’s fantastic. I can’t wait for you to see the house. What do you want for dinner?”
“No way. I’m taking you out. Be ready about eight. I’ll pick you up.”
“Okay.” I bit my lower lip and frowned. “Mrs. Danvers isn’t going to like that. I think she made a roast or something.”
“What did you call her?” Sam’s laughter burst from the phone.
I moved into the kitchen and closed the door behind me. “You heard me. She’s more like a tyrant than a housekeeper.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m serious, Sam. I don’t think she likes me.” I lowered my voice to a stage whisper, even though the person in question was an entire floor above me.
“Everybody likes you, baby.”
“Your mom didn’t like me. Your dad hates me.”
“Stop.” He cleared his throat and sobered. “If you don’t like her then fire her.”
“Oh no, mister. You brought her into this house, you can fire her.”
“If that’s what you want.”
After a second, I reconsidered. It was a big house, and I was growing more exhausted every day. I’d need someone competent to handle things while I concentrated on the baby. “No. Let’s wait a bit and see if things smooth out. I can handle her.”
“I’ve got no doubt about that.” His deep chuckle reverberated through my ear and straight down into my panties. “Give her hell, baby. Just remember, you’re the boss.”
“I know.” The smile returned to my lips. “And I’ll be happy to show you when you get home tonight.”
“Now you’re talking.” Static blurred his next words.
“Sam?” I held my breath, unwilling to lose him so quickly.
“Got to go. See you at eight,” he said, and the line went dead.
Chapter 20
SAM
MORE AND more, my life seemed like a blur of airports and automobiles. While I waited to board the next return flight to Laurel Falls, a strange sense of unrest stole my concentration. The constant travel and hotel rooms left me yearning for home and Dakota. I took out my phone and dialed her number. The call went straight to voice mail. After twenty minutes of unsuccessfully trying to answer emails, I decided to walk the terminal and stretch my legs. As I traveled along the corridor, my thoughts drifted until a familiar face caught my attention.
“Tucker?” The last time I’d seen my best friend had been a few months ago. Until then, I hadn’t realized how much I missed our weekly breakfasts and workouts with him and Beckett.
“Hey, there’s the man.” Tucker shook my hand then jerked me into a one-shouldered man hug. “It’s been too long.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. What’ve you been up to?” I backed up to take a good look at him. His wavy dark blond hair trailed above his shoulders, and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. As usual, he wore a faded concert T-shirt and black Chuck Taylors, but the playful twinkled seemed absent from his eyes. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks. You look like a stuck-up suit.”
“Fair enough. Got time for a drink?” I clapped a hand on his shoulder, unable to voice my pleasure at seeing him.
“Always. I’m on the flight back to Laurel Falls. You?”
“Me too.” Together, we headed toward the first-class lounge.
When we passed a newsstand, Tucker paused. “Hang on, man. I need to grab something here.”
While he paid for a copy of one of his technical geek magazines, I scanned through the dozens of different publications. My guts clenched as my attention snagged on a scandal magazine. The caption read, “Samuel Seaforth headed for divorce.” As a rule, I avoided the gossip rags, but the picture on this one caught my eye. It was a picture of Dakota having lunch with none other than Cameron Blackwood. Although the photo was grainy, I recognized her pert features and his arrogant smirk. They were sitting near the window of the bistro across from our office building.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. The thin pages crackled as I thumbed to the article. A collage of pictures covered an entire page, most of them Dakota with Chandler. Dakota with her hands resting on Chandler’s chest. Chandler with his arm around her waist. One of the photos had been taken at the gala. The picture fanned the flames of my already smoldering temper.
“Are you alright?” Tucker shoved a handful of change into his pocket then peered over my shoulder to see what I was reading. He snorted. “You know better than to believe that shit, right?”
“Sure.” I crumpled the magazine in my hand.
“That’s six dollars,” the cashier grunted.
I shoved a ten in his hand, stuffed the rag under my arm, and started walking toward the nearest bar. Tucker stretched his long legs to match my stride. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No,” I replied, but once I had a drink in my hand, the story poured out. I told him about the pregnancy and our struggles to connect over the past weeks. Tucker knew my history with Dakota. He’d been my college roommate and had seen me through years of self-destruction after the divorce. He listened without comment until I ran out of words.
“First, let me say congrats on the kid. You’re going to make an awesome dad.” An ear-to-ear grin split his face. We clinked beer mugs in a mutual toast.
“Thanks.”
“And second, you don’t think she’d ever cheat on you, do you? Really, Seaforth? After all you guys have been through to be together?”
“Of course not.” I spun the beer mug in my hands, watching the dark Guinness slosh around the glass.
“Then what’s the problem?” He took the magazine and opened it to the article. “That’s some dress she’s wearing.” When I glared, he laughed. “I never knew you were the jealous type.”
“I’m not usually.” In response to his comment, I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “But we haven’t spent any quality time together in months. And you know Blackwood. He’s got no scruples.”
A furrow deepened between his brows as he considered the situation. “But things are okay in the sack, right? That’s how you know. If you’re not getting any, it’s not a good sign.”
With monumental effort, I managed to keep my features neutral. I could count the number of times we’d had sex on one hand. My male pride couldn’t bear to admit the truth. “We’re good.”
“Call Dakota and ask her about it.” The barstool creaked as he leaned back and signaled the bartender for a second beer.
“I plan on it.” Feeling like a sap for unloading on him, I tried to deflect the conversation back to his life. “So what’s new with you? Where’ve you been? Trekking the mountains of Tibet?”
“No.” A smile twisted his lips, but his eyes remained somber. A baseball game played on one of the many TV screens. He stared at it. Shouts went up
as someone scored a home run. “I met this girl.”
“Your stories always start with those words.”
He grinned. This time his eyes lit up. “She’s different. Not like the others. I was going to give you a call about her when I got back. Her brother, Hank, is a paraplegic. She takes care of him by herself. It’s insane the amount of responsibility she has. Do you think any of your mom’s charities could help them out? I’d give her the money myself, but she’d never accept it.”
“Absolutely. Get in touch with Venetia. She loves that shit.” The passion in his voice hit a soft spot inside me. The only thing bigger than Tucker’s bank account was his heart.
“Flight 247 to Laurel Falls will begin boarding in fifteen minutes,” said a monotone female voice over the intercom.
Tucker brushed my hand away as I reached for the bill. He dropped a twenty on the bar. “It’s on me. You can buy the next one.”
“Deal,” I said.
As we stood in line to board the plane, I took out my phone, intending to tap out a text to Dakota, but the battery had died. I sighed and shoved it back into my pocket.
When we landed, the pilot kept us onboard the plane for an hour past our arrival time due to “an unforeseen issue”. Xavier met us at the gate to our terminal. By the sour expression on his face, something had gone terribly wrong. “You haven’t answered any of my calls, and you’ve got problems. Big, big problems.”
“My phone’s dead.” I took the offending unit from my pocket and handed it to him. I gave Tucker an apologetic shrug and shook his hand. “Sorry, man. It’s always something these days.”
We made plans to meet in the near future and went our separate ways. On the way to the car, Xavier briefed me on the current crisis. Beckett, unable to reach my dead phone, had called Xavier with news about my father. A federal jury had indicted Maxwell on multiple counts of tax evasion and fraud. Because he had friends in high places and was represented by the best legal team in the country, the judge had released him to await trial.
Pretty Broken Promises: An Unconventional Love Story Page 10
