The auction. I’d forgotten about it. Sam had said I needed a dress. Anxiety began to build within me once more. Under the circumstances, I wasn’t too keen on spending the workday with him, let alone a societal event where all eyes would be on us. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
Before I went anywhere with Sam, I needed an explanation for his actions. My optimistic side wanted to believe everything would work out, but the realistic side steeled for disappointment. And then what? Was I prepared to walk away from him when I’d only just found him? I sighed, took the glass of wine from its resting place on the coffee table, and chugged it down. I glanced at the half-empty wine bottle on the kitchen counter. After Muriel’s phone call, one bottle wasn’t going to be nearly enough.
Chapter 7
Sam
THE NEXT day, Dakota was waiting at the door when Rockwell pulled the car to the curb, and damn if she wasn’t wearing the sexiest dress I’d ever seen. It was tight at the waist, the hem swirling around her thighs. The color matched the aquamarine hue of her eyes, setting my pulse into an uneven rhythm. I swore she wore stuff like that just to fuck with me. I stuttered in my phone conversation, eager to end the call and see how she was doing this morning. She greeted Rockwell with a bright smile as he opened the door for her. Warmth washed over me, the way it always did in her presence.
“My pleasure, miss,” Rockwell replied, touching his hat before shutting the door behind her.
She slid into the seat next to me, hugging the door, eyes trained on the scenery outside. My warmth cooled. So did her smile. I lost track of the conversation with Mr. Takashima and had to ask him to repeat his question a second time.
“Good morning,” I said and touched her hand once I’d ended the call.
She pulled away, curling her fingers in her lap. “Hey,” she replied.
The icy greeting hit me like a punch to the gut. Under normal circumstances, rejection rolled off my back, but with her—it hurt more than I cared to admit. Since I’d been old enough to grow facial hair, I’d had women throwing themselves at me, but not Dakota. She’d divorced me and left me without a backward glance. A guy didn’t come back from something like that without a few scars. I couldn’t help reliving the pain every time she withdrew from me. I was holding my breath, waiting for her to leave again.
“Care to talk about it?” I asked, leaning into the opposite corner of the seat.
“No,” she replied.
Dakota had never been a morning person, and I tried to dismiss her pique on this tidbit of knowledge. I’d always been the early riser in our relationship. When we’d been married, I used to tempt her from bed with pancakes and coffee. Sometimes we ate breakfast there, with her naked beneath the sheets. I would feed her bites from my plate, taking care to accidentally spill syrup on one of her breasts, looking for an excuse to lick it off. The memory caused a distinct, pleasant tightening in my groin. The furrow of her brows chased it away. I recognized that frown, and it usually meant I’d fucked up.
My male pride bristled. I hated the way she made me doubt myself. We’d been together less than three years, divorced for ten, yet one reproachful look had my guts in a knot. I sniffed, straightened, and glowered at the incoming call on my phone. Dahlia. Dakota saw it too. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned away again. I sent the call to voice mail and nudged her with my knee.
“What have I done now?” I asked, my voice harsher than I intended.
She faced me and cocked an eyebrow. “You tell me.” Her eyes bored into mine, unrelenting, and hell if it didn’t turn me on. Few men had the balls to glare at me the way she did, let alone call me out. “Why do you ask? Guilty conscience?”
“No.” I dropped my gaze to the phone in my hand and pretended to scroll through the texts while I searched my brain for a clue as to what I’d done. Nothing came to mind. Frustrated, I tucked the phone into my pocket and scowled.
“Sam.” Her disapproving tone set my teeth on edge. She sighed, clearly unhappy with me. “Did you forget to tell me something?”
I shook my head, still at a loss. “I’m not a freaking mind reader. You’ll have to give me a hint.”
She rolled her eyes. “Harmony?”
I studied her, recognized the simmering fury in her eyes, and flushed. Oh, yeah. Right. Overwhelmed with MacGruder, Takashima, and the search for an apartment, I might have forgotten to mention that. I felt the same way I had when I was ten and had broken a window with a baseball—defensive and guilty. “The doors are closed. You knew it was coming. I don’t see the issue.”
“You were supposed to absorb it, integrate it into Infinity. Hence the term merger.” The cold flat tone of her voice chilled me. I’d never heard her speak that way to anyone, especially not me. “It means to blend, in case you didn’t know.”
“I know what it means.”
We glared at each other. I was in the wrong, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it.
“You said you’d take care of everyone. That you’d make a place for them elsewhere.” She met my eyes, nostrils flared, prepared for a fight.
“I did.” My voice loudened in direct proportion to my growing irritation.
“No. You didn’t,” she snapped. “You took five people and let the other ninety-five go. I’d hardly call that taking care of people.” She placed air quotes around the last four words with her fingers.
“So what should I have done? Give them all houses and new cars?”
By this time, we’d arrived at work. Dakota didn’t wait for Rockwell to come around the car. She flung the door open before he reached the passenger side. “You’re a heartless bastard.” She tossed the insult over her shoulder as she climbed out of the car and sprinted toward the entrance. “And a liar.”
“Am not.” I growled and grabbed my briefcase, squelching the urge to trot after her, too arrogant to admit she might have a point. She was up the stairs and into the office area within seconds. The girl had a set of legs on her. Mine were longer. I caught up to her quickly. “It’s business, Dakota.”
“Dirty business,” she said, doubling her speed. The other employees were just getting coffee, settling into their desks and making idle chit chat before getting to business.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” I said, more loudly than appropriate for the workplace. “We’re not done here.”
Her office door slammed in my face. I jerked back just in time to save my nose from being smashed by the brass nameplate. The weight of a dozen pairs of eyes burned into my back, but when I turned around, everyone seemed engrossed in the floor. I yanked the cuffs of my shirt beneath my suit jacket and rolled my head on my neck to loosen the stiffness, daring anyone to comment. Mrs. Cantrell stood in the aisle, eyebrows arched to her hairline.
“What are you looking at?” I snapped.
“Dahlia is in your office,” she said, obviously flustered.
“Good.”
Dahlia rose from the chair to greet me. One look at my agitated face, and the smile slid from her lips. I tossed my briefcase on the desk and strode to the window. I stole a moment to reflect on the peaceful garden below. The emerald grass was punctuated with bursts of purple and red flowers. It reminded me of my childhood and simpler days. My harried thoughts calmed.
“Rough morning?” Dahlia asked.
“How many people did you hire from Harmony?” I turned to face her. Although Dakota had told me, I wanted to hear it from Dahlia’s lips. A small part of me still questioned Dakota’s honesty. I hated myself for doubting her, but I was desperate to prove my innocence.
She shrugged. “A few. Only the ones worth having.”
“How many?” I asked again, narrowing my eyes at having to repeat myself.
“Five or six.”
“You were supposed to integrate them into the other offices,” I said before sinking into my chair. “What part of that didn’t you understand?”
“You said to choose the best and separate the rest,” she answered, her tone cool. After seven y
ears together, she’d grown used to my bluntness. “That’s what I did. What I always do.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I opened the top drawer of my desk and rummaged for an ink pen.
“That’s exactly what you meant.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled under my breath and slammed the drawer shut. There was nothing I hated more than being in the wrong—which I clearly was.
“You said you trusted my judgment, to do whatever needed to be done.” She lifted her face higher and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s done. Over. We discussed this. It’s no different than any of the other companies we acquired.” Her slanted brows drew together over her nose. “I appreciate your concern, but this is business, Sam. You pay me to make the hard decisions, and I did.”
I pressed the intercom button. “Xavier. Get me some goddam pens, would you? You’d think a company this size would have pens.”
He murmured in compliance while I focused all of my anger on the shortage of writing utensils.
Dahlia sighed and waited patiently for my annoyance to dissolve. “I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” she said at last.
“I’m not upset,” I replied through gritted teeth. “I’m just not sure how this miscommunication happened.”
“It happened because you made it happen.” The color of her complexion darkened to a deep rose red. She opened her mouth to say more, but Xavier entered. His gaze shifted between us, assessing the situation at once, and he wisely decided to stay silent.
“Thank you.” I took the pens and shoved them into my drawer, having forgotten what I needed them for.
“Anything else?” Dahlia asked once Xavier had left.
“No. We’re done.”
“Next time, I’ll be sure to get your okay on anyone who’s cut loose,” she said, jaw tight, and stood to leave.
I let her get all the way to the door before I spoke. “There won’t be a next time.”
She left my office in a snit, muttering to herself. A vague sense of unease remained with me. I hadn’t climbed my way to the top by being a nice guy. As I went back to work, the image of Dakota’s disapproving face remained in my thoughts. I didn’t trust her, but maybe I was the one undeserving of trust. For the first time in my career, I had to wonder if I’d chosen the wrong path in life, if maybe I’d lost my humanity in the pursuit of revenge and retribution.
Chapter 8
Dakota
NO MATTER how hard I tried, I couldn’t focus on price per square foot or the opportunity costs of any particular acquisition. The numbers shimmered on the computer monitor in a hazy blur, and it was all Sam’s fault. He had absolutely no remorse about dismantling Harmony. In fact, he seemed proud of it. I didn’t know that guy, the one who took pleasure in destruction, who profited from the ruination of others. My Sam had been sweet and thoughtful, kind and generous, and always concerned about the welfare of others. Where had he gone? I missed him, craved him, needed him.
After another unproductive minute, I surrendered to curiosity, opened the Internet browser, and typed in Sam’s name. Millions of results popped onto the screen. Ten years of history flashed in front of my eyes. I sat back in my chair to process everything in front of me. I’d never been one to engage in social media, unwilling to risk seeing the Seaforth name or reopening the wound in my heart.
I scanned the topics. Mergers, acquisitions, and charity events filled the first page, snippets of information overloading my brain. Samuel Seaforth is a tiger, began one blog and went on to detail his systematic and ruthless dismantling of business after business. Seaforth takes no prisoners, warned another. I skimmed article after article about his rise to prominence.
An uncomfortable tightness gripped my chest. According to a piece from one of the business journals, Sam had amassed a respectable fortune through intelligent investment of his trust fund and an inheritance from his mother, but he stood to inherit billions from his father. I clutched the mouse until my fingers ached, scrolling through the items, hating what I saw but unable to look away. I had no idea his mother had passed. We hadn’t been close. She’d never liked me, but I felt a pang of sadness for a life cut short. Samuel had adored her. He must miss her terribly. I thought about my own mother, how much I loved her, and was overcome with the urge to hug her.
Just as my anger began to dissipate, a new kind of distress swelled to a replace it. Pictures of Sam with other women, pretty women, sophisticated women. Each photo stabbed my heart like an ice pick. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe there weren’t other females in his life. Knowing it and seeing pictures of it were two different things. I might have been able to move past it, but it was the recurring photograph of one woman in particular that turned my blue eyes green with jealousy.
Tall, shapely, and stunning, her dark red hair flowed in loose, shining waves over her shoulders. In all of the photos, Samuel had an arm around her waist, and she had her hand on his chest, staring up at him with adoring eyes. A repressed profanity scratched my throat. I clicked on a random picture, intent on finding her identity, but before I could continue, Sam opened the door of my office and walked in.
“You and I need to get a few things straight,” he announced without preamble.
“Can I get a lock on my door?” I scrambled to minimize the screen, sending a flurry of papers to the floor in the process. “Because apparently you have no regard for the privacy of others.” I bent to retrieve the scattered pages, muttering beneath my breath. When I looked up, I found my eyes on the same level as the fly of his light gray trousers and the bulge behind it. I swallowed and straightened in the chair, lifting my gaze to meet his.
“You have to respect my decisions, Dakota,” he continued. His green eyes studied me with determination. “I know what I’m doing. This is business, not personal. I can’t have you questioning my authority. Especially in front of the other employees.”
I folded my hands on top of the desk, striving for some semblance of control over my bouncing emotions. “You looked me in the eye and gave me your word that everyone would be treated fairly. The Samuel I knew always kept his promises. He cared about people.”
“I never made any promises.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.” He perched on the edge of the desk, his knee grazing my thigh. Attraction sputtered and sparked between us, at war with my anger. I was always so physically aware of his proximity, the way my body reacted to his. It was damn distracting. I vowed not to let it get the better of me.
“I’ve spoken with Dahlia. She assures me they were all given severance pay in line with their years of service. No one was left high and dry.” He brushed his leg against mine. The deliberate contact tightened my nipples and everything south of my waist. “It’s unfortunate we couldn’t find a place for everyone.”
I wrinkled my nose and pushed away from him. This wasn’t the time to lose my head, no matter how strong the desire. A nuance of his cologne, subtle and masculine, hung in the air between us. “You’re right. It’s not my business. And it was unprofessional to close the door in your face.” I could tell by the pulse of muscle in his jaw that he wasn’t appeased by my confession, or the clipped tone in which it was delivered.
“And?” He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an apology I had no intention of offering.
“And I’m not sure I know who you are anymore. I don’t like what you did,” I said, gaze flickering to the computer monitor and the hidden picture of him with the redheaded hottie. “You might be successful and rich, but you profit from the misfortunes of others. You used to hate people like that.”
“We were kids then.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I didn’t understand the way life works. It’s messy and unpredictable, and only the strong survive.” He put his hand over mine. I pulled it away. “You, of all people, should understand. You taught me that.”
This statement stung in several unexpected ways. He still saw me as an opportunist, someone who valued winning over the
rules of the game. Why wouldn’t he? I’d chosen money over love. I’d betrayed him for financial gain. Never mind the blackmail or Crockett or my mother. In that moment, I felt more than defeated. I felt crushed.
“We’re not the same. I never wanted to hurt anyone.” I stared at my hands, clasped in my lap.
“But you did hurt me,” he said in a cracked, husky voice. “You broke me, Dakota.”
“I wanted to make things better.” Tears pricked my eyes. I fought them away through sheer stubbornness. “I thought I was giving you back your future, not taking away your humanity.”
“It’s always going to come back to this, isn’t it?” The pain in his voice struck a note inside me. These little hints at his vulnerability kept me coming back to him, time and time again, in spite of the ways he’d changed, the ways he was different. “We’re never going to get past it.”
We fell silent for a few seconds. I re-evaluated the events of the morning and our past. For a heartbeat, I wondered if he was worth the fight, if I’d made a huge mistake in accepting this temporary job, if the rift between us was too large to repair. One look into his face, and I knew he was thinking the exact same thing. He blinked away, as if embarrassed by the breach of his internal thoughts.
“I know we were married, but are we crazy?” I asked, my voice strained around the thickness of my throat. “To try this?”
He didn’t answer right away. My heart banged against my chest while my head rallied for devastation. I didn’t prepare for what happened next. He brushed the hair back from my forehead, his touch sweet and gentle. “Absolute freaking lunatics,” he said, smiling, a dimple popping in his cheek. Tension I hadn’t known existed drained from my body. His fingers traced around my cheekbone and down my jawline. “You’ve always made me crazy. I expect you always will.”
I smiled back at him through a haze of tears and optimism. This was going to be so much more difficult than I’d ever imagined. Chances were good this venture would be a failure, but I had to know for sure. If I didn’t try, I’d spend the rest of my life wondering.
Pretty Filthy Lies: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 2) Page 4
