Pretty Filthy Lies: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 2)

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Yes. Samuel Seaforth?” I handed her Sam’s business card, the one with Le Beau Monde’s address written on the back. She turned it over between fingers tipped in taupe polish. “He said to ask for Fran.”

  The brunette eyed me again then disappeared into the back room to retrieve her employer. In my mind, I pictured Fran as an elderly woman with regal gray hair swept into a twist, powdered cheeks, and elegant hands. I had not pictured a knockout redhead in her late twenties, wearing vintage Chanel and sporting lush curves worthy of a centerfold.

  “Dakota.” Fran came at me on legs like an Amazon, a diamond-encrusted hand extended in greeting. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Several things hit me at once with unpleasant force. First, this was the woman from the Internet, the one hugging Sam’s arm in the paparazzi photos. The hairs at the nape of my neck bristled with animosity and jealousy at the realization. And second, there was something disturbingly familiar about her, something I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  “Hi. Thank you for seeing me,” I said, curbing the desire to turn tail and run. The bones of her hand felt fragile in my grasp even though she topped my five-ten frame by several inches.

  “You don’t remember me,” she said, regarding me with breathtaking blue eyes. I took a second, more discerning look at her features, the short, straight nose, high forehead, and decided mouth. A vision of a gawky, freckle-faced teenager flashed through my memories.

  I took a step back, mouth agape. “Clover?”

  She nodded, her smile growing larger and more beautiful. “Yes. It’s Fran now. I go by my middle name.” She tightened her grip on my hand. “Clover’s just embarrassing, don’t you think?” Genuine warmth suffused her tone. “It’s been forever, hasn’t it?”

  Clover had been a few years behind me in high school. Although her family owned a prolific chain of department stores across the nation, she’d been awkward and unattractive back then, made all the more pathetic by her blatant infatuation with Sam. He’d been oblivious to her, but I remembered the way she’d blushed every time he’d looked her way.

  I forced a smile, trying to swallow my dismay at finding her so gorgeous. “Yes, it has.” I pried my hand from hers. Muriel nudged my elbow for an introduction. “Um, this is my friend Muriel.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Muriel. Please make yourself comfortable,” Fran said, nodding toward the silver tray of refreshments. She turned back to face me. “When Sam told me at breakfast yesterday that you were going to the auction with him, I nearly choked on my bagel.”

  Breakfast? Fran continued talking, but my mind clung to the one word with inane stubbornness. They’d had breakfast together? Yesterday? He’d said he had an early call from Tokyo. Knots of turmoil formed in my belly as I tried to make sense of the situation.

  “I’m sorry. Back up a minute. You had breakfast together yesterday?” I interrupted her diatribe, trying to find my way through the fog in my brain.

  “Oh, yes. We have breakfast every other week. We have for years. It’s kind of a ritual,” she said with a wave of her manicured hand. “Can I just say I always thought you two were perfect together?”

  My gaze met Muriel’s. She lifted an eyebrow as if to say, I told you so, and returned to laying waste to the platter of cookies.

  “It was a long time ago.” I heard my voice from far away, thin and high-pitched. “We’ve only just reconnected.”

  “I felt terrible, cancelling on him at the last minute,” Fran said. “I’m so glad you’re able to go with him in my place.”

  Sam had an ongoing relationship with this stunning woman, a woman who possessed all the qualities I’d never have? The revelation hit me in the gut like a prizefighter’s punch. Fran was from a good family—the best, cultured, successful, and smart. I’d thought he’d invited me to the auction as a date, but as it turned out, I was only a replacement for someone else. All my warm, fuzzy feelings from earlier in the day withered and died in the dressing room at Le Beau Monde. I felt foolish and gullible and confused. I’d been so convinced Sam still loved me that I’d forgotten the other women from his past. My insecurities flared, bigger and brighter than ever. How could he possibly love me over this scintillating creature?

  “You know, I’m not feeling so well,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. The hamburger from the bar down the street churned in my stomach and threatened to come back up every time I pictured Sam with Fran. “I think I’m going to go.”

  “Oh?” Fran’s mouth drooped with disappointment. “I’ve got some great gowns for you. Are you sure? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  I glanced at Muriel, hoping for backup, but she had her cellphone glued to her ear. She waved an encouraging hand at me then disappeared outside to continue her conversation.

  Fran took my silence as acquiescence and began pulling dresses from the rack. “What about this one? It’ll make the color of your eyes pop. They’re such an amazing shade of aquamarine. Do you wear tinted lenses?” Fran held a gown up to my chest, her critical gaze sweeping my figure from head to toe. “Try this one on.”

  A few minutes later, I stood in the changing room, wearing the gown, unable to think of anything but Sam. I knew he was arrogant, but this latest move exceeded my greatest expectations. He’d sent me to his lover’s shop to procure a dress. What kind of guy did something like that? Especially after the intimacy we’d shared earlier today. The more I thought about it, the angrier and more hurt I became. By the time I changed into the second dress, I’d worked myself into a snit. The nerve of him. Hell would freeze over before I went anywhere with him, especially the auction. I picked up my cellphone and punched in his number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, baby.” I heard the sound of male voices in the background mingled with music.

  “Don’t hey, baby me,” I snapped. “I can’t believe you sent me to Clover for a dress. Your lover? Really, Sam.”

  “What?” Laughter tinged his voice. The sound sent a tingle of attraction between my legs. Damn traitorous hoo-ha. I squelched the feeling by picturing Clover on his arm.

  “I saw your pictures on the Internet. I know you were seeing her. And you sent me here?” I struggled to keep the volume of my voice at a calm level, knowing Fran—Clover—whatever the hell she called herself—was outside the room.

  “Dakota.” The laughter had stopped, and I heard a note of concern in my name.

  “You asked her to the auction before me,” I said, sounding like a whiny brat and hating myself for it.

  “Yes, but—”

  “That was a dick move, Sam,” I shouted into the phone. “Even for you.”

  I didn’t wait to hear his response. I ended the call and stuffed the phone back into my purse. The zipper on the dress snagged as I tried to escape the tulle. I struggled to release it, contorting into positions my yoga instructor would be proud of, with no avail. After a few minutes of my grunting and snorting, Fran slid the heavy velvet curtain to the side. Her sleek eyebrows lifted. I was drenched with sweat. One lock of my hair hung over my eye. Both my arms were trapped inside the dress, which I’d tried unsuccessfully to pull over my head.

  “Let me help you,” she said.

  I stood immobile while she repaired the zipper. The heat of my anger dissipated and left me feeling deflated. As she tugged the dress over my head, I avoided eye contact, embarrassed by my outburst.

  “I appreciate your time,” I said and stepped into my own dress, preparing to leave. I wanted to get as far away from her and her perfection as I could. “It seems I won’t be needing a dress after all.”

  “Please.” She touched my arm. I lifted my eyes reluctantly to find her expression kind. Why did she have to be so nice? It would be much easier to hate her if she was a shrew. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

  “No. I’ve got exactly the right idea,” I replied. My anger began to rejuvenate. “If you don’t mind, would you call us a taxi?”

 
Twenty minutes later, we were still waiting on the cab. Muriel grew impatient and took the first bus, claiming she had a date with the guy next door to her apartment, leaving me alone on the sidewalk. I didn’t care. It gave me time to think. Once my temper had cooled for the second time, I began to feel foolish. Perhaps I had overreacted to Sam’s relationship with Fran. If he had feelings for her, he wouldn’t have sent me to her shop. Or would he? It was exactly the kind of mind game Maxwell Seaforth would play. The thought made me queasy. I didn’t want to think Sam was like his dad, but I had to admit the possibility.

  I wrapped my arms around my waist, chilled in spite of the warm air, and scanned the street for the next bus. Apparently, taxis were in high demand on this particular evening. My gaze fell on a red Porsche instead, fenders gleaming, chrome wheels glinting in the sun as it rounded the street corner. A jolt of excitement and dread buzzed through me. I put my head down and started walking in the opposite direction. From behind me, I heard a car door slam and footsteps on the sidewalk.

  “Kota,” Sam’s voice called after me. I kept walking, unprepared for a confrontation. He caught my arm by the bicep and turned me to face him. I stared at the tips of his boots. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m waiting for a cab.”

  “Fran called me. She said you were upset—as if I didn’t know by the way you hung up on me.” I heard a tinge of amusement in his words laced with something akin to panic. “Care to share?”

  “I don’t like being sloppy seconds.” I tried to tug my arm from his grasp, but his fingers curled tighter.

  “What are you talking about?” The frank curiosity in his gaze eased a little of my distress, but I was too stubborn to concede without a fight.

  “She was your date to the auction. You only asked me because she couldn’t go.”

  A muscle ticked below his cheekbone. He glared, eyes narrowing. “I did ask her first.”

  I threw my hands in the air and started walking again without destination, anywhere to get away from him. He followed on my heels.

  “She cancelled. I asked you. What’s the big deal?” This time when he reached for my arm, I shot him a look of fire and brimstone.

  “You are such a guy.” Several passersby turned to look at me and made a wide berth around us. I lowered my voice to an acceptable level and continued, “Why did you ask me then? Because I was easy? Because you couldn’t get anyone else at the last minute?”

  “I asked you because you’re smart, pretty, and an asset to the business.” He blew out an exasperated breath and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “I didn’t ask you before because we were divorced and barely on speaking terms. Hell, it’s only been two weeks, Kota. And you’ve got to admit, it’s been a rollercoaster ride.”

  Of course, he was right and I was wrong. Again. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him, desperately searching for a way to make myself look less foolish. “The point is you asked her.” We were in front of the shop again. I gestured to the door. “I know you fucked other consenting adults,” I said, throwing his words back at him from our first car ride together, “but I don’t want to see them face to face.”

  “It’s not like that,” he began, but I cut him off.

  “You mean to tell me you haven’t slept with her?”

  Hesitation and guilt flickered in his eyes then anger and frustration flared to replace them. “Oh, for the love of God.” He opened the shop door and gave me a little shove over the threshold. Fran looked up from behind the counter, eyebrow raised. “Talk some sense into her, would you? The way things are going, I might strangle her.”

  “I tried,” Fran said with a shake of her fiery mane. She glided around the counter to stand beside Sam and placed a hand on his arm. Their eyes met, and my insides shriveled at the shared admiration in their gazes. “She’s very stubborn.”

  “Like a mule,” Sam muttered.

  Fran patted Sam’s arm. A vision of them naked in bed, perfect bodies entwined, scalded my psyche. Mortification heated my cheeks. I looked away, wounded by their intimacy. He was mine. All mine. And I didn’t intend to share him with anyone.

  “Dakota, I’m gay,” Fran said.

  My jaw went slack.

  “She’s a lesbian,” Sam said. “I turned her gay.”

  Relief washed over me, intense and immediate. I barked out a laugh, startled by the admission and Sam’s look of embarrassment.

  “You did not,” Fran reprimanded and shoved him playfully. “I just wasn’t ready to come out yet.”

  “Well, it sure seemed that way,” he replied. “So yes, Dakota, we’ve slept together.”

  “It was horrible,” Fran said with an apologetic glance to Sam. “I mean, for both of us, I think.” Sam rolled his eyes, but a reluctant grin curved his mouth. “I’m sure we would both rather forget it ever happened.”

  “Yes. Let’s do that,” Sam said. “I was so traumatized I couldn’t get it up for a month afterward.”

  Fran shoved him again, and they both laughed.

  “Somehow I doubt that,” I murmured, trying to ignore the tumultuous flip in my stomach. Discussing Sam’s libido with another woman—a gorgeous woman—made me uneasy. Jealousy continued to spark and sputter through me.

  “My family doesn’t know,” Fran said. “And I’d like to keep it that way.” She gave Sam another smile, radiant and sweet. “Sam and I found it mutually agreeable to attend functions together. It took the pressure off both of us.”

  “Oh.” I bit my lower lip, unable to find more words.

  “I’m her beard,” Sam said.

  This time we all laughed. I admired their easy friendship, the way they seemed to like each other without the weight of sexual attraction.

  Fran hooked an arm through Sam’s elbow then mine. She tugged us toward the fitting rooms. “So, if we’re all good here, let’s get this show on the road. I’ve got just a few more dresses for you to try.”

  “But my cab.” I gestured to the shop front and the street outside.

  “I never called him,” Fran admitted. “I called Sam instead.”

  “Nice,” Sam said. “Very nice.”

  I stood in front of the three-way mirror in a silver gown, my back to Sam. The satin fabric was free from embellishment and fell to the floor in a flattering line from waist to hip. I found his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were glued to my ass. A flush warmed me from the inside out and settled into my cheeks.

  “My eyes are up here, young man,” I chided.

  “I’ll get there in a second,” he replied without missing a beat. “Turn around.”

  I twirled slowly, enjoying the way the hem swirled around my toes. “What do you think?”

  “This is definitely the one,” he said. At long last his eyes met mine. They were heated, dark, and infinitely enigmatic. “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy it for you?”

  “I’m sure,” I said, my breath stolen by his expression. “But thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” he countered. “Watching you change clothes might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Then you don’t get out much.” I smiled at him, happy to see him happy.

  “Everything good in here?” Fran popped her head inside the room, gaze flitting from Sam to me and back to Sam again.

  “We’re going to take this one,” he said, his gaze still locked with mine. “Can we have a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “Take as long as you want. Shop closes at nine.”

  “You could have told me, you know,” I said once she’d disappeared. “Instead of letting me think the worst.”

  “Do you really want a list of every woman I’ve slept with?” He made an ineffectual grab for my waist, but I stayed just out of his reach.

  “Yes,” I said then immediately recanted. “Well, no. Maybe not.”

  The idea of Sam with other women would never sit well with me. Ever. I slipped the straps of the gown down my shoulders, keeping my gaze locked with h
is, enjoying the way his jeans tented in the front. Apparently, he’d taken a clue from our date and procured a set of nicely faded Levi’s. Paired with an untucked dress shirt and boots, the ensemble gave him a structured casual look.

  “You were jealous.” A smug smirk lit his features. “I liked it.”

  “You sure got yourself here in a hurry.” I hiked the hem of the gown up to my thighs and straddled his lap. The brush of denim against my bare legs felt naughty and exciting.

  “I was down the street having drinks with Tuck and Beckett.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip, looking famished. My heart skipped a beat, knowing it was for me.

  “Can you help me with the zipper on this?” I trailed my fingers over the buttons of his shirt, the heat of his chest warm beneath my touch. A reflexive shiver shook my body.

  “Have you ever had sex in a dressing room?” His lips found my neck. The puff of his breath against the tender flesh excited all of my nerve endings, tingling down to my breasts and tightening my nipples.

  “No.” I arched my back and angled my head so he could kiss along my throat.

  “Me neither,” he said, words vibrating against me. “It’ll be another first—for both of us.”

  Chapter 21

  Dakota

  ONCE A week, I continued the hunt for my wedding ring. I’d worn it on a chain around my neck for an entire decade, until I’d lost it a few weeks ago. Now that things were heating up between Sam and me, I missed the symbol of our union more than ever. On Saturday, the day of the charity auction, I scoured the apartment, delving into nooks and crannies I hadn’t seen in years. Two hours later, the place was in a shambles, sofa cushions upturned, drawers open, and clothing thrown askew. I had no idea where it might have gone.