Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel

by Jeana E. Mann

  When my gaze finally reaches her face, her awaiting scowl makes me laugh out loud. Okay, so she caught me. I’m sure it’s not the first time a guy has ogled her tits. Hell, what am I supposed to do? I’m a healthy twenty-year-old dude, and the erection in my board shorts proves it. I tread water at the poolside and wait for it to subside. She sighs and rolls her eyes before taking a lounge chair in the farthest corner of the deck.

  Trish descends the steps in the shallow end and squeals with every step. “It’s so cold.”

  Great. Here she comes. I knew she’d be an unpleasant side effect of this vacation. I should never have kissed her last summer. I blame my drunken dick for that. He tends to get out of hand sometimes. She playfully splashes water at me. I can do this. I roll out the kink in my neck and prepare to invoke evasive measures if she gets too touchy-feely. Sure enough, she dogpaddles to my side and eases a hand down my chest.

  “I thought you were taking a nap,” I say.

  “We decided the pool would be more fun,” she replies. Her hand slides lower to the waistband of my shorts. I suck in a breath. My back is to Tristan, so I’m pretty sure he can’t see his sister molesting me. I back up a step. She smirks. “You must do a lot of sit-ups to have a six-pack like that.”

  “Two hundred a day. Sometimes more.” I take pride in my body and work hard to keep in shape.

  Her eyes widen in appreciation. She’s not an ugly girl. In fact, my friends think she’s hot as shit. Tall, slim, athletic. It’s her attitude that turns me off. I can’t stand the way she treats me like I’m second class, like I’m a loser. They tolerate me for Tristan’s sake, but the minute he loses interest in our friendship, I’ll be forgotten. Her fingers tease the edge of my waistband. I grab her hand and gently push it away. She’s Tristan’s sister, and I’m not going to violate the boundary of our friendship. Vanessa, on the other hand, is fair game.

  “Why don’t we go for a walk tonight?” she asks. “Just the two of us. Have you ever been to a lake, city boy?” For each step I take backward, she takes an equal step forward.

  “Yes, country girl, I have.” I don’t try to hide the disdain in my voice.

  “We can go for a swim. You won’t need a suit.” Her gaze drifts down to my shorts. Jesus, this girl is persistent.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m kind of tired after the drive.” Before she can reply, I lunge up the ladder and grab a towel. From the corner of my eye, I see Vanessa watching us over the top of her tablet. Amusement curls the corners of her mouth. I wipe away the beads of water on my chest, going nice and slow, giving her time to appreciate the view. She swipes a pink tongue over the swell of her bottom lip then drops her gaze back to the tablet.

  “What are you reading?” I ask, eager to detach myself from Trish. A frown replaces Vanessa’s smile. I take a seat on the edge of the chair next to her. When she doesn’t answer, I snatch the tablet away and scan the text. “The Wall Street Journal? Is this your idea of light reading?”

  She reclaims the tablet and settles back with an exasperated sigh. “I like to stay on top of things.”

  I have a quick, inappropriate flash of her straddling my hips, riding me like a vengeful cowgirl, those beautiful breasts bouncing. “I like to stay on top, too. We might have a conflict.” I expect a rebuke or roll of those expressive green eyes, but instead, I get a big fat nothing. Interesting. I’m used to girls chasing after me, giggling at my inappropriate innuendos. This lack of reaction is perplexing and refreshing. I clasp my hands between my spread knees and study her.

  “Don’t stare. It’s rude.” Without looking up, she swipes a finger across the screen.

  “It is. My bad.” This girl grows more intriguing by the second. “I can’t believe you called me out on it.”

  “Well, I thought you’d like to know.” Is it my imagination, or is there the tiniest hint of a smile teasing the corners of her mouth again?

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

  Mrs. Avondale steps onto the patio. She’s changed clothes yet again, the third time since I arrived a few hours ago. “Trish, is your dress ready for the dinner party?”

  “Yes, Mom.” Trish sighs and rolls her eyes.

  “Tristan, please try on your tuxedo today and make sure it fits.” Mrs. Avondale’s gaze lands on me. “Cam, I’m so sorry you won’t be joining us. You’re welcome to take the car into town for dinner, if you’d like. Or I can have cook fix something for you.”

  The insult slices between my ribs, pointed and painful, but not unexpected. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Great. You’re a dear.” She smiles at me but her eyes are cold. They light again for Vanessa. “Do you need anything, Vanessa?”

  “No, thank you.” She doesn’t look up. After a few seconds, Mrs. Avondale presses her palms together and returns to the house.

  “Cam? Would you put some lotion on my back?” Trish beckons from a few yards away.

  “Better run along,” Vanessa says. “We don’t want Trish to burn.” She glances up through her lashes, and our gazes connect. A pulse of electricity zings through my limbs. I want to know more of this girl, but it will only lead to trouble—for us both.

  Chapter 5

  Vanessa - Today

  AFTER SHOWING MY ass to Cameron and the staff, I retreat to the refuge of my office. Sam follows on my heels. Even though I can’t see him, his irritation singes the hairs on the back of my neck. He slams the door behind us and follows me to the threshold of the attached bathroom. “What the hell was that? I told you to be calm and in charge, not piss him off.”

  My hands shake as I splash cold water on my wrists and neck. “Just give me a minute.” Using my foot, I close the door in his face. In the mirror, a stranger stares back at me, someone hard and angry. I study her reflection, not liking this woman at all. Calm self-assurance has always been my biggest asset, but I’ve never been hateful. How did Cam manage to get under my skin so quickly?

  Maybe Sam is right. My divorce has only been final a few weeks. The kids are an ocean away, and I miss them. I’m lonely, homeless, and this job is way over my head. Seeing Cameron shook my confidence to the core, and I don’t know why. He means nothing to me. Our history is a closed book, one I don’t care to reopen. Unfortunately, fate has decided to shove him in my face.

  I smooth my hair before returning to my desk.

  Sam sits in the overstuffed chair across from me and steeples his fingers in front of him. “Well?”

  “I lost my temper.” I pretend to search through the stacks of files for a nonexistent report. “He’s a dick.”

  “True. But whatever that was, it wasn’t about the company. It was personal, and the boardroom isn’t the place to air your dirty laundry. Care to explain?”

  “No.” Heat rushes into my face. I rummage through the desk drawer for a pen. Like this job, everything is new and unfamiliar. Finally, a ballpoint slides into view.

  “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” Amusement tinges his words. “Did you screw him?”

  “Sam!”

  “That’s not a denial.” He’s enjoying this way too much. “Is he the reason you got a divorce?”

  “No. Stop it.” I throw the pen at him. He catches it neatly and tosses it back.

  “All kidding aside, if he’s as angry as he looks, we’re in trouble.”

  Sam’s right. Seaforth Industries comes first; my personal life must take a back seat. I decide to give him the sanitized version of the story.

  “We had a relationship in college.” The words come haltingly at first but pick up speed. “In retrospect, I didn’t handle the breakup very well. Instead of talking to him about it, I ran away. Today is the first time we’ve seen each other since then.”

  Sam’s belly laugh echoes through the room. “No wonder he’s pissed.”

  “I’m glad you find it so amusing.”

  The grin fades from his face. “I wish you would have told me.” He pats my hand. The uncharacteristic s
how of affection brings a lump to my throat.

  “I didn’t want to bother you. You had your own troubles.” My father made Sam’s life hell by meddling in his relationship with Dakota, ultimately causing their divorce. They’ve since remarried and put the past behind them. A dozen questions about their reconciliation invoke my curiosity, but I don’t want to pry.

  “You’re not a problem, Vanessa. You’re my sister. We’ve got to stick together.”

  Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back, determined to stay stalwart. “I never knew you felt that way.”

  A cloud passes and a shaft of sunlight beams through the wall of glass, illuminating his moss green irises. His focus shifts to the world outside and softens. “You can thank Dakota. She’s taught me a lot about family.”

  This peek into Sam’s mind is both welcome and unexpected. Sam, Venetia, and I grew up in a world of nannies and boarding schools, in an atmosphere where wealth and status meant more than relationships or feelings. Although I love my parents, they both betrayed me, sacrificing our happiness for their own selfish needs. I won’t repeat their mistakes with my children.

  Unable to speak, I close my fingers around his. The interlude lasts less than a few seconds. Uncomfortable with the emotional display, Sam clears his throat and shifts back in his chair. In the blink of an eye, he’s once again the corporate shark.

  “We don’t have to be like Maxwell. We can do better for our children,” he says. Truer words have never been spoken. My children mean the world to me. I want them to feel loved and wanted; something I never experienced.

  “When my kids come to stay in the fall, I’d like them to meet you.” They need a positive male influence in their lives. Although Giles is a caring father, he’s more concerned with shagging his new wife than spending time with his children.

  “Not even a question. Dakota loves to get the family together—a lot.” The way he rolls his eyes doesn’t fool me. He’s smitten with his wife. “I’m sure you’ll be sick of us in a few months.”

  “I can’t wait.” We share a smile. My previous unease dissipates. It’s good to know someone has your back, someone without an agenda other than your welfare. I shift the conversation away from the past and toward the future. “Just how angry do you think Cam is?”

  “Judging by the expression on his face, he’s in his office right now, plotting revenge.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “I’ve had dealings with him before. He’s an opportunist. If he thinks we’re weak, he’s going to pounce. And he’ll do anything to win.”

  “So will I. What do you suggest?”

  “The rest of the business world will be watching to see how Blackwood handles this shift in control. Believe it or not, he’s powerful. And he’s got the edge right now. If he jumps ship, the rest of our investors will follow. You need to smooth things over with him. At least for the present. We can’t afford to lose Seaforth Media. It brought in over ten billion dollars last year.”

  “I won’t apologize when I’m not in the wrong.” Seeing Cam has renewed the sting of his betrayal. I’ll never get over what he did. Never. And there’s also the matter of my wounded pride. Like my father, it’s always been one of my biggest flaws.

  Sam’s jaw hardens. “You don’t have a choice. Unpleasant problems call for unpleasant remedies. Either you suck it up and make this right, or you’re not going to cut it in this position. The decision is up to you. I’ll support you either way, but you need to understand what’s at stake.”

  He stands to leave but pauses at a framed photo near the door. It’s a picture of Gaston and Lisle, taken a few months before I returned to Laurel Falls. They’re standing in front of the Fontaine Dragon in the gardens of Versailles. I swallow down the thickness in my throat, remembering the day. Lisle smiles, eyes lit with delight over the fanciful dragons and cupids spouting streams of water. Gaston’s bright blue eyes shine in the afternoon sunlight, his black hair ruffled by the wind.

  “It’s one of their favorite places,” I say. “Have you been to Versailles?”

  “No.” He’s still staring at the picture, Gaston in particular. “Lisle looks just like you.”

  “Yes.” Tension curls my fingers. Sam’s a smart man. How long before he—and the rest of the world—connects the dots?

  Chapter 6

  Vanessa - Twelve Years Ago

  ONE O’CLOCK IN the morning, and I’ve yet to shut my eyes. It’s sultry in this old house. With all their millions, I can’t believe the Avondales don’t have air conditioning. Mr. Avondale says it threatens the integrity of the historic architecture, but I think he’s too frugal to spend the money. I throw aside the sheet and pad over to the window, hoping for a cool breeze. Nothing. With two fingers, I pluck the fabric of my tank top away from my chest and blow to cool my skin. Blue moonlight bathes the gardens below, cool and inviting. I slip my feet into a pair of sandals and sneak down the stairs.

  Outside, I pick my way through the grass toward the gazebo. White Grecian columns shine in the moonlight. The wood steps creak beneath my weight. The interior is dark and quiet. I curl up on the wicker settee and luxuriate in the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs. My eyelids grow heavy and almost close until a twig snaps in the trees to my left. I bolt into a sitting position. Footsteps crackle through the underbrush. Fear snakes down my spine. A tall shadow darkens the doorway. I’m about to scream when Cam’s voice turns my terror into surprise.

  “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me,” he says. He moves into a shaft of moonlight. His features come into focus, sharp and clean. Thick black eyebrows slant over intelligent, almond-shaped eyes. His nose is straight and narrow, jaw square. The darkness heightens the shroud of mystery surrounding him.

  “What are you doing out here?” I ease back into the cushions but remain wary. Cam’s give me no reason to doubt his motives, but trust doesn’t come easily for me. Most people want to use me as a boost for their social status, to gain access to my parents, or weasel money out of my bank account.

  “I couldn’t sleep, and it’s hotter than balls in the house.” His gaze roves over me. “What’s your excuse?”

  My nipples pucker under the scrutiny and poke through the thin cotton of my shirt. I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t sleep much. A couple of hours a night, if I’m lucky.”

  “Sucks, huh?” He takes a seat next to me and slings an arm over the backrest.

  He’s shirtless, and I can’t take my eyes off his chest. It’s thick and broad and covered with just the right amount of hair. My fingers curl with the desire to dig into it. Even though I try not to look, I can’t help but notice the happy trail that dives into the waistband of his shorts over a smooth, flat belly.

  “I’ve got a prescription for insomnia, but I can’t wake up the next morning when I take it. I hate being groggy more than I hate being tired. You’re welcome to try it, if you want. The prescription, I mean.” Words tumble out of my mouth. I bite my lower lip to stop them.

  “No thanks. I prefer natural methods.” His arm brushes the back of my neck. The tiny hairs on my body lift in a pleasantly unexpected way.

  “Like what?” I shift in the opposite direction and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Jesus, he’s a big guy, not bulky, but streamlined. Next to him, I feel small and dainty.

  “Diet, exercise…” His focus dips to my lips. “Sex.”

  “Oh.” A fine sweat breaks out on forehead but not because of the weather.

  “Did you know a man’s body chemistry changes after sex? Fucking releases a chemical called prolactin. It relaxes our muscles and causes us to fall asleep.” The casual way he says fucking sends my girly parts into a frenzy. I want to hear him whisper that dirty word in my ear.

  “I thought it was rudeness.”

  He laughs. “Sounds like you know from personal experience.”

  “None of the guys I’ve been with have stuck around long enough to put the theory to the test.”

  “That so?” He leans back and spreads his knees wid
er until his bare thigh presses against mine. The casual contact dampens my panties. I slam my knees together to dull the sudden ache. “I can’t imagine.”

  Can’t imagine what? Having sex with me? I’m not sure how to reply so I stay silent. He exhales and removes his arm from the backrest. I’m aware of him in a way I’ve never experienced before, his breath, his body heat. A tingle skips along my side.

  The silence makes me nervous, so I grasp for a topic. “Why aren’t you going to the dinner party?”

  “I wasn’t invited.” The lack of bitterness in his voice startles me. “Wouldn’t want the riff-raff to spoil the meal, would we?”

  “What? You’re not serious.”

  “Come on. You know what I mean. I’m not one of you. I’m the poor, dirty half-breed from the wrong side of the tracks.” He stands and walks to the steps. I follow him. His back is long and smooth; a column of muscle runs down each side of his spine. The waistband of his drawstring shorts hangs low enough to reveal a dimple above each one of his butt cheeks and the V-cut of muscle below his hip bones. “‘Tristan, we can’t have that boy at the table. What would our friends say?’” His impression of Mrs. Avondale’s soft southern accent is perfect.

  “She said that to you?” Rage burns through my veins on his behalf. “That’s bullshit.”

  One of his shoulders lifts and drops, and when he turns around, his expression is blank. “She didn’t say it to my face. I overheard her when she thought I was out of the room.”

  “I’m sorry.” My fingernails bite into my palms. “I’ll say something to her.”

  “Not necessary.” He locks his gaze with mine. Slowly, he extends a hand to me, like he’s afraid I might bolt. My heart skips a beat when the backs of his fingers slide down my arm. His touch is tentative, gentle, savoring. “It’s my fight, princess. I don’t need your help.”