Flawlessly Broken (Broken #2)

by Anna Paige

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Follow/Contact Anna

  Books by Anna Paige

  Flawlessly Broken

  Copyright © 2016 Anna Paige

  Cover Image by Kim Black

  All rights reserved.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Interior Formatting by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Designs (http://www.pinkinkdesigns.com)

  For the part of me that still has doubts about this author thing.

  Keep right on squawking… I’ll just keep writing.

  Bitch.

  Spencer

  TWO WEEKS.

  What the hell was I going to do with two solid weeks?

  I sat behind my sleek, cherry desk, looking over the neatly-stacked files in my outbox. My inbox stood empty on the other side. Mocking me. How was it possible that only a few months ago I had more on my proverbial plate than I could handle, and now I had nothing? Absolutely nothing.

  Brant—one of my business partners and a close friend for many years—strolled in with a smile on his face, not a care in the world. He took a handful of chocolates from the bowl on my desk before plopping himself into the soft leather chair across from me. “It’s just about quitting time isn’t it, Spence? You ready to start your vacation?”

  I tapped a pen on my blotter and glanced at the clock, not feeling nearly as chipper as my friend. “I wouldn’t call it a vacation. A delay, yes. An inconvenience? Absolutely. This ‘vacation’ is throwing off the entire build schedule.”

  He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, crunching on the last of the candy-coated chocolates before leaning forward. “Come on, man. It’s not your fault the owner didn’t have his shit together in time. It’s only two weeks, Spence, and the build will still finish on time despite the delays. We’ve never missed a deadline.” His brows rose a bit as he nodded toward the pen in my hand. “You’re too wound up. You need to let loose for a while, enjoy the time away from the office. Go out and do something that would make Clay proud.”

  Clay—my best friend since I was ten and our other partner—was away working on a solo project for the next couple of months. Well, not entirely solo. His fiancé, Ali, was working on the project with him. They had until the end of spring to get everything done, as the amusement park that had contracted their artistic skills would be opening at the beginning of June.

  Before Clay’s transformation into a one-woman man, he was quite the party boy and manwhore. Now, he only had eyes for Ali. I was glad that he’d finally found some happiness. He deserved it after all he’d been through.

  I shook my head at Brant, laughing for the first time all day. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to assume the recently-vacated role of manwhore. Look what happened to Clay. He had crazies coming out of the woodwork.”

  “Yeah, but he had a lot of damn fun for a while there and still found Ali despite all that.”

  “So, you think I’ll find the love of my life by first nailing anything in a four-inch heel? I don’t think it usually works that way.”

  The leather creaked as Brant shifted in the chair, placing his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between them. “I’m not saying to sleep around. I’m saying go out and have some damn fun. Have a few drinks, dance with a beautiful stranger, whatever gets your heart pumping. You spend too much time behind this desk.” He slapped the desktop for emphasis. “It’s like you’re chained to it or something. There’s more to life than what goes on behind these walls.”

  I narrowed my gaze, looking him in the eye. “Where the hell did that come from? You just said more in five minutes than you usually do in a week. I thought you were the quiet one around here, so what gives?” His sheepish look confirmed my suspicions. “Fucking Clay put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  His silence was all the answer I needed.

  Tap tap tap. The pen was hitting the blotter in rapid succession now. “So, he asked you to what? Babysit me?”

  “No. He just knew you wouldn’t want to take the time off, even if you would be the only one in the office. He asked me to help get you out of here for a while. That’s all. You’ve been busting your ass, juggling more than any one person should. He just thought you needed some time to relax.”

  “And you agree?”

  He shrugged. “I think he has a point. You do take on more than you should and that puts a lot of stress on you.”

  “That’s my business, not his and not yours. I’m a grown-ass man.” I was trying not to snap at him. Brant was just the middleman in this and getting pissed off at him wouldn’t help the situation.

  His eyes met mine and he nodded. “I know you don’t like what Clay did but just think about it from his point of view.”

  “How so?” I scowled indignantly.

  “He and I spend all of our time in the field, on job sites, getting our hands dirty. At the end of the day, we get to go home and wash all that away. When you go home you’re still taking calls from clients, working on scheduling, balancing the books... it never stops for you. You’re on the job 24/7 and we both feel like shit because there’s nothing we can do to help. I think that’s what Clay was trying to do, help. He wanted to make sure you got some down time because, more than anyone else, you deserve it.”

  I dropped the pen onto the desk with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to be mad now?”

  Brant just smiled.

  ON THE WAY HOME, with a seemingly endless expanse of free time stretching out before me like blacktop surrounded by barren field, I called Clay.

  He picked up before the second ring, as if he’d anticipated the call. “Hey, Spence. I was just about to pick up the phone to call you. You must be clairvoyant.”

  I harrumphed softly, the last of my annoyance slipping away. I still had to bust his balls, though. “You sure you weren’t going to call Brant instead? Maybe get an update on operation ‘Spencer needs a life’?”

  There was laughter in his voice when he replied. “It was all his idea, I swear.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He tried again. “Okay, it was Ali. You know how women a
re.” Ali’s voice rang out in the background but I didn’t quite catch what she said. I did, however, hear a thud and Clay’s startled ‘ouch.’ Served him right. “Okay, okay. It was all me. I’m a terrible friend for wanting you to enjoy your vacation. God, what an asshole I am.”

  “It’s okay. I’m well aware that you’re an asshole. At least you mean well. Usually.”

  His voice was finally serious when he said, “So, I’m forgiven?”

  “Yeah, fucker, you’re forgiven. Now why were you about to call me? Ali’s there with you, so I know you’re not in need of bail money.”

  He blew out a breath and hesitated.

  Oh shit.

  He never did that pause-for-effect thing. Hated it. This must be bad.

  The soft rustling of a hand covering the phone was followed by a moment of quiet discussion, I assumed with Ali. Clay’s voice finally came back on the line, softer and unsure. “I kind of need a favor. Well, we both do.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “You remember Talia, right?”

  I remembered Talia. She was Ali’s best friend and—before Ali moved in with Clay—roommate. We’d met for the first time in Denson the night of the fire that had nearly killed Ali. Talia had been a wreck and I had done what I could to keep her spirits up between trips to visit Ali in the ICU. “Of course I remember her.”

  More hesitation, then, “I told you that she owns a restaurant in D.C., right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, there was some sort of issue there a couple days ago, something with a restaurant critic, and she hasn’t been into work since. She won’t answer her phone, not even for Ali. No one knows where she is or what exactly happened. All we know is that she texted the manager and told her to take over until further notice. She’s been totally off the grid ever since.”

  From what I remembered about Talia, she wasn’t the type to shirk her responsibilities. Something serious had to have happened. But I wasn’t sure what Clay was asking of me. “Okay, I’m assuming you want my help, right? What do you need me to do? You want me to try and track her credit cards or something?” I knew my way around a computer, had a few tricks up my sleeve that could help locate her.

  He sounded relieved. “You can try the cards but your best bet is her phone. Ali says she carries it with her at all times in case of an emergency at the restaurant.”

  I told him to text me the number and I’d call as soon as I got home and checked it out.

  Half an hour later I had him back on the line. “So, I tracked the number you gave me and got a location.” I rattled off the street address that coincided with the red dot on my computer screen.

  He sighed in apparent relief. “That’s the address of her apartment.”

  I’d thought it sounded familiar. I should have remembered since I’d been there a few months ago helping Ali move her things out.

  I heard Ali’s voice in the background for a moment before she came on the line. “Spencer?”

  “Yeah. Hey, Ali.”

  Her voice was strained and afraid. “She’s at the apartment? You’re sure?”

  “Yep. I’m looking at the signal right now. If she has the phone with her, she’s at the apartment.”

  “I know you have all these cool tech skills... can you activate the camera on the phone or something? Anything to verify that she’s all right?”

  I blinked stupidly for a second, not understanding the desperation in her voice. “I’m not quite that skilled, I’m sorry to say.” She sniffed. Shit, was she crying? “Ali, I’m sure she’s okay. If you’re that worried, can you have a neighbor go and check on her? Or maybe a friend from work?”

  Another sniff. “There’s no one I trust to check on her. The only neighbors we’re close with are the elderly couple who share our floor, and they vacation in Florida from November through April. Anyone else would have to be buzzed in and I doubt she would do that if she won’t even answer her phone.” She paused for a second. “Unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  “I could call the front desk and have them let someone in. They all know me, and I could convince them that whoever I send is there to water the plants or something. I don’t live there anymore, but my name is still on the lease. Plus, the doormen love me because I bring them presents and snacks, especially during winter.”

  Clay’s voice filtered through the line, and although I didn’t catch it all, I could have sworn he said... “Wait. Did Clay just say Stony the Sloth? What the hell is he talking about?”

  She clicked her tongue and told Clay to shush. “It’s nothing. He doesn’t like one of the doormen. Swears the guy is high every time he sees him, but that’s beside the point.” The line went silent for so long I had to check my phone to see that we were still connected. When she finally spoke, it was with quiet pleading in her voice. “If I call ahead and get you cleared, will you go check on her for me? I know it’s a long drive, but you’re the only one I trust to do it. I’d do it myself but I can’t leave here. We won’t be able to grab a day away for at least a couple of weeks.”

  Me?

  She wanted me to go check on Talia? I barely knew the woman. I mean, sure, we spent some time together at the hospital and again when we helped with Clay’s proposal to Ali at the lake, but that didn’t mean it was okay for me to just show up on her doorstep. The doorstep. Aha! I just found my way out. “Let’s assume I go. Getting me into the building won’t get me in the door. What if she refuses to answer? I can’t very well kick the door in.”

  “Damn.” She sounded deflated momentarily but suddenly sucked in a big breath. “Wait, they have a spare key to each apartment in the office. I can just tell them that I forgot to give you my key and ask that they let you have the spare.” The hope in her voice was hard to ignore. “Please, Spencer. She never ignores my calls. Ever. The longer I go without hearing from her, the more afraid I get. If you don’t go, I’m coming home to check on her myself, my contract be damned.”

  Clay started protesting loudly in the background, not wanting her to lose her dream job.

  Shit.

  Looked like I was headed to D.C.

  Somewhere between Richmond and D.C.

  HOW DID I LET myself get talked into this?

  Yeah, Ali said she’d cleared the way and that Talia would be too polite to kick me out of the apartment, but I still wasn’t convinced my going there was a good idea. Although, given that Clay and Ali were stuck over four hours away, my nearly two hour drive wasn’t such a big deal. Growing up in a moderately rural area—forty-five minutes from everywhere—I’d grown accustomed to long drives to get to a decent-sized city. Besides, I make the trip to D.C. all the time. It was fairly routine to meet with prospective clients there, actually, so the distance wasn’t a problem.

  The issue was that I had no clue what I would be walking in on when I got there.

  Despite Ali’s assurances to the contrary, I was half-convinced that Talia was holed up at the apartment with a man, maybe enjoying having the place to herself now that Ali had moved in with Clay.

  My luck, I’d walk in on something I’d have to spend the next twenty years trying to erase from my memory.

  Images of whips and ropes flashed like lightning through my mind, making me cringe as my grip tightened on the steering wheel. Not that I had any reason to think she was into that, but one never knew. Just because she looked sweet and innocent…

  I wasn’t sure what was more disturbing, the thought of walking in on something illicit or the idea of having to live with the image for the rest of my life.

  I forcibly shook the train of thought from my mind, rolling my shoulders to break the tension and sinking into the plush leather seat of my methodically-restored 1971 Chevelle. It was my most prized possession these days, my favorite place to spend time. Just me and the road, the roar of the engine chasing away everything else. It had an impressive sound system—accurate retro styling with updated technology—but I rarely switched it on. The deep
rumble emitted by the exhaust was better than any music I’d ever heard and I respected the hell out of it.

  Once I shifted my focus from worrying about what I’d find at my destination, I was able to enjoy the ride. The Chevelle was the main reason I never balked at having to travel for meetings. That car was my sanctuary. My escape.

  And, unfortunately, it usually got me from A to B much faster than I wanted.

  Before I had time to revisit my earlier misgivings, I was sitting in front of Talia’s apartment building and hoping like hell that I wasn’t making a mistake by getting involved.

  I stepped out of the car and pulled my jacket tighter around myself as I approached the entrance. The chill in the air was a reminder that, although spring was nearly upon us, winter still lingered.

  My breath came out in thick plumes as I hurried into the lobby. The place was somewhere between middle and upper class. Expensive flooring polished to a high shine, a reception desk made out of deep cherry, and beautiful artwork tastefully placed throughout. It was impressive, in a cold way.

  I stepped over to the desk, catching the eye of the young man seated behind it as he absently set aside his phone. His reddish hair was long and stringy, tucked behind his ears and in need of a good wash. His light eyes were red-rimmed.

  I flashed a smile and tipped my head toward him. “Hey. How’s it going?”

  His expression was tired and a bit distracted. He cast a longing glance at his phone before answering, “Not too bad. How can I help you?”

  “My name is Spencer Erickson. I believe Alison Walker called ahead about me.”

  It was interesting watching the guy scouring his memory for the conversation with Ali. His brow crinkled and he was midway through shaking his head “no” when the fog lifted and he snapped his fingers, seeming momentarily startled by the sound.

  He wore no name tag, but I was betting this was Stony the Sloth.

  “Oh, yeah. You’re the dog walker or plant waterer or something, right?”

  Close enough. I smiled to hide my snicker. “Yep. That’s me. Ali said you’d have the spare key for me when I got here.”