Pretty Broken Girl

by Jeana E. Mann

  CHAPTER 1

  Dakota - Now

  ON A COLD spring morning, I stepped into Joe’s Java Junction and shook the rain from my hair. At the order counter, a tall gentleman took his cup of coffee and turned toward me. Our gazes connected with the impact of two colliding automobiles. He froze in his steps, lips pursed to blow on the hot liquid, and drew in a sharp, startled breath.

  I stared into a set of familiar eyes over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. Recognition flared then extinguished in their depths. A tremor of panic shook my fingers, and I fought to maintain my composure. In all the years I’d lived in the city, I’d never once run into anyone from my past. I took comfort in the anonymity of living far from the small town where I’d grown up. In retrospect, I’d been a fool to believe my past was forgotten or that I could escape it so easily.

  We stood facing each other, shocked into wordlessness, until a woman touched his arm. She was tall, slender, and immaculate in a tight black pencil skirt and high-heeled pumps. Blonde hair formed a perfect chignon at the nape of her neck. I smoothed a self-conscious hand over my brown hair, frizzy from the rain, and tried not to think about how it must look. Her gaze flicked from the man to me and back to the man again.

  “Samuel?” The low, cultured tone of her voice speaking his name sent a shiver down my back. “We’re going to be late.”

  His gaze disconnected from mine. I swallowed and stepped back, giving him a polite smile. He didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he turned to the woman and nodded, his hand resting on the small of her back. The contact was warm and intimate, the same way he’d touched me long ago. My chest tightened with emotions I’d thought forgotten.

  “Samuel.” This time, the woman’s voice held a note of annoyance.

  Once upon a time, this man and I had been more than acquaintances. He’d been the center of my universe, and I’d been his wife. I knew the way his hands felt on me, the way he looked when he came during sex, the way his skin tasted in the morning after his shower. Now we were nothing more than strangers with a shared past, brushing shoulders in a coffee shop, before moving onto our respective lives.

  “Miss? What can I get for you?” By the narrowing of the barista’s eyes, she’d asked me more than once.

  “Sugar-free vanilla non-fat latte with a double shot.” Although my lips formed the words, my gaze followed the back of Sam’s black trench coat out the door. He was taller than I remembered, his shoulders broader and his hair blonder. His driver met him on the sidewalk with an umbrella and ushered him to a silver BMW with blackout windows, the blonde at his side. I lifted a hand to the thin chain around my neck and fingered the plain gold band suspended on the end.

  “Your change, miss?” The annoyed voice of the barista suggested she’d lost her patience with me. I tore my attention from Samuel and back to the girl frowning in front of me.

  “Sorry,” I said with a half-hearted smile. The girl huffed and dropped a quarter into my outstretched palm. By the time I turned back to Samuel, he was gone, but the shock of seeing him followed me out of the coffee shop and back to the office.

  ***

  Every time I slid into a chair behind the mahogany conference table, my pulse beat a little bit faster. Corporate life made my blood sing like the headiest drug. I took my normal seat next to the head of the table, where Ansel, the president, would sit. It was a position of honor and one I’d worked hard to attain. From beyond the gleam of polished hardwoods and brass, my co-workers stared at me. Usually the room hummed with friendly banter. This morning an eerie silence prevailed. I was still too overcome by my encounter with Samuel to analyze the source of the quiet.

  “Good morning, everyone.” Ansel entered the executive conference room, his jaw clenched tight. He was a slender man; bookish glasses perched on his nose, with wisps of gray threading his brown hair. “Thank you for joining us at such short notice.” The strain around Ansel’s eyes caught my attention more than his words. “We’ll get to the crux of the matter in just a minute.” Instead of sitting next to me the way he usually did, he remained standing and shifted from foot to foot, avoiding my curious gaze. “We’re waiting on one more person.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked him, studying his face with concern. “Can I get you anything?” Ansel might be demanding and overbearing, but he’d always been kind to me.

  He didn’t answer but patted my hand absently before turning away. I followed the trajectory of his gaze.

  The smile on my lips fell away when the woman from the coffee shop strode into the room. She walked to the front and rested a hand on the arm of a man staring through the wall of windows at the blue sky outside. A man I’d failed to notice until this very second. The square set of the broad shoulders beneath an impeccable black suit brought the world to a stop for the space of an entire second. He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, face turned away, the split of his suit jacket revealing a bite-worthy ass beneath the tailored trousers. Messy blond hair brushed the starched white collar of his shirt. When he glanced at the woman, morning sunlight glinted off random gold hairs in the scruff on his square jaw, the glare obscuring most of his face. Samuel. A frisson of anxiety rippled through my gut.

  “I could use some coffee,” Brian, head of advertising, said from my left. He leaned into my shoulder, whispering over my ear. I shivered and not in a good way. He was such a creep.

  “Get it yourself,” I hissed, my eyes glued to the source of my anxiety.

  “But you’re so good at it,” he replied, unruffled by my rebuff. For reasons unknown to me, Brian continued to treat me like a receptionist, asking me to make coffee, copies, and schedule appointments for him whenever Sadie, the receptionist, was out. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, solid build, sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and he could be charming when he wanted. He also had a reputation for sleeping with the staff, in spite of his fiancée and our company policy. When his thigh brushed against mine beneath the table, I glared and slid my chair to the side. Sleazeball. He smirked. “Pardon me.”

  “Looks like we’re all here,” Ansel said, drawing my attention away from Brian. “We can go ahead now.”

  Sam turned to face the group. I lifted my coffee cup to my lips. Grass-green eyes rested on my face. Brian’s thigh bumped me again beneath the table. I jerked, and the cup slipped from my fingers and landed on the table with a clank. Lukewarm coffee poured down the front of my pink silk blouse. Brian cursed and sprang to his feet, brushing at the splatters on his khaki pants. Camille, head of accounting, grabbed a handful of tissues from the credenza and thrust them at me, but I just sat there, staring numbly at Samuel.

  “Dakota?” Ansel’s voice drifted through the chaotic haze in my mind. A frown puckered the space between his brows. My composure snapped into place.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  Before anyone could speak, I sprinted out of the room and into my office. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, pressing a hand against my chest to calm my racing pulse. It just wasn’t possible, was it? How could he be here? For the second time this morning, memories better left forgotten flooded my thoughts. Sweet, drowsy kisses. Riding bicycles in the rain. Laughing over morning coffee. The painful squeeze of my chest forced me to cut them off.

  “Dakota? Can I help you?” A light tap at the door and the voice of my assistant, Melody, called me to action. “Ansel said to hurry.”

  Of all the places in this enormous city, what was he doing here? I didn’t have any idea what he’d done since our divorce or the career path he’d taken. I didn’t want to know. I’d managed to get past our morning brush at the coffee shop by shoving it deep down into the darkest recesses of my being and padlocking the door. I could hardly avoid him
now. Not when he was in the next room.

  I shrugged out of the blouse and pulled my jacket from the closet. With shaking fingers, I buttoned the front and took a hasty glance in the mirror on the back of the door. A bit more cleavage revealed than I preferred, but it would have to do. I opened the door, thrust the blouse at Melody, and returned to the conference room. Samuel had taken me by surprise, but I’d never let him know. I couldn’t, not when I was the one responsible for our breakup.

  “I apologize for the delay,” I said, wearing my winningest smile. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”

  Ansel tapped the table, calling the room to order. “I’d like to introduce you to Samuel Seaforth, president of Infinity Enterprises. This morning, Samuel took over controlling interest of Harmony Developments and he’ll be heading up the company from today forward.”

  The blood left my face and drained all the way into my toes. A murmur of concern rippled around the room. Samuel Seaforth was taking over the company. My company. All of my plans for the future withered and died in front of my eyes at this unwelcome revelation.

  Samuel shoved his hands deeper into his trouser pockets, a gesture so familiar it brought a sharp stab of nostalgia. Our eyes met again and a tremor shook my hands.

  “Thank you, Ansel,” Samuel said, still staring at me. “I want to assure everyone that we mean to make this merger as painless as possible. There will be growing pains, of course, as we blend the two companies into one and reorganize the company structure. And to that end, we are asking you to reapply for your positions.” He gestured to the woman at his side. “Dahlia will be conducting interviews throughout the rest of the week in order to get acquainted with each of you and determine who’s best suited for the positions.”

  “Some of us have contracts,” I interjected. Ansel had insisted I sign an employment agreement when I took the Project Acquisitions Director position. Now I had to wonder if he’d known all along about the merger and had taken steps to protect me. I cast him a grateful glance. He answered with an almost imperceptible nod.

  “So you do, Ms. Atwell,” Samuel said. His deep voice dwelled on the syllables of my name, and not in a good way. “You and I will discuss your situation at a later date. In private.” He dismissed me with a turn of his head, addressing the rest of the room. “Now, let’s talk about our future.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Dakota - Then

  THE BELL RANG, signaling the end of sixth period. A dozen high school honor students, including me, shifted into motion. I jumped from my desk, feet moving toward the door as I scooped my backpack from the floor and looped my arms through the straps. I kept my head down, mind racing with thoughts of homework and responsibility while the other students smiled and laughed and cracked jokes. No one spoke to me.

  The smell of polished wood permeated the venerated hallways of Seaforth Prep Academy. Locker doors banged shut. Teenaged voices buzzed, a quiet hum in the background of my mind. I paused at my locker long enough to grab my sweater then moved toward the exit along with the other students. The blond god standing by the door turned to face me. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds when I approached. Blood rushed into my face at the attentions of the hottest guy in the school. I dropped my eyes to the floor and readjusted my backpack to ease the weight on my shoulder, discomfited by the scrutiny.

  Samuel Seaforth was that guy. Every school had one. The one who possessed all the positive attributes possible for an eighteen-year-old boy. The kind who looked like a man in a schoolboy’s uniform. Long legs. Broad shoulders. Square jaw with the hint of afternoon shadow. The conservative cut of his navy blazer contrasted with his wavy surfer-boy hair. Khaki pants stretched over narrow hips, pulled tight by hands shoved deep into his pockets. The throat of his striped button-down gaped open, revealing a smattering of gold hair, necktie noticeably absent. I guess you could disregard dress code rules when your family’s name graced the school.

  Someone shoved me from behind as I reached the threshold. I pitched forward, stumbling over Samuel’s pointy-toed Italian shoe. He wrapped a hand around my bicep, steadying me. The unexpected heat of his palm on my arm startled a gasp from my lips. The backpack slid from my shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud. Stuffed to bursting, the threadbare nylon split, spilling papers and pencils into the paths of the students.

  I caught a glimpse of the boy who’d pushed me and scowled at the smirk on his face. “Jerk,” I muttered and bent to gather my scattered belongings. Dozens of feet trampled over my papers, leaving dirty footprints on the pristine white paper, shuffling them out the door and down the steps. With an exasperated growl, I watched the papers take flight on a spring breeze and whirl toward the street like psychotic doves. I launched out the door and tried to catch them before they were lost forever.

  After a mad scramble, I stood puffing on the sidewalk, a thin gleam of perspiration on my forehead, papers clutched in my hand. I’d managed to retrieve almost all of them. My shoulders slumped a little as I dusted the footprints from the sheets and pressed them against my knee to straighten the wrinkles.

  “Hey. These are yours.” The deep timbre of the voice at my shoulder was unmistakable. A large hand snaked into the field of my vision, tanned fingers clasping a handful of my precious term paper. “I think that’s all of them.”

  “Thanks.” I took the papers from Samuel’s hand and squinted up at him. I’d never been especially shy or quiet, but this guy was so out of my league, I couldn’t do more than stammer the one word. With the afternoon sun behind him, his blond hair glowed around his head. The papers crinkled like dry autumn leaves as I shoved them into my backpack and clutched it to my chest.

  “I know you, don’t I?”

  To my chagrin, his footsteps followed me down the sidewalk. I tucked my chin into my chest and kept walking. He might be beautiful, but he was one of them. One of the others. He was a privileged rich kid. I was nothing but a girl from the trailer park on the wrong side of town. He caught up to me in two long strides and paced at my side.

  “I’m in three of your classes,” I said, still not looking at him. “You sit right in front of me.”

  “Crockett’s sister, right?”

  “Dakota,” I corrected.

  He snapped his fingers and nodded. “Right. Dakota.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and continued to walk beside me. I felt the weight of his gaze travel over me. “But I’ve seen you somewhere else, too, haven’t I?”

  “My mom is your cook,” I said after a lengthy pause. “And I work in your kitchen on the weekends.” I stuffed an escaping paper into the backpack and caught a glimpse of the black limousine trailing along the curb behind us. “That’s yours?”

  His gaze followed mine to the car. Broad shoulders lifted and dropped in a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you drive a Jaguar or something?” I knew good and well he’d received a new 911 Porsche for his sixteenth birthday. I’d seen it sitting in his driveway with a bright red bow on the windshield when I’d helped my mom prepare hors d’oeuvres for his birthday party. Over two hundred people had attended the event and Seven Drift, my favorite band, had played. While my classmates had danced and partied, I’d scoured pans, mopped floors, and cleaned counters. When my mom had been preoccupied with the cake, I’d managed to sneak into the backyard and had hidden behind the pool house to watch the celebration unfold.

  “Yeah. Well…” His gaze drifted back to my face. “I got in some trouble and my dad took it away.”

  “Gee, that sucks,” I replied with sincere sympathy. As a voyeur to his seemingly perfect life, I never expected to find a guy with flaws. He lifted a notch in my esteem. Beautiful but imperfect. My kind of guy.

  He shrugged again. “I don’t really care one way or the other. It’s just a car.” The way he said it struck a chord in me. I understood apathy. Sometimes it was easier not to care about inconsequential things. My father’s death the previous year had put life into perspective. We’d sold our home
, moved into a rental, and I’d been forced to adapt to a simpler way of life.

  “Right.” I snorted. “To you, it’s just a car. To me, it’s a car that cost more than my mom ‘s salary.” And part of said salary came from Samuel’s parents.

  “Money doesn’t mean shit, Dakota,” he said. The sudden outburst brought me to a halt. We were alone by this time, except for the trailing limo. The other students had disappeared into their respective cars and limousines, leaving us alone on the sidewalk next to the bus stop.

  “Only people who have money say things like that,” I said, angry but unsure why. “You have no idea what it’s like to be broke.”

  One of his sleek golden eyebrows arched. After an uncomfortable beat, he nodded. “True. But you have no idea the problems money can cause.”

  We studied each other, at an impasse. I squelched the urge to smooth the skirt of my uniform and stood straighter. I was tall, but he was taller. I lifted my chin and met his gaze. His eyes reflected the bright green of the grass beside us.

  “I don’t feel sorry for you.” I’d been inside the splendor of his sprawling family home, seen the marble floors, and polished silver trinkets worthy of a museum display. To my surprise, a slow smile widened his mouth. The expression transformed his face from aloof to warm and playful.

  “Yeah?” He took the backpack from me before I could stop him and strode toward his limousine. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”

  The last place I wanted to take him was my home, a dilapidated house trailer with a leaky roof and broken shutters. The entire house could fit inside his dining room. In fact, his mother’s horses lived in better quarters than I did. Even though my insides cringed at the idea, I followed him to the car, mesmerized by the easy grace and confidence of his stride. He opened the door and waited while I slid inside before following me. I gave the driver an address, not my own but the convenience store around the corner where I worked part-time, and watched Samuel settle into the seat. In the confines of the car, I could smell his cologne, a mixture of spice and soap. Goosebumps prickled along my arms when one of his knees bumped against mine.