Pretty Broken Girl

by Jeana E. Mann

  “You think no one could care about me without the money? That I can’t make it on my own?” By now, Sam’s voice seethed with a fury I’d never heard before. “She’s not like that, Dad. And neither am I.”

  “I’m not telling you to give her up, son. I’m just asking you to use a little restraint. You’ve got a bright future in front of you. Don’t throw it all away on a pretty piece of ass. Especially not the cook’s daughter. She’s not worth it.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Dakota - Now

  IT TOOK ALL of my internal fortitude plus an extra twenty percent to walk through the revolving doors at work on Wednesday morning. Two days ago, I’d thrilled at the marble-and-glass lobby, the sight of Armani suits and Ferragamo shoes. Today, I felt like an imposter, a little girl playing dress-up. I’d come perilously close to throwing in the towel. In fact, I’d gone so far as to type out my resignation and attach it to an email addressed to Samuel Seaforth. It sat in my draft folder, waiting like an escape hatch on a sinking submarine, my lifeline to emotional rescue. Sheer stubbornness kept me from sending it.

  He’d treated me like I was cheap and unworthy. Deep down I knew it wasn’t him who’d made me feel that way. I already felt undeserving. His little power play only underscored the truth of my existence. Everything I had—my job, my mother’s condo, Crockett’s freedom—had come at a high price. For the longest time, I thought I’d paid the fee, but I was wrong. It was Samuel who’d paid the price, and I was the one who’d extracted it from him.

  I sat in the chair at my cubicle and swallowed down the thick lump of self-loathing stuck in my throat. While my computer powered on, I shuffled through a dozen file folders dumped on my desk, each bearing a sticky note with instructions scrawled in Sam’s slanting hand. I cast a furtive glance at his office, pulse beating erratically. The door was shut and the lights out. I exhaled in relief until I sighted Brian next to me.

  “I see you’ve joined the general population like the rest of the lowly inmates,” he said, plopping his ass on the desk at my elbow. “It seems you don’t have this boss wrapped around your little finger like you did Ansel.”

  With all my nerves raw and exposed, I chose to ignore him rather than reply. I opened my work email and cringed at the ping of incoming messages. While Brian regarded me with unveiled amusement, I scanned through the subjects, deleting the junk and marking the important ones for follow-up. Even though Sam had demoted me, I still had customers who relied on me.

  “I don’t suppose you’re still going to the Vandalia Charity Auction next month?” When I didn’t answer, Brian waved a hand between my face and the computer screen, breaking my concentration. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  “No. I don’t know. Maybe.” I shoved his hand away. In all the turmoil surrounding Samuel and the takeover, I’d had little time to think about the event. Not that I had money to spend on the expensive auction items, but it was a good place to see and be seen by some of the city’s biggest names. Before handing over the company, Ansel had purchased and distributed a dozen tickets to the executive staff.

  “I just thought you might want to get rid of your ticket. I know somebody who needs one.”

  “Sure. I mean yes, I have a ticket.” I dug blindly in my purse until my fingers found the ticket and held it in front of him about the same time my eyes landed on an email from Samuel. Brian reached for the ticket, and I snatched it back. “And no, you can’t have it.” I might not be going, but no way would I give it to him. Creeper.

  He groaned. “Seriously? Come on.”

  “I said no.” I nudged him off my desk with my elbow. “Shouldn’t you be making sales calls or something?”

  “Fine,” he said. In my head, I’d already dismissed him as I scanned over Sam’s email with equal parts dread and anticipation. “But if you know someone who has an extra, let me know. Will you?”

  I will be out of the office today. I’ve left a list of tasks for you with Valerie. I expect them to be completed when I return tomorrow morning. Get with her for any pertinent details you might need. Don’t disappoint me.

  That was it? Feeling curiously deflated, I sank back in my chair. Brian let out a low whistle, and I jerked, having forgotten him. With a seething glare, I minimized the email and turned to face him.

  “Do you mind?” I snapped.

  “That’s cold. He really doesn’t care for you. What did you do to him anyway?”

  “Nothing.” I grabbed a pen and notepad then stood, hoping to shoo Brian away.

  “You’ve had to do something. He’s got a reputation as a pretty fair guy overall. Aside from the ruthless takeovers and dismantling companies and screwing other men’s wives.”

  Brian’s words stabbed me in the gut. “What do you mean by that?” The Samuel I knew would never do anything like that. Unless someone had crushed his heart. Someone like me.

  “You mean you hadn’t heard about it? He had an affair with his best friend’s wife. It was all over the scandal rags last year.” Brian shook his head. “The guy has some huge balls. It’s true. Look it up.”

  I pushed past him and headed toward Valerie’s desk. She glanced up at me with a smile and an expression of something I’d never seen from her before—sympathy. Brian trailed on my heels.

  “You’re disgusting. Go away.” I returned Valerie’s smile. “Samuel—I mean Mr. Seaforth—said he left a list for me with you.”

  “I do.” She had an envelope in hand and offered it to me. “He said you were to get on it right away and that you would be out of the office the rest of the day.”

  “Great.” Probably another plethora of tedious tasks, like finding silk sheets spun from Shangri La silkworms or something. With a supreme sense of dread, I ripped the envelope open and skimmed over the list. One item. Go to the doctor. I turned the page over. Blank. “That’s it?”

  “Yes. He was very adamant that you take care of it right away.” Valerie raised her penciled eyebrows. “I wouldn’t go against him, if I were you. He’s very—” a dreamy film veiled her eyes, “—very alpha, isn’t he?”

  “Hmm… Well, okay.” I folded the letter and shoved it back into the envelope, hiding it from the prying eyes of Brian, who was still hovering at my shoulder.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “He said to start an audit of the expense accounts for all the marketing directors,” I said.

  Brian’s footsteps scurried in the direction of his cubicle.

  Valerie’s smile broadened. “That’s not what it says.” She gave me a chastising shake of the head.

  “Valerie, did you peek at the list?”

  “I typed it up for him.” The desk phone buzzed, and she turned to answer it with a professional, “Samuel Seaforth’s office.”

  I waved goodbye and headed to the elevators, more confused than ever.

  CHAPTER 12

  Samuel - Now

  UNABLE TO FACE Dakota on Wednesday, I invented a bevy of excuses and returned to my home office. Not that I needed a reason to do so. As the head of the company, I could pretty much do whatever I damn well pleased. But I had a strong work ethic, one that demanded one hundred ten percent on a daily basis. I hadn’t gotten where I was by slacking off. And I intended to dismantle and absorb Harmony Developments in record time before moving on to the more pressing matter of ruining my father.

  I sank into the chair behind my desk and groaned. A hangover clouded my brain, making coherent thought impossible. Otherwise, I would have been able to erase my ex-wife from it. The sight of her spread over my desk at Harmony Developments kept scrolling through my mind. I had to get a grip on my attraction to her before I did something stupid, like fuck her.

  A light tap on my office door jerked me out of my head and back to business. Dahlia entered, looking collected and sexy, the way she always did. She gave me a warm smile, too warm in my opinion, and slid into the chair across from me. I watched her cross her legs with seductive slowness, a predatory gleam in her eyes. We were so over,
and she just didn’t seem to get it, even though I’d been nothing but upfront about my disinterest. Her obvious ploys were almost comical.

  “I’ve got the resumes and applications for everyone at Harmony,” she said. “I took the liberty of pulling all the ones I thought might interest you. The rejects are in this stack.” She rested a perfectly manicured hand on the tallest stack of folders at the corner of my desk. The name on the top folder caught my eye. It was Dakota’s.

  “What’s wrong with this one?” I asked, feeling an uncomfortable flutter at the sight of her name. Dakota Elaine Atwell. “She’s got a contract.”

  “I just assumed you wouldn’t be interested,” Dahlia said, her voice smooth and cajoling. “You’ve got a dozen employees who can do her job. Why bother with the time and expense of training her for Infinity? She’s redundant.”

  I slid the folder from beneath Dahlia’s hand and flipped through the documents inside, although I’d already seen them. My sense of self-preservation told me to run as far and as fast from Dakota as possible. I’d loved her once. I hated her now, but I’d given Ansel my word. He seemed to hold quite an affinity for her. She’d been the only sticking point in our negotiation. As much as I disliked her, she wasn’t worth losing the company over. I could endure six months with her. I fully intended to stick her in a back office doing menial entry-level work then dump her. It would serve her right.

  The rest of the day, she cluttered my thoughts, haunted my meetings, and wrecked havoc on my focus. I could smell her perfume, taste the sweetness of her skin on my tongue, and feel the tight, wet heat of her wrapped around my cock. Thoughts like that had kept me semi-hard since lunch.

  CHAPTER 13

  Dakota - Now

  I ARRIVED AT the office early on Thursday, eager to catch up on emails and the tasks I’d missed the day before. Per the doctor’s orders, I’d lounged on the sofa for the remainder of the previous day, injured foot propped in the air. It felt much better, and in spite of the assault to my fashion sensibilities, I wore a pair of nude flats with my favorite taupe skirt and a ruffled cream blouse. With my hair sleeked into a tight bun at the nape of my neck and a pair of black-rimmed glasses, I looked smart and aloof, sexy yet professional. Or at least that was the vibe I was going for.

  By the light shining through the window of Sam’s office, he’d beat me to work. I scrolled through my inbox with one eye on his door, praying he wouldn’t come out. He didn’t until well after ten o’clock, and when he did, he completely ignored me. Butterflies fluttered every time he walked past. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or insulted by the snub, so I settled on apathetic. What did I care whether he talked to me or not? The less time we spent together, the less opportunity for him to slice me open with venomous barbs about my character.

  My interoffice messenger pinged with an incoming message from Muriel.

  Muriel: Did you check out the boss today? Call the fire department.

  Me: Why? Is he pissed again?

  Muriel: He’s smoking hot.

  Me: I hadn’t noticed.

  Muriel: Are you blind?

  Me: No, but I’m immune to tools and douche nozzles.

  I snickered at my cleverness and took a sip of coffee.

  “I need you in my office, Ms. Atwell.” The sound of Sam’s voice behind me sent me into a panic. I jiggled the coffee cup, splashing hot liquid over the edges, making a mess of my workspace while simultaneously trying to close the messenger box.

  “Shit,” I muttered and grabbed a handful of tissues to dab away the spill.

  Samuel stared down at me with cold, disapproving eyes. “You need one of those coffee cups with a spill-proof lid,” he observed. “Or else you should wear something other than white.” He turned to his office and spoke over his shoulder. “Grab your notes on MacGruder and come into the conference room.”

  I frowned down at the tan spots on my formerly pristine blouse.

  “Now, Ms. Atwell.”

  What had happened to the patient boy of my past? This man radiated tension in every line of his body, from the square set of his shoulders down to the snap of his stride as he walked away. My insides quivered with dread as I gathered my information and followed him. I took a seat in the chair across from him, the table safely between us, and waited for him to speak first.

  He went to the wall of windows and stared out at the city, his back to me. With his hands in his pockets, the fabric of his trousers stretched over his ass. It was hard and taut with indentations of muscle on each side. I swallowed and crossed my legs, squeezing my thighs together to fight the ache of lust between them.

  During my reprieve yesterday, I’d decided that no reaction was the best course following our little sexual meltdown. Let him be the first one to broach the subject. Depending upon his attitude, I could then choose my best response. If he was angry, I would be cool. If he was insulting, I would be sweet. If he was…

  “I think we should fuck it out,” he said.

  All of my potential retorts flew straight out of my head. Caught completely by surprise, I barked out a laugh. He didn’t turn around, and I was grateful for a few seconds to pull myself together.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked when my voice returned. It shook a little, but I don’t think he noticed.

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, I did, but it’s the last thing I expected you to say.” My heart resumed its chaotic dance inside my chest. At this rate, I might suffer a coronary before the end of the week. “I thought I wasn’t worth it.”

  Mid-morning sunshine highlighted the angles of his face as he turned around. Muriel was right. In his impeccable suit, starched shirt, and red necktie, he made quite the picture. His features remained smooth. When our eyes met, I saw nothing but green ice in them.

  “You’re not,” he replied in a tone so matter-of-fact, the remnants of my self-worth quivered. “But for whatever reason, I’m still attracted to you. And I hate myself for it.”

  Because I didn’t know what to say, I said nothing. We stared at each other across the room.

  He exhaled through his nose as if disappointed in his fate. “One last time. Sort of a going-away fuck, if you will.”

  It took a few seconds for his statement to sink in and when it did, it dropped like a brick to the pit of my gut. “That’s hardly the kind of invitation a girl wants to hear.” I inhaled through my nose, steadying myself.

  “Too harsh for you?” he asked. “Or too honest?”

  “I don’t sleep with my coworkers.” On the outside I probably appeared reserved, but inside I was doing a happy dance. He still wanted me. In a game where he held all the cards, this tidbit of knowledge gave me the teeniest bit of power. A thrill of female triumph lessened the anxiety of the previous days. For the smallest second, I considered accepting his offer, eager to revisit the strength of his body moving over and inside me, the stretch of his muscular thighs between mine, and the glide of his bare chest against my breasts. My stomach twittered. Tangled up in my lust were the remnants of our emotional intimacy as man and wife. Instinctively, I knew I couldn’t have one without interference by the other. Common sense took hold as I watched him. This was a competition. One I intended to win. A hasty decision made today might result in defeat tomorrow.

  “Is that so?” His eyes gleamed with a shrewd intensity that unnerved me. I shook my head. “Never?”

  “Never.” I extended my index finger into the air to detail my objections. “First, it’s unprofessional as well as unethical.” He nodded, considering. I swallowed and continued. “Second, by your own admission, you hate me. And third, you’ve been nothing but shitty to me all week. Why would I want to have sex with you?”

  He stroked his scruffy jaw thoughtfully. I followed the movement of his fingers as they moved up and down, mesmerized by the slow, sensual motion and the memory of his fingers doing that very same thing to me. A glimmer of humor lit his eyes. He shrugged. “Fair enough. I just thought I would thro
w it out there as an option—to relieve the tension.”

  Ignoring his scrutiny, I opened the MacGruder folder and spread my notes over the table in front of me. If I had any chance at all of salvaging my career, I needed to keep our relationship professional. “So what do you want to know about MacGruder?”

  My first job out of college was working for MacGruder & Sons, the premier real estate broker of the Midwest. They were famous for snatching up obscure parcels of land and selling them for exorbitant prices to developers. The senior MacGruder, John, had an eye for potential growth areas and an almost psychic ability for knowing trends in real estate. If there was a new shopping mall or suburb in the works, chances were good MacGruder & Sons had their hands in it. The sons, on the other hand, were more of a liability than an asset to the company.

  Samuel moved easily from the topic of revenge-fucks back to business. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, removed it, and hung it over the back of a chair. I expected him to sit across the table, but instead, he took the seat next to me. The scent of his cologne drifted past me, breaking my concentration. I remembered that smell, spicy and rich. The man might have changed, but his cologne hadn’t. His shirtsleeve brushed my forearm, and all the tiny hairs from wrist to elbow stood at attention.

  “I want to know everything. Where they hang out. What they eat for breakfast.” He leaned across me to touch my notes with one big hand.

  “That’s a little creepy,” I said lightly. “May I ask why?”

  “No. You may not.” The flat finality in his voice should have quaffed my interest, but it served to do the opposite. I studied him, taking in the square line of his jaw and the sharp straight line of his nose.