Pretty Dirty Secrets: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 3)

by Jeana E. Mann

  Thanksgiving already? Time had become irrelevant, dragging by in slow, painful ticks. I hadn’t even thought about the holidays. My parents were on a Caribbean cruise, my brothers at colleges across the country. I had nowhere to go.

  “Who’s cooking?” I asked. It was no secret that Dakota couldn’t do much more than boil water.

  His quiet chuckle made me smile for the first time in days. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”

  “Don’t you dare. I was just wondering if I should eat first.” We both laughed. I expected a lingering awkwardness in our relationship, but he didn’t seem to harbor any animosity toward me. Our Wednesday morning workouts continued without incident, but I couldn’t help noticing the way he avoided the subject of Venetia.

  “Relax. Burgers on the grill,” he said. “That’s my domain.”

  “For Thanksgiving?”

  “Hey, it’s a free meal,” he teased. “You got a better offer?”

  “No.” I hesitated. “Is Venetia going to be there?”

  “No. I think she’s going somewhere with Sydney,” he said. I breathed a sigh of relief. “You guys still haven’t made up?”

  “No.” My gut squeezed, the way it did every time I thought about her. “She hates me. She won’t even talk to me.”

  “Give her time. She’ll come around. Stubborn as a mule, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” God, did I ever.

  “Look, dinner’s at seven. We’ll watch the game. Supposed to be a barn burner.” Sam’s words took on an impersonal precision. “Three copies, Xavier. And one for the file.”

  It took a second for me to recognize the name of Sam’s former assistant. “Xavier’s there?” After the close of our joint corporation, most of the employees had been relocated to another of Sam’s many companies or given severance packages.

  “Sure. The little fucker’s good at what he does.”

  “And what, exactly, does he do?” I asked. Sam still had viable businesses, but he’d sold the more lucrative ones to make up for his personal debt.

  “I’m not really sure.” His throaty laugh brought a smile to my face. “But he does it well. Besides, I don’t have time to train someone new.”

  “I thought you were belly up.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve got a contingency plan.” Another laugh from the other side of the phone line, this one quiet and laden with secrets. “You didn’t think I’d go down without a fight, did you?”

  “What are you up to, Seaforth?” I had a mental image of Sam seated behind the desk of a top-secret underground facility with his minions scurrying around him as he devised a plan to conquer the rat race.

  “All in good time, my friend.” His voice took on a sharper edge, the one he used for boardrooms and business. “What about you? Destroy any marriages lately?”

  “Seems I’m heading into a change of career,” I said. “The partners asked me to leave. I’m pretty sure Maxwell had a hand in it.”

  “Really?” I heard the interest in Sam’s voice and gave him the short version of the events leading up to my situation. “Interesting. Look, I’ve got to go. Conference call from Japan in ten. But we’ll talk more about this Thursday. I think I might have an opportunity for you.”

  Chapter 42

  Venetia

  IT WAS a little past noon on the following Tuesday that I found myself sandwiched between endless bolts of velvet and satin fabrics at an upscale upholstery shop on the upper east side. Helena clutched a purple throw pillow in one hand and her tablet in the other. I squinted at the pillow, the picture on the tablet, and the assortment of cloth in front of us then shook my head.

  “This is impossible,” I said. “We’re never going to find anything to match that stupid pillow.”

  “You can and you will,” Helena said firmly. “I’ve got faith in you.”

  Although we’d only known each other for a short time, Helena and I had fallen into an easy friendship. Before her, I’d always been the assistant, the one fetching coffee, scheduling appointments, and holding the throw pillow. It felt a little strange to be on the opposite side of the table, but Helena had immediately put me at ease.

  “Whoever heard of a purple-and-green color scheme in a French chalet?” I asked Helena. She laughed and came to stand at my side. We stared at the offensive throw pillow and tilted our heads to the left in synchronicity.

  “Maybe you could—” Helena’s phone buzzed. She stopped mid-sentence to pull it from her handbag and frowned at the caller ID. “It’s him again,” she said in a stage whisper, as if whoever it was could hear her. “Hello?” Her eyes met mine. “Yes, Mr. Beckett. I gave her your message.”

  I shook my head vehemently. I didn’t want to talk to Beckett. The thought of him caused my chest to ache. He’d hurt me, however unintentional it might have been, and I wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. She rolled her eyes but ended the call. Two seconds later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I groaned and knew without looking it was him.

  “Persistent bugger, isn’t he?” Helena flashed a toothy smile. She was head-to-toe perfection in a sage green pantsuit.

  “He’s getting on my nerves,” I said.

  “Answer it, or he’ll never stop.” She snatched my phone out of my pocket and handed it to me.

  “Fine.” I yanked the phone out of her grasp. “Stop calling me, Beckett.”

  “Hi. Venetia? Hello.” His deep, rich voice washed over me.

  Tingles of attraction sparked along my nerve endings. “Hello,” I replied and fell silent. Tears stung my eyes. I placed a hand over my chest. I had no idea how much I missed him, how much it would hurt to hear his voice.

  “I didn’t expect you to answer.” I heard the slow intake of his breath while he formulated his next sentence. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” I dropped my gaze to a bolt of lavender damask and fingered the edge. Helena’s curious stare bored into me. I turned my back to her, needing to conceal whatever emotion flashed across my face.

  “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls? We need to talk this out.”

  “You know why,” I cupped a hand around the phone, not wanting Helena to hear.

  He groaned. The delicious sound shimmered into my ear and dissipated in waves through the pleasure centers of my brain. “Let me make it up to you. We can start over.”

  “No.” I continued to peruse the aisles of fabric, pretending to shop, but I saw nothing.

  “Come on, V. Just one dinner. Some good food. A little conversation.” Sensing my hesitation, he ramped up the charm a notch. “You know how I hate to eat alone.”

  “No.” I wanted to go with every fiber of my being, but my obstinate nature overruled physical desire. Besides, I needed to learn a little self-restraint, and I decided to start with Beckett.

  “Lunch?”

  “No.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “No.” I suppressed a chuckle. I admired his persistence, but my hurt pride required more than a plate of pancakes to soothe it.

  “I didn’t get where I am by giving up.” He fell silent, but I could hear his even breathing. “Look. I’m sorry about Maxwell. I should’ve told you in the beginning. I just never knew—I didn’t realize—” His voice trailed off, tinged with frustration. “Hell, V. I never knew you’d come to mean so much to me. I didn’t know I was going to fall in love with you.”

  My resolve weakened with every passing second. I closed my eyes and remembered his hot kisses along my throat, the feel of him deep inside me, riding me to a climax so mind-bending it stole away my breath. Every fiber of my being yearned for him. As if in protest, the baby shifted, stabbing one of my kidneys. I placed a hand on my stomach, easing the ache. Another uncomfortable silence ensued. When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I invented an emergency. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “When?” he asked. The hope in his voice brought the sting of tears to my eyes. “I miss you, V.”

  I swiped at my eyes with
the back of my hand. “I miss you too,” I whispered. His next words split my heart in two.

  “Then tell me what to do, and I’ll make this right.”

  “I can’t.” My throat tightened around the words. “I need time to think, to figure out who I am, and I can’t do that around you. Just give me some time.”

  He was silent, but I heard his breathing on the other side of the call. When he spoke, pain echoed in his voice. “Do what you need to get through this, but don’t take too long, okay? I don’t want to miss out on one minute of having this baby with you.”

  Chapter 43

  Venetia

  FOR THE tenth time, I dumped my purse on the bed in search of my passport. I scrambled through lipsticks, packs of chewing gum, and pens. Sydney frowned from the doorway, hands on hips, a nervous glint in her eyes. As I searched, all I could think about was Beckett. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving. In my fantasies, before our falling out, I’d dreamed about our first holiday together as a couple. Knowing it wasn’t going to happen left me with a dull ache that no amount of sun and surf could cure.

  “Come on, V. We’re going to be late,” Sydney said again. “The car’s downstairs waiting.”

  “I know. I know.” I turned and, for the eleventh time, dug through the contents of my desk drawer. “It was here. I swear it.”

  What was Beckett doing? He probably went home to his family for the holiday. He probably wasn’t even in town. My fingers curled with the urge to call his number just to hear his voice.

  “Oh my God, you do this every time.” Sydney gritted her teeth and slapped a hand to her forehead, drawing me back to the current dilemma.

  “Crap. I’m sorry. Sorry.” With an impatient groan, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember the last place I’d had it. I felt curiously close to tears, my hormones swinging unpredictably. “I can’t think with you talking. Just give me a minute.”

  “I don’t know why I ever go anywhere with you,” Sydney continued to grumble. She withdrew her cell from her purse and scrolled through her contacts. “I’ll call my agent and tell him we’re going to miss our flight.”

  “No, no. Don’t do that.” I scanned the room. “I have no idea where it’s at, but I’ll find it.”

  Sydney glanced from the clock to my face and back again. I rummaged through the desk drawers one last time, cursing myself. She grabbed my hands and pulled them together between us. “V, stop a minute. Look at me.”

  “What?” I frowned at the interruption to my frantic search and bit my lower lip.

  “Sweetie, why are you crying?”

  “I don’t know.” The words broke on a hiccup.

  “Aw, come here.” Another tear slid down my cheek. She swiped it away with her thumb and shook her head, dark hair swinging above her shoulders. “Sit down a second.” She patted the bed. We sat down together, my hands still in hers. “I think that deep down, you don’t really want to go.”

  “Sure I do,” I said, but the minute the words left my lips, I recognized them for a lie.

  “No, you don’t.” She squeezed my hands. “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “I miss him,” I said. The confession tumbled out and my tears quickened. “I don’t want to have this baby without him. I need him, Syd.”

  “Shhhh. Hush. I know. I know.” Her arms stole around my shoulders and pulled me into a warm hug. “You love him. Who am I to stand in the way of true love? Go be with him.”

  “I want to. I do.” Another hiccup wracked my chest. “But he hurt me.”

  “Of course he did. That’s what people do. They hurt each other.” She rocked me back and forth, patting my back until I stopped sniffling. “You’ve got to get over this need to always be right.”

  “I know.” We pulled apart. I studied my fingernails, embarrassed by my emotional outburst.

  “So, I’m going to go, and you’re going to call Beckett.” Her bright smile eased my distress.

  She made it sound so easy, but I didn’t call him. Instead, I stared at my phone, willing it to ring. For once, it seemed Beckett had taken my advice and didn’t call. My pride was going to steal the only man I’d ever loved, if I didn’t do something. I decided to take the night and sleep on it. Sam and Dakota had invited me to dinner at their house. Maybe they would be able to help me mend the breach with Beckett.

  On Thanksgiving day, Dakota greeted me at the door with a hug and a smile. I hugged her back, feeling awkward with my belly bumping into her. The aroma of burgers and brats wafted through the air. I drew in a deep breath and tried to think positive thoughts. I could do this. I could be nice. Drama no longer appealed to me the way it had a few months ago. I just wanted peace in my life.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” Dakota said. “There’s way too much testosterone in here.”

  To prove her point, deep male voices rumbled from the other side of the apartment, where I could hear the game blaring over the TV. I followed the sounds of shouting into the living room. Sam stood in front of the flat screen, beer in hand. Tucker sprawled over a club chair by the fireplace. My heart pounded as I recognized the third person. Someone made a touchdown in the game. Beckett leaped from the couch and pumped a fist in the air.

  “Yeah. That’s right,” he declared in his low, sexy voice. My stomach flipped. “Pay up, Seaforth.”

  “Game’s not over yet,” Sam said. The three of them turned to face me, sensing my presence. “Hey, V. Come on in.”

  Tucker lifted his beer in a toast. “Want a beer? Or a glass of wine? Beckett brought some great pinot.”

  I didn’t hear the rest of what Tucker said, too busy staring at Beckett. Our gazes locked across the room. The smile left his lips. My heart pounded so hard I thought my ribs might crack. A gray Henley stretched over his broad shoulders, and black stubble dusted his square jaw. He looked tired. My fingers curled, filled with the urge to run through his hair, and smooth the worried lines from his forehead.

  “No, I’m pregnant. Remember, goofball?” I managed to croak at last. “I’ll have some water.” I turned and made my way back to the kitchen on weak knees.

  “I thought she wasn’t coming,” Beckett said as I left the room. His statement weakened my self-confidence. Had I waited too long? Had his feelings changed toward me?

  “Her plans fell through,” Sam replied, and I lost the rest of their conversation when Dakota handed me a glass of water.

  I wasn’t prepared for the way I felt. All of the hurt and betrayal returned in a rush. I put a hand on the breakfast bar and tried to calm my breathing.

  “Are you okay?” Dakota put a reassuring hand on my back. “You don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine, just tired,” I replied. “Can I help you with anything?” I didn’t know squat about the kitchen, but then, neither did Dakota.

  She gave me a smile. “Well, you could set the table, I guess.”

  The menial task took my mind off the men in the other room. For a minute, I considered grabbing my coat from the closet and bolting out the door, but I’d come too far to chicken out now. Like it or not, Beckett was in my life forever. Our child bound us together, for better or worse, tighter than any legal documents. I needed to find a way to get over his betrayal and my pride for the sake of the baby. We had to get along, even if it killed me to see him.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” I jumped at hearing Beckett’s voice in my ear.

  I placed a hand over my heart. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry.” The rich brown of his eyes caused a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. I saw the shadows under his eyes and felt a quick surge of protectiveness. “We can’t keep going on like this.” He took one of my hands in his and turned me to face him. “V, talk to me.”

  Hearing the texture of his voice, feeling his hand on mine, it broke me. The pain and anger I’d been harboring for the past few weeks swelled. “You hurt me.” My voice cracked. “You should’ve told me about Maxwell. I trusted you. You should’ve had my back.”r />
  “Baby, I know. I’m so sorry.” He brushed the hair away from my face and swept his fingertips along my jaw. “This whole deal has been a mess from the beginning, and I’m sorry. It kills me to see you unhappy like this.”

  I turned my face into his hand, brushing my lips against his palm. He smelled clean, like soap and fabric softener, and his skin tasted of salt.

  “When Maxwell came to me for help, I had no idea you were pregnant, that I was going to fall in love with you. I got a little distracted from what was important, but it didn’t take me long to figure it out.” His gaze searched mine. A thrill of attraction bolted into my center. No, it was more than attraction; it was need, desire. “I know we got a rocky start, but we can make this work. I want to make it work with you.”

  The room faded around us until I saw nothing but him. Overhead lights glinted off his black hair, hair I knew felt as silky as it looked. I swallowed and looked away to keep him from seeing the emotion in my eyes. Hearing his words, I couldn’t remember why I’d ever been angry with him in the first place. This was Beckett, my Beckett, the guy I’d loved from afar for half my life. Now he wanted me. Me. And we were having a baby together. Nothing seemed more important than being together. I’d be a fool to turn him away when he was everything I’d ever wanted.

  “I want to make it work, too,” I whispered and faced him. “I was wrong to tell Sam without you. I owe you an apology for that.” I cupped his cheeks in my hands, feeling the scratch of his beard against my palms. “You’re a good man, Beckett.”

  “You have to talk to me about things. We have to work at this. God knows, this isn’t going to be easy, but I have faith in us.” He leaned forward to press a kiss on my forehead. All of my reserve crumbled. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His arms stole around my waist and pulled me into his chest, into the curve of his neck where I belonged.

  Chapter 44

  Beckett