Heartless Bastard (Rich Ruthless Bastards, #1)

by Brooks , Tonya

  Ford's animoji sighed in frustration and countered with, "I'll go for now, but I'm not giving up."

  That wiped the smile off of her face. The bastard. And he thought she was tormenting him. Ha! The man had turned it into an art form. She tossed the phone on the work table and shoved both hands through her hair in exasperation. "What the hell did I do to deserve this?" She muttered to herself.

  Callie was the kind of person who went out of her way to help others. Hell, she'd even founded The Rose Foundation, a charitable organization to fund research for the rare form of cancer that her mother had died from. The same damn charity that had auctioned her off to the devil. Gah. Even her good deeds were tainted by the heartless bastard.

  Just the thought of it had her muttering a round of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Her excitement over the gown doused, she pulled on a dressing gown, grabbed her phone, and walked into her loft to curl up on the couch. With a quick swipe of her finger, she had her best friend on the line. "Forget castration. I've decided to let Bastion kill him," she announced.

  "Someone's in a mood," Soraya replied in amusement. "What did the heartless bastard do now?" After she had relayed their latest communication, the other woman suggested, "Send him a barrage of selfies. Maybe he'll have a heart attack and save you the effort of having him killed."

  "If only," she muttered in abject disgust. "If I don't figure this out soon, he'll do something outrageous to get my attention."

  "Like what?"

  The memory of a flashing neon sign filled her head and she replied, "Knowing him, a personalized message on one of the Times Square screens."

  "Have you considered going on the date just to put an end to this?" Soraya asked hesitantly. "If you fulfill the obligation, he won't have a reason to contact you. Besides, what's the worst that could happen in a public place?"

  Callie didn't even want to think about it.

  Ford

  Dr. Wilkes studied Ford sitting stiffly in the beanbag chair, expression sullen, arms folded over his chest, and deduced, "I take it there has been no progress with Feathers."

  "None," he muttered with all the grace of a petulant child. "She's still refusing."

  "Have you considered asking her why she dislikes you?"

  "I did ask her," he admitted. "She said it was because she knows what a heartless bastard I am."

  "Interesting," the doctor murmured. "One could infer from that comment that Feathers feels a personal connection to you."

  "Which is why it doesn't make sense," he complained. "There is no way in hell we've ever met before. Trust me, Doc. I would have remembered her."

  "Would you?" He queried pointedly; one eyebrow arched.

  Ford sat straight up as the shrink's point sank home. "You don't think..."

  "It is possible," he confirmed.

  Agitated now, he rose from the chair and began to pace back and forth, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as his mind contemplated this new possibility. Stopping, he pierced the other man with a look and demanded, "How do I find out?"

  "The most logical recourse would be to simply ask."

  Yeah. That could be a problem. At this point, asking if they'd met would only serve to piss her off even more. Because a woman like Callie was unforgettable and for him to admit that he had no recollection of them ever meeting would not sit well. He was in a damned if you do and damned if you don't situation with no relief in sight.

  Callie

  She'd known he would do it, and he had. Callie's entire showroom was filled with roses and every damn card read the same thing. Ladies Choice. Frustrated and exasperated beyond belief, she snatched up her phone and called the heartless bastard. She'd had enough and Soraya was right. There was only one way to get him to stop.

  Before he even had a chance to speak, she said, "If I agree to this damn date will you stop sending me roses?"

  "Absolutely," Ford readily confirmed.

  "Dinner tonight. Someplace quiet. No crowds, no publicity," she insisted because the last thing she needed was to have her name linked with his in a gossip column.

  "My place."

  "Hell. No."

  "Spoilsport," he said with a resigned sigh. "I know the perfect place. Dress casual."

  A frown marred her brow as she asked, "How casual?"

  She could hear the amusement in his voice when he asked, "Do you own a pair of jeans?"

  "This isn't one of your clothes fetishes is it?" She asked warily.

  "Fuck. It is now," Ford groaned. "As much as I'd love to see you in one of your sexy as fuck designs, jeans will be comfortable where we're going."

  Obviously, the man had no idea that jeans were one of her biggest sellers and they were just as sexy as her other designs. "Just where are we going?" Callie asked suspiciously.

  "Uh, uh, uh. No spoiling the surprise. I'll pick you up at eight."

  "My driver will drop me off and pick me up," she corrected and wasn't about to budge on that. No way in hell was she going to be alone with him in a car or anyplace else for that matter.

  She heard him mutter something incomprehensible before replying, "I'll text you an address once I've made the arrangements."

  "Fine," she agreed and ended the call.

  Callie spent the rest of the day vacillating between resignation and pure panic. She cursed herself for a fool for agreeing and picked up the phone to cancel a dozen times. Then she'd talk herself off of the ledge by rationalizing that fulfilling her obligation was the best way to end this nightmare once and for all.

  Although from the deep, dark place where she kept it hidden away, one tiny shard of the heart he had broken was excited about seeing him again. She cursed the traitorous organ to hell. The racing pulse and butterflies churning in her gut were nerves, not anticipation. She was only having dinner with Ford because it meant that she never had to see him again.

  If this didn't work, she'd get a restraining order.

  As per Ford's text, Bruno delivered her to Opulent where a gleaming white horse-drawn carriage had been waiting. Callie refused to ride in the carriage, and after a terse phone call between the disgruntled driver and Ford, the man gave her driver an address. Just a short ride through Central Park and she arrived at the iconic Belvedere Castle.

  A tuxedoed maître d' with a bearing formal enough for a three-star Michelin rated restaurant escorted her to the South Terrace. An elegantly appointed table for two was set under the pavilion and a discreet distance away, a string quartet played softly. The setting was perfect for a romantic evening and as much as she hated to admit it, Callie was impressed with his creativity.

  The bastard hadn't lost his touch.

  She should have known he would do something like this. It was so... Ford. Damn him. She didn't want to be reminded of how sweet and romantic he could be. Not when she knew that beneath the charming veneer, he was nothing more than a heartless bastard who was capable of walking away without a backward glance.

  In a last-ditch effort to calm her frazzled nerves, she walked over to the retaining wall and looked down at the castle's reflection in the Turtle Pond. The view was simply breathtaking. There in the midst of the park, the noise of the city was muted and she drank in the serenity of the moment.

  "Belvedere," she breathed reverently as the word meant beautiful view in Italian.

  "My thoughts exactly," a sinfully seductive voice murmured from behind her and a shiver of awareness danced up her spine. "You are the most beautiful view I've ever seen."

  Bracing herself for the full impact of his presence, Callie turned and looked up at her tormentor. Those dark, intense eyes caught and held hers, and it took everything she had not to fall under his spell again. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she informed him brusquely. "I'm here under duress so let's get this farce of a date over with, shall we?"

  Ford

  Even though he had the charm turned up on high, Callie's frosty demeanor didn't thaw a bit during dinner. It was frustrating as hell because Ford kne
w that this was his only chance to change her opinion of him. Knowing why she disliked him would prove insightful, but he suspected that bringing the subject up would only make the situation worse.

  If it could get any worse.

  The evening had started on a low note with her claim that horse-drawn carriages were inhumane, and berating the driver for exhausting the horse to ferry loads of tourists around all day. The irate driver had called to report that she refused to ride in his carriage, so Ford had no option except to allow her driver to deliver her instead.

  Callie had requested they have dinner someplace quiet and private with no crowds, and he had fulfilled her every wish. He had convinced the top chef in Manhattan to cater the meal, provided the ideal location since Belvedere Castle was not open to the public in the evening, and hired a string quartet to provide atmosphere.

  Ford had called in a ton of favors to create a romantic evening, yet none of it had impressed her. Her responses to his attempts at conversation had been monosyllabic and stilted at best. It was frustrating as hell because he really did want to get to know the woman. And he really, really wanted to fuck her senseless.

  He had hoped that seeing her dressed in something other than her sexy as fuck designs would cool his desire. What a joke. The denim hugged her ass like a second skin and the silky blouse had teased him with tantalizing glimpses of cleavage all evening. But it was the thigh-high boots that damn near did him in.

  If he ever got lucky enough to fuck the woman, she'd be wearing those boots. "Let's play a game," he suggested in a concerted effort to remove that particular fantasy from his thoughts.

  "I don't play games," was her scathing response.

  "Alright then. Time for dessert. Guess what I want to eat," he teased with a wicked wink, but no truer words had ever been spoken. He'd devour her all night long.

  "Oh, for the love of..." Callie huffed in exasperation, but the heightened color on her cheeks gave her away. She wanted him, and they both knew it. Getting her to drop her defenses and act on it wasn't going to be easy. "What's the game? And it better not involve bodily contact or nudity."

  "Spoilsport. It's called Getting To Know You," Ford announced and didn't even try to hide his pleasure at her agreement. "I ask a question that you answer honestly and I reciprocate in kind."

  "What's the purpose of this game?" She asked suspiciously as if she thought he had an ulterior motive, which he did.

  "I get to know a woman who fascinates me and hopefully, change your opinion of me in the process," he replied honestly. And if they had known each other before, maybe that would come up as well.

  "It sounds a little one-sided."

  "It'll be fun, although fucking you on top of the table would undoubtedly be better."

  "You have a one-track mind," she accused with a scathing look.

  "See. You learned something about me already," he said and flashed her a wicked grin that other women claimed was lethal. "Ask me anything."

  "Alright. Since you're so fixated on my clothes, what was I wearing the first time you met me?" Callie asked, and damned if she didn't arch an eyebrow in challenge.

  "Feathers. Fuck," he closed his eyes as his hardened cock throbbed painfully at the reminder. "Every time I see a fucking bird, I get hard because the feathers remind me of you in that sexy as fuck peacock costume."

  "Peacock," she practically growled. "You're sure it was a peacock?"

  "Peacock feathers are easily recognizable so I'm fairly certain," Ford confirmed confidently. "My turn. Why do you dislike me?"

  "How much time do you have?" She asked facetiously.

  "As long as it takes," he said seriously.

  "Let's just say you're not my type and leave it at that."

  Ford didn't call her on the blatant lie. There was no sense in antagonizing the woman even more. He'd ferret it out of her sooner or later. After all, that was the purpose of the game they were playing. "You asked two so it's still my turn," he pointed out.

  "Ask away."

  "Have you ever been in love?"

  The look she gave him should have flayed the skin from his bones. "Yes."

  Her answer hurt more than the look she'd given him. The thought of Callie loving another man cut him deeply and pissed him off. "He hurt you," he deduced.

  Instead of responding, she said, "Turnabout is fair play. Have you ever been in love?"

  "No." He could have sworn a flash of pain shown in her expressive eyes, but it was gone so fast he couldn't be sure.

  Callie's expression morphed from bland to angry before she stood and decreed, "This is a waste of time."

  "No, it's not," he disagreed as he rose as well. "You fascinate me, Callie. I feel a connection to you that I've never felt before."

  "Please," she scoffed and threw her napkin atop the table. "We both know it's the challenge that keeps you interested. If I were stupid enough to become another notch on your bedpost, you'd forget about me and move on before those damn roses wither and die."

  "If all I wanted was a cum dump, I wouldn't have to exert this much effort to find one," he informed her crudely. "What do I have to do to convince you to give me a chance?"

  "Nothing short of baring your deepest, darkest secret would convince me to trust you," she denied as she typed a short text message on her phone and damned if it didn't sound like a challenge.

  Assuming she was instructing her driver to pick her up, he only had a few minutes to change her mind about himself. Desperate to gain her trust, Ford said, "Alright then. I'll tell you something that I've never shared with anyone."

  "Seriously?" Her expression was as facetious as her tone when her eyes met his.

  "I want to know everything about you, Callie. And I want you to know me. All of me," he said sincerely as he moved around the table, close enough to touch her yet not daring to. Because if he started, he might not be able to stop. "If this is what it takes to make you trust me, then I'm willing."

  Those amethyst eyes narrowed suspiciously before she crossed her arms over her chest and commanded, "Start talking."

  "Ten years ago, I had a... a life-altering experience," he began.

  "Let me guess, a hasty marriage and a quicker divorce," she sneered.

  "No. I was in a car accident," he admitted and pointed to the faint white scar at the edge of his hairline. "I had severe head trauma and was comatose for nearly a year. As a result, I have traumatic amnesia. I don't remember the accident or the weeks leading up to it."

  Callie paled to ash and breathed, "Oh my God."

  "No one knows about it because my mother made damn sure the media didn't get wind of the accident or my injury. God forbid anything should tarnish the precious family name," he explained mockingly. "So, there you have it. I'm trusting you with my deepest, darkest secret."

  She looked stricken when she asked, "You don't remember... anything?"

  "Not a damn thing," he confessed and the tears shimmering in her unforgettable amethyst eyes gutted him. When her phone chimed that she had received a message, his heart sank. Her car had arrived.

  "I have to go," she said tremulously.

  He hadn't wanted sympathy or God forbid, pity, but he had hoped the admission would garner something other than complete rejection if they had known each other. "Please don't leave," he urged and reached out a hand that she hastily backed away from. "All I'm asking for is a chance, Callie. A real chance to get to know you."

  "I can't," she denied in a broken rasp and all but ran from the terrace.

  Ford lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck as he watched her go with his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. He'd bared his soul and given it his best shot, but she couldn't have made it any plainer. The woman just wasn't interested. It was time for him to face the bitter truth. Callie was a lost cause.

  And he was a fucking fool.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Callie

  Callie had a vague recollection of conversing with Bruno during the ride back to the Gar
ment District, but no idea what they'd actually said. Outwardly she must have seemed normal enough. If she hadn't, the big guy would have taken her straight to Bastion if he'd suspected that anything was wrong.

  Like, you know, her being on the verge of a complete breakdown. Her emotions were too raw and exposed. She felt brittle as if one wrong movement would shatter her fragile grasp on reality. Because all of her preconceived notions had been annihilated, leaving her an emotional basket case.

  She'd been foolish to taunt Ford the way she had, but a part of her had wanted him to remember her. To remember them. To explain how and why he had walked away from what they had shared without a word. But finally learning the truth had been more devastating than she could have imagined possible.

  She kept going over everything he had said and there was only one plausible conclusion. If the accident had left Ford with amnesia, and he truly didn't remember her, then everything that she had believed for the last decade was based on a lie. If his head trauma had been as severe as he claimed, then he wasn't the heartless bastard that she believed him to be.

  He'd been an innocent victim, just like she had been. All those months she'd spent hoping and praying that he'd come back had been a wasted effort because he hadn't even known he'd left her behind. He didn't remember her or the love they had shared. The knowledge was as liberating as it was debilitating.

  This proved that her faith in him hadn't been misplaced. She had spent all these years hating him and he hadn't even known she existed. Or what they had meant to each other. Damn him, damn him, damn him for dredging all of these feelings back to the surface. The pain of losing Ford was as fresh as if it had just happened.

  By the time Callie entered her loft, a surge of overwhelming panic had consumed her. Her heart was palpitating and she didn't know if she was going to puke or pass out. Her breathing was short and choppy, she kept flashing from hot to cold and she was shaking like a leaf. Yep. It was a full-on panic attack.

  Unable to deal with the riot of emotions assaulting her on every level, Callie went into her bathroom and removed a bottle from the medicine cabinet with a hand that shook almost uncontrollably. For reasons she still couldn't fathom, she had begun experiencing anxiety attacks as a child and her doctor had prescribed a mild sedative to calm her.