The Broken One

by Cardello, Ruth

  “Why would Dominic Corisi be interested in our family?”

  “He may not be. I pray he isn’t. My father used to say that if you turn over enough rocks, something bad will crawl out from under one of them.”

  “Dad, you’re not making sense. Did you give me his name because you think I should contact him or not?”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Sebastian. You’re a good boy, though. I know that whatever path you choose, it will be the one that is the best for our family.”

  It was a lot of faith to put in me, considering I had no fucking idea what we were talking about.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  * * *

  HEATHER

  My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I’d skipped breakfast. Even though I was my own boss, I kept myself to a schedule—or at least I had before Sebastian.

  Sebastian.

  I didn’t know what to do about him. I wish I could go back and stop myself from talking about anything after sex beyond how great it had been. Or when he’d asked me if sleeping with him had anything to do with Rakesh Bhatt, I wish I hadn’t gotten so defensive. I knew the two were completely unrelated. How differently it might have gone had I brushed off his comment or asked him why my question upset him.

  After leaving Erica’s, I’d gone home, given Ava a bath, read to her, put her to bed, then done something I hadn’t done in years—I’d called my father. Our conversation might have been strained and short, but I closed by asking him if he’d like to meet Ava, and he’d said he would.

  Erica was right; everything we did taught our children something. I lectured Ava about forgiveness and talking things out, but that wasn’t how I lived. How would she ever believe that forgiveness was important if she didn’t witness me forgiving anyone?

  How could I justify calling out Sebastian for not being kind, when I slammed the door on him each time there was a hint that things might not go well with us? How kind was that?

  I took out my phone, pulled up his last message to me, and texted: Sorry about yesterday.

  His answer was immediate: I’m sorry too. I want to see you again.

  I’d like that. When?

  Five seconds? Open your office door.

  I dropped my phone to my desk, sprinted across my office, and threw my door open. “Sebastian.” I didn’t even try to hide how happy I was to see him.

  He held out a bag from a local sandwich shop. “Hungry?”

  I wove my arms around his neck and let desire sweep me away. He held me to him and kissed me back with the same fervor.

  When he raised his head, we were both breathing heavily. He glanced at Teri’s desk and said, “We may have scared her out of here.”

  “I don’t care,” I said, feeling giddy from head to toe. “Yesterday I said a lot of things about you without thinking about the baggage I was bringing to this. I care about your feelings. You were trying to tell me your junk itches, and all I could think about was that I wanted to be asked.”

  “Huh? I am not itchy,” he said with an arched eyebrow. “Are you . . . itchy?”

  As I replayed what I’d said, I realized out of the context with Erica, the analogy didn’t sound as good. “No. No. What I’m trying to say is that I may have issues left over from the way my mother left. Sometimes that makes me defensive, and instead of asking someone for clarification, I assume the worst and bolt. It’s easier to leave someone than to wait for them to leave me.”

  “But nothing that requires an ointment is bothering you.” He cocked his head.

  I smacked his shoulder. “Are you listening? This is me apologizing.”

  He grinned. “Oh, I thought the apology was in the kiss and the text.” He held up the bag. “Mine was in a chicken salad sandwich. Teri said it’s your favorite.”

  “It is.” I took the bag with a happy sigh. “And I’m starving.”

  He followed me to my office, and we took seats at the small conference table in the corner.

  I dug into the bag. Warm bread too. Heaven. “I can’t believe you did this for me. Thank you.” I probably should have waited for him to take his out, but when my stomach rumbled again, I took a bite and closed my eyes as I savored it. “Delicious.”

  He was smiling when I looked at him. Smiling, but not eating. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “No, I had a large breakfast.”

  “But there are two sandwiches.”

  “For you. I know you enjoy them.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him but didn’t argue that point. People said the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I would argue that such a method was universally effective. Show me a woman who doesn’t love a good carb now and then, and I’ll show you someone lying through their skinny teeth.

  Half a sandwich in, I slowed. He was still smiling, which made me wonder if I had food on my face. “What?”

  “I can’t help where my mind takes me whenever I’m near you.”

  I paused. “Wait, so stuffing my mouth with food reminds you of . . . oh. Really?”

  He shrugged.

  I purred, “So it would turn you on if I ate it really slowly . . .” I held a piece of it up, opened my mouth, and licked at my lips in what I hoped was an extremely sexual manner. A big chunk of chicken fell and bounced off my eye. Thankfully, I’d closed it just in time, but I raised my hand to wipe mayonnaise from my eyelid.

  A laugh rumbled out of him.

  I gave in to one of my own. “I am so not sexy.”

  “Come here.” The command in that voice sent licks of desire straight through me.

  I put my sandwich down and stood.

  Don’t need to ask me twice.

  “Have you ever fucked on a desk?” he asked, standing.

  “No,” I answered in a strangled voice.

  “Does your door lock?”

  I nodded.

  “Go lock it.”

  I did and returned to him on autopilot. He moved to clear a corner of my desk with a sweep, but I jumped forward and grabbed the papers. “It would take me forever to organize these again.” I placed them on the shelf on the side.

  He stepped closer.

  I backed up until I bumped against the side of my desk. Oh yes. Desk sex. Messy. Primal. Desk sex.

  Messy.

  I leaned back and took my coffee from where it sat and moved it to the floor. “Can’t spill that on the keyboard.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Anything else?”

  I glanced back. My twenty-seven-inch monitor had cost a mint. “We should just move that—”

  He reached back and released my bun, twining his fingers into my hair to pull me forward for a kiss. As soon as our lips met, I stopped caring about collateral damage. I could afford another computer.

  I tugged his shirt out of his trousers.

  He undid the buttons on my shirt.

  His belt fell away with ease. He stepped out of his pants.

  My skirt hiked up in a flash.

  His mouth adored my nipples through the thin material of my bra. My hands sought and pumped his shaft. His fingers pushed aside the material of my panties and dove in to make their magic. “You’re so wet for me already.”

  I could only mew my agreement.

  He pumped his fingers in and out of me, teasing, kissing, driving me wild.

  Then he stepped back, and I sank to my knees before him. I took him deep in my mouth as he fisted his hands into my hair.

  He was so big, I strained to take all of him in.

  So hard.

  His moan of pleasure gave me the confidence to get daring with my tongue as well as my hands. I wanted to drive him as out of control as he drove me.

  In and out, deeper and faster. I cupped the base of his dick with my hand as my other caressed his balls. His hands tightened in my hair. Pain and pleasure. Control and submission. I’d never felt so powerfully free.

  When he came I drank him in, loving every grunt of release he made. I was still basking in the knowledge t
hat I could please him to the same level that he pleased me. He hauled me to my feet and carried me to one of the chairs we’d sat in to eat.

  He positioned me so I was straddling his lap.

  He wasn’t at full erection when he slid his cock along my wet slit, but he hardened against me. The tear of a condom wrapper brought a tingle to my sex, and I took over from there. I slid it over him, and as I moved to take him in, he thrust upward.

  Oh God, yes.

  From there it was a wild dance, with me in charge. His mouth went everywhere. He pushed my bra upward to expose my breasts and then gave them each attention.

  I rode him with an abandon I didn’t think myself capable of.

  I came before he did, slumping against his chest after a mind-erasing release.

  He stood, turned me around, and pounded into me from behind. I didn’t think I could come again; then suddenly I was joining him for a profanity-filled explosion.

  Afterward, he cleaned up and we dressed. I didn’t have experience with office sex, so I didn’t know what to expect, but when he invited me to curl up on his lap on one of my deep leather chairs, I didn’t hesitate.

  I sat there, cuddled in his arms as our breathing returned to normal. Safe in his embrace, I told him about what Erica had said and how it had led me to calling my father.

  “And?” he asked.

  I caressed his muscled forearm, buying myself time before answering. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but we didn’t actually talk about anything. He asked me how I was doing. I asked him how he has been. We could have been two people standing in line at the grocery store lightly catching up. I don’t know if I should move on and pretend we never had an issue or try to talk it out.”

  He kissed the side of my head. “There is no right way or wrong way. Do what’s best for you and Ava, whatever that is. Your father will either come around or he won’t. Ava’s too young to protect herself, so my only suggestion would be to move forward carefully until you know where your father stands.”

  I hugged him then. “You’re so wise.”

  He smiled. “I have my moments. Trust me, I don’t have all the answers. In fact, sometimes I’m not sure I have any at all.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  He took a deep breath. “I wasn’t sympathetic to the whole Bhatt situation, and that’s why I snapped when you asked me to meet with him again. The man I used to be would have helped him, or wanted to. Yet I felt nothing in the face of his distress, and that was a wake-up call for me. Is that who I am now? Is that who I will always be? I went to Italy, back to where our family roots are, hoping I’d find a piece of myself, I guess. I didn’t.”

  “Because it’s not missing; it’s buried. You went through something that no one should have to. You survived it by shutting parts of yourself off. That’s what I think. It doesn’t make you a bad person, just one who doesn’t want to get hurt again.”

  His arms tightened around me. “It’s that and more. I want to meet with Rakesh again, but I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t want to cut a deal that has a negative impact on my family.”

  I raised my head. “Do you have your own money?”

  He tensed beneath me. “I do.”

  “Enough to buy your family’s investment out and move forward with the project yourself, allowing the risk to fall just on you?”

  “Yes,” he said with growing enthusiasm. The kiss he gave me was euphoric. “I fucking do.”

  To quote a brilliant woman, I said, “Bam, and that’s how it’s done.”

  Sebastian laughed. “I don’t always understand you, but I’m falling hard.”

  “Me too,” I said and pulled his face to mine for another kiss. “Me too.”

  We sat there in comfortable silence for several moments. Neither one of us brought up my itchy comments from earlier.

  I did raise my head, though, and ask, “Sebastian, what did you write in the note Rob was supposed to give me?”

  He smiled. “Your move.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Would it have taken more than that?”

  I chuckled. “You have a very healthy ego there.”

  “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  * * *

  SEBASTIAN

  Three weeks later, my father and I sat in the last place I would have expected us to be, the Bhatt family living room. Rakesh’s father had joined us in a wheelchair with a blanket over his lap. Though he was pale and thin, the smile on his face warmed his eyes.

  My father was seated on a chair near him. They’d spent the last hour swapping stories of opening their first stores, the long hours, raising children American while trying not to lose too much of their own culture. They’d both married in their hometowns, both moved their families to the US looking for more opportunities for their children. They both had family and friends they still missed from “the old country,” but they considered themselves American now.

  They might have come from different parts of the world, but they were cut from the same cloth. Rakesh and I stood off to the side, both respectfully quiet, as we’d been raised to be.

  No warmth met me from Rakesh’s eyes when he looked at me, and I understood. His first impression of me had not been a good one. He didn’t know that the offer we’d brought to his family had been initiated by me.

  I’d gone from Heather’s office to my own and called a meeting with all three of my brothers, as well as my father. I’d offered to wipe the slate clean with my personal income. If loss were to be incurred, it would be by me and me alone. Without hesitation, Mauricio refused to consider my proposal. He said we rose and fell as a family, and if I thought this deal needed changing, that was what we’d do—together. He’d punched Gian in the arm with enough force to make him wince, but smile. His meaning had been clear: all of us. Christof had nodded his approval.

  And my father? He’d never looked prouder.

  After that, our lawyers had written up the necessary paperwork for a partial acquisition of Bhatt Markets. They would retain their store name and continue on with us in a sort of partnership. For five years, we’d have the deciding vote on how they did business, but with our support we were confident we could grow their brand. It was Heather’s idea to add a buyback clause that would be offered only at the five-year mark. The family would have a chance then to buy control back, as long as my family was paid in full along with a healthy percent of the profit. If done right, both families would come out the other side having benefited from the deal. Not charity. Not shark tactics. A mutually beneficial business deal that both families could live with.

  “My only regret?” Rakesh’s father looked at him. “Not a single prospect for grandchildren in sight. The doctor keeps telling me my days are numbered, but I’m not going anywhere until I look into the eyes of our next generation.”

  Love for his father shone in Rakesh’s eyes. “Then you’ll be with us a long time.”

  “One grandchild.” His father looked to mine and waved a hand in the air. “Is that too much to ask?”

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” my father said. “Four sons and not one grandchild so far.”

  “I have two, and they both say they have no time for a wife. No time? What else is worth a man’s time?” He covered his mouth with a handkerchief as he coughed. “I told Rakesh he should go back to see that sweet accountant woman he met a while ago. He needs a smart woman to keep him in check.”

  My eyebrows rose, and my shoulders flexed. I’d almost forgotten that he’d met with Heather.

  “Dad, please.” Rakesh looked almost as uncomfortable as I wanted to make him feel.

  My eyes narrowed. “The woman I’m seeing is a tax accountant.”

  My father scoffed. “Seeing? He says that, but has he brought her home for us to meet? No. If it’s the same woman, your son should go see her again; perhaps that would light a fire beneath the dragging feet of my son.”

  Rakesh held my gaze and shook his
head. “I’d never do that.”

  “Good.” I nodded, and as my father continued to lament on my reluctance to bring Heather to Sunday dinner, Rakesh and I commiserated with a look. One day, who knew, we might be friends. For now it was good enough that we respected each other.

  As the conversation turned to our siblings, my mind wandered. I thought about the name my father had given me and decided I’d been correct to not look further into it. I had to believe my father’s assessment of Gian’s mother. If Gian ever asked me to, I would help him find her, but whatever had happened back in Italy was probably best left there.

  I needed to keep moving forward.

  Heather.

  I did want the family to meet her, but I also didn’t want to rush her. We saw each other or spoke every day. Her voice was the last I heard before I fell asleep each night and often the first I heard in the morning. She’d put Ava to bed, then call me. In the morning, she’d reconnect as she drove from Ava’s preschool to work.

  Depending on how our schedules were, we’d meet for lunch. Sometimes we ate at her office, sometimes at the house with the elevator.

  I now had a deep appreciation for some of the idiosyncrasies of that house. I’d once considered the tropical island–themed interior pool tacky. Fake palm trees, a sloping sandy beach, and an island with a tiki bar in the middle of the pool. Why would anyone think a house needed such a pool? The cost of maintenance alone was substantial. My opinion changed, though, after Heather and I spent a naked afternoon frolicking in the water and fucking on that island. That was all it had taken to convince me that every house needed a pool like that.

  And an adult game room. With the same dedication as they’d covered every inch of the walls of their Disney room, the family had adorned another room with Kama Sutra artwork. Everywhere one looked there was a statue of a couple or a series of paintings depicting some sex act in graphic detail. I thought I was pretty savvy sexually, but touring that room with Heather was educational as well as inspirational for both of us. We’d spent more than one lunch reenacting the artwork. One time with mind-blowing results. Another left us laughing and wondering if that position was physically possible for anyone.