Bad Breakup: Billionaire’s Club Book 2

by Elise Faber

  Cecilia froze at Colin’s question, struggling to comprehend, her brain still foggy from sleep.

  No. Her brain was a mess because she’d woken up in Colin’s arms.

  “Cecilia,” he said, and her fingers drifted up to the name tattooed just beneath her hairline.

  She was unused to people noticing it since she usually wore her hair down or in a low ponytail, but she’d just gotten her hair cut and liked the feel of the air hitting her scalp where the stylist had used clippers to trim it short. There was something about the way it felt . . .

  Free.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Or so she’d thought.

  “Who’s Hunter?” Colin snapped, dropping his hands from her arms, preferring, apparently, to glare down at her.

  CeCe stiffened. Hunter was . . . well, he was special. The special-est—was that even a word?—boy she’d ever met. And she—

  “I love him,” she said softly, not thinking what the words would mean to Colin, who couldn’t begin to understand her relationship with Hunter.

  He was hers but not.

  Kind of like the man sitting next to her had been.

  Colin made a noise very much like a growl and scowled at her. “You love him?”

  It was truly a pleasure to make a man like Colin McGregor squirm. One might be frightened because he was huge, with arms like tree trunks, shoulders nearly twice the breadth of hers, brows dark black and yanked together, but Colin had never hurt her.

  Not physically anyway.

  And besides that, he couldn’t possibly begin to understand what her relationship with Hunter was.

  She’d been part nanny, part mother, part sister, and all friend to the sick little boy before he’d gotten a heart transplant the previous year. Now he was still a friend and a little brother and a son and . . . not hers. He belonged with Abby and Jordan. He had a family. He was happy and adjusted and finally, finally healthy.

  But he would always hold a chunk of her heart.

  “He’s eight,” she murmured. “Or rather, he’s nearly nine now.”

  Colin stiffened. His eyes were wide, almost panicked, and it only took her a heartbeat to understand why.

  “Your math’s off,” she said lightly. Because she understood with crystal clarity why he was so concerned. “If you’d knocked me up, we’d have a seven-year-old.”

  They’d slept together eight years ago. For the first time. She internally sighed since it had also been for the last time. But the crazed look in Colin’s eyes wasn’t so much because of Hunter or her tattoo or even whether or not she’d been pleased by the events (and yes, she had been, despite fumbling on both their parts). Instead, the terror was because he was worried she might have kept a child from him.

  Rage filled her. Did he honestly think she wouldn’t have told them when they’d nearly gotten married? What would she have done after the wedding? Surprise! Here’s the two-year-old you helped create!

  Fucking moron.

  “Hunter isn’t mine,” she snapped. “Or yours either.” One earbud in. “He was just a boy I nannied for.” She shoved in the other. “And while you may hold important information back, information that could make or break another person, I would never do such a thing. You didn’t get me pregnant, Colin, and I thank God every day for that fact.”

  “What?” His brows rose. “That’s not—”

  But she didn’t hear the rest of his words because she cranked her audiobook.

  And then heard all of one sentence.

  Colin plucked the buds from her ears and snatched her phone from her grip. He glanced down at the screen. “This rubbish comes in audiobooks now?”

  Once the brogue would have sent warmth down her spine. Today that warmth was still present, though it was in the form of embarrassment.

  Because the audiobook was about a Scot and an Englishwoman, the former stealing the latter away and teaching her all there was to know about pleasure and life in the Highlands. It was filled with kilts and beards, with sporrans and fabulous dresses and it was . . . so fucking embarrassing.

  Once he’d been her Highlander.

  She’d drooled over his kilt, admired his legs as he’d straddled his mount.

  He’d shown her pleasure. A single night of glorious, soul-shattering pleasure before disappearing from her life for years.

  “Give that back,” she hissed, but he merely ignored her and put one of the earbuds in and—horror of all freaking horrors—began to listen in.

  A strand of black hair curled across his forehead as he turned his stare to hers.

  His innocent stare. Except it wasn’t innocent. The man next to her was about as far from that sentiment as one could humanly be.

  “Stop,” she snapped, extending her hand. “You’re not cute and the guileless little boy eyes won’t work on me. Give. Me. My. Phone.”

  “I don’t sound like that,” he muttered, but took out the earbud and returned her cell. “That is the most inaccurate genre of books I’ve ever come across. I can’t believe you still read—”

  “I don’t care if it’s accurate or not”—she glowered—“but these authors do a ton of research, so I have faith in them. And plus, it’s fiction. I’m allowed to get lost in the story, just for the pleasure of it. Just because I enjoy it.” She stopped, chest heaving, cheeks hot. She hated when people judged her because of the books she read. So what if she read romance? The stories and writing were good, and didn’t everyone deserve a happily-ever-after?

  Even if those HEAs didn’t always materialize in real life.

  “If you want to really learn about Scotland, you should read a history book,” he said. “Or maybe a biography. Or visit.”

  Her heart squeezed tight at the old argument they’d had on a regular basis. “I’ve read loads of history books,” she whispered. “And I did visit. Or don’t you remember?”

  Blue eyes held hers. “I remember.” A pause. “All too well.”

  Ouch.

  She blinked before glancing down at her hands. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t exactly planning on this.”

  “On what?” He turned more fully, his elbow encroaching on her armrest, his scent teasing her nose, that damned lock of hair still falling across his forehead and making her ache to smooth it back into place. “On being trapped next to me for twelve hours?”

  She shook her head. “On ever seeing you again.”

  Five

  Colin

  * * *

  The words were a physical blow to Colin’s gut. He knew CeCe was hurt. That he’d hurt her. But frankly, they’d hurt each other and to actually hear her speak words like that aloud was brutal.

  On what?

  On ever seeing you again.

  Like an idiot, he’d pressed her, and like a moron, he’d expected to hear something different. Some explanation for why she’d left him for his best friend. Why the woman he’d imagined spending the rest of his life with had betrayed him so deeply and then abandoned him.

  “Well you nearly accomplished it,” he said. “Do you live in San Francisco now? Or was that just a stopover?”

  She sighed. “Are we really doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Small talk.” Her words were like ice, little frosty bullets that threatened to wound. “Pretending to be old friends.”

  His hold on his temper was getting decidedly thinner. He bent so his nose was nearly pressed to hers. “You left, sweetheart. You left me. So if anyone has a right to be pissed, it’s me. I needed you, and you fucking left.”

  Her shoulders had risen with each of his snapped statements until they were practically covering her ears. He’d hated when she’d done that, curling into herself, protecting rather than fighting.

  But then her shoulders dropped and her temper joined the party. “I left? I. Left? You—” Her eyes closed for a heartbeat and he watched a deep breath slide through her lungs. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

  It mattered to him. A whole hell of a
lot.

  But she was still talking and he soaked up all the information he could.

  “I live north of the city. I’ve”—she shook her head—“I was at loose ends for a while, but then I got the job as a nanny. Hunter is the sweetest boy.”

  Her lips curved, teasing him, reminding him of how it had been to kiss that smile, to twine his hand through her hair, tug her close, and feel those lips against his.

  “He got sick pretty young and needed a heart transplant. But he got one last year and—”

  Colin touched her hand when she faltered and those green eyes went shiny with tears.

  “He’s just so much better now. Healthy and running and . . . I just love him so much.” She sniffed. “But he doesn’t need me anymore and so I’m”—she laughed darkly—“God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you any of this.”

  “Except that maybe I understand what it’s like to be at a crossroads.”

  CeCe froze and glanced up at him. After a moment, she murmured, “Yeah. I suppose you would.”

  “How are your parents?”

  It was the wrong question. Her face closed down, and she slipped her hand out from beneath his, clutching it to her chest as though he’d burned her.

  And maybe he had.

  “They’re fine.”

  “Cecilia.” He reached for her again, cursing under his breath when she cringed away from him. “What happened?”

  “You know what happened,” she said, her words soft and yet somehow more piercing than her harsh tone from earlier. “They said if I went they were done.” A shrug. “And I went.”

  “What?” He’d expected them to have come to their senses, to have put aside the grudge they’d harbored when she’d chosen not go to their preferred college.

  How could they have shut her out?

  An unpleasant feeling unfurled in his stomach. Same way he had, he supposed.

  She laughed, but it sounded off. “Oh, Colin.” The pity was palpable. “I know you’re used to breaking your promises, but there are plenty of people who hold firm to theirs.” Another laugh, this one filled with so much fatigue that it physically made his heart ache. “And my parents have always been nothing but firm.”

  His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. She implied that he’d broken his promises? She was the one who’d betrayed him and then left. But more than that, how could her parents have abandoned her? How could they have just left her to make her own way because she hadn’t done exactly as they wished?

  What the fuck was wrong with them?

  He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken the last aloud until CeCe touched his hand. “I knew what I was getting into. And I was a grown woman. It was time that I found my own way.”

  “You were twenty.”

  She pulled her hand back, twisting in her seat so that she faced him, but also so she was physically as far as possible from him. “An adult.”

  He scoffed. “A foolish one.” Everyone was an idiot at twenty.

  Hurt flashed across her emerald eyes, but she nodded before saying softly, “Yes. Yes, I was.”

  The foolish for trusting him was only implied, but it still weighted the air between them.

  “Why did you leave me? Why did you run off with Ewan?” He finally asked it outright, needing to hear it from her lips. Maybe then—

  Maybe what?

  “You really don’t remember?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I remember the whiskey. I remember seeing the papers, the journal, the pictures. But the rest of it is black.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “When I woke up, you were gone. And I couldn’t find you.”

  “Colin.” She sighed. “I can’t do this. Not again.”

  Another clench of his gut. “But—”

  She waved a hand through the air in a slicing motion. “I had to go. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  No. They damn well couldn’t. Not when he’d pictured her in his arms for eternity. Not when he’d imagined their children. Not when he’d fantasized about waking every morning next to her. Not when—

  “And it was for the best anyway. We were too young, too immature. It would have never worked out.”

  “It would have worked out.” He pressed his thumb to her lips when she opened her mouth to protest. “I would have bloody well fought tooth and nail to make it work.”

  Her eyes filled with tears again, making those green irises shine with a force that hit him exactly where it hurt.

  “Except you didn’t fight for me, Colin.” She yanked her head back. “You didn’t.”

  Six

  Cecilia, eight years before

  * * *

  Her backpack was heavy and her feet ached. But the view was incredible.

  Sharp, rocky cliffs made soft by gently rolling green hills. Miles and miles of nothing except the sea breeze and grass waving in the wind.

  Okay, maybe not miles of nothing since the town she was staying at was tucked just behind the jagged outcrop behind her, but it was so quiet and peaceful here that she could pretend it was just her and the countryside.

  Pretend it was two hundred years ago and she was wearing a long flowing dress instead of jeans and a sweatshirt. Pretend she was the heroine in a novel, that her hero would appear just over the hill, striding determinedly toward her.

  Taking her in his arms.

  Slanting his mouth across hers.

  CeCe snorted. This was real life. Heroes didn’t exist.

  Plus, heroes weren’t wanted. This was her trip, the one she’d saved and scrimped for. A sabbatical between graduating high school and beginning college. A chance for her to find her place in the world. A vacation that was supposed to have been shared with her three best friends.

  And one that was now a solo expedition.

  Which was fine. They’d had their reasons. Not enough money—though Stacy had promised to save, not blow it on a new car. Not strong enough to stand up to her parents—realistically Helen would probably never find her spine where her parents were concerned. Not wanting to leave her boyfriend—now that was the one that had really hurt because Tess’s boyfriend was a total douche canoe.

  But none of that mattered.

  CeCe had spent hundreds of hours babysitting, multiple summers lifeguarding at the pool and giving swim lessons on the side.

  She’d saved the money, so she was going.

  Even if her parents hated it.

  Even if they threatened to not pay for college.

  That had been the scariest part, worrying about her future, weighing her options. A few months she’d dreamed about for an eternity versus the rest of her life.

  But she’d persisted. She’d applied for scholarships, worked harder than ever on her art and her swimming and she’d gotten a full ride.

  So her parents hadn’t had anything to hold over her.

  And that had been almost more freeing than actually stepping on the plane.

  No more strings. No more affection or money tied to her grades or whether she placed first at a tournament.

  She was finally free to be herself. Only herself. And to have it be enough.

  For a little while at least. Because come September her life would be run by her swim coaches. Training. Diet. Extracurricular activities. Her time would no longer be solely her own.

  Which was why she was so damned determined to enjoy this trip. To make the freedom last for the next four years.

  She paused on the trail, really a barely worn depression in the waist-high grass, and drew in a deep breath. It was filled with salt and moisture and—

  “Watch out!”

  The warning took her by surprise, so it took her a moment to react.

  A moment too long.

  Hoofbeats pounded behind her, louder than she could have imagined on the soft earth. She whirled, gasping when she saw a huge black horse only a few feet away.

  “Move!”

  She couldn’t. Her feet were glued to the ground. She saw the horse’s eyes, w
ild and panicked, its lungs expanding and collapsing on short, staccato breaths.

  It was spooked.

  “Hey. Hey!” She said again, louder and firmer when the horse didn’t slow, and put her hands up. “Stop.” The horse slowed. “Hey, it’s okay.” She stepped to the side, calmer now that the animal wasn’t actively attempting to mow her down. She’d grown up near horses, ridden loads of them in the little town in Utah where she’d been born.

  Before her father had sold the ranch and taken a different job.

  Before everything had been twisted upside down.

  She hadn’t known how to handle all the changes in her life back then, but she still remembered how to corral a spooked horse.

  The reins dangled over the saddle horn, well within her grip. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

  CeCe grasped the reins and slipped them forward so she’d have a better handle on the horse. “You’re okay.” She reached a hand forward, stroking the soft fur between the horse’s eyes. “You’re okay.”

  The horse released a shuddering breath, the panic slipping from its eyes and its breathing slowing.

  “There now.” She bent to rest her forehead against the horse’s. “See? That’s not so bad.”

  “Are you all right?” came a masculine voice.

  She jumped back and looked up, way up into the eyes of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Huge, with black hair and frosty blue eyes. She smiled. “I’m fine.”

  “Good.” A pause before the man snarled, “What in the bloody hell were you thinking?”

  Funny.

  She’d always pictured her heroes as Scottish and this man definitely was—tall and dark and with a brogue that made her shiver.

  It was just that . . . her fantasies didn’t usually curse at her.

  Seven

  Colin, present day

  * * *

  He had stared into CeCe’s eyes on the plane, hating that they were filled with unshed tears. That he had been the cause of her hurt.

  “Except you didn’t fight for me, Colin,” she’d said.