by Kat T. Masen
Kat T. Masen
Chasing Heartbreak
A Friends-to-Lovers Romance
The Dark Love Series Book 6
Kat T. Masen
Copyright 2020 Kat T. Masen
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.
Editing by Nicki at Swish Design & Editing
Proofing by Kay at Swish Design & Editing
Book design by Swish Design & Editing
Cover design by Outlined with Love Designs
Cover Image Copyright 2020
First Edition 2020
All Rights Reserved
NEWSLETTER
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My life is my work.
There’s nothing wrong with being a strong, career-driven woman.
And especially nothing wrong with keeping a lover on the side.
Dominic has his life in the States, and I have mine here in Paris.
It was all working just fine.
Until my former best friend suddenly shows up.
Noah Mason.
We mutually parted ways three years ago.
Noah fell in love, got married, and I didn’t want front row seats filled with heartbreak.
But now he’s back and throwing around the dreaded ‘D’ word.
Divorce.
Things begin to shift.
Lines start to blur.
Our friendship is taking a different turn, and jealousy is an ugly curse.
Throw in a possessive lover, and you have yourself a complicated love triangle.
The odds are somebody’s bound to get hurt.
They say you should never fall in love with your best friend.
Because when heartbreak strikes and you’re falling, you risk not having a net to catch you.
But what if your best friend is the right man all along?
Blurb
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Other Books by Kat T. Masen
Connect With Me Online
About The Author
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KATE
Four Years Ago
“Two words for you… honey daddy.”
Eric adjusted the lapels on his overly priced designer shirt, checked his reflection against the glass door, and complained about his hair, again. Distracted by his incessant rambling on styling products and a loose strand of hair refusing to cooperate, I took the opportunity to check my appearance.
Unlike Eric, my hair was correctly styled into a tight bun toward the back of my head, not a single strand out of place. The simple hairstyle suits this type of soirée—formal, with an elite guest list in a very fancy house.
And I’d only seen the front entrance.
Somehow, Eric persuaded me to attend his mother’s sixtieth birthday party. It was being held at their newly purchased East Hamptons estate. According to Eric, the house was a birthday present from dear old daddy for never being home and always traveling abroad.
Some birthday present!
And, of course, the invitation came at the last minute. Eric was supposed to bring his colleague, Emma, but she had some sort of personal emergency. Eric narrowed it down to being knee-deep in Italian dick, or Aunt Flow is paying a visit. Knowing I was his backup, I didn’t give in so quickly, making him practically beg for me to attend. In exchange for my presence, he promised to take me to this new restaurant I had been dying to try, but because of some waitlist, I could never get a table. He had connections, and I took advantage of those connections to finally taste the famous crème brûleé the chef is known for.
“Honey daddy?” I question while grimacing. “You mean sugar daddy?”
“Sweetheart…” Eric purrs in his over-the-top fake British accent, “… you need a man of age. Someone of maturity. Honey is sweeter than sugar.”
I don’t question Eric any further after he lost me at man of age. Most of the time, I let him do his thing while I blatantly ignore his quest to find me a man. Sometimes, it’s just easier to nod my head and sidetrack him with pointless gossip.
I’d been attending quite a number of these upscale events in the city, so I had the perfect dress to wear—a black off-the-shoulder maxi dress with a high slit stopping mid-thigh. The dress was gorgeous and was an impromptu purchase last fall when Charlie visited Manhattan, warranting a much-needed girls’ shopping trip and dent to my credit card.
Of late, I’d worn it to three separate events. My rule is if the guest list differs, a green light to recycle the wardrobe. Eric hated this rule, which is why I lied and told him it was brand new on the ride over here.
We stood in front of the large doors as the butler answered formally. The home’s sheer size was breathtaking, and only a few minutes ago, I was wowed by the front iron gates. In Eric’s exact words, the home was sophisticated and a meticulously crafted estate sitting only minutes away from the harbor. I swore he pulled those words from an architectural digest of some sort. His usual responses were, ‘this is a palace fit for a queen like myself,’ or in some cases, ‘what a shithole, I wouldn’t send my ex here, and that’s saying a lot since he’s pure trash.’
Once we had passed the gated entry and elegantly landscaped grounds, I knew Eric wasn’t joking when he said the house was enormous. He’d only been here once since his father purchased it. Yet he made it quite clear he planned to spend his summer vacation lounging by the pool while being served by a butler and eyeing the pool boy who happened to be a confused straight guy fresh out of college.
We took a step into the open foyer, and my eyes immediately gazed up toward the high ceilings and intricate detail. In proper Hamptons design, each room boasted high ceilings, massive windows, custom cabinetry, and bespoke leather accents. I loved architecture and design, wishing I’d studied it in school since it’s my passion.
“This house is... wow, that fireplace is stunning,” I raved, taking small s
teps while admiring the décor.
“I know, right?” Eric smiled politely at guests who walked past and kept his arm linked with mine. “My mother has exquisite taste.”
“Yeah, and Daddy has a nice checking account.”
Eric snickered as we continued to walk through the wide hallway toward the back French doors. Everywhere I turned, my eyes admired the detailed pieces from the chandeliers to the sconces. We strolled past the open-plan kitchen with marble countertops, so grand in its presence and equipped with every appliance a chef would need.
We stopped at the doors which were open to the enormous yard. Directly in front of us was an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and although Charlie and Lex’s place had quite a large pool, this one was even grander. For someone who grew up in England, pools always fascinated me.
With dusk setting in, the lights were turned on and illuminated the crystal-clear blue water, making the pool mesmerizing with its calming nature.
The trees surrounding us were dressed in fairy lights, brightening the outdoor area and giving it a whimsical feel. Toward the right, across a sizable makeshift dance floor, a small band was playing 1950’s music, which, according to Eric, is his mother’s favorite era.
“Eric, darling, you came.”
A woman, assuming it was his mother judging by the similar facial features, was dressed in a beautiful blush couture gown with a diamond necklace draped around her neck. When I first met him, Eric told me that his mother was of Chinese descent and his father was a full-blooded white American. Together, it caused many issues earlier on in their relationship, but they managed to remain married for over forty years. On closer inspection, I could see where Eric got all his features from.
She kissed both of Eric’s cheeks while holding his hands. With a warm smile, she let go to fix his hair just the way he liked it.
“Mom, this is Kate,” Eric introduced me. “Kate, my mother, Vivian.”
I leaned in to kiss both her cheeks, wishing her a happy birthday at the same time. The scent of Chanel No. 5 lingered in the air between us.
“You’re just as gorgeous as my baby described you,” she said with a gracious tone. “And your accent is just darling.”
“I know, right? I told you, Mom. I should try to find myself a British gay man.”
“Oh, Eric.” She patted him gently on the chest. “Tristan will be back. You’ve got to give monogamy a try.”
I pursed my lips and kept my smile fixed. When it came to matters of the heart, Eric refused to settle down, thinking these years were made for partying and bed-hopping. Though, somehow, he’d fallen in love yet refused to acknowledge said fact.
Basically, he’s a royal pain in the ass and such a high-maintenance friend.
“I must say hello to your uncle and aunt from Boston.” She cupped his chin with pleading eyes. “Please try to talk more than two words with your brother, okay?”
Eric nodded, and the second she was a fair distance away from us, he mumbled something about geeks and small dicks.
“Your mother is beautiful and so refined…” I trailed off while watching Vivian greet her guests. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Hey, I resent your judgment!”
Eric quickly switched his grumpy face to desperation as he caught a waiter serving shrimp, having complained the entire ride over here of being in starvation central. After a trying day at work with a deal that almost fell through, I was happy to drown myself in champagne and pass on the questionable sea-life with its disgusting tail limp on the silver platter. Aside from my mother’s homemade fish recipe back home, I wasn’t a seafood person.
“Okay, so here’s the lowdown on the guests.” Eric pulled me aside as if he would reveal some sort of government-kept secret and discreetly pointed to the man a few feet from us. “Ivan owns three properties in The Hamptons plus this gorgeous place in Martha’s Vineyard. He runs his own wine emporium and exports to Southeast Asia or something like that.”
“The man with the cravat?” I asked, watching him hold a pipe.
“Yes, the man with the cravat.” Eric shuddered, his distaste for cravats needed a whole other discussion. “He’s onto wife number three. Not too bad considering he looks like he belongs in a nursing home.”
“Lovely,” was all I answered.
“Word around Mom’s tennis club is that wife number three is tapping her tennis instructor. I could get you in.”
“Um, get me in where?”
“In,” Eric repeated, eyes wide, making some weird gesture with his hands. “In his bed and bank account.”
Cocking my head, I shook it with annoyance. “I don’t need a man, let alone one who could pass as my great-grandfather.”
“Okay, fine,” Eric sniped. “The guy over there in the burgundy suit…”
“You mean the velvet burgundy suit?” I pointed out, knowing just how much Eric hated velvet.
“Never mind the wardrobe. Thiago is second in line to his grandfather’s estate, which happens to be the most expensive piece of real estate in the Bahamas. Plus, he designs handbags for a living.”
“He designs handbags?” I questioned and grabbed another champagne from the waiter who passed us by. “I think that’s more up your alley. And besides, second in line isn’t exactly first in line.”
I don’t even know why I entertained this conversation. Firstly, I didn’t need a man, and even if I did, I could find one myself. Secondly, Eric was the worst at trying to set people up. His idea of date-worthy wasn’t exactly the same as mine.
“And wait,” I add, feeding my curiosity. “How do you know all this?”
Eric shuffled his feet and lowered his head as if caught in a naughty act while hovering behind me in an odd way. “Um, no reason… through the street.”
“Does the street mean you screwed him, which is why you’re trying to stand behind me?”
“Fine.” Eric stomped his foot and crossed his arms. “We had a moment inside a closet at a party a few years back.”
“You had a moment?” I scoff as I took a sip of my champagne. “What does that even mean?”
“It means I jerked him off because he was too big to take all in.”
The bubbles got caught in my throat, and a coughing fit followed as I tried to gulp for air. Just when I thought I was about to die, I managed to compose myself and control my breathing.
“Would you keep it down?” Eric hushed me and kept his gaze lowered. “He’ll see us standing here.”
“But I’m so confused.” My voice came out uneven and breathless, forcing me to drink again to clear it. “You always talk about the bigger the dick, the better.”
“Honey, we’re not talking just big,” Eric asserted and raised his hand toward his chest. “We’re talking thick big.”
“Thick big?”
Eric widened his hands, my mouth opened in shock. Indeed, he exaggerated. No one was that thick, and Eric was known to embellish girth on more than one occasion.
“All right, we’re done with this conversation,” I told him as I scanned the area around us in an effort to talk about something else.
Close to Vivian, I saw a man standing beside her. I was drawn to his tall stature, the way he towered over her yet still gazed at her in a loving way. His dashing black tuxedo with his black-rimmed reading glasses made him look like an incredibly sexy Clark Kent, especially with the way his jet-black hair was perfectly styled to the side.
“And that guy over there?” I nodded in his direction.
Eric exhaled while he rolled his eyes of boredom. “That’s my brother, Dominic. I’m surprised he knows how to pull a tux off. Don’t even bother saying hello. You might as well talk to a brick wall.”
Well, if truth be told, the brick wall was beautiful. Dominic looked nothing like Eric—much taller with lighter skin and features. From where I was standing, his hair looked like the only similar thing to Eric—jet-black and straight. Aside from that, you wouldn’t pick them as siblings.
; “Oh, listen.” Eric’s mood shifted, and his tone picked up with excitement. “Mom is talking to that lady from the Real Housewives, you know, the bitchy one, but she’s Celine Dion’s second cousin. Or something like that.”
“Eric, you know I don’t watch television, let alone reality TV.”
“Right, right,” he mumbled, distracted. “I’ll be back.”
When Eric says he’ll be back, I’m pretty much guaranteed to be alone for most of the night. Why I agreed to this again is beyond me. You have no life outside of work, that’s why.
With my champagne in hand, the last remnants went down too quickly while I stood on the patio and watched the night sky. There was a peacefulness to being out of the city, away from the hustle and bustle, and able to clearly see each star. It reminded me of back home, bringing on nostalgia and memories of what felt like a lifetime ago.
The area around me began to get crowded and prompted me to find a quieter place. I took a walk in the gardens with great difficulty as my heels dug into the perfect lawn and away from the noise to enjoy the peace and quiet. The sky was even more visible away from the party, every star shined brightly above me with a glimpse of one shooting in the distance. The proximity of the sea provided a fresh breeze, cooling down the warm summer night.
“Care for a top-up?”
The voice startled me. Clutching my chest, I turned to find Dominic standing beside me, carrying his own bottle of liquor. I’d considered myself a reasonably tall woman if compared to Charlie or Adriana, but Dominic towered over me, much like Lex.
“Why, thank you.” I smiled politely and ignored Eric’s words and noticed the label on the bottle—Dom Perignon.
“Dominic Kennedy.”
“Kate Hamilton,” I followed and extended my hand to shake his. “Yes, your brother has um…”
“Warned you to stay away?” He snickered with a disturbing laugh. “Referred to me as weird geek with no personality? Actually, to be precise, a brick wall would be more fitting.”