The Broken One (The One Series Book 1)

by Selene Maxley

  “Caspian, you sound terrible!” Sarah says, concern etching her voice.

  “It’s nothing much, but my throat is sore, and it hurts to speak, so I think I’ll just work from home today if that’s okay?”

  “Yes, I’m sure Mr. Sax will be fine with that. I’ll send an email to him and Mr. Keisler. Will you put an out-of-office message on your voicemail?”

  “Oh, I was hoping you would just forward my calls to my cell? I can’t imagine I’ll get them from anyone other than the team,” I tell her.

  “Certainly. Feel better, Caspian.”

  “Thank you, Sarah,” I say and tap my screen to end the call.

  I send a quick text to Ceil, telling her I won’t be in again today because I’m working from home, and I bury myself in contracts and policy documents. To my relief, my cell doesn’t ring, and the day slips by without me noticing. Before I even think about having lunch, it’s 7:30 p.m., and I’m starving. I don’t know where the day went; I didn’t even shower or brush my teeth. I feel disgusting, and the amount of cold brew I’ve consumed has made my chicklets more sweater than teeth.

  Abandoning the rest of my work on the kitchen island where I’ve been stationed all day, I grab my toothbrush, and jump into the shower. I don’t know why I brush my teeth in the shower, or when this habit developed, but I’ve been doing it for years. Maybe I think it saves me a couple of seconds, or maybe it just seems like the best way to let the water warm up.

  I step out of the shower, hair piled on top of my head in a tangled heap, and I decide while getting dressed that I’m not even going to brush it today. I know I’ll regret this in the morning, but I could not care less right now. I’m starving.

  There is this burger joint around the block that I’ve been wanting to try out. It’s within walking distance, so I grab some cash, throw on my Chucks, and head out the door.

  The restaurant is everything I pictured when I first heard the name. It could be how good the food smells, or it could be my lack of lunch, but the air in here is so delicious I’m about ready to try to eat it. After a quick look at the menu, I decide on the breakfast burger, zucchini fries, truffle fries, and their signature shake. I pay for my food and am about to sit in one of the modern-style chairs by the door to wait for my order when I hear Booker’s voice. I turn my head to see him laughing with a petite brunette at the bar, then snap my head back to the waiter who took my to-go order and tell him that I’m going to wait outside.

  Only when I’m safely on the sidewalk out front do I decide to chance a look down at my outfit, and an audible groan escapes my lips. An oversized, deep-U-neck tank top is half tucked into cut-off, paint-splattered jean shorts, and my bare feet are stuffed into classic all-star Chucks. For god’s sake, I can see my black bra right through my sheer white shirt.

  I regret all of my choices. Please do not let Booker come outside.

  I’m not sure if I’d be more mortified for him to see me like this or for his date to see me like this. Every minute that ticks by makes me more certain that the next time those doors open, it will be my food, and this nightmare will end. I can’t even decide which direction to face, because the view of my back leaves me even more exposed than the front. I got the elegantly tattooed script down my spine from a beautiful and dangerous looking woman they call Poison. She gave me several of the marks on my history map while I lived in Seattle. It begins at the base of my spine and ends at the little bump just below my neck, so it’s never visible at work, not even if I wear my hair up.

  I still haven’t decided on a direction to face when the doors open one more time, and to my complete horror, it’s not my food but rather Booker’s date, followed immediately, of course, by Booker himself. I spin to face away from them and think for one brief, precious moment that I’ve done it before he can recognize me. I’m almost done apologizing for all my sins and pledging my soul unto the lord above when I hear the waiter over the PA system.

  “Caspian Smith!”

  Fuckin’ A. Forget all that shit. The universe is a merciless bitch.

  “Caspian?” I hear Booker’s voice, and I take a deep breath before I turn to face him.

  I open my mouth to say something, then remember how hoarse I was this morning and snap it back shut. Instead, I smile and stick my hand up in some sort of wave that also manages to look like I’m trying to palm an invisible basketball. I can feel the flush spreading over my body as I turn back toward the restaurant and hurry inside to collect my food before any other ridiculousness can happen.

  When I emerge from the restaurant again, I’m relieved that Booker isn’t anywhere in sight, and I start to walk back toward my apartment, sipping my delicious shake. It has these amazing little shavings of chocolate that don’t quite crunch, but kind of melt in my mouth. Hell yeah. Chocolate, my friend, make me forget.

  My icy new BFF and I haven’t made it ten steps, however, before I hear my name and feel all hope of escaping this nightmare dwindle.

  “Wait up, Caspian!” I hear his feet heavy on the concrete. “What are you doing? Are you walking home?”

  Please let this truck swerve off the road and onto the sidewalk, mowing me down. Or I could just run into oncoming traffic, seeing as fate and I aren’t exactly on the same page today …

  Deciding I have no choice but to face this, I grab for Casual Caspian, or some sort of homeless-looking version of her.

  “Mmmmhmm. And drinking this amazing shake,” I say, leaving the straw dancing around in my mouth as I talk. I’m pleasantly surprised to find my voice isn’t as hoarse as it was this morning. I may look an absolute wreck, but I don’t sound that bad.

  “I’ll give you a ride, you can’t be out here walking alone at night,” he says, attempting to take my bag of food from me.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, pulling the bag back, “I live around the corner. I’m fine walking, and I’m sure as hell not going to interrupt your date.”

  When I start to walk again, he moves in front of me and blocks the way. “I can’t let you walk home alone at this time of night. My date already went home, so you aren’t interrupting anything.”

  I hate that my stomach feels sick when he confirms that it was a date. Why do I care? I shouldn’t. I don’t. “I don’t need a ride. I could call a car if I wanted to. Why don’t you go daddy someone else?”

  He looks me over, and I try not to squirm under his disapproving eyes. “Where is your phone? In fact, where is your purse? Your keys?”

  Oh. Well, fuck.

  I look down at my hands, a food bag in one and a milkshake in the other, and can see I don’t have my bag. I shove the food bag and milkshake into his hands and slide my hands into my pockets, which are empty. Damn. I don’t have my phone. Or my keys. Or my ID. I can’t believe I left my house with nothing on me but some cash for my food. I straighten up and make myself as tall as I can. Reaching for my food, I say “What do I need any of that for? I was just getting food, which I now have, and I am just a few minutes from home.”

  He pulls the bag back from me and starts walking back to his car. Ugh. I could walk home just to prove a point, but I know he’ll just be there waiting for me when I get back. The only real choice I have is to follow him. When I sit in the passenger seat, he barely waits for me to buckle my seatbelt before peeling out of the parking lot. “This is unnecessary, Booker.”

  Less than a minute later, we are in my driveway, and he’s shutting the vehicle off and getting out. I jump out and start to move around the vehicle. “Thank you, I can take it from here,” I say, but he doesn’t stop.

  He’s got my dinner in his hands and is walking into my house before I can block the way.

  “What the hell, Booker?!” I demand as he storms through my living room, dropping my food on the coffee table. His feet are moving quickly, and he’s in the spare bedroom by the time I set my milkshake down. He’s like a tornado, opening all of the closets and doors as he goes.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” I hear him mutteri
ng under his breath.

  Now he’s made his way through the kitchen and laundry room and is headed for my bedroom when I step into the door and plant my hands on either side of the frame. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask him, and he picks me up and sets me aside as he walks to my bathroom and then my closet.

  I’m standing frozen in disbelief next to my bed when he re-emerges, and I finally get a look at his face. He’s upset, really upset. “I’m sorry your date ended early,” I say sincerely. I know I shouldn’t be apologizing to him, but I really do feel bad.

  “You think I’m mad about a date?” he says, and then I see it. He’s not upset, he’s angry.

  I go on as if I haven’t heard him. “I didn’t ask you to take me home. I was just fine. Why are you barging through my house? What on earth are you looking for?”

  He’s running his hands through his hair and says, “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to just leave your house at night, alone, with no phone or wallet? No way of calling for help if you need it?”

  “I didn’t need help,” I say calmly. His voice is raising with each word, and I instinctively lower mine with each word.

  “AND!” His voice makes it to just below yelling, “You left your house unlocked! You are a beautiful woman, living alone, in a city you don’t know! YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

  The word beautiful replays in my mind. He said it like an accusation, not like a compliment. I walk past him and into my bathroom trying to look disinterested, but what I really need to know is if I left this place a pigsty. There are panties, a bra, and a long T-shirt on the floor. Not as bad as it could have been. I scoop them up and try to hide them in my hands. “This is a good neighborhood,” I say calmly, making my way to the toilet. Thank god I didn’t forget to flush. I add, “Bad things don’t happen here.”

  My calm is making him angrier, which has me disturbingly turned on. I use this tactic all the time with men, though I’ve never been turned on before. Usually I get a sick sense of pleasure watching their blood pressure rise as I remain calm and unaffected by their anger. I haven’t let a man’s anger or temper get a reaction out of me since I was a small child. I’ve even taught myself how to keep from flinching. This is a mask I don’t have to think about, it’s the first I ever created: Unshakable Caspian,calm and intrepid.

  He’s followed me to the bathroom and has his hands on his hips now. He is breathing slowly and deliberately, attempting to calm himself. “Bad things happen everywhere!” He says everywhere like it’s a curse word and clasps his hands together on the top of his head.

  I slide under them, brushing him with my hip as I go. I’m in the closet now and see that I have left my robe in a puddle on the floor, along with a few other outfits that I tried on and discarded over the weekend. Ugh, I am a slob. I scoop those up as well, and when I turn to walk back out, I slam into Booker. “Seriously, Booker, what the fuck is your problem?” I ask him.

  “Why is your house unlocked?” he asks, then grabs the clothes from my hands in a huff. “I’ve already seen these, and you left your panties at my bar, so there’s no use hiding any of it now.” He tosses them in the hamper next to the closet door.

  His bar? When I got home and remembered the panties, I hoped some stranger would find those and throw them away. I can feel the blush begin, but thankfully it’s contained to my cheeks.

  “Obviously I forgot to lock it,” I tell him, ignoring the last bit.

  “You didn’t lock it yesterday, either,” he tells me as I walk out of the closet and back into my bedroom.

  “How could you even know that?”

  “It was open when I came to pick you up at 5:30 in the morning, and when I dropped you off, I watched you walk right in without unlocking it,” he spits, still angry, but his voice is even now.

  Man, I’ve been flighty lately. I need to get it together.

  “Maybe I was expecting guests,” I say with a smile, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

  Booker pinches the bridge of his nose, and when he speaks again, he sounds tired. “This isn’t a joke, Caspian. You’re being reckless. Is this how you live, with such little regard for your own safety?” My name sounds delicious in his mouth.

  Shake it off.

  “Bad shit happens to people whether or not they lock their doors, Booker,” I tell him matter-of-factly, forgetting all masks for a moment. “More often than not, the people you lock yourself in with will do far worse than any stranger.” Realizing too late that I’ve slipped, I turn to avoid looking at him, then sit down on the edge of my bed. Goddamn it! I fumble for a new mask, one that will fix this, and come up empty.

  “Want to tell me about your date?” I ask in a desperate attempt to distract him. I don’t want to hear about it, but I can’t continue this conversation.

  “No, I don’t, actually. I want to talk about this,” he puts his hands in the air and gestures to everything. “I want to talk about what you just said. What do you mean the people you lock yourself in with do worse?”

  I examine my nails and start to pick at an invisible cuticle. I’m not doing this. I’m not having this conversation with him. I will not go down the Before rabbit hole again. Of course, Booker won’t give up without a fight.

  “You can’t honestly believe that it’s safe for you to go to bed with your door unlocked. What if some guy had seen you at the burger place tonight and followed you home?”

  “Some guy did,” I point out, closing my eyes and tangling my fingers in my knotted hair. “Maybe if I hadn’t run into you and your girlfriend, it would have been a man I actually wanted to bring back with me.” The words taste gross coming out of my mouth, and I know I’ve gone too far, but I decide to keep poking anyway. “She was hot. You look great together.” What the hell mask is this? Some kind of Veronica–Alexis hybrid?

  “Stop.”

  “Have you been together long?”

  “It was a first date,” he says with a sigh. And I feel a small weight lift from my chest.

  I wouldn’t like myself if I had slept with someone who wasn’t single. Maybe I have in the past, I guess I wouldn’t know. I always check for the ring before even engaging in conversation when I take Alexis out. I’ve never really thought about the possibility that one of my conquests might have a girlfriend. I wouldn’t like Booker if he had cheated on his girlfriend. Honesty is important.

  “Maybe for your second date you can show her the office at the bar,” I suggest wickedly, somehow managing to keep the venom surging through my veins from revealing itself in my voice.

  “Stop, Caspian,” he says, and he’s getting angry again.

  I get up and walk over to him, stopping right in front of him, and look up into his eyes. They are pools of brown, with deep chocolate rims around the irises. My eyes drop to his full lips, and without my permission, my hand reaches up to his smooth face, my fingers grazing gently over his lower lip. I feel his breath and ask, “Did you get a goodnight kiss?”

  I have my answer the moment his brows crinkle.

  “Yes,” he tells me reluctantly, and I feel something twisting inside of me. I’ve never felt jealousy before. Not like this, not over a man. It courses through me hot and burning in my blood. These feelings are unpleasant, and I feel the smallest scrunch of my nose give me away. I want to make him forget his date, forget her kiss, forget her name. I want to kiss him and feel his hands on my body like the night in the bar.

  I do not keep people.

  This reminder brings me to my senses, and I step past him, walk into the living room, and open the front door.

  “You didn’t lock this when you came in,” I tell him as he steps toward me. “Should you rummage through my shit again, or do you think I’m capable of surviving on my own?”

  “She isn’t my girlfriend,” he begins, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand that he must be getting used to by now.

  “You know I don’t care.”

  “Why are you making this so hard?” Booker’s
voice almost sounds pleading, but I don’t allow myself to look at him.

  “I’m actually making it quite easy,” I tell him, with forced indifference. Veronica. Full on Veronica.

  “Why did you ignore me today?” Booker sounds frustrated again, and he’s moved to the doorway, directly in my line of vision.

  “You already got your goodnight kiss, Book. Now it’s time for you to leave,” I say, closing the door gently in his face, and I know he hears when I click the lock into place.

  Ignore him? What the fuck?

  Immediately, I go in search of my phone. It hadn’t occurred to me that there might have been a reason it was quiet all day. I just thought it was one of those magical days when everyone left me alone, the gods of telecommunication giving me a win.

  I find my phone on the kitchen island with the work that I abandoned earlier this evening, and when I pick it up, the screen lights up with a string of missed calls and texts.

  7:30 AM Ceil: Okay, no problem. We can grab lunch tomorrow.

  9:31 AM Unknown Number: Hey are you okay? You aren’t in your office.

  11:07 AM Josh: get a new phone? still w8ing 4 cb.

  12:15 PM Mom: Hi Honey, I hope you are having a great week! We miss and love you!

  12:21 PM Missed Call Unknown Number

  1:00 PM Ceil: Hey, U OK? Booker just stopped by and asked if I’d heard from you. U might want to call him, he seems irritated. ;)

  5:13 PM Missed Call Unknown Number

  Shit. My phone sends read receipts for all of my messages when I open them, so I send quick responses to Josh and After Mom telling them I forgot my phone was on silent and that I’ll talk to them tomorrow. Unknown numbers, however, don’t get those receipts, and I had forgotten to save Booker’s number when he called before picking me up for the Phoenix trip.