The Broken One (The One Series Book 1)

by Selene Maxley

  He settles back onto the bed and asks, “When did you meet your current family?”

  “Shortly after the accident. They couldn’t have more children and wanted Josh to have a sibling, so they were looking to foster or adopt a young child.”

  “How old were you?” he asks, tracing the veins on my hand with his finger.

  “Six.”

  “What kind of accident was it?” he asks, and his hand has wrapped around mine, as if he thinks this part will be hard.

  “Car accident. They said she probably fell asleep.” Callous Caspian offers her services, but instead, I choose a new role. I’m a news journalist, reporting the facts of a case. Still removed, but compassionate.

  “Where was your dad?”

  I shrug. He’s moving to the more irritating subjects now.

  “You don’t know him?”

  “Six-year-olds don’t know their parents,” I tell him, and I can see that the answer is unsatisfying to him. I’ve deflected, but this is a rabbit hole I’d rather not go down.

  “Okay, so you remember him?”

  I pull my hand from his fingers and tell him, “I do, and there is nothing of value down that path, so move on.”

  “I disagree, but we can leave it alone. Would you like to watch something?” he asks, flipping the TV on.

  “Sure,” I tell him, relaxing back against a stack of pillows.

  He flips on a crime drama about a missing woman, and it shows a pleading husband, desperate to find her. I think we both know where this will end.

  “When was your last relationship?” he asks.

  “Never. When was yours?” There is nothing like a little uxoricide to make people reminisce about their exes. The thought makes me laugh a little, but Booker either doesn’t make the connection or chooses to ignore it.

  “You’ve never dated? Not even a couple of dates and decided you didn’t like them?” he asks, doubtful.

  “Not even one date. Well, I guess that isn’t true, but I didn’t know it was a date.”

  “How can you not know it’s a date?”

  “Well, there was this guy from another insurance company that I ran into at shops pretty often. We were friendly and chatted when we saw each other, mostly small talk. One day, I ran into him at a shop, and he asked how I liked the company I worked for. I told him I was pretty happy, that I didn’t like everything they did, but it was generally a good place to work. He asked if they were hiring, and I told him they were. Then he asked if I’d want to grab coffee that weekend so he could get some more info and ask for tips on his resume, which I agreed to.” Booker nods to show that he’s following the story and that it sounds reasonable.

  “He was a clever guy. The non-date invite,” he tells me. “It’s a tactic guys use to feel someone out without having to get straight-out rejected.”

  “Well, it was pretty normal, didn’t feel like a date at all. We really did talk about the job and his resume. When we went to leave, he walked me to my car. I didn’t think anything of it, just assumed he had parked near me. But then he stopped at my car door and said he had a good time and we should do it again. I started to realize he had other ideas. Then he leaned in for a kiss, which really irritated me.” I finish the story there. No need to tell him about how I had to reject the kiss twice before he stopped trying.

  “What a jerk, stealing your first-date memory.”

  “Oh, he was definitely a jerk,” I agree. “So, what was your first date like?” I ask him.

  “Tenth grade, Candy Larp. I took her to the movies,” he answers, then turns the conversation right back to me. “Why haven’t you dated?”

  The crime show reveals that the husband had been cheating and killed the wife so he could have a new life. Surprise twist: The wife was pregnant!

  “I guess I haven’t liked anyone enough to risk ... that,” I tell him, gesturing to the re-creation of the wife’s murder.

  Booker sits up on the edge of the bed and reaches for the remote control. “These shows are over the top,” he says. “There must be something else on.”

  I swing my legs around to sit up next to Booker and gently take the remote out of his hands. Instead of turning the channel, I turn the TV off, then slide closer to him. He brings his face close to my neck, and the warmth of his breath sends electric tingles down my spine. He rests his left hand on my knee, and when I brush the soft skin on his inner arm with my fingertips, I feel his bicep tighten in response. He slides his hand up and down my inner thigh slowly, stopping just short of the area I need him to touch, and the teasing lights my entire body on fire. I return the favor by running my left palm slowly down his chest and over his stomach, finally letting just the tips of my fingers slip under his belt.

  The desire in his eyes encourages me, so I stretch my left leg over him to straddle his lap. Booker’s hands move to rest on my waist, at the top of my hip bones, and I place mine on his chest, waiting. He trails one hand slowly up my side, around the back of my shoulder, his fingers grazing my neck as he slides them up to my face, tracing my high cheekbone with his thumb.

  I sigh, and his fingers push back into my hair at the base of my skull, pulling me to him. When our lips finally meet, the kiss is soft, tentative. There’s a nervous tension in it that scares me a little. I push past it and release all of my need into the kiss, turning it into a hungry, frenzied thing. Booker meets me with his own urgency, and I know this kiss will never be enough. I rock on his lap, feeling his need match my own.

  As we find our rhythm, Booker’s hands drop to my hips, halting me. I pull back, confused, and watch as he runs his hands up his face and through his hair.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I don’t want this,” he tells me.

  My heart falls. I can feel it in my stomach, along with all of the nerve endings that were so close to exploding into fireworks moments ago. There’s a different kind of break coming, and I’m not sure I can handle it. I move to get off him and feel him lift me. He swings me around so that I’m sitting back against the tower of pillows, then he lays between my thighs, looking up at me.

  “That didn’t come out right,” he begins, but I wave my hand and open my mouth to dismiss it.

  He catches my hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissing it softly before he goes on, “Let me finish. It’s not what you think. This is what I got last time. I want more than that.”

  I look at him, my head filled with doubts. No one has ever turned me down before. Granted, I’ve only been with a handful of people. People I picked out in a bar. People who knew feelings would never be part of the deal.

  He sees the doubt on my face and continues. “If I knew you wouldn’t freak out and run tomorrow, I’d fuck you right here, for the rest of the night. For the rest of the weekend. Then I’d take you home and fuck you every night after that.”

  My mouth drops open a little at the frankness, and I can tell this is the reaction he was hoping for. The soft kiss he presses against the palm of my hand soothes me.

  “I want to know you,” Booker says, glancing at the clock. “But it’s late, so tonight I just want to watch TV and hold you.”

  My heart soars, and we spend the rest of the evening chatting about meaningless things, random sitcoms running as background noise. At some point, we drift off.

  When I wake up, the TV is still on, and Booker is asleep next to me, holding my hand. The clock reads 3 a.m., and I slip silently out of his room, and back into mine.

  Chapter 22

  I’m the first to make it to the conference room in the morning, so I begin setting up before anyone else arrives. Tyler surprises me by being the second to show up and by bringing coffee for the team. He’s handing me the iced caramel coffee he got for me when Booker walks in.

  “Thanks for remembering my order, Tyler. This is really thoughtful of you. I’m sure the guys will be happy, too,” I say appreciatively.

  Booker scowls at Tyler, but Tyler doesn’t seem to notice, and I pretend not to. When
Tyler steps to the other end of the room to get the projector ready, Booker steps closer to me and whispers, “Why did you leave?”

  “Don’t be weird. I happen to like my pillow,” I tell him quietly and step away to begin placing binders in front of each seat.

  Booker grabs the pens and begins setting them at each seat as well. “You could have brought it back over,” he tells me.

  “KSC really went all out on those pens,” I say loud enough for Tyler to hear, and Booker sighs.

  “I know, right? I think they cost ten dollars apiece,” Tyler tells us.

  “Did they get enough for me to have one?” I ask.

  “There are probably a hundred of them, so I’m sure it’s fine,” Booker chimes in. I don’t think Tyler catches the irritation in his voice, and I don’t think either of them managed to catch the fact that I was making a joke about being a last-minute addition to the travel team.

  We continue prepping the room until the rest of the team joins, then, we do a quick run-through of the information we’ll be presenting. We’re all grateful for the time to practice before the arrival of Keisler, Sax, and their assistants, who aren’t planning to join us until ten minutes or so before we’re scheduled to begin for the day.

  The extra practice pays off. The presentation goes exceptionally smoothly, everyone pitching their part perfectly, and when we finish the paperwork on all the shops we signed over the course of the very productive day, we pack it in for the night. Everyone makes plans to meet for dinner in half an hour. I excuse myself from the meeting while everyone else is doing the post-day chat and head straight to the restaurant. While the rest of the team may want to change into more comfortable attire, I’ve decided I’ll stay in Career Caspian mode.

  I am the first to arrive at the restaurant, and the hostess tells me that our table isn’t ready yet. She invites me to wait at the bar if I’d like, so I order a soda and take a seat.

  “I saw you sneak off, and I figured you were just trying to get away so you could have a drink with me,” I hear a voice say. I don’t turn around since I assume they’re speaking to someone else.

  When Jackson takes the seat next to mine, I groan inwardly. He is the last person I want to deal with tonight. His shirt is so tight that I can practically hear the buttons begging for mercy.

  “Like what you see?” he asks, arrogantly.

  “I’m just trying to decide what it is you’re trying to draw attention away from with all those muscles,” I say thoughtfully.

  “Been thinking about what’s in my pants, have you?” he asks, trying to turn it around on me.

  “I was talking about your lackluster personality, but it’s interesting that you immediately went there,” I reply, and I can’t help but laugh. My initial assessment of Jackson was spot on. “Was it always a problem, or has it just been since the steroids?”

  “You’re such a frigid bitch,” he spits, storming out of the bar as Booker walks in.

  “What was that about?” he asks me.

  “Oh, Jacks is just down about his lot in life,” I tell him with a laugh, and the hostess is back, announcing she has our table ready.

  The rest of our group is trailing in, and Booker sits down first. Tyler takes the seat to his left, and I take the seat on Booker’s right. I squeeze his hand under the table and hope that this will be enough to make up for my stiffness throughout today. When I release his hand, he casually traces little circles around my knuckles as everyone shuffles in and orders their drinks.

  Jackson is shooting daggers at me from his seat next to Mr. Sax, and I wonder how Mr. Sax hasn’t realized what a piece of shit his assistant is. I imagine he’s a shameless kiss ass behind closed doors.

  Mr. Keisler announces, “I’m very happy with how that went. Your presentation was a success, and now that the easy part is done, the real work can begin.”

  He’s referring to the insurance pitch that we have tomorrow. The real reason we’re here is to secure the DRP relationship for the shops. There is a little chit chat around the table while we eat, and as we’re wrapping up, the guys are talking about going to one of the lounges downstairs.

  “What do you think, Cas? Downstairs in a half an hour?” Tyler asks, falling in stride next to me as we leave the restaurant and head for the elevators.

  “I think you guys will have to do this one without me. I’ll be fast asleep in half an hour,” I tell him good-naturedly.

  “Awww, come on. How often are you in Vegas?” he asks.

  I laugh and point my first two fingers at Booker, suggesting, “Make sure you take this one with you, he looks like he’s wound too tight today.”

  Tyler laughs his agreement, and I hear Booker grumbling under his breath as Tyler falls into step beside him, leaving me to take the elevator back to my room alone.

  Booker: So much for last night…

  Me: Relax, we were working and needed to be professional.

  Booker: It felt like more than that.

  Me: Will it make you feel better if I invite you to watch TV in my room tonight?

  Booker: On my way.

  Me: No! Have a drink with Tyler, he really looks up to you. I’ll be here all night.

  Booker: Fine. One.

  I reach up to my cheeks and feel that strange smile stretching across them. I could get used to this.

  Back in my room, I turn on the crime drama channel, and I am about to strip off my clothes when I hear a knock on my door. Ugh. There goes my downtime. I can’t really be angry with Booker, however, because I’m excited to be alone with him.

  "I thought I told you to have a drink with Tyler!” I call through the door, my voice a mixture of faux annoyance and amusement.

  But the voice that answers is not the one I expect. “I left the guys downstairs. I thought it might be nice for you and me to have a moment to chat.”

  I stiffen, and my brain screams in anger and exasperation. FUCK!

  Sometimes it sucks being right.

  Chapter 23

  I’m madly searching my room for my new phone when he begins to lose his patience.

  “Caspian?” Keisler asks.

  “I’m not really up for visitors tonight,” I reply. “Would you like to meet in the conference room before the meetings tomorrow?”

  I know this isn’t going to work and am beginning to panic when my phone finally emerges from the tangle of sheets on the king-sized bed.

  “This will only take a moment. Aren’t you going to let me into the room that I’m paying for?”

  How did he find my room, anyway?

  I move back toward the door and crack it open. “Mr. Keisler, I’m really not comfortable having you in my hotel room. If we need to discuss something, I’d prefer to do it over the phone or before our meeting tomorrow. In the conference room.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Caspian. The issue I need to discuss with you is a sensitive one, and I don’t want to risk the other guys overhearing us,” he pushes the door open farther, and I reluctantly step back, allowing him to enter. Before I let the door close, I open the slider lock, preventing the door from closing completely in case I need a quick escape.

  When I turn to face Keisler, he’s in the sitting area, his hands resting on the back of an armchair.

  I get right down to business. “What is it you need to discuss with me that can’t be heard by the group?”

  “This is a nice room. Working for me has some really great perks, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “The room is lovely,” I agree. Get on with it, you toad.

  “We have the opportunity to do a lot of traveling for the clients we represent. Some very beautiful places. Hotels with an even better view than this one,” he begins to paint a picture as he strolls past the bed and looks out the double sliding-glass doors at the small balcony and fountain below.

  “Mr. Keisler, if you don’t mind, could we get right to the point? It’s getting late, and I need to get some rest if I’m going to be at my best tomorrow.”


  “You must feel like a pioneer,” he goes on, ignoring me.

  “I’m not following you.”

  I’m still standing near the door when he turns and walks back toward me. “Well, there aren’t many women with your background. Dave said you were the only woman who applied.”

  The only woman who applied?

  “I don’t feel like a pioneer, but I guess it’s good to excel. I don’t think about things in terms of limitation, I try to focus more on possibilities. I’ve never fixed a car, but I don’t need to in order to know what it takes to fix one.”

  “Exactly! The possibilities for you are endless. Think of all the women who could be inspired by your success.”

  “Mr. Keisler, I’m sure that this could be a really productive conversation in a different setting ...” He steps closer to me, and I force myself to hold my ground despite every impulse in my body screaming at me to Get the fuck out of this room.

  “I disagree. I think this is the perfect setting for this conversation to be the most ... productive.”

  It takes all I have to quell the rage scream I feel building up inside me. “Mr. Keisler. I am not interested in the results of any meeting that would be most productive in my hotel room. Not with you, not with anyone.”

  He reaches up and brushes his hand down my arm, and I feel bile rising in my throat. “Caspian, be realistic. In this world, if you want to rise to the top, you have to ride to the top.”

  I jerk my arm away from him and give him one last chance, “I do not ride anything to get ahead. Is this why there are so few women in your employ? Is this how you treat all of them?”

  “It’s my company, and I run it how I run it. You, Caspian, are my employee. You either play by the rules—my rules—or you don’t.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” I demand, only barely containing my anger. I force my hold on the mask I need tonight, Unshakeable Caspian, though I feel on the verge of some deranged mixture of Veronica and a Caspian mask I always stifle. The one who rages and destroys in the confines of my mind but has never been shown to the world.