Pretty Broken Promises: An Unconventional Love Story

by Jeana E. Mann

  The second we reached the car, I used Xavier’s phone to call Beckett. He answered on the first ring.

  “Have you heard?” he asked without preamble.

  “Xavier just told me. How bad is it?”

  “Bad. By this time tomorrow, it’ll be all over the news,” Beckett said, in a quiet voice. In the background, I heard the soft mewling of a baby and realized I’d probably disturbed the entire household with my call.

  “Who is that?” Venetia’s voice carried through the phone.

  “Sam,” Beckett replied. Baby Jane’s whimpers escalated into a wail.

  “Give me the phone,” Venetia said. “Take the baby.” Rustling and thumping accompanied the transfer. “Sam? Do you have any idea what time it is? I know you never rest, but some of us are trying to get some sleep.”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s nine o’clock.” Nine o’clock? Shit. I covered the speaker of the phone with one hand and turned to Xavier. “Let Dakota know I need to cancel, would you?” He nodded. Venetia cleared her throat.

  “Yes, Sam. Exactly. It took me an hour to get Jane to sleep and now you woke her up. Do you understand what I’m saying?” The wailing grew into full-fledged screaming.

  “What are you doing to that kid?” I held the phone away from my ear. “It sounds like you’re scalping her.”

  “I think she has a tummy ache. I’ve tried everything, and she just keeps screaming.” Venetia sighed, her tone weary. “Wait until you have one of your own. You’ll see what I mean. Speaking of which, you should be at home with your wife, not on the phone with us.”

  Her well-placed jibe sliced into my heart. Dakota was going to be disappointed about dinner. I’d stood her up more than once over the past few weeks. “Your husband called me. It’s about Maxwell. Put Beckett back on.”

  “Screw Maxwell. He deserves every bit of trouble he’s getting,” she said. “But I love you anyway.” She handed the phone back to Beckett.

  “I called Judge Hawthorne,” Beckett said, picking up the conversation where we left off. A door thudded, and Jane’s screaming became muffled. “He was one of my professors and an expert on tax evasion. If anyone can give us the inside scoop, it will be him.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “This is serious, Sam. Apparently they’ve been investigating him for years but couldn’t get enough evidence together to bring him down. Someone inside his circle rolled on him. He’s accused of bribing tax officials, money laundering, fraud, and a dozen other crimes. I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t do time.”

  By this time, Xavier had my phone plugged into a charging unit. Alerts for incoming texts and phone calls lit up the screen. He scrolled through them and held up the most recent, a call from Vanessa.

  “Okay. Well, let me know if you learn anything else. I appreciate it, Becks.”

  “No problem, man.” He paused, and I could tell he had something more on his mind. “Hey, I know it’s none of my business, but Dakota? She’s been working her ass off, and Venetia’s worried about her. We’re all worried.”

  “I appreciate that.” I hung up the phone, alarmed by Beckett’s tidbit of information, and turned to Xavier. “Has Layla said anything about Dakota working a lot of hours?”

  He stared at me like I was crazy. “Hello? Of course she works a lot of hours. Who do you think makes the machine go when you’re not there?”

  This information weighed heavily on my thoughts, and I forgot about Maxwell. I’d assumed things ran smoothly in my absence. Dakota had stepped up to the task of controlling the company with ease. Or maybe it just looked that way. I knew firsthand how stressful the job could be. I blamed myself for her heavy workload. I was accustomed to having a team of capable employees to handle the small and tedious tasks while I focused my time on bringing in the money. Dakota didn’t have that luxury. She was doing the work of three people rolled into one.

  “You’d better listen to this one yourself.” Xavier held out my phone and pressed the voice mail play button.

  Vanessa had left a brief but scathing voice mail. “I’m in Laurel Falls at the Royal Hotel. Get your ass over here. We need to talk. Maxwell is going to appoint Blackwood as his successor at Seaforth Industries.”

  I tapped Rockwell on the shoulder. “Change of plans.”

  Chapter 21

  DAKOTA

  I SAT in the living room among our new furniture and waited for Sam. Nervous butterflies twittered in my stomach. It felt like a first date instead of a married couple going out for dinner. We spent more time apart than together these days. I missed him terribly, the tenderness in his touch, the way his eyes lit whenever he saw me. For the tenth time, I went to the mirror in the hall and checked my outfit. The filmy dress flattered my cleavage and skimmed over the thickness of my waist. The bright blue color brought out the aqua flecks in my eyes. I smoothed a hand over my hair.

  A glance at my phone showed it was after nine. This wasn’t like Sam at all. He hated tardiness. I tapped out a quick text and waited for his response. Maybe his flight was late. Maybe he’d hit traffic. Maybe he was on a conference call that ran long. A million excuses ran through my head but didn’t lessen the anxiety squeezing my chest. Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.

  “Hi, Dakota.” Xavier’s clear, confident voice greeted me. “Sam’s been delayed with some business issues. He wanted me to let you know he’s sorry, but it’s going to be another hour before he can get there. He’s not going to make dinner. He said you could go on without him, or he’ll see you at home later.”

  Another hour? I’d never make it. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute. My emotions wavered between disappointment and irritation. It wasn’t the first time he’d cancelled our personal plans for business, but it was the first time I felt second to his work. “It’s okay. I’m tired. Tell him I’m going to bed, and I’ll see him later.”

  My footsteps thundered up the staircase and echoed down the hall. Inside the bedroom, I removed my dress and hung it in the large walk-in closet. The more I thought about the evening’s turn of events, the more hurt I became. In short, jerky movements I pulled on a cotton nightshirt, one smattered with pink kittens chasing a ball of yarn. Through the open windows, the expanse of Laurel Lake loomed dark and gloomy. On the opposite shore, house lights twinkled. I imagined the happy families inside, laughing and enjoying the night together.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Dakota. I tried to reason away the thoughts of insecurity and annoyance. I’d married a high-powered executive, one who worked long hours and excelled at his job. I knew, going into this marriage, the type of man Sam had become. His work consumed his life. That dedication had made him successful. It didn’t mean he loved me any less.

  I tossed and turned on the expansive bed but couldn’t find a comfortable position. Was this the way it would be for the rest of our lives? Would I always be at home waiting, raising our children alone?

  After a few more restless minutes, my stomach growled in protest. I threw back the covers and wandered downstairs. Stillness floated on the air. I missed the city sounds of sirens, car horns, and the occasional shout from a drunken pedestrian. This place would suit our children, though.

  I rounded the corner into the kitchen and ran smack into a tree. No, not a tree, a wall of male muscle. My scream echoed around the room. Strong fingers wrapped around my biceps. I raised a knee into the intruder’s crotch. He dodged to the side but didn’t release his hold.

  “Mrs. Seaforth, please.” A familiar voice cut through the darkness.

  “Chandler?” My heart pounded furiously against my ribs. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry.” He eased back a step, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I saw that the alarm wasn’t set. I came to check it out.”

  I flipped on the overhead light. Chandler shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and moved another pace away. A deep rose blush climbed into his high cheekbones. Disheveled hair curled at the nape of h
is neck. A tight-fitting wife beater T-shirt clung to the dips and swells of a torso taut with muscle. I’d never really looked at him before. I was always too busy ignoring him to notice that he was quite attractive.

  “Is everything okay?” I crossed my arms over my chest, realizing that I wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “Yeah. It’s fine.” He lifted his chin, a mask of professionalism chilling his features. “I didn’t mean to be creeping around your kitchen. I thought you were upstairs.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, and I’m starving.” Mrs. Pittman’s roast beckoned to me from the refrigerator. “I’m going to heat up some leftovers.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He backed toward the shadows of the hallway.

  This stranger lived in my house and knew the most intimate details of my life, but I knew nothing about him. Not his last name, where he came from, nor how he’d gotten a job with Sam. Before I could overthink my choice, I called out his name.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked as I opened the refrigerator and drew out the roast. “How about a sandwich?”

  “Um, I should probably head to my room.” He gazed longingly at the plump roast, perfectly browned and speckled with spices.

  “Please stay. I hate eating alone, and this place seems so big when it’s empty.”

  “Well, okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind.” He smiled for the first time since I’d known him and slid into a barstool.

  I heated up the roast and found a loaf of fresh baked bread for sandwiches. Not only was Mrs. Pittman a militant housekeeper, she was also a skilled cook. As the flavors of rosemary and garlic burst over my tongue, I reconsidered my former opinions of her. At my urging, Chandler heaped his plate with two sandwiches and a mountain of salad. He moaned in appreciation after the first bite.

  “This is really good,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve had a decent meal since I moved here.”

  “Oh really? Where are you from?” I settled into a barstool next to him and loaded a baked potato with butter and sour cream.

  “Montana.”

  “Montana’s a long way from Laurel Falls. I bet your family misses you.” I nudged the plate of potatoes toward him.

  “My parents are there. And my brother and sister.” His shoulders drooped at the mention of his relatives.

  “So how’d you get to Laurel Falls?” Seeing his crestfallen expression, I changed the subject.

  He cocked his head and gave me a sidelong glance, as if I should already know the answer. “I came here to work for you.”

  “Seriously?” The idea that anyone would relocate in order to follow me around all day came as a shock. “Why?”

  “The chance to guard Samuel Seaforth’s wife is a huge honor, ma’am.” Under the warm glow of the overhead lights and surrounded by buttery yellow walls, he seemed to relax. “I get a nice place to live and to travel—all expenses paid—and the salary isn’t bad, either.”

  I had no idea what Sam was paying Chandler and made a mental note to dig into our financial status a little deeper. Sam always told me not to worry about such things, that we had accountants to handle our expenses. The secrecy festered inside me like an infected splinter. If Sam truly trusted me with his money, the status of our accounts shouldn’t matter. Even after Sam’s financial crisis, everyone seemed to think we were loaded. I didn’t care one way or another, but it would nice to know where we stood. The better part of my life had been spent pinching pennies. If I didn’t have to worry about money, it would be one less concern to cloud my days.

  “So, how did you get into this line of work?”

  “I was injured in Afghanistan and honorably discharged from service.” With his left hand, he rubbed his ribcage, as if soothing an ache. “Special Forces. My girl left me a few months before I came home. When this opportunity came up, it seemed like a good way to start over.”

  “Thank you for your service,” I said. On impulse, I covered his hand with mine. He seemed too young to have sacrificed so much for his country. My heart ached for his loss. His confession put me in my place and gave new perspective to my problems. I had everything going for me, and aside from a few inconvenient hiccups, my life looked pretty good.

  Chapter 22

  SAM

  A FEW minutes before midnight, I rode the elevator up to our condo. Darkness couched the foyer. I paused to drop my briefcase near the front door, kicked off my shoes, and continued toward the stairs. My body hummed with exhaustion and hunger. Three days of back-to-back meetings, planes, and strange hotels had kicked my ass. More and more, I missed Dakota. I wanted to be home, not on the other side of the country, eating dinner with people I didn’t know or care about. My place was here, with her and our impending family.

  A warm glow of yellow light gleamed beneath the kitchen door. I veered toward it. Unfamiliar with the layout of furniture, I stubbed my toe on the corner of a chest. I cursed under my breath and hobbled through the swinging door.

  Dakota sat at the breakfast bar alongside Chandler. My gaze traveled from the half-eaten plates of food to Dakota’s hand on top of Chandler’s. They turned to face me. Uncontrollable anger stole my common sense. Chandler jumped to his feet.

  Dakota’s face brightened. She hopped off the barstool and flung her arms around my neck. “You’re home,” she said and planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Yes.” I unpeeled her arms from my neck and took a step back to put some space between us. “Unexpectedly, it seems.”

  “Sam.” Dakota’s eyebrows slammed together.

  “You two probably want to be alone. I’ll head back to my room. Thanks for the food, Mrs. Seaforth.” Chandler stood then carried his plate to the sink before slipping out of the room.

  Dakota turned to face me, hands on her hips. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “I didn’t expect to come home after a helluva day to find my wife holding hands with the help.” My voice echoed off the aged wood ceiling beams. The joints of my fingers ached from being clenched into fists.

  “Calm down. We were just having a bite to eat.” She tilted her nose in the air and walked toward the sink. “Serves you right for standing me up.”

  I followed her. “I didn’t stand you up. Xavier called.”

  “Right. Xavier called. Not you. You couldn’t even take two minutes out of your precious schedule to call me.” She scraped the leftovers into the garbage disposal.

  “I would have—” Before I could finish the sentence, she flipped on the disposal. The growl of the machine drowned out my words. When it stopped, I said, “I would’ve called you myself, but—” She turned to face me and switched on the disposal again. We continued this way for a full minute. Every time I opened my mouth, she cut me off by firing up the appliance. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited. “Are you done now?”

  “No excuses, Seaforth. It was rude, and you know it.” One corner of her mouth twitched with either humor or irritation. I wasn’t sure which.

  “It’s also rude to find my wife in a compromising position. In my kitchen. With another man.” I added the last bit hoping to strengthen my case, but she was having none of it. With a snort, she placed the dishes into the dishwasher and slammed the door shut.

  “Now you’re just being an ass.” Following these finals words, Dakota turned off the lights and sashayed out of the room, leaving me alone in the dark.

  I scrubbed a stunned hand over my face, frozen with astonishment. What the fuck was that? In my world, no one walked out in the middle of a conversation, especially when I was giving them hell.

  “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.” My feet caught up to my brain and carried me down the hall after her.

  “Don’t be a dick,” she replied.

  My blood pressure, already soaring from seeing her hands on another man, skyrocketed a dozen more notches. She calmly climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom. I trailed on her heels. Once inside, she walked to the bed, peeled back the comforter, and slipped between the sheets
. I ran both hands through my hair in equal measures of exasperation and anger. My temper exploded when she switched off the lamp on the nightstand.

  “I’m trying to have a conversation here,” I said and turned the lamp back on.

  “This isn’t a conversation. This is you yelling at me for no reason.”

  “I want an explanation.”

  After an exhausted sigh, she peeled back the covers and stood to face me. “Really, Sam? I mean, seriously? You think I was cheating on you with the security guy?”

  “He had his hands on you.” A little of the steam behind my convictions slipped away. I narrowed my eyes, determined to hold my line of reasoning, knowing I was truly making an ass out of myself but unable to stop.

  “I had my hand on his. Comforting him. Not feeling him up.” For the first time, her sober façade cracked. “He’s a very nice guy. He was injured in the line of duty. Did you know that?”

  “Is that what you like? Military guys?”

  She bit her lower lip to hold back a smile. “You’re such a spoiled brat sometimes. You know good and well that neither of us did anything wrong.”

  “I don’t know that.” I sat on the edge of the bed to pull off my socks. She cocked a hip and rested one hand on it. The muscles in my jaw tightened. “Okay, well, maybe I do. But it’s the principle of the matter.”

  “I love it when you get jealous,” she said.

  Heat burned my cheeks. The top of this gorgeous woman’s head barely reached my chin, but she could bust my balls better than any man. I fought to control my features even though the corners of my mouth kept turning up. I drew in a deep breath, unbuttoned my shirt, and gazed up at her.