by Ava Claire
The Sweetest Jerk #3 (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)
Ava Claire
Copyright © 2017
Cover by RBA Designs
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The Sweetest Jerk Series
The Sweetest Jerk #1
The Sweetest Jerk #2
The Sweetest Jerk #3
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E-book License Edition Notes
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: NATALEE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: JASON
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: NATALEE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: JASON
CHAPTER NINETEEN: NATALEE
CHAPTER TWENTY: JASON
About the Author
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: NATALEE
I gripped my bag, clutching every butterfly that whirled in my gut. It didn’t help that Scott wasn’t the ‘Surprise!’ type.
When Tamara had enlisted his help to throw me a surprise party once, he’d lasted as long as he could before he broke. His gray eyes had clouded over, making me wonder if he was about to break up with me. Instead, he spilled the beans in a single, blurted breath, sweating bullets and apologizing profusely for not keeping the secret.
Knowing that keeping secrets from me stressed him out was kinda adorable, and definitely a breath of fresh air after growing up in a household where everyone kept things to themselves.
Having a long day? Zip your lips and handle it. Wondering if you’re loved? Stop being a dummy, of course you’re loved! Why do you need to hear the words?
I carried that philosophy into my relationships throughout high school and college. I ended up saddled with guys who seemed to excel at being cagey and secretive.
I learned that secrets were pointless, because it all came out in the end.
I gave my head a shake and put all that bad juju behind me. Just to confirm I wasn’t doing something that would blow up in my face, I paused in front of the revolving door of Anderson International, an import conglomerate that had a hard on for Scott from the moment he interned junior year. It was understandable, since my Scott didn’t half ass on anything. He-
My mind wouldn’t let me walk past the lie that rippled across my face, turning my smile into something that wavered.
Doesn’t half ass on anything? Not exactly true. When was the last time he kissed you for longer than a millisecond?
When was the last time he touched you besides a quick hug as he headed out the door?
I quieted the voice that told me that this attempt would fall flat. Just like the dinner last week, when he took one look at the steak and wedge salad I prepared and came down with a spontaneous tummy ache. Or when I tried to be playful and sexy and answered the door in a lacy chemise and he’d been too tired to even keep his eyes on me. He had just enough energy to sigh and grunt that he was tired, though.
Tonight would be different. Just looking at my reflection was proof of that. Since I was primarily working out of my home kitchen unless we had big orders, my usual attire was a t-shirt, leggings, and a flour smudged apron. But tonight, I’d pulled out my special occasion dress, a dark colored thing that showed way more than it covered up. The breasts that he hand’t touched in weeks would be impossible not to notice since they were out in full force. The smooth fabric glazed over my hips and stopped right below my knee. But the show didn’t end there. I was in honest-to-God heels, the strappy things wrapping around my ankle and showing off a fresh pedicure.
I flipped my hair, painstakingly straightened for the occasion, and I had a brief moment of feeling like the women from those commercials with impossibly perfect hair. The confidence boost, along with the glass of wine I’d had before I grabbed the Uber, had me cycling through the door with a big ol’ grin on my face.
The minute I stepped into the artificial cool, what was left of my nerves calmed. Walking through the door was the hardest part, and memories smoothed the rest. The first time I’d visited the office, it had been in the daylight, warm and welcoming with the sun almost shining directly on us. Scott had wrapped his arms around my shoulders, trumpeting all the original artwork and bells and whistles like this was more than his office—it was his home. He’d introduced me to his coworkers as ‘the love of my life’.
I was the only one in the lobby at this hour. The lights were dimmed, the artwork in shadow. The security guard looked ready to perform a cavity search, the friendly one from that day nowhere to be found. Panic flared in my chest while the guard scrolled through the access list, but he found my name and gave me an ID card that would get me up to Scott’s corner office.
My guy.
My fiancé.
The badass who’d barely been with the company for a year, and already he was leaving his contemporaries in his dust. Burning the midnight oil while everyone else watched the clock obsessively, counting down the minutes until 5PM.
I landed on the 21st floor, shivering as I stepped out of the elevator. I didn’t remember them keeping the place so cold. It reminded me of the psychological games restaurants and cafes play so people don’t camp out. Uncomfortable seats. AC on full blast.
I gripped the bag slung over my shoulder, filled with wine, crackers, cheese, and salami. A little midnight snack before he had dessert: me.
The jubilant tap of my heels combined with the pounding in my ears, excitement shooting through me as I moved down the hall to Scott’s office. I pictured him hunched over his keyboard, the numbers talking to him in their own way. The glasses that he only wore at work, the thick rimmed ones that made him look like he was cosplaying as a sexy Harry Potter all grown up, were probably perched on the end of his nose.
It probably won’t be much of a surprise, I thought with a twinge, trying to walk a little softer. The heels would announce me soon enough since he needed virtual silence to do his thing. I hoped he’d be so in the zone that-
I came to an abrupt stop, the sound of something low and sultry drifting into the hallway. An amber sliver radiated from beneath the door.
The sound was coming from his office.
My stomach cramped like something in me was adding things up and something was off, but I’d never been a fan of math—and tonight wouldn’t be the night that things started clicking.
I tucked my hair behind my ears and continued toward the light. Toward him. He was probably just taking a break. Or wrapping up and headed home since I was climbing into the Uber around 11 and that was twenty minutes ago.
The music had grown from hints of a violin to a full orchestra, the notes spilling into the hall. My balled fist hovered, inches away from knocking.
When did he start listening to classical music? And why was he blasting it at 11:30 at night?
They were good questions that I would get the answers to, as soon as I stopped being such a scaredy cat.
I decided against the knock and just twisted the knob.
My stupid heart told me that I’d find him curled up in the executive chair that had been my birthday present to him, working on his vows. That maybe classical music was his guilty pleasure.
My eyes adjusted to the mood lighting, since I was expecting the painful glow of fluorescent bulbs...and reality tore my heart right out of my chest.
My fiancé, shockingly, didn�
�t look any worse for the wear since he’d left at 6am, then texted me a few hours ago that he was ‘burning the candle at both ends’.
In fact, he looked happier than I’d seen him in months...and it was because some woman was in his arms.
A woman with chocolate brown hair that nestled her serene face as she laid her cheek against his chest, swaying to music.
Wrapped up in a bliss that I’d been struggling to to recreate with a man who seemed to be happiest when we weren’t together.
And this was why.
She was why.
I swallowed.
Blinked.
Tried to remember to breathe.
I had options: losing my damn mind seemed appealing. I was already on the edge because they were both so lost in the moment, in each other, that they didn’t even notice that they had an audience.
I now understood how the women from ‘Snapped’ did just that—because my mind was nudging me, reminding me that I had a very expensive bottle of wine in my bag. A bottle that would come in handy when I bludgeoned Scott to death.
Another option was just leaving. I could back out, unnoticed, and pretend I hadn’t seen what I’d seen. Be the Oscar worthy actor that Scott had been. Carry on and-
“No,” I said aloud.
Loud enough that their midnight dance came to an immediate end.
The woman let out a screech and pushed away from him. The distance she created was useless at this point. I’d already seen them. Hell, a blind person would have been able to feel the chemistry that was swirling in this room before the ball and chain walked in.
If I could have found the oxygen, the energy, the anything, I would have laughed at her. Her mouth was frozen in an O, some excuse pirouetting on a tongue that had probably tasted my fiancé’s tongue, among other things. That deer-in-headlights look on her face told me she was about to insult my intelligence.
She was let off the hook by Scott, who stammered out a lie. Considering he’d been pretty good at it lately, I was disappointed by the hack job that fell from his lips.
“Nat...I...This isn’t what it looks like!”
I tore my eyes away from them, looking at the bag on my arm. The woman that was still way too close to my fiancé let out a gasp, like she was expecting me to brandish a gun.
I caught the sparkle of my engagement ring, and I knew what I needed to do.
That circle of gold, the princess cut that I’d plastered all over Facebook and texted to everyone I know felt like it weighed a million pounds.
Wrapped around my finger.
Around my throat.
In a single, brutal movement they felt like I was removing a layer of skin. I yanked off the ring.
I looked Scott dead in the eye and he flinched, expecting me to hurl it at him. Instead, I strode to his desk without a word and dropped it on top of his stack of folders. Work he’d probably neglected because he was preoccupied.
‘Fuck you, Scott’ screamed in my head, but I didn’t say a word, exiting in a daze, not breathing until I was outside.
The minute I realized he was following me, I tore off my heels and started running. The emotions I’d stuffed down caught up with me, but I just moved faster.
Bare feet slapping the carpet.
Blinded by tears.
By pain.
Running away from the fact that watching them had just confirmed what I already knew.
Scott wasn’t the one.
Not really.
And now, he’d proven that I wasn’t the one, either.
~
There were no flashes, and it was the third day this week that the paparazzi had camped out in front of the bakery, but I still felt nerves bunched like some tightly wound coil in every muscle in my body.
Ready to snap at any moment.
Poised to shatter my sanity into a million pieces.
A few of the photographers had gotten bold, strutting into the shop and turning the melodic jingle of the bell into my least favorite sound.
Well, a runner up from my least favorite sound. The grand prize winner was the rapid fire clicking of the camera, capturing shots of me trying to cover my face. Trying to live a life that no longer felt like it belonged to me.
Since today was a consultation day, it made it easy enough to keep the intruders on the other side of the glass, but I still clenched and unclenched my fist beneath the table. Their persistence made it hard to remain professional and attentive.
Tamara dashed to the door when one of them tried his luck. Unfortunately for him, Tamara was on door duty—and she was in no mood.
A husky grunt cut through the silence, since my client was currently flipping through my past works. I was struggling to pretend like we weren’t in some sort of zoo, being gawked at, whether we wanted it or not.
The photographer tried to explain himself. “I just have to go to the bath-”
“Fuck you,” Tamara growled, pointing at the door with her rolling pin.
The man’s eyes widened as he tried to gauge just how serious she was. When he held up both pudgy hands and backed out slowly, he’d wisely determined that she’d take him down without batting an eye.
“Go pee on the bushes,” Tamara snarled. “You’re trespassing on private property and I will knock you upside the head.” Just in case someone was recording for some future litigation, she added, “And then I’ll call 911, the police, or a hearse—whatever the situation calls for.”
Once he was back on the sidewalk, he hawked a ball of snot and spat it on the asphalt. “Assault me if you want to, sweetheart. All these cameras are dying for a juicy shot—then I’ll sue your ass and end up owning this joint.”
Even from the table across the room I could see that Tamara wasn’t thinking beyond her desire to clobber him, so I tried to keep my voice level. Pretended I wasn’t debating whether the risk would be worth the bloodshed.
“Tamara!” I said loudly, clearing my throat. “Could you help me with something?”
She let the door close in the man’s face before she used the hand that wasn’t holding the pin to give him the universal ‘I’m watching you’ signal.
She tucked the pin beneath her arm and headed toward us, her face going from that of a warrior to sweet as pie. She even flipped her blonde hair and hiked the key of her tone up a few notches. “How’s it going? Sorry about that.” She winked at the bride-to-be. “I wouldn’t really assault him, just so we’re clear.”
Tamara was definitely lying, but I appreciated her attempt to assure our prospective client that we weren’t the hot mess that we appeared to be.
“I get it. They’re absolute jerks,” the woman said in solidarity, flashing us both a supportive smile that made me relax a little. “I’m just impressed that you’re open. Most people would be laying low.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat and managed to hold the smile on my face even though hiding out had been an option that I considered. Unfortunately, closing shop meant I wasn’t making money. I didn’t have a bottomless bank account like him. I had to carry on; left to fend off the paparazzi. The sexy baker that was standing in the way of true love.
“So as you can see, we’ve done a few events with a similar theme.” I trained my eyes on the pages of my portfolio, pictures of cakes and simpler times making nostalgia swell in my chest. “There was the Clintwood wedding that was an absolute dream. The bride is a huge Twilight fan and the ceremony was held in Forks-”
“Could I ask you a question?”
The prospective client had a bubbly smile and a disarming energy that was as palpable in person as it had been in email. Unlike several of my clients that canceled because of the scandal and drama with Jason, she’d shown up early. She’d marched right past the photographers, essentially ignoring them, diving right into the appointment with questions about flavors and options for height and my experience creating an interactive display.
It was refreshing, the normalcy in the midst of all the crazy. A reprieve from all the qu
estions that filled my head.
Was it all a lie?
Who was this Cassidy?
When would I start trusting my intuition instead of my vagina?
Instead of trusting my heart, which had steered me wrong more times than I could count?
I got back to the task at hand. “So tell me about your-”
“I hope this question isn’t too random, but how is he?” she interrupted, still wearing her megawatt smile.
I blinked at her, snatched from the brutal cross examination in my mind. Forced to turn off cruise control.
I swapped the fly aways from my eyes and gave her my undivided attention. “I’m sorry?”
She licked her lips and leaned in, her smile turning mischievous. “How is he?” she repeated, her eyes sparkling with fascination.
I knew exactly who she was talking about and what she was asking. Every hackle in me was raised, but I played stupid. I wished I’d taken door duty and let Tamara work with clients, because she would have had a snappy comeback and all I wanted to do was scream and throw this woman, and the possibility of a new order, right out of my shop.
The answer to her question?
Amazing.
No one had ever touched me the way Jason had. No one moved the deep, dark, secret parts of me like Jason.
And no one had ever made me feel so incredibly stupid for letting them in because I knew better.
I knew his track record, had several opportunities to get out with my heart in tact, and I ignored all the signs.
A tight smile was permanently attached to my face, like some demented robot that was malfunctioning or missing the nuance. I was a record skipping over the scratch, replaying the line over and over.
How is he?
How is he?
How is he?
“Miss Bright? Why don’t I take over?” Tamara slid into the conversation. “Natalee has a crazy schedule this morning.”
I jumped when Tamara patted my shoulder, still smiling as I accepted the lifeline and hurried toward the back office. Away from the cameras. Away from the questions.
Away from him.
I knew better, but the first thing I reached for when I stepped in the office was my cell. The texts from Jason had stopped last night, but I had a new email from him.