Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel

by Jeana E. Mann

  An ache I’d thought long forgotten unfurls between my legs. No, no! This isn’t the reaction I want to him, but it’s there, undeniable and insistent. I make another swipe for the key, this time a successful one. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Blackwood.”

  “As I recall, you used to love my games.” One corner of his mouth twitches. “Especially the one where you’re the naughty housemaid, and I’m your angry boss.” Heat scalds my cheeks at the memory of all the ways he fucked me that night. “Do you still have that saucy little outfit? The one with the ruffled panties and the little apron? God, I loved that thing. Did you wear it for Giles?” His eyes narrow, and my internal temperature increases another degree. “No, I suppose not. He strikes me as a lights-out-straight-missionary kind of guy.” His guess is too accurate for my comfort. Sex with Giles had been adequate but nothing more.

  “Stop it.” The numbers over the elevator door light with maddening slowness, chiming at each number. Two. Ding. Three. Ding.

  “You do remember.” Delight dances in his eyes.

  “No. You must be mistaking me with one of your paying customers.”

  “Ouch. Wow.” He leans against the metal wall of the car. I can see his reflection in the polished surface of the doors. The smirk on his face reignites my irritation. “So much for detente.”

  “Maybe it would be better if we don’t talk.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  Two seconds of silence pass. Five. Ding. “Nope. Can’t do it.” He shifts to my side of the elevator, facing me. “Look, all I want is an apology.”

  “No way. I don’t owe you squat.”

  “By my count, you owe me a lot of things, including a billion dollars for the money I’ve lost due to your incompetence with Seaforth Media.”

  “I’ve only been on board for two weeks. How can it be my fault? The least you can do is give me a chance to make things work.” Angry red spots cloud my vision. The space inside the elevator shrinks until I can’t breathe. Can it go any slower? I jab the button for the fourteenth floor. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

  “I gave you a chance twelve years ago, and you fucked me over. Why should this time be any different?” His eyes are the color of an arctic iceberg. He places a hand on the elevator wall beside my head, crowding me until my back hits the cold steel.

  “I never fucked you over. You misrepresented yourself. What did you expect?” My heart hammers against my ribs. “Did you think I’d just overlook the fact that you were a man-whore? Really? Even you can’t be that stupid.” He’s so close that I can smell the peppermint on his breath mingling with an undercurrent of bourbon.

  “I’ve missed your smart mouth.” With a prolonged exhale, he ghosts the tip of his nose along the curve of my jaw, not quite but almost touching me.

  “If business is so bad, maybe you need to put a little of the blame on yourself. You’re a partner. Shouldn’t you have been paying closer attention?” I press my palms against the wall and turn my head to squelch the overwhelming desire to kiss him. He’s big and intimidating, and I’m totally turned on by it.

  He sweeps his tongue along his bottom lip. The gesture sends a shockwave of desire into my core. “Sharp claws for such a pretty little kitten.”

  Attraction creeps along my skin. I want to curl my fingers in his lapels and yank his mouth to mine, tug on his glossy hair, and wrap my legs around his waist. Our harsh breathing fills the car.

  The elevator jerks to a stop at the fourteenth floor, and the doors slide open. Cam straightens, tugs down the hem of his jacket, and rolls his head, like he’s loosening a kink in his neck. Before I can catch my breath, he’s walking down the hallway, away from me, like he owns the hotel and everything in it—because he does. The elevator doors start to close, forcing me into action. I slide a hand between them then follow on shaky legs.

  At room 1408, I drop the key card on the floor, bend to retrieve it, and pray he’s not watching. When I try to swipe for entrance, the lock flashes red and beeps—once, twice, three times. Crap. Behind me, I hear Cam’s door open then his footsteps at my back. A strong hand takes the key card, swipes it. The light flashes green. I push the door open without a backward glance. His chuckle floats on my heels. I slam the door shut and fasten the deadbolt, locking him out of the room but not from my head.

  The suite is spacious, tastefully furnished in tones of cream and black. A wide hallway leads into a living room. French doors open onto a balcony. The lights of the city twinkle against a black velvet sky. Before I can kick off my shoes, a bellhop arrives with my luggage. After tipping him, I leave the bags in the foyer and fall face first onto the king-size bed.

  Hours pass before I fall asleep, and when I do, I dream of sex with Cam in the elevator. He’s rough, aggressive, and makes me come, one fluttering orgasm after another. By the time morning arrives, I’m exhausted and aroused and completely confused. I don’t want to be attracted to him, but the pull is still there, stronger than ever.

  Chapter 9

  Cam - Twelve Years Ago

  I MAKE IT my mission to avoid Vanessa. I don’t need those kinds of complications. I have plans for my life, and none of them include falling for a girl I just met. A girl, I might add, who’s so far out of my league I’d require a spaceship to be in the same galaxy.

  At first, I thought she might be a way to boost my income, but I like her too much to use her that way. Besides, girls my age don’t pay for sex, not when they can get all they want for free. I could probably be her boyfriend, but I don’t have any desire for a relationship. Older women, like my clients, pay me for discretion and companionship without strings. Sex is secondary to them, although they all want it. As long as they pay cash, I’m willing to comply. The money goes into a safe deposit box at my bank and waits for the day when I can turn my college project into a reality.

  The next night, I make myself scarce while Mrs. Avondale holds her dinner party. Instead of going into town as she suggested, I grab a book from the library and settle into my room for the night. Snippets of conversation drift up through the floor registers. To drown out the sounds of clinking silverware and laughter, I put in my earbuds and listen to a blues playlist.

  I’m relieved to be excluded. At least this way, I don’t have to answer prying questions about my past or pretend to care about the atrocities of high-society living. No pitying looks, no condescending comments. Yes, I’m much better off where I am.

  My stomach growls, interrupting my reading. After removing my earbuds, I stand and stretch out the kinks in my back. Voices float through my window from the patio below. I mosey over to the window and gaze down. Vanessa stands near the diving board, looking like a Grecian goddess in a white dress. Her long hair trails over one shoulder in a loose braid. A man stands beside her. He’s about her height, slender, with brown hair. Even from this distance, I can make out the flash of diamond cufflinks.

  Jealousy erupts when he places a hand on her back. I dig my fingers into the window sill. She tilts her head and laughs at whatever he’s saying. I lean forward, almost tumbling out the window in the process, hoping to hear their conversation. He’s standing too close to her for my comfort. Maybe I should go down there and run interference. Surely, she’s not interested in that tool. He’s got to be twenty years older than her. When he leans in to kiss her, a growl erupts from my throat.

  Vanessa glances up at the window. I duck behind the curtains. What the hell am I doing? She’s free to kiss whomever she wants, even if it’s some middle-aged douchebag. I pace around the room a couple of times then do fifty energetic pushups to relieve the tension. A knock on the door interrupts my workout.

  “What?” I snap.

  “It’s me. Can I come in?” Vanessa’s voice travels through the door.

  “Hang on.” I use my T-shirt to wipe the sweat off my brow then fling open the door. “Yeah?”

  She’s standing there, lovelier than I’ve ever seen a woman, barefoot, still in her dress. A plate of sandwiches and
snacks balances on her outstretched hand. “I brought you something to eat. The cook said you hadn’t been down all afternoon. I thought maybe you were hungry.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, but I take the plate anyway. The selfless gesture only adds to the mix of conflicting thoughts and emotions concerning her.

  “What have you been doing?” Her gaze flits around the room.

  “What do you care?” I’m angry and I’ve got no idea why.

  “I don’t. I was just trying to be nice. Why are you being a dick about it?” The bewilderment in her tone softens my ire.

  “Sorry.” I blow out a deep breath, trying to rein in my feelings. “This is nice. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We stare at each other. Her fingers curl at her sides. A wave of awareness prickles over my skin. When her gaze dips to my mouth, everything south of my belt buckle tightens.

  “Well, I’d better go.” She takes a wary step backward, like I’m going to jump on her.

  I clear my throat and sit on the edge of the bed. “Who was that guy? The one by the pool.”

  “Giles. Giles Robilliard.” The way she watches me makes my heart stutter. “He’s a friend of my father’s.”

  “He’s a little old for you, don’t you think?” The words are tinged with a jealousy I can’t hide.

  One corner of her mouth curls up. “Maybe.” And with that, she turns, steps into the hallway and closes the door behind her.

  I’m left alone in the room with my food and resentment. I don’t know Giles Robilliard, but I hate him almost as much as I hate my dad.

  Chapter 10

  Cam - Today

  AFTER A SLEEPLESS night, I get up extra early, run a few miles at the hotel gym then join Tristan for breakfast. In the car on the way to the restaurant, I call my general contractor and ask him to speed up the remodel on my city apartment. I’ve got to get the fuck away from her before I go crazy. By the time I reach Tristan’s table, I’m agitated again.

  Tristan lifts his eyebrows at the sight of my unshaven jaw and bloodshot eyes. When his mouth opens, I lift a finger. “Not a word, Avondale.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about.” Tristan studies the menu, but one corner of his mouth twitches. The waitress drops a plate of steaming biscuits on the table and winks at Tristan.

  “Good.” The thought of food turns my stomach, but I order pancakes anyway. Because—well—pancakes. I’ve never passed them up before, and I’m not starting now.

  “By the way, thanks for returning my texts last night. I ran into two gorgeous friends who were dying to meet you. Do you not understand the meaning of two-for-one?”

  “Unlike you, my life doesn’t revolve around getting laid.” My reply sends Tristan into merry laughter. I’m reminded of Vanessa’s reprimand the previous day. Not everything is about sex and money. Three years as a paid escort taught me otherwise. People will do crazy things to get laid, and—fortunately for me—they’ll pay a lot of money to keep their secrets quiet.

  “Seriously, you missed out, buddy.” He adds four spoons of sugar to his coffee. The liquid sloshes into the saucer when he stirs.

  “I doubt it.” Since Tristan’s divorce, he’s been screwing his way around the city like a madman. Although I enjoy an occasional night out on the town, it’s not the most important aspect of my life. I prefer the quiet of my country house to the false pretenses of the nightclub scene.

  “Lucky for you, I got their digits. We can give them a call this weekend. Maybe head out on the yacht? Or hit one of the clubs?” Tristan is a diehard clubber. He’s got connections at hotspots across the country, mostly due to his family name and reputation as a big spender.

  “I’m busy.” Female companionship doesn’t remotely interest me today. Not after the encounter with Vanessa. The scent of her perfume lingers in my memory. I can still feel the press of her breasts against my chest in the elevator.

  “Since when? Last week it was your favorite pastime.” Unlike most of my friends, Tristan doesn’t hesitate to call me out. It’s one of the reasons I trust him with my business. He’s never been afraid to voice his opinion.

  “Since now.” Work is my solace. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been able to control in my life. The harder I work; the more success comes my way. The more successful I am, the greater my freedom. I run a finger around the edge of my collar. I don’t like having my motives questioned. To ease the constriction, I loosen the top button, but the discomfort remains.

  “Wow, someone’s pissy today. Maybe if you got laid, you’d be a little less grumpy.” He shrugs, unfazed by my irritation, and turns the conversation to business. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” He transfers three biscuits onto his plate, slathering them with butter and jelly. The aroma unsettles my stomach.

  “I want a rundown of Seaforth Media’s assets and what it would take to buy Vanessa out.” I relax, comforted by the familiar territory of business.

  Tristan raises the biscuit to his mouth then lowers it as my words sink in. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead freaking serious. It’s time to separate myself from the Seaforths.” Until Vanessa took Maxwell’s place, I couldn’t have cared less about Seaforth Media. Now, it’s all I can think about. I can’t stand the thought of her touching something I created, something I built with my own hands, something that’s mine.

  Tristan takes a sip of coffee before speaking again. “I know how badly you wanted Maxwell’s place at the helm of Seaforth Industries. Just because you didn’t get to take over, doesn’t mean you’re out of the game. Your net worth quadrupled over the past year. You made the Forbes list. You’re crushing the Seaforths in growth and scope. Screw them. In another year or two, they’ll be eating your dust.” He grins and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Dude, you’ve made it. Live a little.”

  When Vanessa left me, I never looked back, never questioned my goals. I seized every opportunity, knocking down anyone who got in my way, desperate to prove my worth. My take-no-prisoners attitude pissed a lot of people off. It also put a ton of money in my pockets. The partnership with Maxwell had been a strategic move, more lucrative than I’d ever hoped, and responsible for a good portion of my success. The Seaforth name offered credibility where I had none. And, although I don’t want to admit it, the alliance kept Vanessa in my periphery.

  I crumple the paper napkin in my fist. She stole my heart and my place at the head of Seaforth Industries. No way will I let her take my creation and make it hers. “I want it back. All of it. It’s mine.”

  “Why?” For the first time this morning, the playful smirk drops from his face.

  The waitress drops off our check. Her phone number is scrawled across the bottom. I hand it to Tristan. “Because I can.”

  Chapter 11

  Cam - Twelve Years Ago

  THE HOUSEHOLD STAFF has been given a few days off while the Avondales attend a wedding in Nantucket. The house is mine to wander for the weekend. I plan to spend time in the workout room, swim laps in the pool, maybe go hiking through the woods to the south of the property. Anything to burn off the sexual frustration Vanessa has left building inside me.

  As soon as their limo leaves for the airport, I grab a towel from the bathroom, intending to head to the workout room on the top floor. When I shut the door, Vanessa steps out of her room in front of me. Tight white riding breeches mold to every curve and dimple of her sweet ass. Her hair is piled high upon her hair in a messy bun. And, as if that’s not enough to tempt me, in her left hand, she carries a leather riding crop.

  Sweet Mother of God.

  We stare at each other.

  Her step stutters. She glances from me to the door like she wants to dive back inside the bedroom. After a heartbeat, she straightens her shoulders and looks me squarely in the eyes. Damn if that look doesn’t travel straight to my groin.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you’d be at the wedding.”
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br />   Our words tumble over each other. Like a fool, I assumed she’d be traveling with the Avondales. Of course, they’d never leave me alone in their house. What was I thinking? I shove a hand through my hair. Her appearance puts an unexpected kink in my plans. I frown.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t get in your way.” She ducks her head and sidesteps around me.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” Now, why did I say that? I don’t want to know, but I can’t stop my feet from traveling after her.

  She glances over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Can I come with you?” I have no idea where she’s going, but I’m not ready for her to leave yet. I want to know more about the guy at the pool, what he means to her, and why she’d give him the time of day when she could have anyone she wants. Like me. The revelation stops my heart for a half second.

  “Why?” With an impatient sigh, she stops and turns to face me. She pats the looped end of the crop in the palm of her leather glove. My heart starts back up again. I’ve never been into the whole fuck-me-spank-me deal, but her tight pants and whip could change my mind. “You haven’t spoken to me all week.”

  “I’ve been busy.” My eyes dip automatically to her lips. Damn if I don’t want to kiss her. Now that the idea is in my head, I can’t make it go away.

  “I noticed.” The intensity of her gaze takes my breath. Sunlight refracts through the leaded glass window at the top of the landing and casts prisms on the Turkish rug. When Vanessa lifts her chin, a stray beam illuminates her eyes, and they’re so green that I forget all the reasons why I need to stay away from her.

  “Whatever this is—” I twirl a finger between us, “—it’s probably not a good thing.”

  “I agree.” Her shoulders relax a little. “Probably not.”