Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel

by Jeana E. Mann

  “Maybe we can be friends.” I don’t know where this brilliant idea comes from. I haven’t been friends with a girl since I hit puberty. Sure, I like them. They smell nice, and they occupy a good deal of my waking thoughts, but sex always gets in the way. It’s just a fact of nature. Men and women aren’t meant to be friends.

  “I don’t think I can do that,” she says.

  “Good. Me neither.”

  A ghost of a smile bows her lips. “Then why did you suggest it?”

  Several options scroll through my brain. I could lie, tell her some sweet bullshit. Or I can be honest. I lift my palms toward the ceiling. “I have no idea, but it sounded like the right thing.”

  “Is that the kind of guy you are? Do you just say things because it’s what people want to hear?” Her lowered brows indicate displeasure. She turns and strides away.

  Great, now she’s pissed. No matter what I do, I can’t win with this girl. The heels of her boots hit the hardwood steps and echo through the empty house. I race after her and catch up at the back door. When I place a hand on her shoulder, she groans. “No. I’m not that kind of guy. I’m the guy who says what he thinks, no matter the consequences, because life is too short for bullshit.” My mouth has gotten me into trouble more than once, but only because I refuse to alter my opinions to placate someone else. “You want the truth?”

  “Always.”

  “I’m attracted to you. All I can think about is having you underneath me, fucking you in every room of this dusty mausoleum, on the floor, in your bed, on the kitchen table.” The color of her cheeks brightens. “The chemistry between us is off the charts.”

  “I know,” she says. Two words turn my world upside down. The tip of her tongue slides over her lower lip. “But there’s really no point, is there? I mean, in another few weeks, we’ll go our separate ways and probably never see each other again.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.” I nod, grateful she gets it. “And who needs to deal with hurt feelings and ruined expectations?”

  “I know, right?” An unexpected grin illuminates her face. She’s unbelievably beautiful when she smiles, in a way that twists my guts.

  I shove my hands into my pockets. “If I was a dick to you before, it’s only because I didn’t know how to deal with this—with us.”

  When she doesn’t answer, I’m a thousand shades of confused. I have no idea how to read this girl. Her hand returns to the door handle. She opens the door, pausing at the threshold. “I’m going to see my horse. You can come along if you want.”

  Chapter 12

  Vanessa - Today

  TWO DAYS PASS without a word from Cam. I throw all my efforts into a plan for revitalizing Seaforth Media and soothing Cam’s anger. Time has given me a new perspective. It’s silly to hold onto something that happened so long ago. We’re both different people now. When Tristan calls for an appointment, my hopes climb. I’m confident we can work out an agreement.

  On the third day, Tristan enters my office, briefcase in hand, a broad smile across his face. He still has the same rusty hair and ruddy complexion, but his eyes are softer, his body harder. Seeing him reminds me of lazy summers at the farm, of who I used to be.

  “It’s good to see you again, Tristan.” We shake hands. His large hand envelopes my smaller one. I offer him a seat across from my desk. “I was surprised to hear from you. What brings you here?”

  “I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. We didn’t really get a chance to talk the other day.”

  “No. The meeting with Cam was unfortunate.” My hopes drop the tiniest bit. He’s here on a social call and not business. The setback isn’t going to get me down. Maxwell always said some of his most important deals were brokered on the golf course.

  “Priceless, more like. I rarely see him speechless, but he still can’t talk about it.” Tristan smiles, his eyes twinkling. “It really made my day.”

  “He’s still pissed?” A tiny crack spreads through my confidence. I fiddle with a pen to keep my hands from shaking.

  “I’ll say. I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s been an ass ever since.” He leans back in his chair and rests an ankle on his knee. “But enough about Cam. How’ve you been? I mean, really? Laurel Falls is a long way from Paris. How does your husband feel about you being so far away?”

  The mention of Giles should hurt, but it doesn’t. Our marriage ended long before we separated. “Ex-husband. We’re divorced.”

  Tristan lifts his left hand, showing the tan line of a wedding band around his ring finger. “Me too. And Trish is on her third marriage.”

  I nearly spit out my coffee. “Wow. No way. Three husbands?”

  “Yeah. She finally gave up on Cam. Mom and Dad are fit to be tied.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Takes the heat off me, if you know what I mean.” We both laugh. I relax into my chair until he draws the briefcase onto his lap and extracts a folder.

  “So, this isn’t a social call after all?” My defenses heighten. The muscles in my neck tense.

  “No, not this time.” His smile thins. “Cam would like to make you an offer for your half of the partnership.”

  The pen slides out of my hand. “He wants to buy me out?”

  “Yes. I think you’ll find his offer very generous.” He slides a large envelope across the desk. “The details are inside. Take a look at it and get back to me. It’s only good for twenty-four hours.”

  Elena buzzes through the intercom. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but your conference call is holding on line four.”

  “I’m going to be a minute.” My head can’t wrap around the bomb Tristan just dropped. I expected Cam to be angry, to throw a few roadblocks in my path, but I never believed he would stab me in the back like this. “And what if I don’t agree?”

  “Then he’s prepared to pull out completely.”

  The bottom of my stomach drops. I’m speeding down the hill of a rollercoaster with no brakes and no end in sight. “He can’t do that.”

  “He can, and he will.” Tristan gives me a rueful smile. “Cam has enough money and power to do whatever he wants, Vanessa.” The shock must be evident on my face, because he lets out a long sigh. “I hope this won’t interfere with our friendship. It really is a pleasure to see you.”

  “No, of course not.” I rally my composure long enough to respond. Meanwhile, my brain races through the implications of the envelope on my desk. Cam knows how badly I need Seaforth Media to remain stable. If word gets out that he’s anything less than confident in my abilities, my run as CEO will be over before it starts.

  “Maybe I could take you to dinner some time?” Tristan is still talking, but I could care less about what he’s saying. I just want him out of my office so I can have a few minutes to think.

  “Maybe.”

  His gaze slides to the photograph by the door. Damn. I meant to move it somewhere else, away from prying eyes. The furrow in his brow sends a flurry of anxiety into my gut. “These are your kids?”

  “Yes. Lisle and Gaston.” I try to wedge myself between him and the wall. “Why don’t you give me a call in a few days?”

  “How old are they?” He presses his lips together. The gears of his brain are grinding at an alarming rate. My palms begin to sweat.

  “Um, eleven and six.” I slide into business mode, giving him a pleasant smile and offer my hand. “I hate to rush you out, but I need to take this call.”

  “Right. Sure.” His voice is soft, contemplative.

  “Thank you for coming today. I’ll look over Cam’s proposal and get back with you.” I close the door behind him and breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Over the years, no one has ever had the balls to question Gaston’s parentage, at least not to my face. Giles is fair, brown-haired, and an inch shorter than me. Gaston is tall for his age, dark-haired, and golden-skinned. I take the picture from its hook and stash it in my desk drawer. Someday, I’ll tell Gaston the truth, but not now—not yet.

  Chapter 13
/>   Cam - Twelve Years Ago

  WHEN WE GET back from the stables, I fix a couple of sandwiches for us. Vanessa takes a bite of the grilled cheese and hums in approval. The sexy moan rekindles the spark I’ve been carrying for her. Would she whimper the same way when I bury my cock inside her? She flicks her tongue over her lips to catch a wayward crumb, and I stifle a groan.

  “That was amazing.” She leans back on the chair and pats her stomach.

  “Thanks. It’s simple, really. Three cheeses, avocado, bacon, and tomato.” I’ve never cooked for anyone but myself. Her praise sends a rush of heat up my neck.

  “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  “I dated a chef once. I managed to pick up a few things from her.” The half-truth stings on my tongue. Monique has taught me many things, the least of which is cooking. She’s the culinary genius behind a New York chain of five-star restaurants. We’ve never been on a date; our arrangement consists of sex with a side of assorted roleplay. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from giving away more to Vanessa than I should.

  “Mrs. Avondale had the cook leave prepared meals in the freezer for us, but I have a feeling yours is better.” The antique chair creaks when she stands and bends to clear away the dishes.

  “Sit. I’ve got this.”

  “You cooked. It’s only fair that I clean up.” A whiff of soap and shampoo tickles my nose. Her breast grazes my shoulder, and an electric thrill races up my arm.

  “Let me help you.” I take the plates from her hands and carry them to the kitchen. Together we pile everything into the dishwasher. “Don’t you have servants at home to do this kind of stuff?”

  Her laugh holds no amusement. “My parents have a household staff, but I don’t have anyone in the dorm to help me. Anyway, I like doing things for myself.”

  “I can see that.” When she bends to close the dishwasher door, the movement exposes a sliver of the tanned skin above her waistband. I curl my fingers and fight the urge to caress that prime piece of real estate.

  “Just because my family is wealthy doesn’t mean I’m helpless or lazy. The way I see it, I’ve got a choice about how I live my life. And it really ticks me off when people judge who I am by how much money I have.” Her eyes flash, revealing a quick temper simmering below the surface of their green depths. “And technically, it’s my father’s money.”

  “I’m sorry.” I understand judgment. My entire life, I’ve been stymied by preconceived opinions. My high school teachers assumed I was ignorant because I came from uneducated parents, and the local police assumed I was a hoodlum because my father was a convicted murderer. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of my high school guidance counselor and the prosecuting district attorney, I might have turned out to be all of those things. “I didn’t mean to set you off. I just want to know what makes you tick.”

  She’s standing so close that I can feel the heat of her body. My skin prickles with awareness. Pride and stubbornness emanate from every pore of her body, and fuck me if it isn’t the biggest turn-on ever. To distract myself from desires I don’t want to feel, I pull a tin of mints from my pocket and pop one into my mouth.

  “I want to make a difference.” The passion in her voice is music. Her face flushes. “I’m going to use my status to help those less fortunate. I’ve already started a non-profit rescue for dogs, and another one is under way to rehabilitate racehorses. My mother is the head of several charitable foundations for the less fortunate and devotes all her time to running them.”

  “Easy, princess.” I lift my palms into the air. A sparkle brightens her eyes. The low hum of desire buzzes in my ears.

  The words are barely out of my mouth when she closes the distance between us. One of her hands curls around my neck, drawing my head down. Her mouth opens and seals over mine. We groan in tandem. This is such a bad idea, but my self-control evaporates under her touch. I grip her hips and slam them to mine. She grinds into me. My poor dick doesn’t have a chance. I slide my palms beneath her shirt and caress the smooth, soft skin of her ribs. Fucking her might be a bad idea, but I’ll learn to live with the consequences.

  Chapter 14

  Vanessa - Today

  THE DAY RACES by in a flurry of phone calls and meetings. Cam’s offer taunts me from its resting place on my desk, but I’m too busy to read it. I resist the urge to peek. Whatever it contains deserves my full and undivided attention.

  It’s late when I return to the hotel, my briefcase packed with work, Cam’s proposal tucked inside. After a relaxing bath, I pour a second glass of wine and put on my favorite silk nightie. Small things can make a big difference when it comes to comfort. Sexy lingerie makes me feel attractive again. Giles never really paid any attention to my wardrobe. On the rare occasion when he was home, we slept in separate rooms.

  With my attitude properly adjusted, I open the envelope, spread the papers over the bed, and thumb through the legal jargon to the final page. A dollar figure jumps out, underlined and italicized. I blink, certain my eyes are deceiving me.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” I mutter. This isn’t an offer. It’s an insult. Who the hell does he think he’s dealing with? Only an idiot would accept an offer like this.

  The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Not only did he break my heart, but now he’s insulting my intelligence. The man has no common decency. I don’t know why I expected more from him; past experience should have taught me better. I down the glass of wine and pour another. With the bottle in one hand and the goblet in the other, I pace the length of the suite. The more I think, the angrier I get. Who does he think he is?

  Before I can second guess the sensibility my actions, I grab the offer, stomp to his door, and pound like a mad woman, determined to give him a piece of my mind.

  The door opens. Cam stands before me, and for the briefest nanosecond, I forget why I’m here. He’s shirtless, the broad expanse of his chest tanned to a honey brown and smattered with dark hair. Worn blue jeans hang low on his hips, the top button undone, revealing the cut of muscle below each hip. His full lips are swollen and smeared with lipstick, his black hair mussed. I’ve obviously interrupted something—or someone. I want to run away, but it’s too late.

  “Vanessa?” By the widening of his eyes, he’s just as dumbfounded as I am.

  “Who is it?” asks a female voice from the living room.

  He steps to the side, blocking my view, but not before I catch a glimpse of two naked beauties tangled together on the sofa. Heat rushes into my face, and I want to die. Of course he’s not alone. What was I thinking? This is Cam, man-whore and heartbreaker. An unfamiliar emotion explodes in my chest. Never in my life have I hated anyone, but I abhor those two girls for taking what should have been mine, what used to be mine. And I hate him even more for giving it to them.

  “Um,” is the only word I can say. Suddenly, I feel very drunk. Gathering the two remaining shreds of my dignity together, I turn to flee. Screw the offer. Screw Cam.

  “No, wait.” Strong fingers wrap around my bicep. The touch of his hand ignites fire on my skin.

  “You’re busy. I’ll go.” But I let him draw me into the room anyway. The naked girls on the sofa don’t move. They continue to fondle each other, unfazed by the presence of a stranger. I swallow and, unsure where to look, concentrate on the oil painting beyond Cam’s broad shoulder.

  Cam challenges me with his gaze, drawing my attention back to him. Is it my imagination, or is he taller than before? He’s definitely matured. The traces of college frat boy have been erased and replaced by a full-grown man. And judging by the bulge behind the fly of his jeans, he’s all man. Everywhere.

  “Ladies, maybe you should take it into the bedroom,” Cam says without breaking the connection between us. “I’ll catch up in a second.”

  One of the girls pauses long enough to ask, “Will she be joining us?”

  Her words remind me I’m wearing a tiny nightgown that barely covers my ass. I cross my arms over my c
hest.

  “No.” Cam’s terse reply ricochets through the room. I’m not sure whether to be insulted or relieved. Does he think I’m too much of a prude to participate, or not attractive enough? The ridiculous question fuels my irritation. Cam lifts one of his thick eyebrows. Many things have changed between us, but apparently he can still sense my thoughts.

  “Nice nightgown.” His eyes dip to my breasts where my nipples jut against the flimsy fabric. “I see you came dressed for the party.” For one brief moment, a glimmer of the old Cam breaks through his cool façade, the one I knew and cared for. How I long for that boy, the one who held my hand and told me he loved me on a blustery New York morning.

  “I want to talk to you about this.” I shake the papers in his face, trying to remember why I was angry. Seeing him like this brings back painful memories of my fingers in his hair, his lips on my breast, the weight of his body between my thighs. I squelch the remembrances, finding them too bittersweet, too painful. “This is an insult. You know as well as I do that my half is worth ten times this amount.”

  “Only if you have a buyer, and no one is going to invest in a company with you at the helm.” His words scald my pride, even though they’re true. “If you’re smart, you’ll take my offer.”

  “Only a moron would accept such a—a—” I can’t think of a word bad enough to describe what he’s done. His answering laugh sends a rush of heat up my neck. I toss the papers at him. They hit the middle of his bare chest and flutter to the floor. “You can shove your offer up your—”

  He snatches my wrist and traps it between us. “Take the offer, Vanessa, or I’ll pull out of the partnership all together.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Oh, I can, and I will.” His gaze roves over my lips, my breasts, down my thighs, and returns to my eyes. “You see, there’s an escape clause in this partnership. Maybe you should sit down and read the agreement. I can leave any time I want, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”