Pretty Broken Girl

by Jeana E. Mann

  I immediately squashed the notion as soon as it surfaced. I’d already been down the path of temptation and knew it led nowhere. Money only lasted a brief time. Eventually it would be spent, and I’d be left with nothing but my self-loathing. I fought the urge to tear up the check and fling the bits out the window. If Sam hadn’t been sitting beside me, I would’ve done it, but I didn’t want him to know.

  I cast a surreptitious glance at Sam’s profile. Longing fired through my body. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? Late afternoon sunlight silhouetted his long eyelashes, straight nose, and the curve of his lips. How he was still single after all these years baffled me. I was certain a hundred girls would give anything to be his wife. I’d had the privilege and sold it. Now, I’d give anything to have it back.

  “What?” he asked, catching my stare.

  I flushed and shook my head, turning away.

  I’d assumed my absence from Sam’s life would heal the rift between him and his father. Apparently, I’d been oh-so wrong. The knowledge left me curiously deflated. I’d accepted a bribe to save my brother and to give Sam the life he’d been born to live. Instead, my brother continued to be a loser of the worst kind, and Sam had struck out on his own, becoming a success in spite of me. I turned to face him, needing to know the truth.

  “What did you do afterward?” I blurted.

  “Excuse me?” He glanced up at me, brow furrowed over whatever he was looking at. “I came downstairs and got in the car, made a few calls.”

  “No. I mean after I left you.” During our separation, I’d found any mention of him too painful and had exorcised him from my life, forbidding friends and family to speak of him. I’d erased all my memories of him. Until now. I studied his face, still handsome through his confusion. Had he walked away from his father, in spite of my efforts? “After the divorce. What did you do?”

  “Does it matter?” The muscles of his throat worked, holding back an emotion his face refused to exhibit.

  “It does. Yes. It matters. A lot.” I dared to rest a hand on his knee. His gaze dropped to it before he blinked up to meet my eyes. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

  “I fell apart for awhile.” His gaze held mine, vivid green and unforgiving. Pain and resentment roiled unfettered in the depths of his black pupils. This was my punishment. More punishment. Would it never end? “I was reckless. I went skydiving, bungee jumping, raced cars. I drank too much, did drugs, lived life on the edge.” He glanced out the window as if remembering gutted him. “I fucked a hundred nameless girls, trying to erase your memory.”

  Even though his last confession gutted me, I pressed on, determined to hear the truth. “But you didn’t go back to your father?”

  He snorted. “Hell no. I went my own way. I had a trust fund from my mother that I got at twenty-five. I used it to buy out a friend’s business. Started building on it.” When his focus returned to me, it blazed with unnerving intensity. “I wanted to show you what you’d lost, that I could be successful on my own. To make you regret leaving me, for taking his money.” His features hardened, chilling me. “I blame him for tempting you as much as I blame you for accepting the temptation.”

  The weight of his answer settled over me like a ten-ton shackle. My actions had spurred him into self-destruction. I’d ruined my beautiful boy. Tears blurred my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “Save it,” he said, his tone cold and unforgiving. “Too little, too late, Dakota.” The phone in his hand buzzed with an incoming call. He answered with a brusque, “Seaforth,” and dismissed me without a second glance.

  We didn’t speak again, even when Rockwell dropped me at my apartment. It was early evening by this time. Sam didn’t look up when I got out of the car, and I didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER 31

  Dakota - Then

  WHEN I HEARD the door to my apartment creak open, sweet adrenalin flooded my system. Quiet footsteps echoed through the long hall toward the kitchen where I stood over the stove, stirring a stock pot full of my mother’s stew. The closer the steps grew, the faster the blood roared through my veins.

  “Mmmmm. Smells good.” Sam’s deep, quiet voice purred into my ear. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed a kiss to the tender flesh at the pulse point beneath my jaw.

  “Mom,” I said with a laugh. “She thinks we’re going to starve to death.”

  On our graduation night, Sam had proposed, and we’d gotten married at the county courthouse a week later. He’d placed a plain gold band on my ring finger, thin and inexpensive, but it meant the world to me. My mother had gone with us, the only witness to our marriage besides the handful of others in the courtroom.

  Because Sam was now poor, we’d skipped the honeymoon, choosing instead to spend the time settling into our dingy, new basement apartment. He worked a full-time job at a construction company, installing roofs during the day, and went to college at night. I kept my part-time job at the convenience store and got another job cleaning hotel rooms in the morning before classes. It was tough living, but we were too young to know any better. Every minute spent with Sam made the struggle worth it.

  By now, we’d been married almost two years, but the sight of him still made my heart kick against my ribs. I turned to face him and gave him a deep, lingering kiss. He pulled back and glanced longingly at the stew.

  “I can’t stay. I’ve got class in thirty minutes,” he said.

  “You can take it with you,” I said, always eager to be a good wife. He shot me a slap on the ass and a lopsided grin then took a seat at the table. I cast a sideways glance at him while I dipped stew into a thermos. Exhaustion smudged beneath his eyes. He was thinner than I liked to see. His eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. Catching sight of my frown, he winked, and a bevy of butterflies unfurled in my stomach.

  “Maybe you should skip class tonight,” I said as I handed the Thermos to him. “We could watch a movie. Go to be early.”

  “Can’t,” he replied and stood. “Got a midterm tonight.”

  “Right.” I followed him to the door.

  He bent and kissed me. “I want you naked and in my bed when I get home,” he said. One of his hands patted my butt. “Understand, woman?”

  “Anything you want, baby,” I whispered and clung to his shirt, suddenly overcome with unreasonable fear. “I love you, Sam.”

  “Love you, too.”

  I watched him get in the car, a knot of dread tightening my gut. The knot remained as I put away the stew and wiped down the kitchen counter. When the doorbell rang, I flew to the door, thinking Sam had returned and forgotten his key. I flung open the door and came face to face with Mr. Seaforth.

  “Hello, Dakota,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  I hesitated. I hadn’t seen Mr. Seaforth since he’d confronted me at the convenience store two years earlier. Once Sam knew what he’d done, an irreparable rift had opened between father and son. To my knowledge, they hadn’t seen or spoken to each other since.

  “Sure.” I pushed the door open and led him into the living room. His gaze roved over the shabby furniture with obvious distaste. A flush of embarrassment heated my cheeks. “Would you like some coffee or lemonade?”

  “No. I’m fine.” His frank stare raked over me.

  “Sam just left for class. He’ll be back later if you—”

  “I’m here to see you, Dakota,” he said. He shifted to the edge of the couch as if he might dirty his linen suit by lingering there. He opened his jacket and withdrew a white envelope. When he extended it to me, I took it out of instinct.

  “What’s this?” I turned the envelope over, confused.

  “It’s for you. A bank draft.” The coldness in his expression sent a shiver of pure terror down my spine. “One million dollars.”

  The envelope burned my fingers like acid. I dropped it into his lap. “No. I can’t take it. Sam wouldn’t like it.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Dakota. For Sam. He’s not happy here.” Once again, his eyes ro
ved the apartment. I saw the place through his eyes, through Sam’s eyes. Peeling wallpaper. Dirty carpet. A disgusting yellow stain of questionable origin on the ceiling.

  “We’re doing just fine.” I stood, intending to shoo him out the door, but he placed a hand on my wrist and pulled me back down to the couch.

  “You’re not fine. Look at this place.” His lips curled in a sneer. “Sam has always had the best of everything. You can’t believe he wants this.” I bit my lower lip, unsure of the best way to get this man out of my house. “He gave up everything for you, and this is how you repay him? By holding him back?” He shook his head. “I can still get him into Princeton. He can have the best the world has to offer. All you need to do is take the money, Dakota.”

  A wave of fury unlike any I’d ever known swept through me. I stood again. “You need to leave. In case you haven’t noticed, Sam and I are married. Until death do us part.”

  He sighed, weary of the pretense of politeness. “Very well. I hoped you would make this easy but since you won’t, here’s the deal. Your brother, Crockett? He stole a few very valuable items from our house.” As he spoke, he withdrew a second envelope and opened it to display a sheaf of documents, along with a DVD. He tapped the silver disc. “I have it all on video from our security cameras. There’s enough evidence on there to put your brother away for quite a while, and I can make it happen.”

  Unmitigated terror churned the contents of my stomach. This couldn’t be happening, could it? An hour ago, I’d been blissfully happy, secure in my marriage, with a husband who loved me. Now, my world had been upturned. I knew without doubt that my life was about to change forever.

  “You can’t do this,” I whispered.

  “I can, and I will.” A satisfied smirk twisted his features. “Sign these divorce papers. Take the money. I’ll make all of this go away like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Or do nothing. Your brother will go to prison, and I’ll fire your mother. I’ll see that she never works again.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Dakota - Now

  ANOTHER WEEK PASSED. Sam drifted in and out of the office without speaking to me. He emailed a list of requests directly to my computer each day. No more fussy, detailed demands. Most of the tasks regarded scouting potential building sites for a series of residential subdivisions in central Illinois. This was my specialty, and something at which I excelled, but I missed the challenge of his silly lists and the thought he’d put into creating them.

  Dahlia settled into my former office and hovered around the cubicles like a vulture circling dead meat. The sight of her smug face behind my burled walnut desk set my teeth on edge. Once an hour or so, she ventured out into the “general population,” as Brian called it, to monitor company morale, which had hit an all-time low. An undercurrent of tension threaded throughout the floor, more reminiscent of a funeral parlor than the upbeat business it had been. Bit by bit, Sam was dismantling Harmony.

  I ate lunch at my desk, a pathetic meal of crackers and cheese, while organizing my research for Sam. Stress had killed my appetite, and I’d lost almost ten pounds since the takeover.

  The list of properties Sam had given me was standard fare. Most of them were farmland. A few were lower-income subdivisions. I gathered information regarding pricing, availability, and asked Melody to obtain demographics for the area. All the locations had stellar growth potential, and I was impressed with his choices, except for the last two places. I hadn’t heard of them before and they seemed unrelated to anything we’d discussed in our meetings. These remote parcels of land outside of Gary, Indiana, seemed completely inappropriate in both location and potential.

  Why would he even bother with such inferior prospects? At first I thought it might have been a mistake, or perhaps he’d given me the wrong information. I toyed with the idea of calling him to clarify the address but hesitated. We hadn’t had an actual conversation since our meeting on Monday. He haunted my every waking thought and all of my dreams. I craved his touch, his approval, one word or gesture that might suggest there was a chance for us. My thumb hovered over Sam’s name in my contact list as I debated whether or not to dial. Before I could come to a decision, the phone vibrated with an incoming call, the number unfamiliar. I tapped a finger on the desk in contemplation then answered it.

  “Dakota Atwell.”

  “Ms. Atwell.” The voice on the other end of the call sent dread straight into my gut. “This is Maxwell Seaforth.”

  “I know who it is,” I said and hung up. Screw the bastard. It rang again immediately. I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t give up until I answered. After darting a glance around the deserted office, I accepted the call and said, “What do you want?”

  “You haven’t cashed my check yet. I’ve got another ready and waiting. What’s the holdup?” His smooth voice conjured visions of the fiery pits of hell, which was exactly where any association with this man would lead me.

  “No, and I’m not going to. Don’t call me again.” I disconnected the call. Tremors shook my entire body. I threw the phone across the desk and clasped my hands together until my knuckles ached.

  The man had some nerve. Why did he continue to haunt me? Was I such a threat to his empire? I was nothing, nobody. An ache bloomed between my temples. I rubbed the space between my brows to ease the tension. Sam had made a success of his life in spite of his father’s efforts to control him. That was what it was about for Maxwell Seaforth. Control. I sat up a little straighter in my chair. He’d never been able to control Sam. Sam had always done what he wanted, whether his father liked it or not, until I came along. He’d used me to manipulate Sam, and I’d fallen right into his plans. Neither of us could have predicted that Sam was too strong and too pigheaded to submit.

  “Dakota? Can I see you in my office, please?” Dahlia’s voice cut into my thoughts. She had sidled up to me, stealthy like a damned ninja.

  I followed her through the maze of cubicles to her office, the one I’d so lovingly decorated, and tried not to dwell on the pettiness of ownership or material things. She offered a seat in the chair across from the desk. We stared at each other for an interminable beat. I’d never been on the other side of my desk, and I didn’t like it.

  “How are you doing since the acquisition?” she asked, folding her hands on the desk between us. Sunlight cut through the windows behind her, turning her gold hair to silver. “Are you making the adjustment okay?”

  “Yes.” I leaned back and crossed my legs. Her patronizing tone ruffled my composure. “Is there some concern about my performance?”

  “You’re on probation,” she said. “I’m sure it must be uncomfortable for you, knowing you might get the ax at any time.” The smug smirk on her over-glossed lips caused my fingers to tighten into fists. The weight of uncertainty settled back around my shoulders. “Mr. Seaforth asked me to check on you, to make sure you’re adhering to our company guidelines. He’s very concerned you won’t make the second cut.”

  All of my insecurities rallied and steamrolled over my fragile self-confidence. Sam had discussed me with Dahlia? Although we’d been at odds for most of the past month, his small sporadic kindnesses and our lovemaking had given me a glimmer of hope. “If he has any issues with my performance, he hasn’t said anything. Quite the contrary, actually.” I decided to bluff my way through the conversation.

  A glimmer of panic sparked in her eyes. “Really?” She reclined in her chair, which I knew from experience was much more comfortable than the rigid one I sat in, and studied my face. “He hadn’t mentioned it to me. Of course, we’ll be having dinner tonight. I’ll be sure to ask him about it.”

  Suddenly, I felt like a fool. Jealousy, bitter and cold, left a bad taste in my mouth. I stood and gave her a tight smile. “Is there anything else? I need to make a few more calls before I leave today.”

  “No. That’s it. Thank you, Dakota.”

  I gave her a cool nod and walked out the door. The constant uncertainties and insecurities of the past ten yea
rs had been exhausting. I needed to put an end to the madness I’d created. A sense of calm washed over me. I knew what I needed to do. The time had come to make things right.

  ***

  The next day, I arrived at work an hour early with a renewed sense of determination. Sam arrived a few minutes after me, went straight into his office, and closed the door with a bang. I jumped, my nerves already atwitter at the thought of what I was about to do. I waited ten long tense minutes, giving him time to settle in, before knocking on his door.

  “What is it?” he asked. Judging by the dark shadows smudged beneath his eyes, he hadn’t been sleeping well either.

  “Do you have a minute?” I asked, a flutter of nerves bouncing around in my stomach.

  “No.” He passed a hand over his face then reconsidered. “Fine. Five minutes.”

  I placed the brown cardboard folder on his desk and smoothed a hand over the surface. It felt cold and solid under my hand, but inside it possessed all the secrets to my past. His brows drew together. “It’s all in here,” I said, tapping the folder. “All of it. The contract, a copy of the check.” I drew the envelope from my pocket, the one Jared had given to me. “And his latest attempt to bribe me.”

  “I don’t understand.” Sam leaned back in his chair, studying me.

  “You will,” I said. As my final gesture, I laid the USB drive containing a copy of his father’s threats on top of the brown folder, along with my letter of resignation. I turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he said when my hand touched the door handle. For the first time in a decade, a ray of hope broke through the gray clouds of my life.

  The longer Sam listened to the recording of my conversation with his father, the redder his face became. A storm swirled through his vibrant irises. Once the recording stopped, he turned his chair toward the wall of windows behind his desk and sat in silence. Dread churned in my stomach. Knowing he couldn’t possibly hate me more than he already did, I decided to plunge headlong into the abyss of self-destruction.