Pretty Broken Girl Page 17

  “I know what you must be thinking,” I began, struggling to hide the tremulous waver in my voice. I braced to receive his derision.

  He stood from his chair and walked to the far end of the office, gazing down on the street below. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.” The disdain in his tone killed the vestiges of my control. Over the course of my career, I’d been dressed down by intimidating men and had stood my ground without flinching, but the reality of facing Sam’s wrath terrified me more than anything. I began to shake from head to toe until my knees dissolved into water. I sank into the chair by the door and waited.

  “If you want me to go, I’ll understand,” I said the second I found my voice again. It floated in the space between us, detached and foreign to my ears. “You’ve got my resignation. It nullifies the contract.”

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” he replied.

  Unshed tears of defeat stung my eyelids. Karma was a cold-hearted bitch, and she’d stolen around to bite me in the ass. I stood to leave for the final time. Maybe I was defeated and maybe I deserved his hatred, but I took comfort in knowing I’d done the right thing at last. Sam’s father would never again use me as a pawn in his sick mind games.

  With my eyes down, I trudged to my desk and began to gather the few belongings I kept there. A picture of my mother, another of Crockett, a few cosmetic items, and my purse. I’d dedicated everything I had to this job, and all I had to show for it was a box full of trinkets. Curious eyes watched from afar, but no one ventured to my side. I felt a pang of empathy for Muriel.

  By the time I’d put the final items into the box, I heard Sam’s door open. The prickling of the tiny hairs on my arms told me he was nearby. He laid an envelope on top of the box in my arms.

  “It’s your severance check,” he said. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Two weeks. I think it’s more than reasonable under the circumstances.”

  Although the envelope contained a mere slip of paper, it felt like a two-ton weight in my arms. I set the box on the desk, took the envelope, and without opening it, ripped it in half. Sam stared at me, disbelief and confusion clouding his eyes.

  “I don’t want your money, Sam,” I said, in a clear, strong voice. “It was never about the money then, and it’s not about the money now.”

  With my head held high and my box of belongings, I made the long trek through the cubicles. No one spoke as I passed. The elevator car arrived after what felt like hours. The bell dinged, and the doors slid open with a quiet shoosh. When I turned around, I saw Sam still standing at my desk, his blond head and shoulders visible above the cubicle dividers. Our eyes met. I gave him a small smile even though my insides ached. I’d probably never see him again, but I felt a heavy load had lifted from my shoulders. For the first time in a long time, I was proud of myself, and it felt better than a million dollars in the bank.

  CHAPTER 33

  Dakota - Now

  WHEN I PASSED through the revolving doors, I saw Rockwell waiting at the curb, leaning against the fender of the BMW. I gave him a small smile. To my surprise, he met me on the sidewalk and took the box from my arms.

  “Mr. Seaforth asked me to drive you home,” he said. His voice gave nothing away.

  I tried to take the box back, but he lifted a warning eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied.

  We stood on the sidewalk at an impasse, both of us clinging to the box.

  “I’d rather walk,” I said and gave the box a stubborn tug.

  He smiled at me over the contents but didn’t let go. “I understand.” His eyes met mine without judgment or guile. “Go ahead and walk, miss. I’ll follow along with your belongings.”

  An image of Rockwell in the limousine, trailing a teenaged Sam and me as we walked after school, brought the sting of tears to my eyes. I released the box and fought back a torrent of emotion. My lower lip quivered. I felt ridiculous and young, heartbroken and euphoric, all at the same time.

  “Okay,” I said, suddenly overcome by the impact of what I’d done. By giving Sam that folder, I’d put an end to a decade of secrets, as well as my career and any hopes of a reconciliation. The enormity of that one simple act rippled through me like a stone thrown into water. It was over. I was free. So why did I feel so miserable?

  Rockwell placed the box in the trunk of the car, while I stood on the sidewalk and watched, numb and disconnected. He gripped my arm above the elbow with a gloved hand and guided me gently into the back seat. The door closed behind me, muting the sounds of traffic and construction. Soft notes of classical music drifted in the cool quiet of the car’s interior. Rockwell cast a concerned glance into the rearview mirror before easing the car into the avenue.

  My insides ached, collapsing on the emptiness within me. The thought of sitting in my empty apartment during a Monday filled me with panic. I had no direction, no purpose. I’d never taken a vacation day or called in sick. I had no idea how to do anything but work.

  “Rockwell?”

  “Miss?”

  “Can you take me somewhere else, please?” I gave him the new address. He listened then nodded and changed our route without question.

  I stared out the window. Bright June sunshine spilled onto the streets and houses. I watched people and cars flash by in a blur. Each person had his or her own story. I wondered how many of them were like me, sorting out their mistakes, swayed by temptation and dealing with the consequences of poor choices.

  “I never stopped loving him,” I said aloud.

  “I’m sorry, miss?” Rockwell said. His gaze flicked to mine in the rearview mirror.

  “Sam. I never left him because I didn’t love him,” I said, bursting with the need to tell someone who understood the situation. “I’ve hated myself every day since then. I just wanted to save Crockett from going to jail. He was so young, only fourteen. And Mr. Seaforth said he’d fire my mother. He said Sam was better off without me, that I was keeping him from living the life he deserved.” I bit my lower lip to stop the torrent of confessions. Heat rushed into my cheeks. I turned back to the window, embarrassed at the outburst.

  A full five minutes passed before Rockwell replied. “It nearly broke him when you left. He came to me. Stayed with me for a month or so until he got back on his feet. He didn’t know about his father’s part in everything. Mr. Seaforth said you asked for the money, but I don’t think Sam ever believed it.” He paused at an intersection and waited until the light changed before he continued. “I don’t know if it makes a difference or not, but there was never anyone else. Sure, there were girls—he’s a handsome boy—but he never got serious with any of them. I knew the first time we took you home in the limo that he was a goner. And if you ask me, miss, nothing’s changed.”

  ***

  We found my mother working in the yard outside her front door. She wore a loose blue dress, a print apron tied around her waist. At her feet, a vibrant mix of purple pansies, red tulips, and yellow dahlias burst from an oval flowerbed. She straightened at the sight of the unfamiliar car and flattened a hand over her eyes to cut the glare of the noonday sun. Rockwell had barely brought the vehicle to a stop when I flung open the door and charged at her. She caught me in her arms, nestling my head to the crook of her neck, and squeezed me.

  “Baby? What’s wrong? Is Crockett okay?” She loosened her hold and leaned back far enough to see my face.

  “He’s fine,” I said.

  One of her hands stroked my hair, soothing my angst. “Then what is it?” At the concern in her voice, I felt foolish and pushed away from her. “Are you ill?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I didn’t mean to worry you.” I searched her gaze, finding comfort in the quiet calm of her blue-green eyes. “I just needed you.”

  Warmth diminished the lines of age on her face. “A mother always likes to hear that,” she said. Her agile fingers untied the apron around her waist.

  “Oh, Mom,” I said, overcome with relief. The words tumbled ou
t of me like water from a pitcher. “I told Sam everything about his dad and the money and Crockett. And then I quit. I’m sure really hates me now. He’ll never forgive me.” I paused to check for her reaction. “I still love him, Mom.”

  “Well, I can hardly wait to hear the details.” She put an arm around my shoulders to usher me toward the house. “Come on inside. I’ll fix some tea. You can tell me all about it.”

  Rockwell coughed. I’d forgotten about him again. We both turned to face him. Joy brightened my mother’s smile. “Rockwell? Oh my goodness. How long has it been?”

  “Ten years, give or take a month or two,” he said. His eyes twinkled. “But you don’t look a day older.”

  “You sly fox,” she said, blushing, and swatted him with her apron. “Won’t you come inside? I’d love to catch up.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, shifting his gaze to mine. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. Maybe another time?”

  “Nonsense,” Mom said. She grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the front door. “I’ve got fresh apple pie and ice cream.”

  “Homemade?” he asked.

  “Would I have any other kind?”

  We sat around the kitchen table eating pie a la mode, while I spilled the entire story to my mother. Well, my mother and Rockwell ate. I just pushed the food around my dish, having lost my appetite. Mother nodded in understanding, adding an occasional exclamation or patting my hand now and then when my voice cracked. Rockwell concentrated on his pie and ate two helpings, to my mother’s great excitement.

  Exhausted by the events of the day, I collapsed in a boneless puddle on the living room sofa. Rockwell and my mother stayed in the kitchen, talking and laughing over coffee. I found their voices comforting, a reminder of the past, and let myself drift into sleep. Tomorrow, I would make a plan. Somehow, I’d get through this, even if it killed me.

  CHAPTER 34

  Samuel - Now

  LATER IN THE day, Rockwell met me at the curb in front of the building. The cool interior of the car cocooned around me like a protective haven. Once inside, I withdrew the brown folder from my briefcase and stared at it. I scarcely knew what to make of the contents. For the third time, I read the contract. In very specific terms, it forbade Dakota from ever contacting me or my family, offered absolution to Crockett, and promised employment to her mother for the duration of her life. A DVD showed Crockett in action, committing a variety of crimes including the theft of several valuable pieces of jewelry from my mother’s bedroom.

  I ruffled my hair, overcome with rage so violent, I felt the need to smash something. My father had blackmailed her into leaving me. Now, he was at it again. The recording from her phone and the uncashed check proved his nefarious plans.

  By the time we arrived at Seaforth Towers, my anger had receded to an even simmer. I needed to keep my wits about me. Although I’d been to the Towers on business numerous times, I’d never once seen my father.

  The lady at the lobby reception desk seemed nonplussed by my appearance. She rang his office and after a few tense moments, nodded toward the bank of elevators. “He said to come right up. He’s been expecting you.”

  The elevator ride took forever, but it gave me time to pull myself together. When I stepped off the elevator, a flurry of whispers and stares whirled around the office. The décor was gray granite and shiny chrome, devoid of warmth or welcome, just like my father. A svelte blonde in an immaculate black pantsuit escorted me down the long hallway to his office.

  He was standing in front of an impressive wall of windows, all the better to survey his kingdom, I supposed, and turned to greet me upon my entrance. We stared at each other, together for the first time in years. He looked the same but older, his face more lined, his hair more silver, and his back a bit more stooped. I ignored his proffered hand and swept my gaze over the plush black carpet, the framed original prints on the walls, and the decadent modern furniture.

  “It’s great to see you, Samuel,” he said, recovering from my snub and returning to sit behind his massive desk. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink? Bourbon?”

  “This isn’t a social call,” I said and plopped the brown folder on his desk before easing into the chair across from him.

  “Gosh, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said, a genuine smile on his face. “You look good.”

  “Cut the bullshit.” His easy demeanor pissed me off. How could he act so cavalier when he’d been so detrimental to my life? He’d stolen the one thing I’d ever cared about—Dakota. How could a father treat his son with such disregard? “I’m just here to tell you, I know everything.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “About what?”

  “About Dakota. The way you coerced her. The way you’re trying to bribe her now.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, but his eyes remained bright.

  “Look, I don’t know what she’s told you, but you can’t believe a word she says.” He leaned forward on an elbow. “The girl’s a money whore, for goodness sake. She’ll do just about anything for the right price.”

  I thought about Dakota’s modest apartment and the way she’d torn up my severance check. Nothing could be further from the truth. His words raised the hackles on my neck. I narrowed my eyes. “This folder contains the original contract, the DVD of Crockett with Mom’s jewels, a recording of your encounter with Dakota in the elevator, and the check Jared gave her.” The color in his face faded. He swallowed hard. “You make me sick.” I stood and turned to leave.

  “Now, Samuel. Be reasonable.” He moved toward the door with me, stepping in front of it to block my way. “I’m only trying to protect you from yourself. She’s not worth it. I can’t believe you’d be so stupid as to fall for her tricks again.”

  I squared my shoulders. “The only person I need protection from is you. Stay out of my life. It’s the last time I’m going to say it.”

  “Wait.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. At the sight of my expression, he dropped his hand. “I just want you to come back. I need you here at Seaforth Towers. I’m not getting any younger. Someday this will all be yours.” He made a passive gesture to encompass the room.

  “You just don’t get it,” I said. “I don’t need you or your money. I don’t want all this.”

  Temper flared in his eyes. “What you need is a good, stiff reality check,” he snapped. “Wake up, Sam. Like it or not, you’re a Seaforth.” I stepped back a pace, as if he’d punched me. “Oh, I’ve followed your career quite closely. You’ve done me proud. I’ve watched you rip business after business apart, devour them, and spit out the bones. You hate me, but you’ve become just like me.”

  A knot began to tighten in my gut. “You’re wrong. I’m nothing like you,” I said, but my confidence wavered.

  “No, Sam. You’re exactly like me, and I’ve got MacGruder to prove it. I led you to him, knowing you’d be able to acquire him when I couldn’t. You took the bait and swallowed it, hook, line, and sinker.” His smug smirk made me sick. “All we need to do is merge our two companies, and we’ll have the market cornered.”

  “Seaforth and Son?” I quirked an eyebrow, recovering my composure.

  “If you like,” he said. “I was thinking more like Seaforth and Seaforth, but whatever.”

  “The deal isn’t done. What if I back out?”

  “You won’t. You can’t. If you don’t go through with this, it’ll put a stain on your reputation,” he said. “People will say you’re losing your edge. They won’t be afraid of you anymore. Fear is a powerful motivator—just ask Dakota.”

  My fist curled with the urge to punch him. I closed my eyes and tried to think of one reason to resist. A picture of Dakota’s face floated over my closed eyelids. I hated him for what he’d done to her, to us, and I hated myself for letting it change me into someone I no longer respected. My resolve bolstered, I met his eyes.

  “We’re done here,” I said, in a cold, flat tone.

  “You’ll be back.” He laughed as I brushed past him. “You can�
��t deny who you are or what you’ve become. It’s in your blood.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I muttered and let the door close behind me.

  CHAPTER 35

  Dakota - Now

  AN ENTIRE WEEK passed. As if things weren’t bad enough, a zit erupted on my forehead, right between my eyes, larger than Mount Vesuvius and ready to blow. I covered it with pimple cream and resolved to stay hidden until it receded. I spent the time sleeping and eating all the food my mother had insisted on sending home with me.

  Part of me knew I should get up and get cracking to find another job. I had friends and contacts. Maybe MacGruder would have a lead for me. Before I could even consider seeking employment, I needed to get myself together. I was still too raw and broken up about Sam to put a coherent sentence together, let alone sit for a job interview.

  The following week, an insistent banging woke me from fitful dreams peppered with Sam’s face. I glanced around my bedroom, disoriented. Previous events rushed back and smacked me on the head. Oh, yes. I was divorced, unemployable, and broke. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The banging resumed.

  “Okay. I’m coming. Geez.” Furious at the unscheduled interruption of my misery, I searched for my robe. The apartment was in shambles. I hadn’t done laundry in weeks. With a sigh, I snatched a trench coat from the closet and stomped through the living room, shoving my arms through the sleeves like a fretful maniac. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  I lifted on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. A green eye stared back at me. Oh, my. My heart skittered and skipped. Sam? I peeked again. He stepped back a pace and frowned at the door. His hair was ruffled like he’d just run a hand through it.