Pretty Filthy Lies: An Unconventional Love Story (Pretty Broken Book 2) Read online

  “I’ve got to meet this girl,” he said. The gleam in his eyes set off warning bells in my head.

  “No.” I opened the door wider, banging my foot in the process. He passed over the threshold, his amusement growing at my distress. “I mean, not right now. She’s in a meeting.”

  “Sure.” By the smirk on Beckett’s face, he didn’t believe a word of it. “Later then. I’ve got a deposition in a bit anyway.” As he moved out the door, he turned to walk backward and pointed at me. “You and me and Tucker, on the basketball court Wednesday. Don’t forget.”

  Chapter 3

  Dakota

  MY TEMPORARY office was little more than a glorified closet with a French door leading onto the balcony adjoining Sam’s office. Once I settled in, I stared through the glass at the green lawn dotted with spring blossoms and tried to corral my thoughts. Sam wanted to meet in a few hours to go over the research I’d done before quitting Harmony. All I wanted was to run my fingers through his hair and taste his lips on mine again.

  Fantasies of Sam would only derail my productivity when I needed to be on top of my game. With a quick shake of my head to clear the cobwebs, I focused on reviewing the data I’d spent weeks compiling. I’d barely found my concentration when someone knocked on the door. A dark-haired young man poked his head into the room.

  “Knock, knock,” he said, breezing into the office, a crystal vase of white roses in hand. “I wanted to introduce myself before you got too busy.”

  I tore my gaze reluctantly from the monitor to regard him as he placed the bouquet on a table near the door. He rested his rear end on the corner of my desk and returned my perusal. He was small and slender with a crooked smile. A hint of guyliner defined bold gray eyes. The cut of his lemon yellow suit was impeccable, the color questionable. “I’m Xavier, with an X. Sam’s assistant. And you would be Ms. Atwell.” He lifted a well-groomed eyebrow, as if daring me to contradict him.

  “Dakota, please.” I extended a hand, and he shook it, his grasp warm and firm, confident. I immediately liked him.

  “Sam asked me to check in on you. See if there’s anything you might need.” The way he spoke made me wonder if Sam had sent him at all or if this was some kind of personal fishing expedition. “He said to make sure you’re comfortable during your stay.”

  “I’m good, thanks. Although…where can I get some coffee?” The thought of wandering the maze of hallways left me cold, and I’d given up my search after the first wrong turn. “Coffee is my lifeblood.”

  “Mine too. There’s a coffee station around the corner. I’ll show you. And there’s a mini-fridge in the armoire.” He gestured a manicured hand at the heavy Victorian piece against the far wall. “Just let me know what you want. I’ll have it stocked. ”

  “Thanks.” We stared at each other for another beat. He was handsome in a pretty, feminine kind of way. Hair slicked back. Eyebrows thick but perfectly groomed into twin wings. I tapped a finger on the keyboard, impatient to get back to work.

  “You’ll find everyone friendly around here,” he said. “You’re welcome to join us for lunch. We usually go to the café down the street or bring something back, and there’s a kitchen downstairs.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate the invitation.” The idea of lunch caused a nervous rumble in my belly. Would Sam expect me to wait for him? Should I stay in the office and work through? I thought our reconciliation would ease my insecurities. Instead, it only fueled them. “I’m not sure…”

  “No problem. I understand. Just throwing it out there.”

  An awkward silence fell between us.

  “I really should get back to work.” I cleared my throat and glanced at the computer.

  “Of course,” he said but didn’t get up. He traced the edge of the desk calendar with a finger. “Have you known Sam long?” Calculating eyes blinked up to mine.

  So, it was a fishing expedition. I debated the merits of truth versus secrets and decided to go with the truth. I’d been living with secrets long enough. The concept liberated the tension in my shoulders. “We met in high school.”

  “Shut the front door,” he replied, genuine shock wiping away the curiosity. “Really? That long ago?”

  “Yes.” For some unknown reason, I found perverse pleasure in his surprise. “We were just recently reacquainted.”

  “Lucky you.” His voice held a note of genuine awe. “Tell me, what was young Sammy like?” He leaned forward, body vibrating with curiosity. “Got any dirt?” His eyes gleamed, eager and bright. “I transferred here from the Chicago office. I’ve been his assistant for four years, and I know absolutely nothing about him. Aside from the work stuff. No one does.”

  The question caught me off guard. I leaned back in the chair, using a few seconds to gather my response. Sam had always been a private person. If he hadn’t shared his past with his coworkers, there was a reason, and I wouldn’t be the one to break his confidence. Never again.

  “Well, that’s Sam.” I waved a hand dismissively. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. We aren’t really that close anymore.” Although we did screw in the car on the way over, I added mentally with an inward smirk.

  “I can respect that.” He nodded and appeared satisfied with my answer. “Come on. I’ll show you where the coffee is and let you get back to work.”

  With a cup of steaming java in my hand, I turned from the coffee station to find a dozen pairs of questioning eyes surrounding me. My new coworkers were a diverse group. Some looked barely old enough to hold a driver’s license, fresh-faced and exuberant. Others seemed on the verge of a retirement home, stooped in posture with worldly wariness in their eyes. I had to wonder what Sam saw in them. I was certain each person possessed a unique quality, or he wouldn’t waste his time with them.

  “Hello?” I lifted my eyebrows in Xavier’s direction. He shrugged one shoulder.

  “This is Ms. Atwell,” he announced to the group at large. “She’s acting as a consultant for Mr. Seaforth.” He made a dramatic pause. “They went to high school together.”

  The group shared a collective gasp. Then came a barrage of rapid-fire questions that left me breathless.

  “Are you married?” asked a thin girl with freckles.

  “Divorced,” I replied.

  “Kids?” queried an older man in a too-large suit. “We could use more family people around here.”

  “No.” I set the coffee cup on the counter and braced a hand against it for stability against the inquisition.

  Mrs. Cantrell came around the corner and vibrated to a stop at the sight of the crowd blocking the tiny alcove.

  “What was he like when he was a kid?” This question came from a pretty brunette with a cherubic, round face. “Mr. Seaforth?”

  “Um—” I cast a desperate glance at Xavier, hoping for an intervention, but it was Mrs. Cantrell who came to my rescue.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Ms. Atwell, but Mr. Seaforth asked for an update on the information he requested.” Our eyes met. I recognized her as an ally. She lifted her chin in acknowledgment.

  “Right. Thank you,” I said, giving her a genuine smile. “I’ll get right on it.”

  The curious throng dissipated within seconds, and I let out an audible sigh of relief.

  “They can be brutal,” Mrs. Cantrell said. “But they’re mostly harmless. You’ll soon learn who you can and can’t trust.” She refilled her coffee cup and turned to follow me back through the corridor. “You’re not the first, you know.”

  “I’m sorry?” Although I had no idea what she meant, heat rose in my cheeks.

  “Of his interns.” The emphasis she put on the word caused my forehead to furrow. “He likes pretty girls. Brunettes mostly.” She stirred her coffee with the small plastic straw before dropping it into a nearby trashcan. “None of them lasted very long.”

  “Oh?” I wasn’t sure whether to take this as a snide barb or a warning. The warm, fuzzy feelings of camaraderie fizzled away and left disappointment in t
heir wake. It would’ve been nice to have a friend amid unfamiliar surroundings, but the turn of the conversation reminded me of two things. I was an outsider here, and I could trust no one.

  “I don’t mean to be rude.” She touched my arm. Thankfully, we’d reached my door. “I just thought you should know. You seem like a nice person.” She followed me into the office and watched as I returned to my desk.

  “Thanks?” My disappointment lessened. I wasn’t here to make friends. This wasn’t high school. I was here for Samuel, to win back his trust, to repair our relationship, if that was even possible, and to do a job.

  “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry.” She lingered, watching me with shrewd interest.

  “It’s fine.” I mustered a polite smile, not wanting to alienate her completely, but dialed back the enthusiasm. It would be helpful to keep her close until I figured out the pecking order of the office. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m really very busy.”

  I thought she might leave, but she continued, offering information I didn’t want or need to know. “Most of them were college interns. Three this year so far, not including you.” Her gaze traveled over my face and figure, returning to meet my eyes. “You’re a bit older than the others.”

  Just like that, all of my insecurities reared their ugly heads. I knew Sam hadn’t been a monk since our divorce, but I liked to pretend he’d existed in a kind of suspended animation, waiting for me to come back. Jealousy prickled the skin along the back of my neck. At thirty years of age, I wasn’t exactly a perky co-ed, but I wasn’t a complete loser either. I straightened my shoulders and stared Mrs. Cantrell in the eyes. Determination strengthened my resolve. She wouldn’t intimidate or berate me. And by my calculations, she was a few rungs lower on the ladder of power than me.

  “Well,” I said in a strong, quiet voice, “I’m not an intern, so please don’t refer to me as one. I’m a consultant. And I can assure you I’m not like the others.”

  Chapter 4

  Dakota

  DESPITE MY growling stomach, I worked through lunch, completely engrossed in my research. Two hours passed in a whirlwind of emails and Internet searches. When Sam strode into the room unannounced, I jerked and sat back in my chair with a startled gasp.

  “Don’t you ever knock?” I asked, biting back a smile of happiness at the sight of him.

  “Nope.” His lips twitched in a reciprocal show of appreciation. “Get your things. We’re going out.”

  “I thought you needed this.” I waved a hand at the computer screen, the cost projections, and the demographics. Everything was always an emergency with him—until it wasn’t. I had yet to acclimate to his rapid change in priorities. “Like, yesterday.”

  “Bring it. We’ll go over it on the drive.” He turned and strode toward the door, buttoning his suit jacket on the way. I paused for a second to admire the way his trousers stretched over his lean hips, the indentation of muscle on either side of his ass. A quick glance over his shoulder allowed him to catch me in the act. One of his golden eyebrows lifted. I bit my lip and yanked my gaze back to the computer, embarrassment heating my face.

  “I’m not done yet,” I protested, even though the prospect of going anywhere with him caused my pulse to flutter.

  “Dakota.” It was one word. My name. Every time he said it, my knees disintegrated, along with my resolve.

  “Okay. Fine.” With a click of the mouse, I saved the information to a flash drive. “Give me a sec, Mr. Impatience.”

  He paused at the door, glancing at his watch, brows furrowed. “Meet me at the car.” I groaned. He couldn’t even wait here long enough for me to gather my belongings. “Five minutes,” he warned, but his smile had returned.

  When I exited the building, my heart leaped at the sight of Sam leaning against the passenger door of his car. He had one hand shoved into his pants pocket. The other held his cellphone to his ear. Our gazes met across the distance. How many times had he waited for me in this way when we were dating, when we were married? It had been years ago since the first time, but excitement pulsed through my veins, the very same way, as if it had been days and not a decade.

  He raised his chin in greeting and stepped aside to open the passenger door for me. That was when I realized it was a red 911 Porsche. His Porsche. The Porsche. The same car he’d received for his eighteenth birthday. The car we’d made love in for the first time. Or at least a similar one. I froze in my tracks, overcome by the memories.

  “Get in,” he said at the same time he ended his call.

  Recovering my composure, I slid into the seat, the black leather warm against my bare legs. He closed the door behind me then paced around the car to his side and folded his tall frame behind the wheel. I ran trembling fingertips over the stitching of the upholstery, unable to fathom this latest surprise.

  “My real estate agent called. She’s got an apartment for me to look at. I thought we could go over your info on the way.” He cast a sideways glance at me while turning the key in the ignition.

  The engine purred to life. The familiar vibration of the automobile had me dumbstruck. I watched Sam’s long fingers grip the shifter and was immediately transported back to the past. For the briefest of seconds, I remembered what it felt like to be that girl, for us to be teenagers in love, oblivious to the oncoming disaster of our future.

  “Where do you live now?” I asked through a haze of conflicting excitement and nostalgia, disconcerted to realize I didn’t know this basic fact.

  “I’ve been staying on the third floor of Infinity. He cast a second glance at me, eyes narrowed. “I own the building. I haven’t converted it to offices yet.”

  “But your home office is still in Chicago, right?” My voice sounded tinny, far away. His big hand left the shifter long enough to fiddle with the radio before returning to the shifter. I swallowed against the thickness in my throat and remembered the way he’d pulled me over to the driver’s seat with those hands, arranging my legs on either side of his thighs, pulling me onto him…

  “For the time being.” His thigh muscle contracted beneath his trousers as he pushed the clutch and downshifted. “I’m in the process of relocating everyone here. The cost of living in Laurel Falls is much more reasonable than Chicago.”

  “I had no idea.” I struggled to carry on the conversation while more questions careened through my head. Why did he still have this car? Did he ever think about that day?

  “Dakota?” His eyes rested on me as we waited at an intersection for the stoplight to change from red to green. “Are you listening?”

  “Yes. No.” I blinked away the fog. “I’m sorry, but is this the car?” He cocked his head slightly in question. “I mean, the car. You know?”

  The left corner of his lips curled like a comma. His voice lowered, even deeper than normal. “Yes.” My gaze flicked to his, finding it dark and enigmatic. “The same.”

  The apartment turned out to be a townhouse on the corner of Harvard and Bloomfield Avenues, a swank neighborhood of gated communities and exclusive shops. An expansive wall of windows offered a sweeping vista of the city. Three bedrooms, four bathrooms, a library, and an open floor plan provided ample space for entertaining. While Sam inspected the place, I tried to sit on one of the sleek black leather chairs in the living room but kept sliding off the slippery surface. I stood instead and waited in the foyer for him to finish. According to his agent, the home offered everything a bachelor like Mr. Seaforth might desire. I wasn’t so sure.

  “What do you think?” Sam asked after pacing the length of the living room for the third time. He stopped in front of the bar long enough to remove a peppermint from his pocket and popped it into his mouth.

  “It’s nice,” I said, giving a polite smile to the realtor.

  “But?” Sam leaned his back on the granite bar top and crossed his long legs at the ankles. Despite our differences and the years we’d spent apart, he could still read me and heard the reservation in my voice. “You don’t like it.”
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  “Well.” I cast an apologetic glance at the realtor. She had brown, leathery skin, reminiscent of too many visits to the tanning bed. The corners of her mouth drooped at my next words. “It’s not really your style, is it?”

  “Why not? A fireplace in every room. A bar. What’s not to like?” Sam frowned, too. He crossed his arms over his chest. I shook my head, not wanting to continue, but he pressed on. “Not big enough?” He turned to the woman. “Do you have anything else?”

  “No. No.” I rested a hand on his bicep and tried not to let the swell of hard muscle distract me. “This place is huge.” I bit my lower lip, taking a beat to choose my words. “It’s very nice.”

  I meant it. To my eyes, this penthouse seemed like a mansion. I’d grown up in a house trailer on the wrong side of town. My bedroom had been too small to accommodate more than a twin bed. The walls had been so paper thin, I could hear my brother fart in his sleep.

  “You already said that. I asked for your opinion. You’ve never held back before. Don’t start now,” Sam said.

  “Okay.” My hesitation grew. He obviously liked the place, while my aversion continued to grow with each new room. Colorful modernist paintings hung on flat gray walls. Our footsteps echoed on the hard marble floors.

  “Dakota.” There it was. The way he said my name focused my thoughts. I turned in a slow circle and lifted my gaze to meet his. “Would you live here?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? It’s modern. Classy.” He ran a hand over the gleaming black tile surrounding the fireplace.

  “It’s sparse and uncomfortable.” We stared at each other. The Sam of my past liked the history and richness of antiques. “Too much granite and chrome.”

  “It will grow on you,” he said. “You’re just not used to this style.”