Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel Read online

  “Huh? Yeah, I guess. Mom, will have a cow if I don’t. Can I borrow something of yours?”

  “Sure.” I throw open the double doors of the closet. Yes, I over-packed for this trip, but a girl has to be prepared for every occasion. The Avondales cling to a more formal way of life, showing off their assets with extravagant dinner parties and balls.

  Trish pops off the bed. “You’ve got good taste. Maybe we can go shopping, and you can help me pick out some new outfits.” The hangers rattle as she roots through my wardrobe. She chooses a white dress with green dots and crisscross straps in the back. “How about this? Do you think Cam will like it?”

  “That’ll look good on you. You’ve got the legs for it.” Trish is runway model tall and slender with strawberry blond hair. Everything she wears looks good. Me? Not so much. I’ve got thick thighs and too much junk in the truck. And my breasts? They’re enormous, so big that I have to have my clothes altered.

  “He kissed me once, you know,” she says and peels out of her jeans. “I think he likes me.” I zip up the back of the dress for her. She pirouettes in front of the full-length mirror. The full skirt fans out around her. The neckline sags. She cups her breasts and smooshes them together. “It’s a little too big in the boobs, don’t you think?”

  “Here. Raise your arms.” With two safety pins from the vanity drawer, I pin up the slack.

  “I wish I had a pair of melons like yours.” She drops her arms and frowns.

  “No, you don’t. My back hurts constantly, and I can never find clothes in the right size. Anything that fits my boobs is too big in the waist, or if it fits my waist, it’s too small in the bust.”

  “Maybe, but guys love a girl with a nice rack.” She dismisses my complaint without contemplation and adjusts the shoulder straps. “Tristan’s got his eye on you. Daddy thinks you guys should get married. He said it would be the union of the century if an Avondale married a Seaforth.”

  At the mention of marriage, I wince. No boy has ever won my heart. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of love. Not that it matters. In my family, marriage is considered a business transaction. Since I was a toddler, my parents have stressed the importance of marrying a man who can uphold the Seaforth name and carry on the legacy. My brother Sam married for love, the cook’s daughter, and my dad disowned him. Part of me admires Sam’s rebellion, and the other part wonders why in God’s name he’d give up his inheritance for a girl. I’ve known Dakota since elementary school. She’s nice, but not worth all the family drama. I have no intentions of following in Sam’s footsteps, but I can’t imagine marrying someone I hate either. No, if I marry, it’ll be someone I respect.

  “Tristan’s nice,” I say and avoid her gaze.

  “Pfft. He’s a dick, and you know it.” Her laughter cracks my reserve, and I smile. “I just thought it would be fun for the four of us to double date this summer.”

  “What about William?”

  At the mention of her boyfriend, she rolls her eyes. “What William doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, he’s in Nantucket for the summer. He can’t expect me to be faithful when he’s not around, can he?”

  Her disdain for monogamy unsettles me. I don’t believe in true love, but I don’t believe in cheating either. A person’s word is a priceless treasure, more valuable than money. My father has a mistress, and I know how much it hurts my mother. When—if—I ever have a boyfriend, I’ll never cheat. I’m not looking for a relationship, but if the right guy comes along, I’ll be all in.

  Chapter 3

  Cam - Today

  THE ROOM FALLS silent as Sam and Vanessa take their seats. Although I knew she would be present, no amount of mental preparation readied me for the sight of her face. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t help it. She’s curvier than I remember, blonder. A subtle air of confidence cocoons her. The sadness in her dark-lashed, jade green eyes is unexpected and almost—almost—earns my sympathy. She’s not the girl I remember, and I’d be a fool to think she is. This is a powerful woman, the one who crushed my heart a dozen years ago and my most dangerous adversary. She stole the coveted CEO title at Seaforth Industries from under my nose, a position I had plotted and connived to possess. I don’t like to lose, especially to her. Watching her at the head of the table renews my determination. I’ll never lose anything to her again.

  “Please, be seated, gentleman.” The sound of her voice, low and sophisticated, shimmers across the table. “I’ve got a packed schedule today, so let’s get to it. What can I do for you?”

  Tristan kicks my chair and lifts an eyebrow. Since NASA acquired my little college project for an astronomical sum ten years ago, he’s been at my side, as a valued advisor. While I build my fortune, he watches my back, and I pay him handsomely for it. I clear my throat to speak, but nothing comes out.

  Tristan glances curiously at me a second time then picks up the thread of conversation, launching into a full-scale synopsis of the business. “Seaforth Media took a hit with all of your father’s problems. We’d like some reassurance that this disappointing trend won’t continue under your control.” His words blur and fade while I stare at the only woman to hold—and destroy—my heart.

  Vanessa studies the PowerPoint slide, her face a smooth blank. How can she sit there, unaffected, like we were never anything to each other? I’ve seriously underestimated my self-control and my ambivalence. The more I think about what she did to me, the angrier I get. She used me, ghosted me, pushed me aside like I never existed, then married a man twice her age a few weeks later. Beneath the table, my knee bounces.

  The legs of my chair screech across the floor as I shove away from the table. Tristan halts mid-sentence. My voice comes out raspy. “Could you excuse us for a minute? I’d like to talk to Ms. Seaforth alone.” We need to clear the air before I can conduct business. Otherwise, I’m going to be stuck in an endless loop of questions and speculation over something that happened too long ago to be important.

  Sam glances at Vanessa. “You okay with that?”

  The color drains from her face. She draws in a deep breath. “It’s fine.”

  We wait in uncomfortable silence while the men filter from the room. Her fingertips drum on the table. The air thickens until I can barely breathe. The door clicks shut, and we’re left alone.

  “Cam. It’s been a long time.” The way she says my name conjures up memories of lazy mornings in bed, her nails clawing my back, the clutch of her thighs around my waist. Shit. I’m getting hard, and that’s the last thing I need.

  “A very long time.” Whatever existed between us is long gone, killed by my poor choices and her narrowmindedness. Annoyance replaces nostalgia. Screw the past. I want resolution. Now. “Congratulations on your new job.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Which you stole from under my nose, by the way. Nicely done.” It would help if her outfit was a little less sexy. A bit of cleavage peaks from the V of her blouse. Experience tells me her tits are soft and voluptuous and worthy of a centerfold. Every time she crosses and uncrosses her legs, showing a glimpse of toned thighs beneath her skirt, a tug pulls in my groin. My dick has a mind of his own and a history of poor judgment. Vanessa tops the list.

  “Were you surprised?” The tip of her tongue slides over her lower lip, a gesture I remember with fondness. Stop it, Cam. What the fuck is wrong with me? I hate this woman, but I can’t stop picturing her lips around my dick.

  “Very, but I don’t know why. Seaforths have a reputation for being ruthless.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser. All’s fair in love and war, right?” Her pink fuck-me lips part in a cocky smirk. Confidence looks good on her. Damn, if I don’t want to fuck her right now, on this table, with her skirt up around her waist, and that sassy mouth begging me to make her come. For an instant, the notion seems plausible until I remember the way she used me.

  “Is this war? Are we enemies, Vanessa?” Why am I flirting with her when I despise everything she stands for? She’s old mone
y, one of them, society’s elite—something I’ll never be, no matter how rich I get or how many companies I own.

  “Would you like a drink?” She rises, giving me a prime view of her sweet, round bottom, and walks to the liquor cabinet. I like a woman with meat on her bones, enough flesh for a good handhold. Vanessa’s got the perfect amount. It’s great to see a woman with real curves.

  “It’s a little early, don’t you think?” I shift in the chair to ease the pressure behind my fly. Traitorous dick. Good thing I’m in control of this situation, or he’d have me panting at her heels.

  “Probably, but I’ve already had a hell of a day.” The cabinet doors slide open noiselessly. An ice cube tinkles into a glass. Her hand trembles as she pours a shot of bourbon. So she’s not as confident as she pretends to be.

  “How very French.” The knowledge that she’s nervous eases a bit of my anxiety. “You didn’t answer my question. Are we enemies?” I rise to my feet, follow her to the liquor cabinet, and stand beside her.

  “I suppose that’s up to you.” Green eyes blaze up at me. They’re deep and clear and filled with determination. “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on something that happened years ago?”

  Her words cut into me. When she turns away, I grab her elbow, forcing her to look at me. “No phone call, no voice mail, no text. Nothing but empty space and silence for twelve years. I deserved more than that. You never gave me a chance to explain.”

  “Explain what? That you sleep with women for money?” She struggles against my grip.

  The accusation hangs on the air between us. We stare at each other with open animosity. A world of pain floats between her thick, dark eyelashes. The revelation shakes my control. Not once had I considered her feelings, that she might have been hurt too. I drop her arm.

  “Slept with women for money. Past tense. Now they sleep with me for my money. Which is more than a little ironic, don’t you think?” Although my tone is glib, the words are true. Wealth brings with it a host of problems I never considered. Gold-diggers flock to me. They knock on my door daily to ask for favors and money. The people around me are the ones I trust, old friends like Tristan and Galen. No one else gets through my guard unless I let them.

  “You lied to me. Liars don’t deserve an explanation.” Her gaze flits to the exit as if judging the distance, preparing to make a break for it.

  “From where I stand, you’re the liar.” I thought I was over what she’d done, but seeing her has dredged up old feelings, ripped away the bandage of time, and reopened the wound.

  “Not everything is about sex and money, Cam.” The tone of her voice drips with disdain. I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and choke some sense into her. My gaze falls to her lips. And then I want to kiss her until she begs me to stop.

  “Was I your toy? Something to ease the monotony between shopping trips and spending Daddy’s money?”

  “You’re one to talk. How many women did you screw to get to the top? A lot, right? Including my mother?”

  I wince at the jab, but damn if I’ll let her see the crack in my confidence. “For the record, I never slept with your mother. I wouldn’t do that, Vanessa. No matter how shitty you treated me. As for the rest of the women, I did what I had to do. And before you point fingers, princess, you need to take a hard look at yourself. You’re far from perfect. Unlike you, I earned every penny of my fortune. Everyone knows you got this job because of who you are and not what you can do.” One step forward reduces the distance between us to an inch. From this position, I can see down the front of her jacket, the swell of her breasts rising and falling, the lacy pink camisole beneath the lapels. Her tits are still perfect, which pisses me off more. This would be so much easier if she’d gotten fat and ugly. But she’s not. She’s sexy, confident, and I’m drawn to her like a cat to catnip.

  “I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you.” Her words hit me with the impact of a slap. “And what you said reminds me of why.”

  I draw in a deep, cleansing breath and put a little space between us. While I shove a hand through my hair, she glares at me. The impossibility of our situation grows with each passing second. We can’t stand in a room together, let alone run a company as partners. There’s too much bad blood between us, too many lies, and too much history. “This isn’t a game. It’s serious business. These men are going to eat you alive. It’s only a matter of time until you screw up and embarrass all of us.”

  Her nostrils quiver. A sliver of guilt slices through my false bravado. When did I become such a dick? When I learned she was going to take the CEO position, I investigated her background. She’d done a fine job of running a Paris-based cosmetics company, but I can’t tell her that.

  She slams the tumbler onto the credenza, sloshing liquor on the polished surface. “This meeting is over.” With her nose in the air, she makes a beeline for the door.

  “It’s not over until I say it is.” I follow her into the hall. Who the hell does she think she’s talking to? No one walks out on me.

  She raises a hand overhead and lifts her middle finger. The hum of conversation in the hallway screeches to a halt. All heads pivot to watch Vanessa storm toward her office, high heels clicking like gunshots on the marble tiles.

  “You’re going to be sorry,” I shout after her. Tristan gapes then doubles over in laughter. Embarrassment sets fire to my face. I scowl at him. “Stop laughing. Call our driver. We’re out of here.”

  Chapter 4

  Cam - Twelve Years Ago

  AFTER LUNCH, TRISTAN and I take a dip in the pool. Overwhelmed by the heat, everyone else heads upstairs for a nap. I dive into the cool water and surface on the other side. White Grecian columns line the sides of the pool, interspersed with statues of naked women. Tristan swims two laps then sprawls on a deck chair. From behind his shades, his gaze drills into me. By the tension in his jaw, something’s eating at him.

  “Dibs on Vanessa,” he says after a long silence.

  “Huh?” I shake the water from my ears.

  “You heard me.” He removes his sunglasses and stares at me. “Vanessa. She’s mine. Or she’s going to be by the time we leave here.”

  “No promises.” I climb onto an inflatable raft and paddle toward him. One girl is pretty much the same as another in my world, but I like to tease him. “What if she wants me? It would be rude to turn her down.”

  “I’m tired of being cock blocked by you all the time.” His tone is petulant, irritated.

  “When have I ever blocked your cock?” I don’t know why he’s bitching. Up until today, he’s been a willing wingman, using his clean-cut, boy-next-door appearance as a foil to my dark good looks and bad boy persona. Unlike Tristan, I don’t have a lot going for me. I’m poor and from the wrong side of the tracks. I have to scrap and fight for every opportunity. I hang onto the ladder in front of him and wait for an explanation.

  “Susan Duncan. Patty Pendergast.” His fair brow furrows. No matter how much sun he gets, he never tans, while I’m already bronzed.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in either of those girls.” Tristan has a fan club of his own. He’s never without a girl in his bed. I find it hard to believe he’s heartbroken.

  “What’s the point? You shagged them both before I had a chance to dazzle them with my moves.” To emphasize his point, he rolls his shoulder in a silly dance.

  “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

  “Just saying, my friend. I don’t want any bad blood later. We both know she’s going to fall hard for me.” He repeats his shoulder dance.

  “Not if you keep doing that weird move.” We laugh together. He might be one of them, but underneath the layers of designer clothes and high dollar haircut, he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever known.

  “Don’t you think Vanessa’s hot?” He’s a bulldog with a bone; he never gives up.

  “She’s okay.” A fly buzzes over my forearm. I shoo it away. Damn pest. “I’m not into blondes.” Or brunettes
or redheads, but I don’t elaborate. In my experience, they all feel the same when you’re cock is buried inside them. My only goal in life is to dig myself out of the hole I was born in, using any means available. If that includes sleeping with older women for money, I’m down with it.

  “Okay, my ass. She’s a Seaforth.”

  This tidbit piques my interest. I cock my head. “You mean the Seaforths?”

  “Oh, yeah. The very same.” He nods and waits for my reaction.

  I roll this information around in my head for a second. You’d have to live under a rock to not know who the Seaforths are. The Avondales are rich, but the Seaforths exist in a different stratosphere. The head of the family, Maxwell, is one of the wealthiest men in the country. His business dealings are the stuff of legend. His three children—Sam, Vanessa, and a little girl whose name I can’t remember—are going to be very powerful and very wealthy someday.

  “She’s American royalty,” Tristan adds, as if I don’t already know this. With a cocky grin, he sinks back in his chair. “Hell, I don’t know why I’m worried. A girl like her wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

  Even though he’s teasing, his automatic dismissal sparks my temper. I grit my teeth and count to ten. When that doesn’t help, I submerge below the surface of the water until the blood stops pounding through my veins. Tristan is a good guy, but he still manages to get under my skin now and then.

  Cool down, Cam. I swim underwater until my lungs burn, trying to outrace the sense of inferiority. I don’t blame Tristan. Sometimes his mouth overtakes his brain. He was nice enough to invite me to his home for the summer when he found out I had nowhere to go for break. By the time I reach the opposite end of the pool, I’m dying for oxygen. I pop above the water to find Vanessa and Trish standing on the deck in front of me. Trish is wearing a ruffled one-piece with cutouts, but Vanessa’s hot-pink string bikini has me rethinking my denial to Tristan. Her skin is tanned a honey-gold and her sun-streaked hair is piled high on her head. I try not to stare, but fuck me, if her tits aren’t the biggest, roundest, perkiest pair I’ve ever seen.