Pretty Broken Hearts: A Pretty Broken Standalone Page 6

  “When you came into the coffee shop to see her, it was sweet. She needs confidence, and your little flirtations were good for her.” She shook her head. “But if this is some kind of joke, I need you to know that I will hunt you down and set your balls on fire.”

  “I’m sorry?” Her protectiveness caught me off guard, but I respected her more for it.

  “Bronte’s not like us common folk. I hate to use the word special, but she is—special. She’s scary smart, a genius, really. Her brain doesn’t work the way most people’s do.” She paused, searching my eyes for understanding. When I nodded, she continued. “She has the rare gift of beauty and brains, but she doesn’t have any idea. Most of the time she’s fine, although she’s got some quirks.”

  “I’ll say.” Yesterday at lunch, I caught her counting the number of women wearing dresses as we walked back to work. Catching Jo’s lowering brows, I added, “But it makes her interesting.”

  “People—men in particular—have been very cruel to her. When I think of how she’s been treated—” Jo’s voice broke. I glanced up to catch the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest. I’d been wearing a half smile, but it slipped away at her genuine emotion. “She might be a genius, but she’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. I’m just asking that you don’t hurt her.”

  “You have my word.” True caring was rare in this lifetime. She was handing me a precious gift—her sister—and I vowed to rise to her trust.

  “Jo, can you come here a second?” Bronte’s voice floated down the hall.

  “On my way.” Jo stood and sniffled, swiping her nose with the back of a hand. “Are we straight here?”

  “Damn straight,” I replied, doing my best to hide a grin. Jo would make an admirable parent someday. I respected her protectiveness, but I had to wonder who’d been so cruel to Bronte. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to crush her spirit. The idea made the hairs lift on the back of my neck. As long as she was with me, I’d shield her from the pain of the world.

  While I waited for her, I took a minute to study her apartment. I’d been too drunk to notice much the last time I’d been here. The hardwood floors gleamed. No traces of dust lingered anywhere. The bookshelves were lined with hardbacks, arranged in alphabetical order and by category. Everything was perfectly parallel and perpendicular, from the pillows on the furniture to the placement of the television. I walked to the small window on the far wall and peered at the neighboring building. The neighborhood was nice, solidly middle class, and relatively secure. A little of the tension in my shoulders eased, knowing she was safe at night.

  “I’m ready.” Bronte had entered the room silently. I turned and placed a hand on the wall to steady myself. “What do you think?”

  “Jesus,” I muttered. “I hardly recognized you.”

  A royal blue wrap dress clung to her curves, nipping in at the waist and flaring around the knees. Her long hair had been swept to one side and trailed over her shoulder in a mass of ringlets. It was her eyes that stole my breath. They sparkled, their hue made richer by the deep jewel tone of the dress.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She bit the fullness of her lower lip and glanced at Jo.

  “Believe me, it’s a good thing.” I held out my hand, motioning for her to come closer. “Let me get a look at you.” I whistled. “Bronte, you’re fucking hot.”

  “I am?” Her cheeks glowed pink under my appraisal.

  “Hell yeah.”

  “You look pretty good yourself.”

  Jo clasped her hands in front of her. “You make a great pair.” Her voice wavered and she ducked her head as she gathered her purse. “I’m going to head out of here. You two have fun on your date.”

  “It’s not a date,” Bronte said.

  I had to admit, her denial stung a little, but I had no idea why. Maybe it was because she looked so damn perfect that I couldn’t fathom the idea of seeing her with anyone else. I wasn’t ready for a relationship, but I sure as hell wasn’t ready for Bronte to have one either.

  “We’d better go too.” I placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. When she moved, her scent teased my nose. She smelled phenomenal, clean and citrusy with a hint of spice. I leaned into her to get a second whiff.

  In the hallway, I waited patiently for her to lock the door. She locked and unlocked it eight times before we headed toward the elevator. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a chuckle. If that was what it took for her to feel safe, I was fine with it. I had enough quirks of my own to fill a book.

  “Why do you do that?” I asked when we were inside the elevator.

  “Do what?” she asked.

  “The door thing—with the locks?”

  “Oh.” Her gaze turned to the floor. “I don’t know. Once doesn’t seem like enough, nine times seems like too many, and I like even numbers.”

  “You know that’s a little weird, right?” As her frown deepened, I lifted a hand in the air. “No judgment. I’m just saying that most people are satisfied with once.”

  “Well, I’m not.” She lifted her chin, almost defiantly, and met my gaze.

  “It seems like a waste of time,” I said, enjoying the flare in her eyes, baiting her. “When once would do the trick. You could probably save an extra three minutes per day. If you left your apartment twice a day, that’s six minutes per day. Over a year, that would be about thirty-seven hours. More than an entire day of free time thrown out the window.”

  “Thirty-six point five hours,” she corrected. Her nostrils flared. The primitive gesture awakened something in the general vicinity of my dick. “I never thought of it like that.”

  The elevator dinged, announcing the ground floor. She took a step toward the door and bobbled on the spike heels of her sandals. I took her hand and wrapped her fingers around my elbow. I liked her hand on my arm. “You can hang onto me.”

  “I practiced walking in these shoes all week,” she said. “But I’m still a little unsteady.”

  Her honesty drove cracks in the barrier around my heart. Most women would never give up the pretense of perfection. Bronte embraced her flaws. The trait made me admire her even more. At the curb, I opened the door of the car and helped her inside. She blinked up at me through long, lacy lashes. Before I got behind the wheel, I took a second to adjust my cock, which seemed to be stirring to life. We were almost to the Seaforth’s before I realized I hadn’t thought of Amy all day.

  The closer we got to the Seaforth’s, the quieter Bronte became. I glanced at her in the passenger seat. Her lips were pressed into a thin, white line. She stared out the window at the blur of lights as we sped down the interstate.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Sure.” She flashed a quick smile then returned her focus to the outside. “Tell me again why we’re going here?”

  “My bosses are throwing a mixer. You know, to schmooze and impress a couple of potential business partners. Nothing too over the top.” She continued to watch the passing scenery but nodded. “We just have to make an appearance and then we can go, if you want.”

  Sam and Dakota lived in an enormous Tuscan villa inside a gated lakeside community. I pulled my car around the circular cobblestone driveway and shut off the engine. A dozen automobiles lined the drive, ranging from Aston Martin to Ferrari. My Porsche fit right in. The yellow 718 Boxster was my baby, purchased with the signing bonus from my new job. It was a far cry from the rusted Honda Civic I’d driven for the past eight years.

  “Bronte, look at me.” I shifted in the seat to face her. She turned but didn’t meet my gaze. I put a finger beneath her chin and tipped her head, forcing her to make eye contact. “You don’t have to be nervous. These are nice people. Well, most of them anyway. You can always be yourself when you’re with me. No matter where we are. Got it?”

  She bobbed her head. A bit of the tension eased in her shoulders. Her gaze roamed over the stucco walls and terra cotta roof of the three-st
ory home. “Their house is amazing.”

  “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” We paused to admire the view. Beyond the back yard, the lake glistened beneath a full moon. Party lights stretched across the grass, bathing everything in a warm yellow glow. Music and laughter floated on the air. “It must have cost them a fortune.”

  With my hand on her back, I guided her up the front steps to the door. Piers Beckett greeted us with a martini glass in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other. As a partner and head of the legal team at Ascension Corporation, Beckett spent a lot of time in my office. We’d become friends.

  “About time you got here,” he said.

  Bronte frowned and glanced at her wrist.

  I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t worry. We’re right on time.” I flashed the face of my watch at her, then I straightened to shake Beckett’s hand. “Piers, good to see you. This is my friend, Bronte. Bronte, this is Sam’s right-hand man, Piers Beckett.”

  “I don’t know what Sam does with his right hand, but it doesn’t involve me.” Beckett smirked. “You can’t go saying those kinds of things, Easton. People will get the wrong idea.” He turned to Bronte, sandwiching her small hand between his large ones. “I’m thrilled to meet you, Bronte. We were starting to think Rhett didn’t like girls. So we’re pretty relieved to see you.”

  “You’re the tallest person I’ve ever met,” Bronte replied, awestruck.

  “You must not get out much,” he said, giving her an infectious smile, unfazed by the comment. The top of his head nearly grazed the door frame. I was six-four, so he had to be close to seven feet tall. Dressed in a black suit, he made an intimidating figure.

  “No, I don’t, but I’m working on it.” Her confession made my chest tighten. This night was a big deal for her.

  He gave her hand one last squeeze before moving aside. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the living room.”

  We followed him through the arched foyer, beneath an enormous chandelier, and into a spacious living room. A wall of windows provided a panoramic view of the lake. People milled around, chatting and laughing. Bronte froze at the entryway. I bumped into her back.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “No, no. I’m good.” By the quaver in her voice, she was anything but fine.

  “Relax. This is supposed to be fun. Besides, you’re the prettiest girl here.” I slid an arm around her waist and tucked her into my side, certain she’d be fine but unaware of the magnitude of what I’d asked her to do.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bronte

  Rhett’s compliment echoed in my ears. I wanted to believe him, but I’d heard those kinds of words before, and they’d meant nothing. He seemed sincere. Could I trust him? The last time I’d trusted a guy, he’d used me, humiliated me in front of his friends, then tossed me aside.

  I needed to chill. Those kinds of negative thoughts led down a path I no longer wanted to travel. They reinforced my anxieties when I needed to remain positive. A lot had changed since high school. I wasn’t the fat, awkward girl anymore. These people didn’t know or care who I’d been back then. College and my new job had provided me with a clean slate.

  “Rhett, Bronte, you’re here. I’m so glad to see you.” Dakota patted Rhett’s arm then pulled me into a hug. I didn’t usually like being touched by a stranger, but the gesture was so unassuming and genuine that I couldn’t complain.

  “Hi.” I managed to squeak out a greeting despite the dryness of my throat. “You’ve got a lovely home.”

  “Thanks. I grew up in a trailer park, so this is quite the change for me.” Her honesty took me by surprise. I’d assumed she was born into wealth, like the Seaforths. She motioned to the cluster of men around the bar. “Rhett, make yourself at home. I’m going to steal your girl for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

  He studied my face. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll be fine,” I said, although I wasn’t so sure.

  “I’ll take excellent care of her,” Dakota said.

  I watched Rhett cross the room with long, easy strides. He made an impressive figure in his charcoal suit, black tie, and black dress shirt. The other men greeted him with claps on the back and lots of hand shaking.

  “You look amazing. I love your dress.” Dakota brought my attention back to her.

  “Thank you.” I relaxed a little under her warm smile. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. I’ve never been to a cocktail party before.”

  “You’re perfect.” She hooked her arm through mine and leaned into my ear. “Between you and me, I hate these parties, but Sam says we have to do it for the business.” Sam stood a few feet away, a highball glass in one hand and the other in his pants pocket. He cocked an eyebrow at his wife. “If it were up to me, we’d have beer and burgers on the grill.”

  “Are you taking my name in vain?” he asked.

  “We were talking about how handsome you look tonight.” She nudged my ribs with an elbow, lowering her voice. “Just nod and smile. He’s so cocky, he’ll believe it.” I laughed and nodded. Sam lifted his glass to us. Dakota rolled her eyes. “See?”

  “Dakota, I can hear you,” he said, but amusement glittered in his eyes.

  “He’s got some kind of supersonic hearing. It’s weird.” As we passed by him, she paused to press a kiss on his cheek. His hand brushed her bottom. Their love for each other was obvious and reassuring. “I’m going to introduce Bronte to everyone. Keep an eye on Rhett for us, will you?”

  “Anything you say, sweet pea.” Sam’s gaze followed his wife across the room.

  “You know, it’s great to see Rhett out with someone. He always seemed so sad, but since he met you, he actually smiles.”

  At the mention of his name, my gaze drifted to where he was standing. His eyes met mine. A small thrill traveled into my center. He jerked his chin and smiled. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled back.

  “For billionaires, the two of you sure seem normal,” I said then popped a hand to my mouth. Why did I keep saying things like that? Twenty years of counseling never corrected the issue. The doctors and psychologists explained it as defect in my wiring, or one more way I failed to measure up to the scale of normalcy.

  Dakota laughed. “Bronte, I’m beginning to like you more and more. And for the record, I appreciate your directness. In my world, honest people are few and far between. Everyone has an agenda. I never know if they’re being nice to me because they like me or because they want something from me.”

  “Well, you won’t have to worry about me. Everything I think comes straight out of my mouth.”

  “You don’t have to watch what you say around us. My mouth is constantly getting me into trouble. And Sam never censors himself.”

  “I can still hear you,” he said, winking at me.

  She rubbed my arm, her eyes soft and compassionate. “Now, let’s have some fun. I’m going to make sure you meet everyone here, so you’ll feel comfortable. Have you met Freya, Rhett’s assistant?”

  “No.” The thought of a woman working at his side, day in and day out, caused jealousy to heat my blood. What would it be like to see him every day, to look into his expressive eyes across a desk, to have conversations about numbers?

  The petite brunette had been chatting with an elderly couple. She turned to us at the sound of her name. Her brown eyes glided over me, bright with interest. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Bronte Hollander,” I replied.

  “She’s with Rhett,” Dakota said. “Can you believe he finally brought a date?”

  “Rhett doesn’t date.” Freya’s tone turned chilly. Her gaze swept over me a second time.

  “We’re just friends,” I said, unable to shake an uncomfortable knot in the pit of my stomach.

  “Wait a minute. Are you the donut girl?” Freya asked. The tension in her shoulders eased. She laughed, waving a hand through the air, dismissing me like I was insignificant.

  “My family owns J
oe’s Java Junction,” I replied, bristling at her attitude. “We don’t serve donuts.” This was like high school all over again.

  “Oh, Sam and I love that place,” Dakota said. I gave her a grateful smile.

  “Actually, it’s Dr. Bronte Hollander. She’s a biological systems engineer at Vale Chemical.” Rhett’s deep voice rumbled from close behind me.

  “Oh?” Freya cocked her head, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not a real doctor, right?”

  “Well, according to Princeton University I am.” I tried not to let my temper rise, but this woman seemed determined to push my buttons.

  “She’s too modest to admit it.” Rhett’s winked at me, sending heat into my cheeks. “Actually, she’s kind of a genius.”

  “Hardly,” I said. The pride in his voice caused a silly smile to curl my lips.

  “Sounds boring,” Freya said. “I hope they pay you well. I wouldn’t want to spend all my days locked up in a laboratory dissecting animals.”

  “That would be an animal biologist. My job is more about figuring out how things work than how to take them apart.” I bit my bottom lip to keep from saying more. I’d seen the way people’s eyes glazed over whenever I talked about my work.

  “Ah, well,” Freya replied, clearly finished with the topic. She turned her deep brown eyes to Rhett and smoothed her palms over the lapels of his suit. Her proprietary touch seemed too personal. “I’m so glad to see you here tonight, Rhett. I wish you’d told me you were coming. I would have come with you.”

  “I already have a date,” he said. So, now it was a date? My heart skipped a beat. To my amusement, he backed up a step.

  Freya’s hands fell to her sides. “That suit looks amazing on you, by the way. If you want to go shopping together again, let me know.” The corners of her lips tightened in a fake smile. “Rhett’s color blind. If I didn’t put together his outfits, he’d walk around looking like a clown.”

  “I doubt that,” he said, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Wait a minute. He let her choose his clothing? “Isn’t that a little odd?” I asked. Rhett avoided my gaze. “What kind of assistant is she?”