Broken Ground: (Broken Series Book 1)
Broken Ground
Copyright © 2015 Anna Paige
Cover Image by Kim Black
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Interior Formatting by Cassy Roop of
Pink Ink Designs
(http://www.pinkinkdesigns.com)
For my amazingly supportive husband, Shaun.
Everything I know about love, I learned from you.
Last October
THE SOUND OF
splintering wood rang in my ears as I swung the sledgehammer, feeling the familiar burn in my arms as I hefted its weight high over my head. I loved that burn, the fatigue in my muscles, sweat rolling down my back as my chest heaved. That burn was like being energized and relaxed at the same time. It was freedom. My arms continued their protest as I swung again and again, reducing the weathered lumber to a haphazard pile of jagged uneven chunks.
Using reclaimed or salvaged components for my projects meant that I usually got to indulge my destructive side before engaging my creative talents. First I destroyed, then I reinvented. Some of my finished projects could be found in million dollar homes. Several had been featured in magazines. While I took pride in that recognition, I found far more satisfaction in the creative process than in the approval of others. Knowing I could take something broken and battered, something with no apparent value, and turn it into something beautiful; that's what drove me. Thrilled me. Fighting had once given me a similar rush, my youthful temper had landed me in more fights than I cared to count, but that didn't last. Even sex couldn't compare. After years of one-night stands, I decided that sex was just something to do. It was a welcome release, nothing more.
I swung the hammer one more time and left it where it fell, then dragged it over and let it rest on the floor by my feet. The radio played softly in the background, an old Buckcherry song. I inspected the disassembled pile of scrap before me, and an image began to form in my mind. I hurried over and picked up a sketch pad, and turned back to the scattered pieces on the floor as I considered the possibilities. My attention was so focused on the mental picture that I didn't realize I wasn't alone.
The soft scraping sound off to my left barely registered at first. I was accustomed to the stray cat that sometimes came in and sat in the rafters of my garage while I worked. He never got too close, being half-feral, but he was as curious as any other cat, so we just sort of co-existed. I'd leave small treats where I knew he would find them but we never interacted. I assumed he had made another appearance and thought no more of it, but a minute later I heard the sound again and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I looked up from my sketch pad and knew my night had just gone to shit.
Marissa stood there smirking as she leaned casually on the door frame, wearing scarcely enough clothing to cover her, much less keep her warm. She was my former assistant and most recent in a long line of indiscretions. She tried to cross one long leg over the other in what I was sure was meant to be a sultry move but actually ended up making her lurch to the side, and nearly fall out the door. I'd have laughed if I wasn't fully aware of what was coming next.
Shit. She's drunk and pissed. This isn't gonna end well.
My last assistant had relocated when her husband was promoted and transferred to the West Coast. When Marissa had shown up with an impressive resumé and glowing recommendation from her former employer, she had been hired pretty much on the spot. Work was so hectic at the time, I could ill afford not to have someone to fill the position. The only problem? She had a few other positions in mind as well, much more personal ones.
I'd studiously ignored her flirtations for weeks, surprising both myself and my business partners with my restraint. Knowing that mixing business with pleasure was always a bad idea, and an even worse idea when you are in a position of authority, I managed to circumvent her advances, keeping a respectful distance.
Okay, I'm no saint. I'm all about the quick and dirty, no-strings hook up. No slow dances, no exchanged numbers, no promises made, and everyone left satisfied. It had worked for me all these years, with very few issues. Avoiding Marissa was less about the issue of propriety and more about the fact that I'd have to work with her afterward. That was breaking my cardinal rule.
Never fuck someone you have to look in the eye every day. Ever. It just invites misunderstanding. No matter how adamant you are that you don't want strings, if you fucked someone you had to see all the time, it wouldn't be long before they looked at you and saw a goddamn marionette.
Case in point? The scantily clad, half-drunk former employee that hovered at the entrance to my shop.
I knew I was in trouble when I walked into work one morning and found her sprawled across my desk totally naked. I may not have been interested, but my dick sure was. One fucking time. One stupid slip up. And it landed me on everybody's shit list. Spencer and Brant, my best friends and business partners, were so pissed they wouldn't take my calls. Marissa, who quit her job after our ill-advised hook-up in hopes that not working for me would clear the way to our happily ever after, had now taken to harassing phone calls, emails, and text messages. Apparently, my lack of response had spurred her right toward direct confrontation.
Just fucking great. Followed my dick right off a cliff again.
Not wanting things to escalate, I gave her a disarming smile.
Her responding sneer did nothing to bolster my hopes. "Well, Clay, glad to see ruining my life hasn't stifled your creativity." She gestured around the shop. "From the looks of this place, destroying things is a habit of yours." she slurred, her face twisted into a hate-filled sneer.
I tried for an authoritative and calm tone of voice. "Marissa, you've been drinking. You aren't thinking clearly right now, so maybe we should discuss this another time." I took out my phone. "Let me call you a cab and we can talk about this later."
She snorted derisively, swaying slightly on her feet as she jabbed a finger in my direction. "I tried to talk to you but you wouldn't answer. I'm sick of being ignored, and I wasn't going to wait for you to decide when I was worth talking to. So here I am. You can't avoid me if I'm right here in front of you."
I quickly typed out a text to Spencer, hoping against hope that he might look at his phone and decide to read the damn thing. I held her eye as I put my phone back in my pocket. "Fine, no cab yet. How bout I get you a cup of coffee?" Gesturing to the small kitchen area to my left, I started to move in that direction. "I can have it ready in no time."
She threw her hands up in frustration. "I don't want any fucking coffee! I want you to tell me what I did wrong!" She staggered through the shop, working her way over to me. "You said we would never happen, but we did. I knew you'd give in. I could tell you had feelings for me by the way you looked at me, the way you made love to me." There were tears in her eyes as she reached me and took my shirt in both hands. Desperately wringing her fists into the fabric, she pleaded. "I knew you'd never agree to a relationship while I was working for you, so I quit. For you. Because I love you. There's nothing standing in our way now, so why don't you want me? Why won't you admit that you love me?" She sobbed as she looked up at me. "Are you trying to make me hate you?"
Goddamn it! I really fucked up this time.
Her shattered expression was tinged with the tiniest bit of hope. That little trace of hope was more painful to see than her tears. I did that. I was fucking stupid, and because of that, everyone around me was either hurt or disappointed or both. Yes, I was up front with her. I told her it was just sex and she agreed to it, which should have absolved me of all guilt but it didn't. I knew before I even had the condom open that it was gonna end badly. I knew I was making a mistake. That didn't stop me though, and now here I stood, watching an endless stream of tears roll down the face of the woman whose heart I just broke.
A part of me was screaming reminders of the crazy things she'd done, the threatening messages that showed a completely different woman than the one weeping before me. Her hatred had come across loud and clear over the last few weeks. And as angry as I was at some of the things she'd said, I was also relieved that she no longer professed her love. Hate was easier to deal with.
