Broken In Pieces: Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (Wounded Hearts Book 1) (5 page)

Just as I’m finishing my drink, the DJ starts ‘Funk You Up’ by Bruno Mars. Caroline grabs me by the hand and practically pulls me out of my seat, “I love this song! Come on, let’s hit the dance floor!” I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or what but I’m really okay with it. We’re on the dance floor and I feel so uninhibited. I’m dancing my ass off as I glance at the table and find Mr. Hawthorne’s eyes trained on me. It makes me feel self-conscious but I try to put it out of my mind. When the song ends, I return to the table, leaving the others behind.

There’s already another sex on the beach waiting for me. I lean over and whisper, “Thank you”, in Mr. Hawthorne’s ear. He throws me a playful grin but my forwardness surprises me. I slide into my seat with him staring at me, intently.

He leans up, “He’s right you know.”

I’m confused. “Who?”

“The supposedly drunk man. He’s right, drunk or not. You’re fucking gorgeous,” he almost whispers. I feel my face glowing red. Damn, I wish he would stop. He’s gorgeous but I am not at a place in my life where this is something I can handle. I say thank you and return to my drink, trying not to make eye contact with him.

We sit during the next song, sipping our drinks. Next comes Nick Jonas’ ‘Chains’. Almost as soon as the song starts, there’s a man at the table asking me to dance. I explain it’s nothing personal but I don’t slow dance. When he leaves the table, Mr. Hawthorne turns to me, “Why not?”

I feel my face flush again but before I catch myself, I spit it out, “Because, I’m not good at it. I feel like I try to lead so I’m sure it just kinda looks like a small wrestling match. So my inner witch doesn’t allow it.” Not wanting to explain that I don’t like being touched or why, I hope he just lets it drop with my explanation.

He almost giggles, “Your inner witch?” I nod in confirmation. He takes me by the hand, “Well, I think you and your inner witch just haven’t had the right teacher.” And before I can wrap my mind around what’s happening, he is leading me off to the dance floor.
Oh shit! Oh no!
My nerves begin to choke me. I can’t do this and I don’t know what to say. Once on the dance floor, he wraps his arms around my waist, locks eyes with me and begins to move. I try to follow but I’m so tense, I know it’s not working.

He grabs my wrists, one in each hand, and wraps my arms behind my back.
Oh hell no!!
I can’t do this. I want to run. He leans into my ear, “Relax. Don’t think about it so hard. Just melt into me and go with me.” I feel my knees get weak. His words, his hot breath on my ear and his wonderful scent are soothing but it’s still not enough. I feel sick.

He locks eyes with me again and it’s so intense it’s as though he is looking into my soul.
You’ve got this bitch! Don’t let him see how broken you are,
my inner witch insists. I begin to loosen up and just move with his flow. We’re almost nose to nose when he smiles, “Breathe Sheridan. You have to breathe.” I feel my face flush; I shift back ever so slightly and look down.

He takes both my wrists in one hand, raises the other and glides a finger up the side of my neck to my chin.
What the hell is this man doing to me?!
I want to run. I want to stay. He lifts my chin till our eyes meet again, “Oh no baby girl, you keep those big, beautiful brown eyes right here.” I’m captured by his eyes and we begin to move as if we are one.

Finally, the song is over and my nerves are easing. He takes me by the hand, leading me back to the table. I’m glad to see that most of the others have returned and I’m not alone with him. We all talk and laugh for the next hour and his eyes rarely leave me. It’s uncomfortable so I try to ignore it as much as possible.
No eye contact, no eye contact
, I keep repeating in my head.

That night, back in my apartment, I can’t sleep for thoughts running through my head of the dance. His eyes, his scent, his touch were all amazing but the fact is, I cringe at the thought of them all. I hate being broken. I hate Jarrod Davis. I fucking hate being me. I have to stay away from Mr. Hawthorne. I can’t accept any of this right now and I have nothing to offer anyone.

Homecoming

I
t’s Monday morning
and I’m dreading going into the office. Things are going to be very awkward. What did the dance with Blade mean? Did it mean anything?
It meant nothing! He was just being nice by trying to teach your clumsy ass how to dance! Now get your shit together,
my inner witch screams at me. She’s right and this eases my anxiety. It meant nothing and I’m being silly. Damien Blade Hawthorne, billionaire and god, could have any woman he wants. Why the hell would he choose me? He wouldn’t.

I arrive at the office and begin preparing for the day. Mr. Hawthorne comes in a few minutes later so I go to make his coffee. The usual, as Caroline instructed me in the beginning, Kopi Luwak coffee with two creamers and two sugars. I take a deep breath before opening his door. He is on the phone,
thank God
. I place his cup in the usual spot and turn to leave. I hear him ask whoever is on the other end to hold a moment.
Damn it!! I had almost cleared the door without having to interact with him!!
“Sheridan, I’ll be having lunch in the office today. Have my usual here by noon,” he demands rather coldly.

“Yes, sir,” I respond and quickly turn to leave the office.
Shew, what the hell is his problem?
I return to my desk, still a bit unnerved by his coldness but almost glad for it at the same time. I call the restaurant, order his usual and instruct them that it must be here at precisely noon.

The next few hours pass quickly. I’ve been covered up filling in his agenda for the next month and proof-reading contracts before they go on to legal affairs. The lunch order arrives at twelve on the dot. I tip the delivery boy out of petty cash and head to Mr. Hawthorne’s office. When I enter, he is on the phone again. I place his lunch on the meeting table and retreat back to my desk.

About ten minutes later, he buzzes me and asks me to come into his office. My nerves shoot off the Richter scale. I enter and he’s sitting at the table, with his lunch in front of him.
How can he intimidate me so easily?
“Sheridan, this sandwich has mayonnaise on it. I don’t eat mayonnaise on this particular sandwich,” he informs me, with an almost disgusted frown.

“Hmm, I’m sorry. That’s my fault. It was my misunderstanding,” I apologize. I offer a solution, “I can call the restaurant or go there myself and get you another one that is to your liking.”

He frowns deeper, “No. I don’t have time for that shit. Get it right next time.”

“Yes sir. Again, I apologize.”

He raises his hand and waves it in the air as if to banish me from his office. Once out the door, I feel my temperature rising.
Who pissed in his Cheerios,
quips my inner witch. I ignore her and go back to work, trying to dismiss the whole scene.

The next morning when Mr. Hawthorne arrives, I follow the usual routine with his coffee. I enter his office and he is immersed in his paperwork. I place his cup on the usual spot. Just as I get to the door, I hear his stern voice, “Sheridan, this coffee is too damn sweet. Did you use the whole friggin’ box of sugar?”

I turn to him, with anger raging in me, but I hold my tongue. “No sir. I made it just like I always do,” I try to explain.

“It’s not like it always is. Fix it,” he commands.

I exit with my blood boiling and proceed to make another cup of coffee with only one sugar packet this time. I briskly return to his office and hand him the cup. I stand with my arms crossed, waiting for his verdict. He takes a sip, places the cup on the desk and again gives the banishing wave, “It will do.” I bound from the office so pissed I could scream. I check his agenda and thank goodness he is out of the office for lunch today. Lord knows the little prima donna couldn’t handle another food debacle today.
What the hell crawled up his ass and died? You gonna let that prick keep talking to you that way?…
my inner witch screams at me.

On Wednesday, I make his coffee with the one packet of sugar. I walk slowly from the room this time to see if he has anything to say. Nothing. Silence. The day gets better because he leaves the office at nine thirty am and won’t be returning. I spend the rest of the day wondering what the hell is going on.
Does he regret the dance last weekend? Does he regret it and intends to take it out on me? Hell, I didn’t want it anyway. Did I do or say something wrong enough to deserve this? Is he putting me through some kind of sick test to see how long it is before I break?
I decide to put it out of my mind or I’ll never get any work done.

Thursday morning, he arrives at the office and again I take him his coffee, with one packet of sugar. Once more, before I make it out the door, “Sheridan, this coffee is not sweet enough. What the hell is up with this coffee thing?” I apologize again and retrieve his cup to make another. I go to the coffee area and wait a couple of minutes. I return to his office with the same cup of coffee and hand it to him. I wait, again, for the verdict.

“Much better,” he responds. I go to the door with my inner witch screaming,
Are you a damn fool? Why the hell would you let a man treat you this way and walk all over you? No fucking job is worth this shit!
This time I let her fuel the flames already burning. When I reach the door, I slam it closed, turn and walk half way back across the room. By this time, he is rising from his desk and his eyes are wide with surprise.

“What the hell is your damned problem or were you just born a fucking asshole? I haven’t been able to please you this week and I can’t figure out why. That fucking cup of coffee that is
much better
, is the same fucking cup of coffee you had to begin with. I don’t know if you’re trying to fuck with my mind or if you just don’t like the job I’m doing. If the latter is the case, please tell me and I’ll gladly resign,” I storm at him. He looks me dead in the eyes and begins to walk straight toward me. I begin to take steps backward, away from him, until I hit the wall.

Oh shit, now you’ve done it
, rants that damned inner witch. When he reaches me, he places his hands on the wall, one on each side of my head. He leans down, his eyes still locked on mine, and we are practically nose to nose again. “No one has ever talked to me that way,” he says, with a smirk on his face and a strange twinkle in his eyes. I feel all the courage drain from my body. I slide down the wall just enough to clear his arm and escape his stance.

“Well, they damn well should have. Maybe you wouldn’t be the prick you are today,” I storm at him again as I stomp out the door and slam it. I sit at my desk and put my head in my hands.
You’ve really fucked up now. I told you not to take his shit but I didn’t say to totally annihilate him. We are done here, finished, kaput!
I want to strangle that damned inner witch.

All of the sudden, I hear his voice but softer this time, “Sheridan.”

I jerk my head up to attention. “Yes sir,” I almost whisper.

“I’ll be having lunch in the office today. Would you take care of that for me, please?” he says with an apologetic tone in his voice.

“Yes sir. I’ll see to it,” I say as I reach for the phone. He goes back into his office. His voice was kinder but I’m still pissed. When I order his sandwich, I order it with extra mayonnaise.
Oh yeah, that will show him. How juvenile!
My inner witch is at it again but I ignore her.

When I get home, I go straight in and throw myself across the bed. It’s been a shitty week and I’m exhausted. Just one more day, I keep telling myself. Then the phone rings. I answer and it’s Mother. Just the perfect thing to top off a perfect week. She asks all the usual questions. I tell her about my new job. She seems a little disapproving, of course. Then she starts chattering on and on about the Fourth of July celebration this year and I know it’s all working up to something. “I want you to come home for the celebration,” she finally comes out with it.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I answer. She persists and I’m so exhausted I just can’t fight the fight. I end up agreeing just to get her off the phone. I need a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

The next few weeks pass quickly. Mr. Hawthorne’s back to his usual bossy self. No warmth like the night of the dance but no over the top asshole either. I can handle that. It’s the week before the Fourth of July weekend and I have requested Friday off. Mr. Hawthorne’s fine with it because he won’t be back in the office after Wednesday.

After work on Thursday, I head for the LaGuardia airport and catch my flight to the LEX airport in Lexington, KY. Mother and Carter are waiting when I arrive. The two hour ride home is quiet. Mother asks what’s wrong but I pass it off as being tired from work and the flight. When we arrive home, it’s very late. Mother asks if I’d like something to eat and I decline. “I’m tired Mother. I’d really just like to unpack and go to bed.” I finally crawl into bed and it feels so good. I’m in my own bed, one of the many things I miss about home. Sleep comes quickly.

I rise early the next morning. After dressing, I head downstairs. Mother and Carter are already at the dining room table having breakfast so I join them. “There’s so much to be done before tomorrow,” Mother begins. “I need to go by the caterers and the decorators. The florist asked me to stop by to confirm the color of the table centerpieces. Then, there’s my hair and nail appointment this afternoon. Sheridan, would you like to come along with me? I’m sure I could get Johnny to fit in for a little pampering.”

Sure, a trip into hell with the devil’s sister sounds great!…
my inner witch quips. “I’d rather not. Donna’s coming over and we’re going to hang out here for the day, if that’s okay.”

Mother looks disappointed, “Of course it’s okay. This is your home.” Yeah sure, a home I was practically driven out of. Mother goes about her errands and Carter disappears to somewhere unknown.

Donna arrives around noon and I’m so glad to see her. I’ve missed her beyond belief. We grab some lunch and head out to lay by the pool. “So, tell me all about your life in New York,” she insists. I tell her about my apartment, the music I’ve been writing and my job. I tell her how demanding my boss is and how strange things have been with him. From the night at the dance club to my explosion in his office.