Breaking love broken lov.., p.1
Breaking Love (Broken Love #4), p.1B. B. Reid
Broken Love Series
Copyright © 2015 B.B. Reid
All rights reserved.
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Cover Design by Amanda Simpson of Pixel Mischief Design.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained from the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.
Table of Contents
COMING SPRING 2016
INTERVIEW WITH DASH & WILLOW
ALSO BY B.B. Reid
CONTACT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT B.B. Reid
To everyone who took a chance at love, failed at love, and found the courage to try again.
“Guys have a level of insecurity and vulnerability that’s exponentially bigger than you think. With the primal urge to be alpha comes extreme heartbreak. The harder we fight, the harder we fall.”
I WORE SUITS like a power play. Whether it was for pussy or for money, the suit spoke volumes so I didn’t have to. They were always tailored and designed by the most expensive hands in the fashion industry, and though it meant nothing to me, to the world it was everything.
It was money.
It was power.
It was an opportunity.
My walk through the expansive lobby of the high-rise Chambers M&A Holdings owned turned heads as it always did. My presence commanded attention. This was once my father’s and now it was mine. My father, at the age of fifty-five, decided to retire early, believing I was more than capable of taking over entirely.
I should have been.
He’d been grooming me since I was twelve.
I walked into my suite, located on the very top floor, with the same air of confidence. This floor was reserved for my office only and was accompanied by my assistant. Because of my long hours, I had a bedroom built into the suite as a second home.
“Good morning, Mr. Chambers.” She handed me a fresh cup of coffee on my way past her desk, and in return, I offered a curt greeting.
“Celesha.” I closed my door, which gave her strict instructions not to bother me for the next hour while I started my day by catching up on the abundance of emails that likely accumulated during the few hours of sleep afforded to me nightly.
Celesha was the second assistant I had hired after returning to the States two weeks ago and firing the first, who I had hired while in Germany, and had proved severely incompetent at assisting me with anything other than sex. For my personal needs, I indulged her, but when her pussy became boring, along with her constant need for more, I showed her the street.
This time, I made sure to hire someone who was married so I wouldn’t head down that road again. I was beginning to wonder what the point was in fucking if it never left me satisfied or wanting more beyond my basic urges.
I experienced what it was like to be addicted, and strange enough, I had become addicted to the addiction. There was only one person who could feed my addiction. One girl who I craved more than success or breathing.
I can still remember the sound of her clipped moans and the way her pussy yielded to my cock each and every time. Her curvaceous body hadn’t been made for just any man. She had been made for me.
I was her first and after all these years, I wondered if I was her only.
I could feel myself tumbling down a dark pit of rage. I angrily opened the first email and denied a request for a business meeting without reading the email thoroughly. It didn’t matter. I recognized the company as one I’d denied before. The owner was someone who was older and had been in the business for over twenty years. His arrogant behavior and shifty eyes were the reasons I denied his many requests for a merger. He thought he would be doing me a favor by gaining a controlling interest of the company my father had sacrificed his family and morals to build.
Two hours later, I was unsuccessfully trying to relieve the tense muscles in my back and shoulders when my office door opened and Celesha’s head peeked through.
“I have some mail for you.” She walked in, clutching a royal blue envelope. Its shape and size were untraditional to a regular piece of mail, not to mention the color. “It’s from your sister,” she offered unnecessarily.
“Thanks.” I plucked the decorated envelope from her hand and set it down, showing little interest in the contents when, in fact, a nervous twitch started in my fingers. “Before you go, I need you to fax these papers and then call to make eight o’clock reservations with Amifika’s.”
“Oooh, fancy. Date tonight?”
“Something like that.” I shot her pointed look and then watched her scurry away on her small gray pumps. I didn’t want to be a complete dick, but I was still warming up to her and feeling her out. Her married status ensured that I would keep from bending her over my desk, but it didn’t mean she had such reservations.
My dinner tonight was to ensure my father’s final approval and, hopefully, get him off my back once and for all. This business deal would be one that would affect the rest of my life, and it wasn’t entirely voluntary.
I could hardly wait.
* * *
“Mr. Chambers. Always a pleasure to have you. Your table for two is ready and your guest is already seated.” Mindlessly, I followed the maître d’ through the restaurant to the secluded table where she sat perusing the wine menu, no doubt seeking out the most expensive bottle.
I don’t have an issue with spending money.
I have an issue with people who don’t respect it.
Not everything worth time came with a high price. In fact, it was the other way around. However, the expensive brunette waiting would never understand. She lived her life as a socialite, living off of daddy’s money until the day she’d become some other schmuck’s burden.
I was about to become that schmuck.
“Dash!” she gree
“How are you, Rosalyn?” I didn’t care either way. My tone made it obvious, but of course, she chose to ignore it for appearances.
“I’m fine now that you are here. I knew you’d come to your senses.”
“Don’t push me. Since you know why we are here, then I can skip the formalities, yeah? Something tells me you don’t care much for it either.”
“I’m not sure what kind of girl you take me for,” she pouted, “but I am a girl, and I’m afraid that means I am a bit of a romantic, too.” She batted her eyelashes, and I fought the urge not to roll my eyes.
“For fuck sake, I’m not getting on one knee. You and I both know you’ll accept regardless because you have as little choice as I do.”
“That’s not true. I want this, Dash, and I know you want me.” Her eyes shone with confidence, and the only thing missing from her statement was ‘How could I not?’
“You act so sure of yourself, but in reality, you’ve got to be pretty insecure to not only go through with this but to be happy about it.”
“How so?” I didn’t miss the bite in her tone.
“You’re settling for a marriage that was primarily arranged. A part of you must be afraid that you wouldn’t find someone to marry you otherwise. It’s just another way you can use Daddy’s money.”
Our waiter chose that moment to take our orders, and just as I initially thought, Rosalyn ordered the most expensive bottle of wine. I knew she wasn’t familiar with it given the idiotic way she pronounced the name.
Rosalyn managed to remain silent while we waited for our food and I took a few calls, one from my dad and the other from Keiran, who called to inform me that he made it back home from Hawaii but would only be home for a short while since Lake’s classes started next week.
Keiran had been my best friend for as long as I could remember. I barely remember life without him in it, though he didn’t come to Six Forks until he was eight. He had been this scary and standoffish kid that wore anger as if it were normal. No one wanted to deal with him because he was so cold and thought violence was the answer to everything. I still remember the day I met him as if it happened just yesterday…
* * *
FOURTEEN YEARS AGO
I left the bathroom thinking about the hundred marks I received on my math test and thought about how proud my dad was going to be when I showed him. He never accepted anything below an A, and if my twin sister or I ever brought a grade lower home, we’d spend playtime with a tutor he’d hire until our grades were up to par. My sister brought home a B+ once and spent the rest of the school semester with Mrs. Grandall after school and on weekends.
On my way back to class, I entered the hallway where my classroom was located just in time to see two other boys standing in the hallway. I frowned, wondering why they weren’t in class, and then stood frozen when the boy with his back to me punched the other in the shoulder, knocking him down.
“Stand up and fight me.” The angry voice of the kid with the dark hair filled the hallway and sent chills down my back.
“But, I don’t want to fight you. I didn’t do anything,” the little blond boy cried. The next second, the bully moved so swiftly, before I even noticed his foot was on his throat pressing hard.
“Hey!” The shout left my mouth before I could think better of it, and for a second, I’d hoped he wouldn’t hear me, but that died when he turned around.
He assessed me long and hard while never bothering to remove his foot. The little boy was silent now and had gone pale. “Go away.”
“If I go away, I’ll tell a teacher, and then you’ll be in a lot of trouble, so you better stop.” The warning didn’t appear to faze him, but he did remove his foot only to stalk me. I wanted to back away, but somehow, I knew if I showed fear, I would be just like the kid on the ground who had yet to move.
“Y–yeah,” I stammered.
“How do I know you won’t tell anyway?”
“Because I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Now that he was facing me, I realized I’d seen him around and recognized him as Keiran Masters. The one everyone feared. He didn’t have friends and the only person he ever talked to was Keenan Masters, his cousin, and even then, he barely spoke. Keenan was the exact opposite of Keiran. He was the class clown and always seen making people laugh though I got the feeling he was a little sad.
“Why do you care?”
I shrugged and met his stare. When I refused to look away, he nodded and walked back over to the boy who, thankfully, now sat up with his hand on his throat.
“Stay away from her,” was the only thing Keiran said before disappearing down the hall. I helped the boy to his feet and watched as he fought to catch his breath.
“Thank you,” he panted. “That was so cool. How did you do that?”
“Make him go away.”
“I don’t know.” It was the truth, at least. I didn’t know why the most feared boy in our school listened to me, but I would soon learn that I would be the only person he would listen to. “Why did he want to hurt you?”
“I—I don’t know. I was just walking to the bathroom and he came out of nowhere. I think he was waiting for me. Do you think he’ll beat me up again?”
“That depends… who’s she?”
“The girl he told you to stay away from.”
“I don’t know. I talk to lots of girls. I mean… not like that, ‘cause girls are gross but—”
“I get it. I’ll see you around.”
Without a backward glance, I walked away thinking about Keiran Masters and who this girl was that made him so… violent. My perfect score had been pushed to the back of my mind. All day, I tried to find the answer, and at the end of the day, I did.
Keiran stood in front of a girl who looked like she’d blow over with the slightest wind. She had blonde hair and tears running down her face as Keiran said something to her. I ignored my mother and sister waiting for me and hurried over to the tree, afraid he might do the same to her that he had done to the boy. When I was close enough, I saw him pull what looked like a cookie from his pocket and crush it over her head, sprinkling the crumbs until her blonde locks were covered in them. Some trickled down to her face, mixing with her tears.
“Next time, keep your gross cookies to yourself,” he taunted before walking away. She ran away immediately with her hands covering her eyes and not paying attention to where she was going.
What was that about?
* * *
“Earth to Dash.” I snapped back from my childhood memories and realized that Rosalyn had been trying to get my attention. By her irritated expression, I could tell she had been trying for a while. Here I was having dinner with the woman I would spend the rest of my life with, yet I sat daydreaming about my best friend. I chuckled under my breath rather than let the grim reality of my future take hold.
“You barely touched your food. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t have an appetite. Proposing to someone you don’t want to marry will do that to you.”
Fuck. I hated when she used my full name. It applied an intimacy that I didn’t want to share with her. Only two people ever called me Dasher. My mom used my full name when she was upset with me, and Willow… she used it whenever my dick was deepest inside her.
“I have some work to do. If you’re free for lunch tomorrow, we can pick out your ring.”
“That’s okay. I already had Daddy buy the ring I wanted.” When she flashed her left hand, I finally noticed the large princess cut diamond resting atop her ring finger.
I stared at her as if she’d grown two heads and again won
“Suit yourself.” I signaled for the check and busied myself with my wallet.
“You know,” she whispered as if telling some important secret. Her tits were on display in the low-cut collared shirt and practically resting on the table when she leaned forward. “I still know how to do that thing you liked with my tongue. If you really want… we can consummate our proposal and our future together in your car.”
I leaned forward across the table until my nose was practically touching hers and said, “I don’t really ‘want.’ I don’t even a little ‘want.’ I haven’t forgotten what you did four years ago. You cost me everything, so don’t think for a second I would touch you… ever.”
“Oh gosh. You’re not talking about that silly little fat girl with the red hair, are you? I mean, come on. She was practically trailer trash.”
My hand was around her neck before the word trash fully left her lips, causing her to squeal the word. I wanted nothing more than to squeeze until her beady little eyeballs fell from her air-filled head.
“I’d rather fuck a silly little fat girl with red hair in a trailer filled with trash than touch you. You disgust me, Rosalyn. You. This will be a marriage in name only. Whatever ideas you have in that shallow head of yours, I suggest you let it go because it won’t happen. Fuck who you wish because you won’t be fucking me.”
I let her go and watched her touch her neck and subtly look around to see if anyone noticed her lesson in humility. When she was satisfied that no one cared, she flipped her hair and stood from the table.
“We’ll just see what our fathers have to say about that.”
“They may control who I marry, but they can’t control who I stick my dick into.”
“Think again, Dasher. How else will we give them an heir?”
* * *
Breaking Love (Broken Love #4) by B. B. Reid / History & Fiction have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on32 votes