Broken Ground: (Broken Series Book 1) (2 page)

She
should
hate me.

I did.

Rather than giving a response that would only cause her more pain, I just stood there silently. She wailed and balled my shirt in her fists, and I allowed her rage at me all she wanted. It was the least I could do. Stupid impulsive mistakes were a habit of mine, some of which I'd never get to atone for. I deserved this, to witness the suffering brought on by my selfishness. I owed her at least that much, since it was the only thing I had to give.

I wasn't sure how long we stood there. Me with my back rigid and head bowed, her with her face buried in my chest, hands still twisted in my shirt as she quietly sobbed. It must have been a while, because ignoring the vibrating phone in my pocket had worried Spencer so much that he came to check on me. I could see his eyes widen as he climbed out of his truck and noticed the other vehicle parked there.

He strode into the shop, eyes flitting over the mess of my work in progress laid out on the floor before he noticed us. He stood stock still and sadly shook his head as he watched her. He gave me a sideways look that told me exactly what he thought: I was getting what I deserved. There was no sympathy for me there, rightfully so. I didn't want him to feel sorry for me. I wanted him to help her. I had no clue how to handle it, how to make it better for her, but Spencer was Mister Sensitive, and I was hoping he'd know what to do.

He nodded to me and made his way over to us. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. She lifted her head from my tear soaked shirt and met his eye. He leaned over and whispered softly in her ear. The radio playing made it impossible to make out what he was saying, which made me nervous. He was just as pissed off at me as she was. I had to hope he would help her first and take his anger out on me later. As he pulled back, she made a soft whimpering sound and looked back up at me.

Having nothing to say to make things better for her, I said the only thing that I could. "I'm so sorry. I really am."

She smiled sadly at me before she released her hold and smoothed my shirt. "Me too."

With that, she turned and made a wobbly path to the door. Looking on as she navigated the various piles of wood, metal, and tools that were strewn about, I asked Spencer, "What did you say to her?"

He also kept an eye on our departing guest as he sighed. "I told her it was time to let go, that it's not her fault, and that the part of you that she's trying to appeal to doesn't exist. You can't possibly understand how she's feeling because you've never allowed yourself to love anyone. Not even your fucking self." He turned to me with a withering look. "I also told her I'd drive her home, so get your keys; you're following us. If I don't take her home in her car, she'll have to come back to get it and I don't think that's in anyone's best interests. Prepare yourself for the return trip. You'll be in the truck alone with me for a decent chunk of time and I intend to have my say. I've fucking had it with this shit. You and I are either going to come to an understanding or we're dissolving the partnership. Brant and I will buy you out, if necessary. We're both tired of
your
dick getting
us
into trouble. We've bailed you out for years but this time you're messing with
our
company." He glared at me a moment before he turned and headed for the door.

I was halfway across the room, after fishing my keys out of my coat pocket, when he popped his head back in. "She says the keys are in her purse and she left it in here."

Shrugging at him, I looked around the room, trying to remember if I had seen it. There was so much shit around the shop that finding it would turn into a game of Where's-Fucking-Waldo. Spencer shuffled in, head down as he inspected the floor and every flat surface he could find while studiously avoiding eye contact.

Shaking my head, I made my way to him. "You keep looking, I'm gonna make sure she didn't leave it in the car because I don't remember her having it when she came in." He grunted in agreement and didn't look up.

When I stepped outside, the first thing I noticed was the sound of a car engine running. I looked over to the source of the sound; it was her Jetta. She didn't appear to be inside it, so I immediately headed to the side of the workshop, expecting to see her bent over the shrubbery, emptying the alcohol-soaked contents of her stomach.

Just as I stepped from the gravel to the grass, the revving of the Jetta's diesel engine pierced the air.

As I spun toward the sound of gravel flying, I heard Spencer yell, "Shit, Clay, look out!"

I barely managed to jump out of the way as the car bore down on me. From behind the wheel, Marissa jerked her head in my direction as I leapt to safety and the sound of twisting metal filled the air.

Present Day

"YOU WHAT?" SPENCER
looked at me like I was stupid. I'd known when I came back to town for this morning's meeting that I'd have to tell him about my plans. He was taking it about how I'd expected.

"I offered to escort Ali to a charity function in D.C. next weekend. A gala, I believe it's called." My voice was even and reasonable.

"That's what I thought you said but I was half hoping I was hallucinating." He reached for a pen from the cup on his desk and began tapping it against the blotter. Yep, he was pissed. "I thought we had an understanding, Clay. I thought you said you'd keep your hands, and everything else, off the fucking employees."

His raised voice set my teeth on edge. He knew better than to shout at me. Rather than react, I sat stoically and waited for him to rein it in. If he didn't, this was going to end badly. I may have been a fuck-up, but I bowed down to no one.

Not even him.

After a failed attempt to stare me down, he sat back in his chair, rubbing his hands through his perfectly styled hair, leaving it in disarray. "Alright, let's try this again. Explain to me why you thought dating your assistant was okay, particularly given the shit storm surrounding the last indiscretion. The one that was barely eight months ago, by the way."

He was getting on my nerves.

Seeing that he was slowly unwinding, I decided to engage. "It's not a date, Spence. She's a friend, that's all. You're the one who encouraged me to have a non-sexual relationship with a woman. Well, here you go. Ali is it. A friend, someone to hang out with who understands the misery of being stuck out there in Bum-Fucked-Egypt. Nothing more. Hell, you were the one who told me you weren't worried about us hooking up because she's not my type. I believe your exact words were 'too much of a good girl...' and 'out of your league...', remember? And I agree, she's not my type but that doesn't mean we can't be friends. So what's the problem all of a sudden?"

Denson, Virginia, was about as rural as it gets. Working on a project there was a close second to a colonoscopy on my list of shit to avoid. But for the last few weeks, that's exactly what I'd been doing — the project, not the colonoscopy — and the only reason I wasn't half out of my mind was Ali. Her near-constant smile and quick wit had been like a soothing balm for me.

I owed her for that.

And, despite her not being my usual type, I may have also wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, but that was neither here nor there.

Spencer watched me for a long moment before answering. "It's not that I think there's anything going on. I just don't want you put in a position that might tempt you. Let me ask you a question..." he narrowed his eyes, "Does she know who you are and your connection to this build? I mean, I would assume that you told her, given what a close friend she is."

He did not just fucking ask that.

It was my turn to glare. "No, Spence. She doesn't know and I see no need to enlighten her on the subject. As far as I'm concerned, I'm the lead designer and project manager on the build, nothing more. Period. I don't need the small town gossips stirring up shit best left in the past and, to be perfectly fucking honest, I don't need you doing it either." By the time I finished speaking, I was gritting my teeth to the point of pain.

He held his hands up as if to ward off an attack, but spoke in a level, patient voice that indicated he'd gotten the answer he was expecting. "Easy, killer. I wasn't trying to ruffle your feathers. It was just a question. I won't bring it up again but I also won't pretend that I approve of you keeping it from her. If she's as great a person as you say she is, she will understand and — more importantly — as your friend, she deserves the truth." He cut off the terse reply I was poised to deliver and shifted the conversation to business. "I'm glad you're stepping up for a friend, it's admirable. Keep in mind, however, that you'll be attending this event as a representative of the company and anything that transpires — good or bad - reflects on us. Our business reputation has to come first. Even though the Marissa thing isn't public knowledge, we can't afford another mishap like that." The word mishap came out a little forced, as if he was trying his best not to sound condemning. "The last thing we need is to appear vulnerable with vultures like Holden Shepard circling overhead."

Holden Shepard was one of the wealthiest men on the East Coast. He was shrewd, determined, and an utter jackass. He spent nearly twenty years as a notorious womanizer before 'settling down' with the first of five wives. While his personal relationships were sort of an industry joke, his business practices were deadly serious.

Holden got what Holden wanted. Period.

And if his persistent calls and inquiries were any indication, what he currently wanted was a large stake in our company. Coastal Building and Design, or CBD, was our baby, idealized and then realized by my partners and I. The three of us — Spencer, Brant, and myself — started the business the year after we graduated college and turned it into one of the most prestigious design firms in the Northeast. We had our sights set on expansion but we'd damn well do it without Shepard or anyone else.

Just the thought of that pompous prick having any claim to our company set my teeth on edge. "He's not getting a damn thing, so let him keep wasting his time. He'll fade away eventually. He considers his time too valuable to waste much of it on a dead end. And I have no intention of doing anything to sully the company's reputation or break our agreement, so stop worrying."

After Marissa tried to turn me into roadkill, Spencer had threatened to dissolve the partnership. The only way to set his mind at ease was to agree to sign a contract that could be used to force me out of the company should I do anything 'detrimental to the company name', such as screwing the employees, which in turn, would cause my partners to lose their shit. It was basically a bastardized shareholder's agreement that we'd jokingly nicknamed the 'Clay Clause'.

Spencer watched me for a beat before reaching out and hitting the intercom button. When his assistant's voice came through the speakers, he instructed her to step into his office and bring my assistant with her. My Richmond assistant was nothing at all like Ali. Whereas Ali was closer to my own age, Charlotte was mid-fifties and had a maternal way about her, much the same as Spencer's assistant. The two of them ran the office efficiently and still found time to lecture us about our diets, often bringing in lunches for us as a way to assure our proper nutrition.

He looked at me and gave a sarcastic grin. "I'm trusting you on this but it's going to cost you." There was a knock at the door and he grinned like the Cheshire cat. "If you're going to look presentable while taking Cinderella to the ball, you'll need all the help you can get." He pointed at our assistants and winked. "Nothing better to get you all scrubbed and polished than these two mother-hens."

They stepped forth in a flurry, with a matching set of grins, already chattering about tuxedos and how handsome I'd be with a touch of purple in my lapel to bring out my eyes.

Fuck.

I scowled over at a grinning Spencer.

That son of a bitch was enjoying this.

Truth was, since Spencer handled all of the social obligations associated with the company, I didn't have a tux and I had no idea about proper 'gala etiquette', so I just had to grin and bear it for now. Spencer was going to pay for this shit, though.

Oh yes, he was.

Judging by the look of amusement on his face, I'd need to find my happy place, and soon.

Despite my earlier protests, my mind immediately went to Ali. As it had since the moment she stepped into my life.