Broken Ground: (Broken Series Book 1) (5 page)

She tilted her head, her perpetual smile joined by a quizzical look half-hidden by her shades. "So, is that an invitation to borrow your truck or an offer to help pick?"

I chuckled lightly. "Well, I suppose it's an offer to help since I'm the only one who drives my truck. Don't feel like you have to accept, though, if you'd rather go alone."

Her smile slipped a little but her voice was laced with excitement. "No, I appreciate the offer. I spend plenty of time alone as it is. If you really don't mind, I'd be happy to have the help. The strawberry patch isn't too far and it won't take very long with the both of us picking."

"I don't mind at all. Actually, I'm looking forward to it." I didn't really care about the activity — I was looking forward to spending time with her.

Yeah, this was bad.

Richmond

Friday Night

I MADE MY WAY
past the substantial line outside the club on my way to the VIP entrance, taking in a deep lungful of the warm night air. I needed this, needed a few hours to unwind and shake off some of the stifling tension that had been dragging me under these last few weeks. There was a potent mixture of expensive bottled fragrance mixing with just the slightest hint of desperation wafting off of the crowd impatiently waiting to gain entry.

I strode through the doorway, nodding to the bouncer who gave a curt tip of his head and returned to glaring at the throng.

If any of them knew him, really knew him as I did, they'd stop their bitching before things got ugly. He'd only remain stoic for so long.

Trying not to get jostled by all the people on the dance floor, I slid through gaps in the thrashing bodies and gave apologetic smiles as I accidentally bumped a few people. Eventually, the VIP section came into sight. We always met here at Haven — the hottest club in town and a favorite of ours because we helped design it — to celebrate the completion of a job. We'd tied up all the loose ends on the Windemere job that week and would kick off the next week with new projects.

I was an hour late for our celebratory meeting, but it couldn't be helped. Well, I probably could have rushed through my afternoon with Nicole but I was having a little pre–celebration, celebration, and she was down for anything.

Nicole had been my friend with benefits for the last several months; a willing outlet for my sexual energies with no romantic entanglements to worry about. It was a perfect arrangement. No man in his right fucking mind would have walked away from her before he'd had his fill. That day or any day. The guys would understand.

Unless I told them the truth. Which would never happen.

The truth was while I was balls-deep in Nicole, all I was thinking of was Ali.

Ali. A woman I'd only met a couple of days before. The stranger with familiar green eyes. Yeah, they probably wouldn't understand my fascination. Shit, I didn't understand it myself, but I couldn't get her out of my mind.

I'd given it a shot, several shots, with Nicole that afternoon to try to get Ali out of my head. I'd discovered that a body under me wouldn't do a damn bit of good unless it was Ali's.

I was fairly sure Nicole and I had just had our last hook-up. It just wasn't working now that my mind was on another woman. I'd actually left more frustrated than when I started. She'd felt it, too. The time had come to call it a loss and go our separate ways. No harm. No foul.

Spotting my partners in the far corner service area, I started in that direction as a hand snaked around from behind me and landed on my ribcage. A pair of unnaturally firm breasts pressed into my back. "Babe, I haven't seen those amber eyes in forever. It's been way too long." The familiar voice was enough to make my balls shrivel.

Fuck. Just what I need.

I took a steadying breath and turned, a fake smile plastered on my face. "Jessica, how are you?" I politely asked as I took a step back to separate myself. I wasn't at all interested in how she was doing as I looked toward Spencer and Brant in desperation, hoping that one of them would bail me out. Dammit, they were too busy talking to even realize I was there. I was on my own.

So much for wingmen.

She leaned into me and began running her hand up and down my chest, her long acrylic nails leaving little marks on the fabric of my shirt, working their way lower with each pass. She was talking, but all I could focus on was getting the hell away from her. Our casual hook-ups had ended over a year ago, but she always forgot that after a few drinks.

We'd had fun for a while, but it fizzled out quickly, at least on my end. Her propensity for calling me 'amber eyes' was just one of the things that had eventually turned me off. Having my eyes described as 'amber' or 'amber and jade' drove me crazy. It was bad enough having to call them hazel. Always reminded me of the damn wiry-haired witch in the old Bugs Bunny cartoons.

There was nothing more effective at deflating an erection than naming a part, any part, of a man's anatomy after a woman. It was just one of those things.

I interrupted her whiny reply, which included something about being terribly bored and wishing I'd call her sometime, when I apologetically said, "Work is keeping me super busy. I'm actually here for a business meeting, and I'm already late. Have a good night. Hope you find what you're looking for." I flashed a smile and backed away before she had a chance to latch on again. Feeling like someone was staring daggers into my back, which I knew damn well she was, I hurried over to the booth that was already stocked with my favorite Kentucky Bourbon.

I stalked straight over to the glasses, and after dropping in one of the clubs signature spherical ice chunks, poured myself several fingers. Wordlessly, I raised my glass in the direction of my confused friends and downed the entire thing before refilling and sinking miserably into the plush leather booth.

"Hard day, amber eyes?" Spencer joked, indicating that he'd seen Jessica accost me. He was goading me; he knew the nickname was one of the main reasons I broke things off with her. He slowly sipped his Scotch and looked at me expectantly, a sly smile on his face.

"Yeah, Clay, you never drink that fast." Brant added and focused on his nearly empty snifter of Brandy, blissfully unaware of the Jessica sighting.

He and Spencer could have passed for brothers. Both were the same height and build, roughly two or three inches shorter than me, both had dark hair. The only difference was their eyes. Brant's were a light, icy blue while Spencer's were so dark brown they looked black.

Those dark eyes paired with Spencer's dark hair made him look intimidating unless he was smiling, which he often did. I'd actually watched the security guard at our bank keeping a wary eye on him as if he gave off some kind of dangerous vibe.

I found that fucking hilarious, particularly since he was the kind-hearted one of our group.

I cut my eyes at Spencer. "So, you saw Jessica waiting to pounce and you didn't warn me? Thanks, bro."

"I didn't see her until it was too late. Sorry." He glanced over to where she stood talking to some poor bastard who had the bad fortune to stumble within reach. "She get her claws into anything important?"

"Nah. I'm used to fending her off. I just hate being cornered like that." I shrugged, eager to move on.

Spencer was shaking his head at me when the server made an appearance, taking particular interest in whether he needed anything or not. She was obviously new since the staff here was well aware that flirting with him was a waste of time. To my knowledge, he hadn't so much as looked at a damn woman since his divorce. Bitch took half his shit and all his testosterone, apparently. He smiled politely at the server and turned back to our conversation without ever noticing her interest.

Poor bastard.

She was kind of hot.

Brant looked over at me with a knowing expression and a shake of his head. He saw it, too. "So, how many calls have you gotten from Shepard this week?" He rolled his eyes. "It was a record week for me with three calls, Spence got two, and we're running out of ways to tactfully express our disinterest in his offers."

I couldn't help the scowl on my face. "None. Unless Caroline has been brushing him off and not mentioning it, I haven't gotten any calls from him this week or any other week." I couldn't decide whether to be grateful or offended.

Spencer laughed. "He probably did enough homework to know you'd be the first of us to tell him to go fuck himself."

"Sure would." I sipped my bourbon and shook my head. "I'm still trying to figure out why neither of you have done it yet."

Brant shrugged and returned his attention to his glass while Spencer jumped right in with an answer. "Simple. He's a snake. The best way to get rid of a snake is to wait for it to get bored and slither away. If you engage it, poke at the damn thing, you risk getting bitten. We may have a damn good thing going but we've got nowhere near the clout he does. If we piss him off, he could refocus his efforts on ruining us just for the hell of it. He doesn't have many friends but he does have deep pockets and a mean streak. Let's just bide our time until he loses interest."

"I'd rather hand him his balls on a silver platter but that's just me." I joked. "Probably why I'm not allowed to handle that side of things, huh?"

Brant laughed into his glass and Spencer nodded emphatically before changing the subject. "Did you get a chance to meet the new assistant while you were in Denson?"

It took me a minute to decide on a response. I didn't want to sound too affected one way or the other. "I did. I gave her a quick tour of the property and she brought by the rental agreement for the cabin. She seems competent enough."

Brant chimed in. "I looked at her résumé the other day. She's so overqualified for this job it's pathetic. CMO of a marketing firm slumming it as Clay's assistant? That's like Muhammad Ali in a slap fight." He looked at Spencer with something akin to awe. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Spencer laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "Boredom is a great motivator. It's not like there's much going on in Denson. She was pretty stoked at the idea of having something new to do."

Brant turned to me with a smirk. "He begged." Spencer huffed indignantly and leaned forward to refill his drink, ignoring the accusation as Brant continued. "That's the only logical explanation for someone who is that smart and accomplished to want to take a bullshit job like that. I bet he cried a little, too." He chuckled and looked over at me for support.

"Oh yeah. I bet he crawled into that realty office on his hands and knees, pleading with her to take the job because we couldn't find anyone else in that shithole town to do it."

"Fuck. You. Both." Spencer didn't sound quite as bored as he wanted to. His shoulders were bunching in that tell-tale way they did when he was getting annoyed.

"Aww, come on, Spence. Don't be like that." Brant managed to barely hold back his laughter, but it was obvious in his voice.

He pointed at Brant, hand and voice both steady. "So she's well-educated and doing a small time job. Can't imagine how anyone would find satisfaction in that. Right?"

The remark was a thinly veiled reference to Brant's own level of intelligence. The bastard had an IQ near 180, had graduated high school at fifteen, and was smarter than every professor who taught him in college. He was a fucking genius, no doubt about it.

"Point taken. Yes, I work with my hands for a living despite what was expected of me and I love every minute of it. Maybe she is the same. No judgement. I was just fucking with you."

Spencer's face fell a bit when he realized how Brant had taken the comment. Brant wasn't known to joke around often and had truly meant no offense. Something about being as smart as he was also left him ill-equipped in social situations. It was that trait in particular that had been the foundation of our friendship. Being so much younger than everyone else in college, he'd stayed to himself and tried to focus on his courses. For the most part, he was invisible.

Then, in our third year, Spencer and I were paired with him for a huge project. We'd sneaked into the lecture hall late, hiding at the back so we could nurse our hangovers in relative obscurity, and ended up sitting beside Brant. When we were assigned in groups of three according to our seating, Brant became our third.

We learned more from working with him on that assignment than we learned in the entire rest of the course. He was fucking brilliant.

When some of the frat guys started hassling him a few months later, Spencer and I stepped in. He was younger, smarter, and quiet by nature, which made him a prime target. I was still in my barroom brawler phase so it worked out well for everyone. Except maybe the frat brothers who got their asses handed to them.

From that day on, it was the three of us. We spent the next year planning a business, and the year after graduation we made it happen. That one for all and all for one shit wasn't just something you read somewhere. It was something we were and are.

Brothers.

Spencer reached toward the small table that held our drinks — along with an assortment of garnishes that no man in his right mind would add to booze this good — and flicked a lemon slice at Brant, laughing to break the tension. "Suck it, asshole."