Broken Ground: (Broken Series Book 1) (9 page)

"Yes, please. Apartment 7B."

He moved at the pace of a sloth on fucking tranquilizers, taking his time locating the correct button, which I could see from five feet away. I reconsidered my earlier assessment, maybe he wasn't bored. It looked like he was fucking stoned. I bet he could find 7B if he was standing in front of a vending machine with a case of the munchies.

Just as I was about to step around him and hit the button myself, he found the damn thing and pressed. A moment later, as I confirmed my suspicion with a good look at his bloodshot eyes, Ali's voice crackled through the speaker. "Yes?"

Stony the Sloth cleared his throat. "Ma'am, you have a guest." He looked at me. "Your name, sir?"

"Clay McGavran," I told him in a clipped tone.

He passed the information on to Ali, and she asked that I come on up.

She buzzed to unlock the door, and Stony shuffled over to hold it open. The idea that he was in charge of keeping unwanted guests out pissed me off. He couldn't fend off a couple of girl scouts in his condition.

Though he'd welcome the cookies, I was sure.

When I exited the elevator on seven, I was surprised to see only two doors. Their apartment accounted for half the floor. Not bad. Square footage was a premium in D.C., and they looked to have plenty. Hell, the ceilings in the hallway were easily nine feet high, as would be the ceilings inside. I couldn't imagine going from an apartment that size to that tiny place above the old dry cleaner in Denson.

The door to 7B opened as I approached, and Ali stuck her head out into the hallway. "Hey, sorry I'm running a little behind. Come on in." She disappeared back inside.

I stepped into the spacious apartment and closed the door behind me. Yep, high ceilings and an open floor plan with lots of room. The furnishings were modern and attractive, mostly muted colors with a few bright accents. Everything was spotlessly clean and organized, including the two mammoth bookcases that sat on either side of the television. The TV was probably large, but it was dwarfed by the dark cherry pieces flanking it.

I smiled as I took in the apartment, seeing little hints of her everywhere. Spying a large bureau covered in framed photos, I couldn't help myself. I walked over and examined the pictures, most of which were probably of family. Ali with an older man whose hair and eyes matched her own, Ali and Talia at their college graduation, Talia and a middle-aged couple who I assumed to be her parents, though neither had her golden blond hair. Two little girls probably less than ten years old playing at the beach, one dark-haired and one blond. The two of them really had been close all their lives. Farther back, nearly hidden behind the other frames was a picture of Talia standing in the kitchen behind a beautiful blond moppet who couldn't have been more than two or three. They were making cookies, from the looks of the counter in front of them, smiling and sticking their tongues out for the camera.

I heard Ali enter the room behind me, her heels clicking on the hard floor. I turned, photo still in hand, with the intention of asking about the little girl.

As soon as I saw Ali, the question flew right out of my mind. I blindly sat the frame back on the table, only half aware of where I placed it. When my eyes fell on her again, I was instantly mesmerized. She was stunning. Absolutely fucking gorgeous. So much so that my mouth dried up and I lost the ability to speak. I just stood there like a jackass, gawking at the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on.

Her dress was a dark charcoal gray that shimmered in the light. The thin straps left her smooth shoulders exposed, and the fabric hugged her figure down to mid-thigh where it loosely fell to the floor, with a deep split up one side. She'd traded her usual locket for a diamond bar necklace. The vertical pendant nestled into her cleavage, pleasantly accentuating the full swell of her breasts.

Fuck the gala, I was content to just stand there all night and stare.

She cleared her throat and smiled when I met her gaze. "You look quite handsome, Mr. McGavran." She nodded to my tux, which was feeling a bit snug in the crotch area all of a sudden.

With much effort, I managed to corral enough saliva to allow speech. "You... um,"
Shit, get it together
. "You're breathtaking." There, that was better. Not nearly enough to describe her but it would have to do.

Her cheeks reddened. "Thank you. I'd take credit for it, but it was all Talia's doing. She's the one with all the fashion sense. I'm more of a jeans and tee shirts kind of girl." She grinned. "It drives her crazy, too. She hated having to go to work tonight because she was worried I'd try to sneak out of here in flats. I had to send her a pic of me wearing the heels so she'd relax."

I chuckled. "Well, as long as we're confessing, I'm in no way responsible for this either." I indicated my appearance. "Spencer sicced the office staff on me, the bastard. Next thing I knew, some old guy was running a measuring tape up my thigh and asking whether I dress left or right while my assistant watched. I felt a little violated, to be honest."

Ali thought that was hysterical.

I plastered an affronted look on my face. "I guess it could have been worse. At least Gran and Vanessa didn't get their hands on me. They both tried, though. Caroline, my Richmond assistant, is a friend of Gran's, and she spilled the beans about tonight. It was pandemonium for a while there, trying to fend them all off. Sometimes I think Vanessa is just as bad as Gran, maybe worse since she's still young enough to chase me down if I try to run." They were the mother-daughter tag team from hell, so Spencer sort of bailed me out by having the assistants handle things.

Ali's laughter hadn't slowed one bit, and that was my objective. I planned to keep the tension at bay and Keith if necessary, though she wouldn't want me to step in.

A damsel in distress she was not.

Once she calmed down and ran to check that her make-up hadn't smudged, she plucked a small clutch purse from the coffee table and motioned toward the door. "You ready for this, Mr. McGavran?" She teased.

"I was born ready, Miss Walker." I winked at her and offered my arm, escorting her to the elevator.

The event was being held at one of the largest and most popular convention centers in D.C., according to Ali, whose word I would take since I had no idea about such things.

I stepped from the limo and turned to offer a hand to her as she exited, her eyes locked on the brightly lit entrance at the top of the stairs. I released her arm to close the door, signaling to the driver that he could park.

As I turned back to her, I saw the tension in her stance and in the rigid angle of her jaw. She was nervous but doing all she could to appear unaffected. When she turned to me, her smile was practiced, functional, and it didn't reach her eyes. Before she could take a step in the direction of the building, I reached for her hand, pulling her a step closer so only she would hear my words. "You'll do great, slugger. And I'll be right by your side all night. Have as much faith in yourself as I have in you, okay?"

Her green eyes searched my face for something though I didn't know what. Then she shifted her hand in mine and laced our fingers together the way one would with a lover. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lifting it to brush the back briefly with my lips. Something passed between us, some new strand added to whatever tether had been pulling us together all these weeks.

Without another word, and with much more confidence, we approached the entrance. Ali with her shoulders back and head held high, and me with her tiny hand tingling in mine.

THE ROOM WAS
enormous and so elegantly decorated that I was half afraid to touch anything. It made me slightly uncomfortable. I kept checking my hands to be sure there was no dirt on them. I had to keep reminding myself that I belonged there. I may have ended my days with dirt under my fingernails and sweat down my back, but I still matched the incomes of half the people there. I just wasn't one to show it. It seemed crass, somehow.

We made our way around the room slowly, having to stop and plaster on interested expressions and fake smiles every few feet when Ali was stopped by some acquaintance. Each time we excused ourselves, she muttered, "Keith's minion," letting me know just how duplicitous most of her colleagues were.

Or just how smooth Keith was.

Last week, Brant called to tell me about a strange email he'd gotten. Apparently, he'd received anonymous tip about Ali's suspension from GFS. Spencer hadn't mentioned getting the email, so I assumed it was only sent to Brant.

And I'd bet my left nut that Keith was the source.

We finished our initial lap around the room and were headed to the bar for a much needed drink when she stiffened, going completely rigid against the hand I'd placed at her back. I looked down at her, poised to ask what was wrong.

The hatred I saw on her face was jarring. She breathed slowly, deliberately through flared nostrils, teeth clamped together as her jaw worked, and her eyes, god her eyes were the brightest most penetrating shade of green I'd ever seen. They practically glowed, and not in a good way. I didn't need to raise my head to know who she had just seen.

Keith had arrived.

After a moment, I shifted the hand at the small of her back to grasp her around the waist. I pulled her against my side and whispered, "You can do this, slugger. Just pretend he's not even here. It's just you and me out having the time of our lives. Alright?"

She didn't look at me but nodded affirmatively.

"C'mon then, let's get that drink." I nudged her to get her going, and she moved confidently across the floor.

We stood at the bar, sipping our top-shelf drinks and quietly watching the flurry of activity around us. The room was filled with servers scurrying about, fetching drinks for those too important to do so for themselves. Forced smiles and meaningless chit-chat abounded. It was fascinating to watch clusters of people form and then, as they one by one departed, those remaining appeared to be gossiping about whoever had just left. Round after round of condescending remarks and sideways glances. No wonder Spencer was such a people-watcher. This shit was hilarious.

When one of the partners stopped over to chat with Ali, I introduced myself and told him that I'd been recruited by Ali to donate to the cause. I also mentioned that several of my business associates were donating as well, something I'd not told Ali beforehand.

She was shocked at the news. She'd have been even more shocked if she saw the size of the donations. I preferred to keep that figure to myself, though. I wasn't interested in gratitude, I just wanted to contribute to a respectable cause. I'd taken a peek at the information packet Ali sent Spencer. The charity being honored was incredibly worthy.

Her boss, Mr. Glenn as he was introduced, shook my hand and then turned to commend Ali on a job well done. She thanked him for his words and he soon excused himself to mingle. The moment he was gone, she turned to me. "You never told me you'd secured donations from other companies. That was such an amazing gesture, thank you."

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. "Spencer did most of the work after you sent over the background information. All I did was suggest a few names."

She leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. "Either way, thank you. And thank Spencer for me, too. I'd do it myself but who knows when I'll see him again."

I told her I would give him her thanks and turned to have our drinks refilled. When I turned back to her a minute later, she was staring icily into the face of her ex. I turned to glare at the piece of worthless shit that had tried to ruin her life.

And it clicked.

In the span of a single heartbeat, I knew why Ali seemed so familiar.

And I wished like fuck I'd never remembered.

Fredericksburg

Early last year...

I STALKED THROUGH
the halls of the hospital, the astringent smell stinging my sinuses. My phone grasped tightly in my hand, I raised it to again check the room number Spencer had messaged me. Looking up at the placards outside each room as I passed, I got more and more frustrated.