The Heartbroker

The Heartbroker

A
Wellywood Series
novel - Book 2

by

Kate O’Keeffe

The Heartbroker
is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

ISBN-13: 978-1516881468

ISBN-10: 151688146X

Cover design by James,
GoOnWrite.com

Copyright
©
2015 Kate O’Keeffe

Published by Wild Lime Books

EVERYONE THINKS I’M A hard-assed bitch. No, really, they do. And if you met me, I bet you would too. But I’m not.
Honestly
, I’m not. I’m just a woman who knows what she wants and goes out and gets it.

You know how they say Cancerians are like crabs, with their hard outer-shell but totally soft insides? Well, I don’t think it’s any coincidence I was born under that sign. Not that I go in for that mumbo jumbo sort of stuff.

Really, at the heart of it all, I’m just a big old softie. It’s just I don’t need the world to know it.

And you know if you have a hard outer-shell you can deal with anything, right? Or at least
look
like you can deal with anything.  And dealing with things is what I do, professionally.

And I’m damn good at it.

“He’s here.”

I look up, hit by a sudden surge of nerves. I see my assistant, Jocelyn, standing at my office door.

“Shall I bring him in, chook?” she questions, failing to suppress an excited grin.

“Yes, please. Thanks, Jocelyn.” I take a deep breath as I get up from my chair and smooth out my skirt.

She shoots me an encouraging look. “Go get ’em, love. Do us proud.”

I give her a nervous smile, pulling back my shoulders.

Jocelyn is the sort of assistant every manager dreams of: she’s competent, organized, and, above all, a total Rottweiler when it comes to getting things done. She’s got my back, and everyone knows it. What’s more, she regularly dishes out ‘fix-all-your-problems-in-one-squeeze’ hugs.

She’s the mother I wish I’d had.

“Thanks, Jocelyn. I’ll do my best.” The butterflies in my stomach start an exuberant dance party.

I check my reflection in my compact mirror. It’s 7:30am and I’ve already been for my ten kilometre morning run, had my veggie-packed protein smoothie, and slipped into my favourite power suit, sweeping my long blonde hair into a classic French twist. I’m on top of my game.

And the man I’m about to meet could change my life forever.

The thought of how important this meeting could be to my business, to my
life
, makes my heart thump hard in my chest.
I have to kill this
. I take another deep breath in an attempt to settle those persistent butterflies in my belly.

You see I’ve been running my company,
Live It
, a personal growth business, for about five years now. I know, it sounds a bit hippie or New Age, but it’s not in the least. Believe me. We help people unlock their true potential by showing them how they hold themselves back.

It’s all based entirely on science, you know, and our customer survey results show ninety-two and a half per cent of our participants believe their lives have been changed for the better as a result of attending one of our seminars.

I figure the other seven and a half per cent of people who didn’t think it helped them were probably forced to attend by their mother/ girlfriend/ boss/ long lost cousin, so they really don’t count.

I started
Live It
with a boyfriend, Jonathon Melec, who was a clinical psychologist. He was a bit older than me—okay, a lot older than me—and had years of experience in counselling people in a group environment.

My background, on the other hand, was a business degree from a local university and a couple of years’ experience selling software storage systems: not exactly ‘touchy-feely-change-your-life’ stuff. 

Jonathon often talked about how successful his group therapy sessions were and how he’d like to expand them to help more people. Recognising a good business idea when I saw it, I did some research, discovered how popular these sorts of seminars are overseas, quit my job, got a business loan, and hey presto,
Live It
was born.

Of course we started out on a very small scale, holding our seminars in a back room we hired out for the day at Newtown Community Centre, a predominantly working class area of Wellington. But over time, word got out, and soon we needed bigger and bigger spaces, full weekend seminars, and a more central and upmarket location to accommodate the waiting list of people dying to do our courses.

We expanded into working with the government and corporates and our business took off like a NASA rocket ship on a mission.

I was able to pay off my loan within a matter of months, and we started to make some decent money in just over a year.

Not quite an overnight success, but pretty meteoric for a woman still in her twenties.

My relationship with Jonathon didn’t fare quite so well. He decided to go back to the wife he had left a few months before we met.

Unsurprisingly, his wife wasn’t thrilled at the idea of him continuing to spend all his time with his twenty-four-year-old ex. Go figure.

In the end, it worked out just fine for me: he got his wife back, and, for a guilt-ridden bargain, I got
Live It
. My baby.

Five years on and I have the most profitable personal growth business in the country.

I smooth my hair down one last time as I wait, standing nervously by my desk. The image I’ve seen of the man I’m about to meet enters my head: Logan McManus. He’s one of the top executives of the wildly successful American-based
You: Now
personal development and coaching company.

The image is all chiselled jaw, brown eyes, and mischievous smile, and I smirk to myself; he looks more like a cover model for a romance novel than a high-flying corporate type here to discuss business opportunities with me.

Well, I for one won’t be swayed by his Hollywood good looks. I’ve been down that road before and it’s nothing but trouble, believe me. No more sexy American men for me. They’re nothing but trouble with a capital ‘T’.

Having only seen his doubtlessly photo-shopped picture on the
You: Now
website, I expect he’ll be much less attractive in person.

In the George stakes he’ll certainly be more Costanza than Clooney. I let out a chuckle, momentarily looking away from the door my eyes have been trained on.

“Found something amusing, Ms Mortimer?” a smooth American voice drawls.

“Umm, I—” I begin, only to be utterly fazed by just how gorgeous this guy actually is. He’s tall, broad, and athletic, with tanned skin, dark brown hair, and eyes a girl could easily get lost in.

I can’t help but drink him in. He’s textbook handsome, even better looking than his online photo.

Now I know you haven’t known me for long, so you’ll have to take my word for it I’m not usually like this. I am a confident twenty-nine-year-old woman for whom the power of speech is readily available. At all times. A woman with poise, class, and sophistication, totally rocking a power suit, every bit the successful businesswoman.

A woman who can say more than ‘umm’ and ‘I’ to a man on first meeting, even if that man is mesmerizingly hot.

Sensing my discomfort, he reaches out to shake my hand, never once taking his eyes away from mine. “Brooke Mortimer, I presume? I’m Logan, Logan McManus. From
You: Now
. It’s great to meet you.”

His voice is like a river of slowly flowing rich, mellow chocolate, with more than just a hint of spice. Mm, utterly delectable.

“Logan McManus,” I repeat, as I take his hand in some sort of hot-guy-induced haze.

I’ve been hit by a sledgehammer, right between the eyes.

“Yes. And please, call me Logan.” His lips quirk, the skin around his eyes crinkling. I swear my heart skips a beat.

Definitely Clooney, without even a hint of Costanza.

I pull my hand away from his in order to break the spell. This is
work
, Brooke, not a blind date. He’s here to do business with you, nothing more.

Oh, but it’s been so long since I’ve been in the presence of a cute guy who makes my heart race. Not since the good-for-nothing love rat Scott two-timed me a year ago, shattering my heart in the process.

Yes, I’m Brooke Mortimer, and I’m now a fully carded member of ARA—Asshole Recovery Anonymous.

If I’m to be totally honest here, a year is a long time to go without any romance in your life. Although I love my work more than I can say, it doesn’t keep me warm at night.

And if my obsession with rom coms is anything to go by, my heart is definitely beginning to miss it.

But really—love? Come on, what’s the point? It’s so messy, so time consuming. Quite frankly, I’ve got better things to do. Like clean the toilet.

I’ve got my family, my wonderful friends, and a life I adore. I live in one of my favourite cities in the whole world: Wellington, New Zealand’s cool little capital city. Life is good.

Why would I want to go doing something stupid, something totally ridiculous, like falling in love?

I’ve been down that road before and I can tell you there’s nothing fun about falling for someone only to have your heart ripped out of your chest, chopped into little bits, and scattered to the wind. No thank you.

I can most definitely do without ‘love’.

And anyway, my life is perfect just the way it is. Well, almost perfect.

“Of course. Logan,” I reply, calling on some previously unknown super human strength to regain my composure. “And I’m Brooke. Shall we take a seat?”

I gesture to the table in the corner of my office.

“Sure, thanks,” he replies.

I watch him walk towards the table. I take a few deep breaths to steady my nerves before following him.

Jeez Louise. It’s bad enough this man holds the future of my company in his hands, it’s hardly fair he’s hotter than The Sahara in summer.

Before I can stop him he pulls my chair out for me, and I have no choice but to plonk my aerobicized butt down on the seat as he waits to push it in for me.

It’s like we’re on a date in Nineteen-Sixty-Three.

“I’ll get back to it, then. Leave you two to crack on with the hard yakka,” Jocelyn says, barely suppressing a grin.

I realise with embarrassment she’s been standing at my office door this whole time, observing me reduced to a gibbering wreck.

I steal a glance at Logan and take in a thoroughly baffled look plastered across his handsome face. I’m guessing he’s struggling to understand a word Jocelyn said.

“Oh, what a silly chook. I almost forgot. Can I bring you both a cuppa?” she asks brightly.

I smile at her like a demented beauty pageant contestant, preparing to comment on my desire to bring peace to our world. “Thank you, Jocelyn. That would be great.”

I’m wondering whether I really need any additional form of stimulation right now: Logan McManus seems to be doing caffeine’s job just fine.

And then some.

Jocelyn smiles quietly to herself as she darts a quick look from Logan to me and back again, before winking at me and leaving the room. Winking? Really?

“A cuppa?” Logan questions once Jocelyn has left the room. “Is it like a cup of Joe?”

Having watched more than my share of American movies, I know what a ‘cup of Joe’ is.

“Probably more like tea, but I’m sure Jocelyn would be happy to get coffee for you. I’ll just ask.” I get up from my seat.

“It’s fine, Brooke. Really. Tea would be nice.” I stop in my tracks. Literally.

“Are you sure? It’s no problem.” I half sit, half stand at the table, giving my quads an unscheduled workout.

He chuckles gently and the most delicious heat spreads through my body and down my limbs.

“Really,” he confirms with a smile. “I’m in New Zealand, I should do what New Zealanders do, right?”

“Well, actually, we’re really big coffee drinkers here,” I begin, returning to my seat, my quads silently thanking me. “Wellington in particular. We’re kind of the coffee capital of the world, or something, I think. Whatever it is, we’re big on coffee here.”

I’m aware I’ve begun to ramble as I glance at Logan, noting the amused smile on his face.

“Is that so?” he asks. “I didn’t know that. But I’m happy to have tea.”

I smile at him, trying to regain the air of professionalism I can usually muster with very little effort, but which appears to be playing some kind of game of hide and seek with me right now.

Why does this guy have to look like a combination of every rom com hero out there? Part Ryan Gosling, part Ryan Reynolds—all the Ryans, it would seem—with a touch of Channing Tatum thrown in for good measure.

Oh, mercy!

“It’s great to finally sit down with you, Brooke, the über-successful face of
Live It
.”

“Thanks.” I’m flattered, blushing like a thirteen-year-old girl.

I’m finding his foppish hair à la Hugh Grant in
Four Weddings and a Funeral
really distracting, as I imagine raking my fingers through it as he kisses my lips, his tongue finding mine as he…
STOP
!

Focus, Brooke,
focus
.