Beautifully Broken: If I Break #3

  beautifully broken

  portia moore

  if i break – book 3

  Beautifully Broken

  Copyright © 2015 Porsche Moore. All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  beautifully broken

  Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Author’s Note

  prologue

  Dexter

  I’m going to tell you a story. A story about a boy who was born to be a fuck up. If you haven’t picked up on this yet, this isn’t going to be one for children. The boy's biological parents were both dregs of society. His mother was a sixteen year old drop out who had him by a man whose screw-ups were only outnumbered by his kids. The boy was one of six and was supposed to be next in line for the less than desirable family throne. His slot in life was already determined. He should have been following in good ol’ dad’s footsteps.

  At five years old, life was already pitted against him. Born to two asinine parents in an environment filled with fools, there wouldn’t have been anything else for him to be—but life intervened. It had a different plan for him…

  Madison, Michigan is where he eventually grew up. A typically insignificant town, home to less than a thousand people. The downtown area had a pathetic excuse of a movie theater, library and a city hall. That’s where he grew up. He was lucky to end up there, some would think. He had been born into an even worse situation; now he had it made. With a real mom and dad and even a dog for a spell.

  His new parents, ridiculously in love, volunteered for every charitable effort that took place in the town, even though they barely made ends meet themselves.

  The do-gooders of Shelton County.

  Their son, the boy, became a straight-A student, member of every little league team you could think of, captain of the junior varsity football team. The kind of boy you’d want your daughter to date. Popular, but nice to the misfits and you didn’t have to worry about him tainting your daughter’s innocence because he was such a gentleman. Almost a character out of a 1950’s TV show. They were the perfect family. What else could their son be other than perfect? He owed them perfection; they saved him from the wreck that could have been his life. He gave himself up for it, he, assimilated until everything came crashing down, the, picture perfect family turned out to be just as warped as everyone else, worse. It jarred him—shocked him, even—as he discovered secret on top of secret, the type of thing that breaks most people. It broke him. I’d say it saved him, brought him back to life. He was free.

  He was able to escape. And after that he was never going to look back.

  Until her.

  She changed everything.

  chapter 1

  Cal

  February 28, 2008

  Freedom.

  Most people think that they’re free, but they aren’t. They’re slaves—to their jobs, to suffocating families, to misplaced priorities, drowning under the weight of what should be life. I see them. I’ve lived with them. The pathetic thing is that at one point I wanted to be just like them. Well, a part of me at least. Then things changed. I was lost and now I’m found. Many people would wonder how a 23 year old with no formal education, no background in business, and with a pretty shitty attitude—I admit it— ended up with a job making six figures plus to entertain ass-kissers, all done with trust funds from Mommy and Daddy to convince me of why our company should consider saving theirs. My job is atypical but then again I’m not the typical guy.

  There is far more to me than meets the eye. It’s my secret weapon, my gift, and my curse. But every curse can be used to your advantage if you can wield it just right.

  I had a lot against me when I was born. The cards weren’t stacked in my favor but if my parents never gave me anything else, they passed along a good combination of their genes, which has given me a little bit of an edge up in the world. Regardless of your personality or your IQ, the right looks will get you everywhere—but, without the right mentality, you can only go so far. Lucky for me, a combination of looks and IQ have taken me from under-paid farm hand in a town most people never heard of to one of the greatest cities in the world, with the best food, the most interesting locations, and—my favorite part—the most beautiful women you have ever seen.

  I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. Besides, I’ve already done it once.

  I didn’t always used to be like this. I used to be like everyone else, suffocating in a shell of a man. A yes-man, until he broke in two. He couldn’t handle the pressure of life—the real side of it, not the sanitized made-for-TV version of life that was created for him. He couldn’t handle that reality is ugly. This worked great because I handle that part just fine. But the beautiful part of life, I’m telling you, is what I love. The life some people never experience. My favorite part of this job is being among the most beautiful women Chicago has to offer. Like an ice-cream shop, it has any flavor you could think of and I’ve tasted so many I should be embarrassed. Distractions that make me put up with the irritating part of my job.

  My prospect tonight is already pissing me off, most of them do. Fucking babies. All used to having their asses kissed. I’m like a breath of fresh air for them, I guess. Somehow not giving a fuck works. And Dex pays me a whole lot to not give a fuck. The first time that I went out with him to a business venture boring dinner, the client was a dick. I hadn’t been hired yet and the guy who had my job was just about ready to get on his knees and suck it. I told the client to go fuck himself and that’s how I got my first job. Not your typical interview, is it? But Dexter Crestfield isn’t your typical boss and his training isn’t your run-of-the-mill HR BS.

  “… a deal with Crestfield even possible, Cal?” This guy’s voice irritates the hell out of me. It’s like a cross between a pissed-off teacher and a fast-food worker. The look on his face is like he hasn’t taken a shit in about four days. He looks irritated and now I’m irritated. Why the hell would I waste my time if a deal wasn’t possible?

  “Another drink, gentleman?” One of the bottle girls interrupts us but what a welcome interruption she is. Did I say how much I love Chicago?

  I forgot her name, I’ve seen her here a few times before. Michelle, Mallory, something or the other. My two clients eye her tits.

  “Not right now, hon. Make sure you come back in couple of minutes,” he says with a sly grin. Mr. Constipated, his counterpart, gives her the eye and I try to contain my laughter. I must admit whoever does the hiring needs a raise—a big one.

  “And you, sir?” her voice drops an octave as she flashes her bright green eyes at me. I have a thing for women with beautiful eyes but I can tell she’s a pro as she leans into me, slightly licking her lips, a bold red, the same color as her hair.

  “That’ll be it,” I whisper in her ear, s
liding a bill in her hand. She smiles appreciatively and stuffs the fifty into the valley between her tits before sauntering away.

  “What? Do I need a pair of Double-D breasts to get his attention?” Mr. Constipated says. If he wasn’t so fucking cheap, he’d be the one she’d be pressed up against tonight.

  “The terms of the agreement you’re offering … I don’t think it’s worth the risk,” I state confidently.

  “Well, to be frank, we’d rather discuss this with Mr. Crestfield. And in a proper place of business, not this swamp of Jersey Shore elite,” Mr. Constipated says tightly. I grin and signal another bottle girl back to the table.

  “Can you pour Mr. Freeman here a drink? Because I think he needs to cool the fuck off.”

  “Look, Cal, we don’t mean any disrespect, we’re really anxious to make this deal happen,” the less annoying one says. I hate guys like Mr. Constipated, men with degrees that cost more than people’s mortgages. They know I’m not one of them, they can tell—sense it, blue blood—bull crap. Good thing is, I don’t give a shit. So I smile, the same smile I could flash his wife and have her on her knees in ten minutes and play it cool. After all, it must suck being him.

  “I’ve taken time out of my schedule on my day off to hear a proposal, a legitimate offer to take back to Dexter and you bring me this shit of a deal? Bottom line is, we have better options to review,” I say before standing up.

  “Wait. Wait, everyone. Calm down. Tensions are high. Cal, we really appreciate the fact that you’ve come out to hear our proposals. This is actually one of our properties. Cegan, how about we go see if the property holders are in, and how things are going?”

  This is how it usually works. They’re caught off guard. They think the deal's off the table and now their heads are spinning. I pull out my phone as I make my way from the table. I shoot Dex a text saying he has them exactly where he wants them.

  I make my way from the VIP area down to the main area of the club. VIP is exclusive and all of that shit but the main floor is where the fun is and, once work is done, it’s time to play and there are so many toys out tonight. I feel a hand slip around my stomach and turn to see the sexy red head from earlier.

  “Are you looking for Tori?” she says leaning into me.

  Tori’s a bottle girl who works here. She’s supermodel-hot, fun, easy, gives me space but answers when I call. She’s one of my regulars and when I’m in the mood for something different than her for the night, she doesn’t cause a scene or throw a fit. Hell, sometimes she’ll come with me and my flavor of the night. Bad thing about her, she likes to drink on the job, if it wasn’t for me sliding her manager a couple of hundreds to look the other way, she’d have been out on her ass.

  “Maybe,” I tell her as I watch her hand slide down my arm and land on my Cartier watch, her finger lingering over it and I immediately know this girl is looking for a cash out, not fun, and I don’t play with her type.

  “She got canned today. She spilled two thousand dollars’ worth of champagne,” she says with a gleeful smile on her face.

  What the hell, Tori?

  I liked that she walked on the wild side of life but there’s nothing sexy about getting wasted. It takes you off your game, makes you a different person and I have enough quirks in that area. Needless to say, it was irritating that she always wanted to get shit faced. Tipsy girls are cute. Drunk off your ass is fucking disgusting. There’s nothing attractive about it.

  I’m not the type to hold a girl's hair up while she pukes.

  “Don’t look so sad. I can keep you company tonight,” she purrs in my ear. Not interested. I forgot this girl’s name but I’m pretty sure she was Tori’s friend and nothing's more of a turn off than disloyalty.

  “I’m going to go get a drink,” I say, pushing her hand out of my way and heading to the bar. There are too many other prospects in here. If I want to take someone home tonight, it wouldn’t be a money-hungry backstabber. The bar on the main floor is livelier than in VIP. I push my way through the crowd, a few women catching my eye. I don’t want a drink but the bar is the place to be so that’s where I am. Tori’s friend squeezes beside me. She shoots me a flirtatious grin. She either didn’t take the hint or is desperate.

  “How fucking long does it take to get a shot?” an already drunk guy next to me shouts loud enough to be heard over the music. There’s other grumblings from people around me. It looks like they’re backed up.

  “Steven’s out sick,” the girl whose name I forgot says, leaning into me before her hand roams up my thigh. If she keeps it up I might just let her give me a blow job before sending her on her way.

  “The owner has waitresses covering,” she adds. I shrug and turn my body away from her. She’s starting to annoy the fuck out of me besides the fact that she’s blocking other girls from being all over me. I need to find someone to make her get lost quick. I start to head from the bar but, as I do, the girl behind the bar catches my eye. She more than catches it because I have to double-back to reclaim the space I just lost at the bar.

  Who the hell is she?

  “I’m so sorry for the wait, everyone. Please be patient with us.” Her voice is light and airy and her smile makes my heart skip a beat. She is sexy as hell. Creamy white skin, long dark wavy hair, and she has a cute tight little body. She’s short too and I always had a thing for short girls. ‘Fun sized.’ Not only is she sexy, she’s fucking gorgeous. Most girls are either one or the other but she’s both. With mesmerizing brown eyes, big and bright ones that make her look innocent. She’s only in front of me a few seconds, apologizing to everyone again before she goes to the other end of the bar and does the same. My eyes follow her. Her face is clean. She’s not wearing pounds of make up like most of the other girls in the club. She has perfectly plump lips and on her feet, my favorite shoes on a woman, ‘come fuck me pumps.’

  “She’s taken,” Whatshername says in my ear. Too bad. There’s too many single chicks in the world to bark up that tree, but I decide to play around, just to make Whatserface jealous. Since she won’t leave me alone, I might as well have a little fun.

  “That’s not really a problem,” I taunt her and her face frowns up.

  “She’s not like that,” she says defensively.

  “Really?” I say unfazed.

  “No really. She’s not, she’s all into the other bartender that works here. She doesn’t talk to any other guys, not even to flirt for tips,” she counters with a satisfied grin on her face. Beautiful and loyal…hmmm.

  It’s been a while since a girl seemed unattainable and that piques my curiosity. It doesn’t take more than a smile, a little attention and a few shots and Whatsername has given me all the details I want.

  Lauren, I like that name, is dating a dude named Michael. I had seen him before at the club. Typical pretty-boy douchebag. The frat boy type, screwing anything that walks. I don’t know this girl but seeing any beautiful loyal woman attached to some ass wipe that does any chick he could think of ticked me off. This time, it irks me more than it should.

  My first impression is right. He’s a creep if I ever saw one. The type of dude that makes a girl fall for him, traps her in a dead end crappy one-sided relationship, screwing anything that moves, but telling his girlfriend he loves her every chance he gets.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fucking Prince Charming but I never lead girls on. Never make promises I won’t keep. I don’t lie. Each one knows to expect nothing from me but a good time. There’s no need to play with a girl’s emotions. No need to tell them you love them when you don’t mean it, and if you are fucking someone else, you definitely don’t mean it. You can’t love someone else and screw around just because they make your dick hard. I’ve seen enough girls get screwed over by pricks in disguise and, unluckily for Michael, I was going to have a little fun.

  I have to admit, dude had balls. I watched him for three nights and each night he’d pull some girl drunk off her ass into the storage room and come out like he jus
t won a prize. Cheating is routine for most dudes, but doing it in the place your girlfriend works, takes a lot of fucking nerve.

  Night four, I decided it was time to watch the show. It only cost me fifty bucks to get one of the waitresses at the club to point her in the right direction of the storage room. A cute little Asian chick was his meal of choice for the night. I have to hand it to him. He has good taste. Every girl I’ve seen him with was a fucking ten.

  I signal the waitress I paid earlier and see her go over to see Lauren. I’m not sure what she said but it makes Lauren smile and I feel my palms start to sweat. Not a reaction I expected.

  I’m nervous…and I don’t get nervous.

  Screw it.

  I’m ready to see the fireworks. I can’t wait until she catches this jerk-off. I glance at my watch. It can’t take more than five minutes until she finds them.

  I’m wrong.

  It only takes two.

  A few minutes later, Lauren is flying out of the storage room, tears streaming down her face. I expected profanity, yelling, maybe a cat fight but none of that happens. I thought she’d just be pissed off instead of…this. I thought the aftermath would be funny, entertaining, that the joke would be on this Michael dude but this girl looks devastated. A few other waitresses chase after her, seeing how upset she is. The other girl in the storage room runs out adjusting her dress and disappears into the crowd. Michael looks confused as hell and frantic.

  “Lauren!” he shouts, looking around for her. He goes in the other direction.

  This is what I wanted.

  Entertainment. But this doesn’t feel right.

  I feel like a bigger asshole than her boyfriend. I think…I feel bad. It’s a foreign-ass feeling and I want to make up for it. This girl has no clue who I am or what I’ve done but, shit, I feel fucked up over it. This is the first time I’ve cared how someone feels when it doesn’t affect me. I want to make it up to her. I want to make her feel better. The only problem is, I don’t make things up to people. I sure as hell don’t make situations better. I fuck shit up and I have no fucking clue how to not do that.