Break Me Read online

  We head to the bar. When we’re seated, she orders a Moscow Mule, and I do the same.

  After the bartender slides the copper mugs to us, she redirects her focus on me, narrowing her blue eyes. “What are you doing here? Please start answering some questions.”

  “Fine,” I say, “ask away.”

  “Why were you at the party?”

  “Horses. I thought there’d be some for sale. You?”

  “Very funny. Do you take anything seriously?” She sips her drink, gazing at me from over her copper cup.

  “Sure, I do. Don’t you?”

  “Do you answer every question with a question?” The red sole of her Louboutin flashes me as her foot bobs in agitation.

  “No.” The urge to ramble off another question is nixed when she re-crosses her legs, and I get a glimpse of her inner thigh.

  “To answer your earlier question, I take this job very seriously.”

  “Why?” I lean back, getting more comfortable in the high-backed barstool. Why does she? It's not hard to figure out these guys are in the wrong era. Based on what I've learned about her, she should have made partner long ago.

  She gazes out at the mingling crowd, then focuses her soft eyes back on me. “It’s my livelihood. I love working here, most days. What about you? Do you work?”

  “Yeah. I have a job. What do you do here, Katy?”

  “Wait. You’re turning everything around.” She holds her hand up, stopping me from going any further. “You’re supposed to be answering my questions. Why won’t you leave me alone? You kind of put me into a predicament here. Now I'm going to have to explain why you're not around.”

  Well, we can’t have that. I grab the silverware from the bar, clanking it against the hard copper of the mug.

  “Can I have everyone’s attention,” I say, rising from my stool. The drone of chatter stops, and all eyes land on me.

  I smile and capture Katy’s hand. The place is silent, waiting. “Katy, my dear. I’m the luckiest man in the room. No, world.” I get down on one knee. “My shooting star in a sky full of constellations, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  Her jaw hits the makeshift marble floor. Figuratively, not literally. Hope that comes later, because I could think of a few ways to give her jaw a workout.

  3

  KATY

  Gasps, including mine, fill the tent. He can’t be serious. Eager eyes stare at me, waiting for my answer. Mr. Kendall smiles, and, dammit, Pollux has really put me in a bad spot. Horrendous. He doesn't realize how family oriented this stodgy board is. This is a company where marital status and being “solid” is in direct correlation to my making partner. I already have one failed marriage I need to redeem myself from. How will it look if I say no?

  Unsure of what to do, I do the only thing I can think of. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” I answer, and he pulls me in for a kiss. I hate him.

  “You’ve made me the happiest man,” his deep voice gushes.

  My cheeks flame as he twirls me around, hugging me and planting me back on my shaky legs.

  A few girls from HR head over, smiling and giddy.

  “Congratulations, Katy,” Debra beams, giving Pollux a once-over. “We didn’t even know you had a boyfriend. But, we know how private you are.”

  She’s right. I am. I don’t fraternize with my employees anymore. After my divorce, I learned that cut-throat gossip follows and ends up in the ears of the board of directors.

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  I smile as Pollux boasts about our bright future with the men who hold my future with the company in their hands.

  Frank and Robert love him, which is good for me. They were the biggest champions of my ex-husband, Travis Vanderlin—the jackass who assured me I wasn’t qualified to break the glass ceiling in this company, nor would I ever achieve his level of success. Here or anywhere.

  Now, I’m determined to prove to my friends and family I can stand on my own. More so, I want to prove it to myself I don’t need anyone. I don't want to be anyone’s workhorse; I want to be their equal.

  But, at what cost am I willing to go for it? Yes, I want to be a partner, but am I willing to pretend? Sure, I could go to another company, but the pay here is astronomical, and the benefits are even better.

  And, what’s his angle, anyways? What does he have to gain?

  Why can't I have one night of being reckless and careless without it blowing up in my face? Now I can’t get him to vanish.

  “I don’t have a ring,” I say to Pollux when the excitement has fizzled and everyone’s congratulatory ten minutes are up.

  He grabs a baby’s breath from one of the centerpieces on the table. Twisting it in his fingers, he bends it and ties it into a circle. He slips it on my finger, and his dark eyes gleam. “This can work for now.”

  For the next few hours, we play the part. He charms the suspendered pants off the partners, even James, and I let him. Why not? Everyone loves him.

  I’ll wait until after the party to figure out what his deal is. For now, I need to play the game.

  After lunch is served and cleared away, James waddles up. “Hey, my favorite couple. Pollux, we have another gala event on Friday. I assume you’ll be there?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Pollux says, coolly.

  An idea forms, one that I hate more than anything. One that feels a little like giving in. But, in this corporate world where everything is determined on family values—I need him. The holiday season is filled with charity events and high society functions. Sometimes two in a week. I’m going to need Pollux for all of them. This is the time of year when Masters pats themselves on the back for a job well done and lobbies to keep their top clients for the next year. After the parties, after the New Year, I’ll be announced partner, and we can end our facade of a relationship.

  When only a few people linger, Pollux and I slip on our coats and step out into the winter air of New York City.

  “Well, Miss Fiancée, where to now? Your place?”

  I peer at him, catching the twinkle in his dark eyes. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Sliding his hands in his pockets, he blows out a breath that wisps in the frigid air. “Sounds interesting. Lead the way.”

  We walk a few blocks and slip inside a small diner filled with Frank Sinatra pictures on the walls and red, vinyl booths. We take one in the back and order coffee from the overtired waitress.

  He rests his arm along the back of the booth, studying me. His sexy is distracting. Masculine jaw, straight nose. His bottom lip is slightly fuller than the top and perfect for grabbing with your teeth. But it's the slight dimple in his left cheek that is the killer. The fluorescent spotlights overhead catch the gleam in his dark hair and my fingers itch to run through it. He’s exactly the type of man I go for. Businessman, suit and tie. A man who orders a black cup of coffee instead of some frilly Frappuccino like me. A man who is caught up in current affairs and votes every election day. I’ve always found myself attracted to these types of men, because I play in their world.

  But, even though he seems perfect for me, there’s still a hint of mystery to him. A dirtier, filthy side. No man I’ve ever met would fuck me with reckless abandon in the bathroom.

  He raises his brows, signaling me to get on with it. Where do I even begin? “First, why did you propose? Why did you do all of that?”

  “Seemed like fun, sweetface.”

  “Can you call me Katy, please?”

  He leans in and smiles as he takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes roam over the battered interior of the diner and then land back at me. “So, seemed like everyone liked me at the picnic...Katy.”

  “Yeah, maybe a little too much. So, I was thinking...” I pause. Am I really about to do this?

  “Uh oh. Sounds dangerous.”

  I twist the flower band on my ring finger. “I want to hire you to play my fiancé through the holiday season. A few more events and company parties.” Rip it off like a band-aid. “I
can compensate you.”

  His dark eyes sweep over my face. “Let me get this straight. Be your man, and you compensate me.”

  “Well, no. You won’t technically be my man.” I lean over the table, whispering the next phrase, “What happened in the bathroom was a one-time deal.”

  Kills me to say that, because this man exudes sexuality.

  “Pity.” The way he runs the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, has me wondering what the restrooms are like in here. No. Stop.

  I sit up straighter. “Pollux, this is a business deal,” I emphasize. “You’ll pretend like you did today at the picnic, and we can break up after I make partner.”

  “How long is that?”

  “Right after the holiday season. It can work.”

  “And the compensation?” he asks, running his hand over the light stubble on his chin.

  What do you offer someone who has everything? I can tell by his designer clothes and DaVinci watch he doesn’t need money. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

  He glances up to the ceiling and then his eyes land back on me. “How many events?”

  “Six or seven.”

  And then he asks for the one thing I least expect, “How about sex?”

  4

  POLLUX

  Well fuck. Today turned out to be a pretty decent day. I’d probably accept her deal for nothing, but I can't stop thinking about ripping her dress off to see what she's wearing underneath.

  She fidgets. “No, there will be no sex.”

  “No, that’s my compensation. I’ll do it for sex.”

  She shifts in her seat, her brows pulling together. “Uh, no.”

  “Well, that’s my offer. Take it or leave it. Hot, wild sex. Kinky sex.” I move closer. “Downright dirty fucking.”

  She swallows. Speechless.

  This works out perfectly.

  I want to infiltrate this company, and Katy is the ticket.

  First-class ticket.

  She’s thinking about it. She wants it. Oh damn, I know she does. Something is stopping her.

  “Katy,” I say. “Just live a little.”

  Her eyes catch the fading light of the sun, softening them to a light shade of summer blue. “I uh…”

  “You want it. You know you do. I know you do. Stop fighting it, and let’s make you a fucking partner of Masters.”

  Her answer is tiny. I barely hear it. “Ok.”

  Fuck yeah. “Ok,” I mimic her words.

  Her cheeks blush, and she’s unable to meet my eyes. “Here, write your email on the back of this card, and I’ll email you an itinerary.” She slides a card to me quickly. “I need to go shopping,” she says, rising from the booth.

  I scribble off an old personal email address with no real name or info behind it. For some reason, I'm not ready to let her go yet. “Care for an honest opinion to tag along?”

  “Honest opinion?” She slides her sweet ass back in the seat.

  “Yeah, you know,” I lean forward, “to tell you if you look horrible and such.” As if she ever could. I hold the card containing my email address between two fingers.

  Her eyes widen, and she snatches the card. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Well, that depends. Are you wanting me to be honest or lie?”

  She swats my bicep with her hand. “I don’t like you very much, but,” she lifts her button nose, squaring her shoulders, “it appears I need you.”

  “So, you want me to lie. Got it. Let’s go.”

  “No, I don’t want you to lie. Just lie about being my fiancé.” She’s flustered, and I crack a smile.

  “Sure, of course,” I say, sarcastically.

  “And if you ever lie to me about anything else, I’ll shove my fist where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  Fuck. She’ll never find out why I’m really here. And when she does, it’ll be too late.

  I lean forward. “Just as long as I get to do the same.”

  Her mouth snaps shut. I like shocking her.

  She’s quiet for a moment, and I can’t handle the silence.

  “Calm down, princess. Let’s go shop for pretty things.”

  “I don’t want you to come.” She folds her arms.

  “Really?” I lower my voice, “Because I sure want to make you come.”

  “Okay, if you stop that,” her blush deepens, “you can come with me.” She gives a tiny shake of her head. “Not like that. I meant you can ride me.” She closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ride with me.”

  I laugh, throwing a fifty on the table. “Let's do it.”

  I’m not sure why the fuck I thought this was a good idea. For hours, I’ve been dragged around every department store in Manhattan. It’s getting late, and we stop by Bloomingdale’s to grab a few more items.

  Watching her try on fancy dresses is like torture. Worse than any torture anyone could ever imagine. Chinese water torture? Chair of torture? Uh, nope. Iron Maiden has nothing on Katy trying on clothes. She can’t make up her mind. About anything. She’s tried on everything and found fault with all of them.

  I park my ass in an overstuffed armchair at Bloomingdale’s as Katy tries on a few more evening gowns.

  The blonde sales associate, helping her with a row of pearl buttons down the back, delivers the line she’s probably said millions of times, “This dress is gorgeous on you.”

  It is. After she walks away, and Katy is ready to head back into the fitting room, I stand.

  “Tell me, Katy. Do you only fuck strange men in bathrooms or are dressing rooms allowed?” I walk into the small room with her, catching her off guard.

  Her eyes widen. “Are you calling yourself strange?”

  “No, I’m not strange. Kinky, but not strange. But, you liked it, right?” I trace a finger down the column of her throat and watch as a slight shiver runs through her.

  She doesn’t answer, and I think back to the night we met. I saw a striking woman who looked upset, so, I said hi. One thing led to another, and next thing I knew, I was getting my dick wet deep inside her tight pussy.

  Unable to resist, I brush my lips against hers.

  “Is everything ok in there?” the sales lady asks through the door.

  We break the kiss, and Katy slaps a hand across my mouth. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

  I bite gently on her hand and she removes it. “Asshole,” she whispers.

  “Touché.”

  “Now tell me, what do you do for a living?” She turns her back to me so I can help with the buttons.

  I give her a false answer. “Computer stuff.”

  “Oh, sounds interesting. Do you…”

  “It isn’t.” I stop things before she can pry further. She removes the dress, and I spin around, trying to look away as my cock hardens. Fuck. “Listen, this is business. I don't think it's necessary to tell each other our life stories.”

  I really have nothing to say to her. I can’t think with my dick here. Don’t let her in, that’s my motto.

  Her red lips smile at me through the mirror as I turn back around, and my eyes zero in on the plump shape, thinking back to the feel of them on mine. How her tongue felt exploring my mouth. And yeah, I’m flirting with the idea of taking her right now and doing it all over again.

  I slip my hand up her bare back, grazing my fingertips along her soft skin.

  “Do you like that?” I ask, my voice husky with desire.

  “Yeah,” she coos.

  The fucking sales lady interrupts us again, and I reluctantly step out the door, giving Katy a flirty grin.

  When Katy gathers together her final purchases, thank god, she stops by a counter of scarves.

  “I love the colors on this one.” She points to a silky, red and orange scarf.

  “Yeah.” All I can think about is tying her up with it.

  “The way it all blends together.” She runs her fingers over the material.

  “Are you going to buy it or stare at it all night long?”
>
  Her nose scrunches. “You’re an ass.”

  She leaves the counter and stalks out of the store. A few minutes later, after purchasing the scarf, I find her outside on the busy sidewalk.

  “This next event, where is it?” I ask, walking her back to her car.

  “Our company building.” Her lips fascinate me when she speaks. I could probably watch them all day. Especially if they are wrapped around my cock.

  There is barely any conversation the few short blocks, and I don’t care. The less I say to her the better.

  Before she gets in the car, I stop her. “I'm not as big of an ass as you think.” I pull the scarf she admired out of my coat pocket and slip it in one of her shopping bags. “It's going to look hot tied around your wrists.” I wink and walk away.

  Later in the evening, when I’m back at the suite, I check my email.

  A message from Katy, with the report. Can’t wait to open that. Have I mentioned I hate reports? I’ll never understand why something that feels like homework is necessary.

  I click it, hoping there’s some sort of insight to the company or some major secret behind Masters, but what I find is a girl who is completely organized, down to a T. Is she serious? One line reads ‘Wear a jacket, may get cold.’

  I laugh as I scroll through, skimming her little notes. She’s cute.

  And I smile at her last line:

  Just pretend we’re madly in love and giddy for each other.

  Thanks, Katy

  I press reply and type out my response.

  From: Pollux Clark

  Date: November 26 2017 9:15

  Subject: Re: Itinerary Reports

  To: Katy Vanderlin, Sexy Senior Consultant

  Katy,

  I find all the little notes to be quite helpful. Thank you for reminding me about the jacket as I may have forgotten how cold it is.

  Also, I love the note about not standing too close to Irene from accounting, or I may get felt up after she has hit the punch a bit too much.