Breaking Stone: Bad Boy Romance Novel Page 17

  The taxi crawled into the slow moving queue toward the passenger drop-off area. Once I’d triple-checked the message and come up each time with the same conclusion, I looked up. Stone watched me, his mouth hard, his eyes as dull as the concrete pavement.

  “I’m sorry, Katrina.” He shrugged. “Can’t do it. The book, us—”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, alarmed that he’d for once called me Katrina.

  “It can’t work between us. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

  My face burned with shame. All the sex jumbled into flashes, out of sequence, but each one as awful as the next. I’d let myself be used because in my head, I’d written a different script to the one that was playing out. He was a manwhore, the hookup guy, and I’d somehow managed to delude myself that with me, he was something more than that.

  I flung my door open and stumbled out of the cab. Stone followed me quickly, paying the driver and taking our bags.

  I would not fucking cry in front of him, but I needed a quiet bathroom stall where I could spend a moment getting my shit together, and, yes, probably crying.

  My wheelie bag tipped to one side, capsizing on the ground because I’d tugged it so hard from Stone’s grip. “I think we should take separate train cars back,” I announced, my voice unnervingly strong.

  “Fine,” he replied.

  We approached the station entrance with twelve arctic inches separating us. For a moment, I hoped I was dreaming, but someone calling Stone’s name broke me out of that fantasy. “I need the bathroom,” I said.

  He nodded. “I’ll wait at the ticket counter.”

  I tried to keep my spine straight and walk with dignity, but I dragged my heart behind me with my bag.

  There was only one first-class car, and Stone had swapped his ticket for a seat in the business section. I took a single seat at the far end of the car from where we’d sat only two days ago, close to where he’d ambushed me as I’d left the bathroom to pin me in the alcove. Kiss number two.

  I curled in my seat, stared through the window, and saw nothing. I was numb, yet my body itched and wanted to be held. Between my legs was sore and bruised from all the sex. The back of my neck had a deep purple bruise and an exquisitely sore point where he’d bitten me. I hated him, and my heart broke because I wanted to travel back to yesterday and stop time.

  My phone buzzed and pinged with messages, all ignored. I had no idea how to face Sarah. My future with FaithLit could probably be saved if I played this carefully, but I’d never get the talented clients I dreamed of on the back of being Stone Logan’s awesome media assistant. Worse, I’d probably be known as the person who failed to get the book out of him.

  CJM wouldn’t touch me with a barge pole. I’d be back at the temping agency, begging for an envelope stuffing assignment if anyone would have me.

  Rent was due.

  I was a complete failure.

  By the time we reached Penn Station, I had no plan beyond getting to the apartment to change into clothes my mother would approve of and making sure I arrived at her lunch on time.

  Stone waited for me on the platform. If it was any consolation, he looked terrible.

  “Is there anything you can say to me?” I asked carefully, hopefully, not trusting my voice because I wanted to rage at him and tell him I loved him.

  He shook his head. “Let me get you a cab.”

  I swallowed past the gunk in my throat. “The bus is fine. I’ll get going. Bye.” My words rushed out because the pressure building behind my eyes made them hot. I blinked furiously as I walked away, not wanting him to see me swipe at any tears trying to escape.

  Every step I took, I waited for him to call to me. Isn’t that what happens in the movies? The begging for forgiveness, the declarations of love. By the time I reached my bus, I knew that my life wasn’t like the movies.

  I was relieved to find the apartment empty, because I couldn’t explain to Carrie what had happened when I had yet to sort things out myself. The familiarity of my bedroom was comforting, and the draw of my bed, to curl up under the comforter and sleep for a few hours, was particularly powerful, given that I was expected at my parents for lunch in fewer than thirty minutes. Without a doubt, I was going to be late.

  Good. That, and Clarissa’s arrival from college, should keep the focus away from anything but my tardiness when compared to my sister’s awesome ability to travel across three states and still be on time.

  Mom met me at the door with a sour face and a bible quote on her apron.

  “Your sister has been here for over an hour. We’re waiting for you so that we can start lunch.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been working.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Don’t lie.” She bent closer. I thought she was going to kiss me. I could smell her Lily of the Valley scent and her distinctive breath, she was that close. I thought about the other Lily and her valley, which I hoped Stone wasn’t already excavating. The thought made me so anxious I almost missed Mom’s next words.

  “I saw the photo of you in Newport,” she hissed, her voice low as if she were revealing my dirtiest secret.

  “It’s not what you think,” I said. It’s worse.

  “Your father’s very upset. It’s so typical of you, Katrina, to try and outshine your sister, but believe me, associating yourself with a man like that just makes you look like a slut. Come and help me carry the food to the table.”

  Because breaking my heart is the way I intend to outshine my sister.

  I followed her to the kitchen. No stiff hug today. No barely touching lips against the flesh of my cheek. I carried a dish of steaming potatoes through to the dining room and greeted Dad. At least his hug showed no signs of how very upset he was with me. Clarissa looked self-satisfied, so nothing different there.

  Dad gave thanks for the food and the opportunity to share it with his family, and I waited as others helped themselves to the customary Sunday dinner. A chicken, potatoes, and green vegetables, all cooked to the point of exhaustion. I would get the blame if they were overdone, which was pointless because they were always overdone. Carrots and parsnips withered on the final plate. I served myself a piece of chicken, a potato, and a few beans and waited for the gravy to be passed.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Katrina. That wouldn’t feed a bird,” Mom said, pointing at my plate with her knife.

  No matter what serving size I took, it always displeased her. Big or small, I would be accused of having an eating disorder at the corresponding end of the spectrum. “I had a large breakfast.”

  “When you knew perfectly well you were coming here for lunch.”

  She had a point, I guess, but at breakfast time, I was hungry and happy.

  The chicken turned to a stringy mass in my mouth as I chewed. I sipped at my water and swallowed quickly, waiting for it to sit like a stone in my belly. My appetite was zero.

  “You’re very quiet, darling,” my father remarked.

  “I thought you’d have a lot to tell us...about work,” Clarissa added, earning herself a dark look from Mom.

  “She’s ashamed, and rightly so,” Mom said.

  I stabbed a bean.

  Thankfully, Mom and Clarissa seemed more interested in church gossip, so I concentrated on forcing tiny forkfuls of food into my mouth. I wondered what Stone was doing. Was Lily at his house? Would she be kind to Buster? By the time lunch was over, I started eyeing the clock. I had a ready excuse that I needed to work and would be catching the 3:18 bus home. Only an hour to go. And as for work, I wasn’t sure that I still had a job.

  “Come and help me with the dishes, Katrina.”

  It didn’t matter what my mother slung my way. I remained protected by a numb barrier I’d been unable to shift. I’d dry the dishes and wipe benches and let her say her piece. Right now, she was incapable of hurting me.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to explain to me about working for Mr. Logan.”

&nb
sp; “You know I couldn’t do that.”

  “Yet, when I phoned Cooper Johnson Management, they were quite happy to tell me where you were. You’ve been living up there with that…that...scandalous man. Are you deliberately trying to shame our family?”

  I could have asked her the same question. But she didn’t want my explanation because she’d already drawn her own unmovable opinion. I stared at the soap bubbles that gathered and dangled from the handle of the pot until gravity took them to the floor.

  “After church this morning, Felicity Filbert was showing everyone a video on a gossip website of you with that man coming out of a hotel in Newport. He had his arm around you. I’ve never felt so humiliated, Katrina. This is breaking your father to pieces. We didn’t bring you up to behave like a slut. A home wrecker. What were you thinking? That poor Lily Clarke, crying on television, wanting her boyfriend back.”

  She shouldn’t have brought Lily into this. I might have made mistakes, but there was no relationship going on with Lily when Stone and I got together. I wanted to tell her about the restraining order and the fact that Lily and Stone had broken up well before I’d ever come on the scene. But why bother? Mom would only hear what she wanted to hear and twist anything I gave her into new ammunition to take me down.

  I placed the serving platter I was drying on the counter and dropped my dish towel on top. “I haven’t done anything wrong, but you don’t want to hear that, so I’ll be on my way. I won’t discuss this with you, because it’s none of your business. Thank you for lunch. I’ll say goodbye to Dad and Clarissa on my way out.”

  “I’ve told FaithLit you won’t be involved with their work anymore.”

  There was a triumphant note in her parting shot. I told myself I didn’t need them. CJM still owed me some money for my work with Stone. I’d get by and develop my own business without any outside help.

  The rain started halfway through the cheerless bus ride home. I had no coat or umbrella and arrived back at the apartment wet, cold and miserable.

  22

  Stone

  By evening, I’d taken Buster for a walk and consumed a lot of whiskey, ignoring my phone and staying away from the computer. What a fucking mess. Even Buster seemed lost, and when he jumped on the couch and lay beside me, his head thumping into my lap with a big sigh, I noticed he had one of Katrina’s socks in his mouth. He must have stolen and stashed it at some stage last week.

  It made me wish I’d stolen and stashed Katrina, hidden her away, and disappeared with her off-grid.

  I’d fucked up her life in the same way I’d almost done to Lily. Except, I’d never been in love with Lily. I knew that now. I wasn’t used to these relationships, and it was best that I’d ended it with Katrina rather than have her fall for me and pull a stunt like Lily’s.

  They say you should never believe your own press, but maybe, in my case, it was true. Maybe all I’d ever be was the bad boy, the heart-breaker who sleeps with everything that moves. The good-time guy, not the long-time guy. Finishing the book was impossible. I couldn’t write a story about what was broken inside me while everyone wrote rave reviews.

  I flicked through the images on my phone, showing Buster the selfies I took with Katrina during the weekend. He licked the screen. I wanted to do that, too.

  “This is the suite we stayed in, Buster. Out that window were acres of ground. You’d have loved it there.” I scrolled through a few more photos and stopped on my favorite one, staring at the phone.

  “I can’t show you this one, Buster. You’re too young. Katrina was really mad at me when I took it because she’d just stepped out of the shower and I hid the towels. She wanted to cover her body, but fuck me, pup, she has the sexiest body I’ve ever seen. I don’t think she believed me when I told her, but it’s the truth.”

  Buster’s tail flopped a couple of times against the cushion.

  “Here’s Katrina on the platform, waiting for the train home. She doesn’t know I took this one. See how sad she looks? I did that to her because I’m a total prick. I’m not good at love, Buster, but I like you a hell of a lot, and I promise I’ll be here for you, even if I can’t be there for Katrina.”

  Buster closed his eyes, as if my declaration that his future with me was safe was all he’d needed to hear.

  The following morning, there was some asshole from the press at the back of the house when I took Buster to the river for his walk. I marched past him and called him a fucking leech, which probably wasn’t the brightest thing to have come from my mouth, and headed along the bank to throw sticks for the dog.

  The reporter didn’t follow, although later that day, I discovered he’d taken a bunch of photographs.

  I checked my social media, which had typically blown apart because someone suggested Lily and I were getting married, which had immediately been countered by someone who’d taken a photo of Katrina and me in Newport. Then stuff turned crazy, and a couple of women I was sure I’d never met insisted they’d spent the weekend with me.

  There were no updates from Katrina, so I guessed she wasn’t working for CJM any longer.

  I sat back and rubbed my eyes. I’d never intended to ruin her career, and I made a note to call Sarah and explain that everything was my fault. Knowing Sarah, though, she’d still want somebody punished.

  I chased down Rip. He was heading to Dyer Island in South Africa the following month to do some research, also known as swimming with great whites. He invited me along, and the thought of joining him and being anonymous for a few weeks was enticing, as was the lure of the great white.

  He asked about Katrina, and I lied to him and said we were taking a break.

  “I liked her. If you’re parting ways, send me her number.”

  “Fuck off. You stay away from her,” I warned.

  “If she’s free, Stone, you don’t get to say who she goes out with. Remember that.”

  I ended the call, his words putting stuff into my head I didn’t want to think about. Why was it that I was happy to send Lily back to David, when the thought of Katrina with some other guy made me a fucking Neanderthal?

  I printed out the picture of us and stuck it to my wall, then switched on the computer. I had an idea, and I had work to complete.

  23

  Katrina

  “I don’t care how you fucked this up, Katrina, but I want you to get your ass back up to Logan’s house and extract the fucking book from him.”

  Sarah wasn’t taking this at all well. It felt like an age since I’d last sat across the desk from her, the day I accepted the job to be Stone’s assistant. She looked even edgier today than she had then.

  “That might be—” I was about to explain that it would be difficult for me to do that before Sarah cut me off.

  “We don’t say ‘might’ in this office. Or ‘maybe’, or ‘perhaps’. We don’t use weasel words, Katrina. What I expect to hear is, ‘Yes, Sarah, I will do that immediately, and I won’t sleep, eat, or use the bathroom until I return to your office and hand you the manuscript.’ I’m not asking you for the impossible. Stone’s book is not some fucking mythical unicorn, Katrina. It does actually exist.”

  I stared at her, my mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish as I revised the words I wanted to say to make sure no weasels popped their heads up. I had no idea how much of the book existed. All along, I’d been feeding Sarah the kind of reports she wanted to hear, confident that at the end of six weeks, I’d have the book, as Stone promised. He could well have had another burning session in the trash can along the river, for all I knew.

  “Tell me the book exists.”

  Her voice was low and dangerous, her gaze focused like a cobra. I couldn’t meet her eyes, so I stared just over her shoulder at the expensive lamp that overwhelmed a corner table. I wondered if the sickly beige lampshade was made from the exterminated hopes and dreams of previous employees.

  “To an extent, yes, it exists.” If my mother were here, she’d be cheering Sarah on.

  �
��Right. Bring me what he’s done so far, and I’ll get a ghost writer onto it.” Sarah picked up her phone. “I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”

  I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Stone would feel about that idea, if he’d see me, or if he’d let me have what he’d written so far. For all I knew, he could have been sitting in the tower each day watching porn.

  Three hours later, I was back in Springston. I’d been as nervous on this trip as I had been on my first, but I refused to let Stone’s demeanor, whatever it might be, put me off my job. He might not be the person I hoped he’d become in my future, but right now, I had this single chance to salvage something for myself back at CJM, even if it was nothing more than a satisfactory testimonial.

  Springston had a bus service that looped to the town limits and the last point of interest for tourists before returning to the railway station. Thankfully, it ran on a schedule that linked with the trains, so I was able to catch that and get off at a stop within an easy walk of Stone’s house.

  There were no vehicles in the driveway, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was out...or alone. I knocked on the door, listened for a bit, then tried the handle. The door opened.

  It felt strange being here. No sign of Buster, who would surely have given me an enthusiastic greeting, and in that way a house told you it was empty, I sensed Stone wasn’t here, either. I called out anyway, and climbed halfway up the stairs, but the tower door was open. I didn’t feel as though I could enter. The gym was empty and the living room messy, as if Stone and Buster had been hanging out like a couple of teenagers whose parents were out of town.

  I resisted the urge to clear away the well-licked Chinese takeaway containers that sat on the floor, and went through to the kitchen. None of the mugs or glasses had found their way to the dishwasher, and I had to stop myself again. I checked Buster’s water bowl, pleased to find it full. At least the pup was being properly cared for.