The Heartbroker (20 page)

TO RECAP—IN CASE you weren’t paying attention—my world has imploded.

It’s like Logan came along and casually dropped an incendiary device or ten, blowing my world into smithereens.

Just three days ago I had a business with a bright future, and I was in love with the most amazing man I’ve ever met. I was on Cloud Nine, in full party mode. Hell, I was sailing high above Cloud Nine, laughing in its face.

And now? Let’s just say I’ve had better weeks.

It’s been two days since Brad did a bunk with our information, ruining us into the bargain.

We’ve had a letter from
You: Now
confirming they no longer want to “pursue joint opportunities” but we could “keep the successful brand,
Live It
”. So very good of them.

I gave the letter the treatment it deserved and threw it with full force into my rubbish bin. I should have spat on it too.

Between us we’ve rung all our contacts, asking them to keep their business with us while we weather this storm. But clever old Logan, Brad and their cronies got in there first, offering them discounted rates and the promise of fresh blood to meet all their needs.

“Who did you hear from at
You: Now
?” I ask one of my recently departed clients over the phone.

“I’m not sure I should say, Brooke,” she replies.

“What difference would it make, Tui? Please,” I plead, “just tell me.”

“A guy called Brad Stephenson came to see us, but we got a letter before then. Hold on a sec, Brooke. But don’t tell my boss, okay?”

“Sure,” I assure her, my voice faint.

Brad went to see our clients? We were sitting ducks and he just sailed in, took what he wanted, and sailed on out again. Much like Logan, although Logan took so much more.

“Let’s see. It’s signed by someone called Logan McSomething.”

“McManus?” My voice comes out so faint she doesn’t hear me.

Any shred of hope I had left Logan was somehow not involved in this drops like a rock through water.

“Oh.” My heart breaks all over again.

“I’m sorry, Brooke. You guys were great, and if it wasn’t for the rates we might have been able to stay with you.”

“Thanks, Tui. See you around.” I hang up.

It’s that classic love story: boy meets girl, they fall in love, boy steals girl’s company from under her feet.

It should be made into a Disney movie.

I sigh heavily and walk out of my office into the open plan space.

“I spoke with Michael Cray-Smith,” Stefan begins. “He’s jumped ship too, gone over to
You: Now
. He was very apologetic about it all, yadda yadda yadda. He makes me sick.”

I bury my face in my hands.

“What’s next, boss?” Stefan’s putting a bright face on it.

“Let’s all meet in the conference room once we’ve finished our calls to go over the data. See what we’re left with here.”

“I’m done,” he replies. His words echo around the room.

* * *

Once assembled in the conference room I troll through the information from everyone. Only a small handful of clients said they would be open to staying with us.

“Does loyalty mean nothing to these people?” I shake my head.

“It’s tough out there, Brooke. Our services are often seen as a luxury purchase. If they can get good quality work for cheaper elsewhere, they will.”

I feel dejected. “Well, at least we still have our weekend seminars. How are the numbers looking, Jocelyn?”

Jocelyn darts a look at Stefan. “I picked this up at the café across the road this morning.” Stefan hands me a glossy flyer.

It’s an advertisement for a
You: Now
personal development seminar the same weekend as our next scheduled one.

“I’m sorry, Brooke,” Jocelyn says, passing me a spread sheet. “It’s not looking too bright.”

We have a measly number of attendees, only a few who’ve paid, and just a small fraction of the numbers we usually attract.

“That’s all?” I ask, my voice weak.

She nods. “We’ve been getting cancellations this morning, love.”

“Oh.” What else can I say? Sure, I could put up a fight, but sometimes you just need to know when you’re beat.

And for
Live It
that time seems to be here and now.

“We can take them on at their own game,” Stefan says. “What’s stopping us from holding our seminar? We have the brand, the market presence. New Zealanders
know
us, they trust us. We can offer a discount for group bookings, put out flyers, get on social media, get the word out there we’re still here and we’re still the best personal development seminar in the business.”

“Stefan, I admire your enthusiasm, but I think we can all see the writing on the wall. We can’t compete with this big American company.”

“You’re giving up,” he accuses.

“Yes, I am. Stefan, if we can’t make the numbers work for this seminar, how do we pay for this office, our salaries, the venues with no income? We might last a while as we fight the good fight, but that’s all it will be: a while.”

“You can’t just give up!” He storms out of the room.

I take a deep breath. “Look, everyone. I can pay you to the end of next week, and I’ll give every one of you the best reference you’ve ever had, because you’ve all been—” I’m forced to stop as my voice catches. After a moment, I try again. “You’ve all been amazing to work with.”

People drift out of the conference room, pack up their desks and bid one another tearful goodbyes.

Stefan storms back into my office, not an ounce calmer than when he left.

“Don’t do this, Brooke. You
have
to keep fighting.”

Stefan hasn’t seen how cut throat this business can be. I have. After all, I was the one doing the throat cutting back when Jonathan and I started
Live It
.

People like to latch onto the new, exciting thing. Back then, that
was
Live It
and we rode the wave for years. Now the tables have turned, and I know no amount of price-cutting and advertising can compete with the new, exciting, glossy player in town.

Sure, they may come back to us if they don’t like what
You: Now
has to offer. But that may be weeks, months, or even years down the road. We can’t survive that long.

I also know
You: Now
offers a great product: that’s why I wanted to partner with them in the first place.

No, it’s over.

“We have to, Stefan. We can’t keep afloat like this.”

He hangs his head, the anger slipping away.

“You’ve been the best sales and marketing manager I could ever have hoped for, Stefan, and I want us to always be friends. But right now it’s time to say goodbye.”

He sighs. “I’ll never work for anyone as fantastic as you, boss.”

I hug him in close. “I know.”

He manages a laugh. “I’ll go pack up my desk.”

Jocelyn comes into my office a few moments later.

“I hate to ask this, love, what with the business going belly up and all. Are you sure Logan was involved?” Jocelyn asks.

Anger flashes through me at the mention of his name. “Yes. It would appear he knew all about this.”

“Well, blow me down. If I’d known he was going to do this to you, love, I’d have told him to naff off. I feel like a right wally, giving him all that inside info. Ooh, I’m so brassed off with him.”

“Inside info? What are you talking about?”

“When you first met, I could tell you both had the hots for each other,” she begins.

I nod. It’s true, despite how it all turned out.

“I hadn’t seen you look at a man that way before, love, and I wanted to give you a helping hand. You deserve to be happy, and I thought Logan might be the fella for you.”

I nod. You’re not the only one, sunshine.

“When you weren’t around he asked me things about you, what you like, the places you go, that sort of thing. I thought he was a good bloke, so I told him where you were going for dinner the day you met him.”

“You told him I was going to Charlie Noble with my friends?”

I think back to the evening I met Alexis and Laura for dinner and Logan had left with Lucinda.

God, I bet he did sleep with her.

“I did, love. And when you were going to Queenstown. I’m so sorry.”

I let out a puff of air. “It doesn’t matter now, Jocelyn. What’s done is done. And if it’s any consolation, I thought he was a good bloke too. More fool us.”

“If I ever see him again, I’ll have his guts for garters,” she says with rage.

I let out a weak chortle. I bet she would. And I wouldn’t translate it for him, either. Let him find out what it means the hard way.

“Come on, love. Time to rattle your dags. You can’t sit here wallowing all day.”

“I know. Onwards and upwards, right?” I force a smile.

“That’s the spirit, chook,” she replies, and her answering smile is full of warmth.

I walk back over to my desk and begin to organise some paperwork and files, all the while wishing things could have worked out better.

And Logan had been the man Jocelyn and I both thought he was.

* * *

My phone beeps with a reminder and, after searching around my bombsite of an office for several minutes, I finally find it. I’m due to meet Scott for a drink tonight.

I so can’t face seeing him right now.

You know when you see your ex for the first time you want to not only look amazing but have your life sorted too: a new man, a new haircut, a fabulously successful career? When I agreed to meet Scott for a drink I had all that.

Or so I thought.

Now, I’m single and jobless. Hardly a launching platform for a ‘look-how-well-I’m-doing-without-you’ drink with my ex.

I pick up my phone to call him.

He answers on the first ring. “Hey, Brooke. I’m looking forward to seeing you at eight.”

“Well, here’s the thing. Is it all right with you if we take a rain check? I’m swamped,” I lie.

Yeah, swamped packing up what’s left of my life.

“Oh,” he replies, sounding deflated. “I guess. But I was kind of hoping to see you.”

I waiver for just a moment, thinking how it would be nice to think about something other than the ruin that is my life right now.

Scott picks up on my hesitation. “Come on. You know you want to. We’ll have fun, I promise. Just like we used to.”

Fun? Man, I sure could do with some fun.

“Okay,” I concede, perhaps against my better judgment. “But just one drink, got it?”

I ARRIVE AT ANCESTRAL a few minutes before eight, wanting to be prepared for The First Big Meeting with Scott since our break up.

I order a drink and take it to a nearby table, where I swallow a few steadying sips—okay, gulps—before he arrives.

To my surprise, I polish the glass off in just a few minutes. I order another.

As I sit in the bar alone I think about how I had imagined our first get together since our messy break up would go. I would sashay in without a care in the world, dressed in some gorgeous new outfit that accentuated my small waist and slim, toned legs, looking hotter than a toasted marshmallow.

Scott, of course, would greet me with his jaw on the floor as he took in my beauty, confidence, and success.

I would talk about how much I appreciated our time together, and that I hoped he could be as happy as I find myself now, with Logan and my successful business, branching out into new countries.

We would laugh about the old days, agreeing that our love was only ever destined to be short, and that we had learned so much from each other, things that made us better people.

Of course he would confess with tears in his eyes that he still loved me and I would touch his hand in sympathy. “You will love again, Scott,” I would offer with kindness, knowing he would never find a woman he loved as much as me.

Ah, but fantasies about how things will go with our exes are sadly just that, and the reality is often quite, quite different.

I take another sip of my chardonnay and am shocked to see I’ve almost reached the bottom of my second glass.

That one went down well. May as well get another.

As though reading my mind, a waitress approaches my table. I order another glass, and sit, waiting for Scott, trying my best to look sexy yet unavailable: a pretty tall order when you feel like crap, that’s for sure.

A few moments and most of my third—but who’s counting?—glass of chardonnay later, my breath catches in my throat as I spy Scott pushing through the door, scanning the room for me.

He’s wearing his signature slim-fitting jeans, accentuating his long, athletic legs and slim waist, a white T-shirt under a casual black jacket. He looks like a guy from a hair product commercial with his thick, blonde bed-head hair. He’s always been supremely confident—some may go so far as to say arrogant, but I couldn’t possibly comment—which serves to make him even hotter.

I wave at him, giving him my best ‘I’m-over-you’ smile, and he grins at me. As he saunters over to my table, a number of women’s eyes follow him, which he plays up by running his hands through his hair and flashing them a smile, much to their obvious delight.

“Hey, babe,” he says as I stand to give him a quick ‘we’re-just-friends’ hug.

He holds me at arm’s length—literally, not figuratively—sweeping his eyes over my body from top to tail and back up again. “You look a-mazing.”

Despite myself, a tingle runs throughout my body. “Err, thanks.” I look away.

Jeez Louise. He can still get to me, even after breaking my heart. What am I? Some sort of masochist?

At this rate we’ll be going all
Fifty Shades
with one another before the night is over.

“What can I get you?” the waitress asks Scott as he takes off his jacket, revealing a tight white T-shirt underneath. It accentuates his professional athlete’s physique to perfection.

He orders his beer and sits down opposite me. “It is
so
good to see you, you know?” He pierces me with his eyes. “How long has it been?”

“A while.” Of course I know exactly how long it’s been since he slept with someone else, broke my heart, and I kicked him out of our home. But I’m not about to let on to him.

“You look good.” I take another sip of my chardonnay, enjoying the buzz it’s giving me. “Life’s treating you well?”

“It is, actually. I’m here to meet with some investors. I’m getting the tennis resort up and running. Brooke, I’m realising my dreams.” He beams at me, thoroughly proud of himself.

When we were together he had big plans to set up a tennis resort in New Zealand’s ‘winterless north’, the area at the tip of the North Island boasting the best weather in the country—ideal for tennis, of course.

“Good for you.” I feel a tinge of sadness when I think about the demise of my own business. Since I certainly don’t want to go into
that
, I say, “Tell me all about it.”

He waxes lyrical about his plans, telling me where his tennis resort will be located, how many courts he plans to have, and he hopes to open it within the coming year.

“I’m so glad you agreed to meet me, Brooke.”

“Me too,” I reply, and I mean it. It feels so good not to be dwelling on my company or Logan right now. And the wine has given me the best buzz.

“Really?” He’s suddenly anxious. “I thought you hated me.”

“Hate you? No. Maybe I despised you for a while, but that’s all gone. We’re good.” I smile hazily at him.

Relief floods his face. “You don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

He moves a little closer. “Brooke, babe, I want you to know I never meant to hurt you the way I did.”

I study his face for a moment, remembering how it felt when he admitted to having the affair. The alcohol in my system seems to act like a magical elixir, washing any lingering hurt or resentment away.

“I know.” I pat his hand. He grabs onto it, fixing me with his gaze.

“Brooke, I still love you. I never stopped. Please, let me back in your life.”

I blink at him, barely comprehending his words. “You want me back?”

“Yes,” he replies with alacrity. “I do. I want to be with you, to love you again. Like I always have.”

To say I’m dumbfounded by his confession has to be the understatement of the year. I know I was the one who kicked him out, but it was only after I discovered he’d been having sex all over town with my old school friend, Jessica Banks. At the time I thought we were going to be together forever.

While trying to work out how to respond, I absentmindedly raise my empty glass to my lips. “Oops,” I utter when I discover there’s nothing in it.

“Here, let me order you another one.”

With our once attentive waitress nowhere to be seen, Scott goes to the bar to order us another drink.

I watch him walk away. He loves me and wants me back.

I can’t quite take it in. Oh, but it’s so, so tempting. With everything falling to pieces around my ears, being with someone I know inside out—someone who loves me and hasn’t stopped loving me in all this time—is so very alluring.

Although things got pretty messy towards the end, when we were good we were very, very good together.

I can’t help but watch his tight, toned butt as he stands at the bar—as do all the other woman in the room—and my mind wanders to how it felt to hold in my hands, squeezing it hard during our frequent love making.

There’s an unexpected twinge in my Girly Bits at the memories—and the prospect.

It would be so easy to fall into bed with him tonight.

“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” that pesky angel on my right shoulder asks in my ear.

“She’s considering having some fun with that rather mouth-watering specimen of sexy manhood over there. Chill out, will you,” Devil Brooke replies. “Go on, look at him. He’s hot. And he wants you,” she whispers seductively in my ear.

I bang the side of my head in an attempt to shake the sparring Brookes out, making the room wobble unsteadily around me. Man, I can’t hold my liquor: I’m such a lightweight.

A lightweight with auditory hallucinations. Wow, I really should get that checked out.

Scott returns with my next glass of wine, which I take from him eagerly, downing several gulps before placing it on the table. I pick it up again, deciding I can save time between swigs if I keep holding it. All that picking it up, putting it down malarkey is just exhausting.

And entirely unnecessary because drinking is so much fun when you do it really, really fast.

He raises his eyebrows in amusement and I grin back at him like a drunken floozy. Which is what I guess I am right now.

“Cheers.” He raises his glass.

“What are we drinking to?” I enquire, holding my glass aloft.

“To us?” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. It’s posed as a question but I know, with his supreme confidence, he’s certain I will acquiesce.

“Oh.” I burst into laughter.

Scott regards me with a quizzical look on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I am fantastic, Scott. Fan-bloody-
tastic
.” I take another large slurp from my wine glass. I think I slosh some of it down my front, but decide it’s in everyone’s best interests to ignore it.

“And I would like to say how great it is to see you again, Scott my old Scotty Scott Scott. My former
loverrrr
. To you.” I raise my glass again. “And to your beautiful butt.” I giggle. “To your amazing ass.” Somebody stop me. “To your gorgeous glutes.”
Please!

Scott flashes me the cheeky grin I know so well from days gone by. “You’re toasted.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I like it, you know?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just high on life. Who knows?” I shrug as though my current high spirits are a mystery unsolvable by modern science.

He leans closer in towards me and my Girly Bits perk up again. “As much as I’m enjoying this version of Brooke, have you eaten lately?”

I’m too busy watching his lips, thinking how much I want to kiss them, to hear what he’s saying. Blah blah blah, it’s all just boring old words. I giggle again.

This is turning into the
best
night.

I take an ill-advised slug of my wine mid-giggle, causing me to cough, a bit of wine dribbling out of my nose.

Attractive, I know.

I recover long enough to reply, “Hmmm?” I lick my own lips and bat my eyelashes at him.

“I asked you if you’ve eaten anything, but I’m guessing not. I’ll order some food.”

“No, don’t do that.” I don’t want to break the spell. “I have a
much
better idea.” I raise my eyebrows at him, parting my lips. “Wanna get outta here?”

Little Devil Brooke is doing cartwheels on my shoulder right now as Angel Brooke sulks, knowing she’s lost the good fight.

Scott’s face breaks into the crooked smile that used to drive me crazy as he reaches over the table, taking my hand in his and begins to draw circles on my palm. It feels so incredible; all my senses are focused on my left hand.

“I knew you still wanted me.”

I barely register his words as my entire being concentrates on my hand.

I want to shout out, “Stop the press! We’ve discovered a new erogenous zone!”

“I’ll go pay.”

“Good idea. But can you take me with you? I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing.”

It’s tempting to just take him here and now, ripping off his clothes and mounting him on this very table.

It’s probably a good thing I don’t, however, what with the bar being full of patrons and all. I believe that kind of thing is frowned on—in this country, anyway.

The bill paid and our jackets on, we walk out of the bar onto the street. Scott flags us a cab and we slide into the back together, my heart pounding at the thought of having him.

“Where to?” the taxi driver asks.

Scott looks at me. “Your place?”

I shake my head, thoughts of Logan in my townhouse only a short time ago polluting my brain. “Yours.” I force myself to think about Scott instead.

After all, Scott’s here with me now, he’s made it clear he wants me, and he’s unlikely to steal my business after using me for sex. Not that I have a business to lose anymore.

He instructs the driver where to go then sits back next to me, taking my face gently in his hands. Caressing my hair he pulls me into a kiss. It’s insistent and deep, sending a course of pleasure through my body, just like it always did when we were together.

“How far are we going?” I ask.

“All the way, I hope.”

I laugh lightly. “I mean, how far is it until we get to your place?”

“Oh, umm, it’s just the next block. Driver, can you stop there, by the white van?”

He pays the driver and takes me by the hand, helping me out of the car and leading me through a door and up a flight of narrow stairs. The anticipation of having him is almost too much to bear, and I quicken my pace, taking the stairs two by two.

“Hold on.” He chuckles. “We’ve got the whole night, babe.”

We reach a door and he pulls out a key. “This is a friend’s place. He’s away and said I could crash here.”

Once through the door he leads me past a small living area with a tiny kitchen, junk scattered everywhere, into a bedroom. The unmade bed almost fills the cramped room, and Scott busies himself with giving it a quick tidy.