Broken In Pieces: Billionaire Stepbrother Romance (Wounded Hearts Book 1) (4 page)

Exile

I
’ve been in
New York for a week and I’m living like I’m on auto pilot. Mother and Carter made sure I had everything I could ever need, including a bank account with a balance that insured I wouldn’t need to work. She’ll never understand that it’s not her money I want, it’s her unconditional love.

I should be happy. I’m not. I feel lost. I’ve locked myself away in this place without a thought of venturing out into the crowded streets. My only contact with the outside world is sitting on my balcony at night, watching the stars or staring at the beautiful New York skyline. The apartment had a baby grand piano so most days I find solace in playing and writing songs. It’s almost like therapy. I can poor all my hurt and anger out on paper and it’s a release of all the pain.

By Thursday afternoon, I’m beginning to get a little stir crazy. The memories are haunting me and slowly driving me insane. I decide that locking myself away isn’t going to work. I need to find a job. I don’t want to keep relying on Mother and Carter so I have to prepare to take care of myself.

I go down to the newspaper stand and get a copy of the New York Times. Back in the apartment, I go through the want ads, circling a few of the waitressing, receptionist and personal assistants positions. I’m really not qualified for much more since I haven’t finished my degree yet. One of the personal assistant ads requests that you do an online application with resume so I do that immediately. Within no time, I receive an email for an interview tomorrow.

On Friday morning, I rise early and prepare for my day of job hunting. I try on several outfits but everything is a little big. I must have lost weight the last couple of weeks. I pick the best fitting, professional looking items I can find but I still feel like a mess. My hair’s pulled back in a neat ponytail and I only have on mascara and lip gloss. I take a long look in the mirror and realize that I wouldn’t hire me, so I head out quickly before I change my mind about going.

At the two restaurants, I fill out the applications and they tell me they have several other applicants and they’ll call when they’ve made a decision. They’re not very friendly and it makes me wonder if I would be miserable working at either of them. At the office that had the receptionist position posted, the young lady behind the desk explains that they have already filled the position. Next on my list is the personal assistant position.

As I entered the building of Hawthorne Heights, I’m instantly taken over by nerves. I make it through security where they direct me to the elevator to go to the twelfth floor. On my way to the elevator, I notice that everyone is very expensively dressed and well groomed. I may really be out of my element here. Once in the elevator, I begin to wonder if this is such a good idea. My nerves almost devour me and I’m contemplating just leaving. Then the elevators doors open and here I am. I go to the receptionist and ask for Caroline. I am instructed to take a seat and she will be with me shortly.

The waiting area, though very lavishly business like, is extremely comfortable. There is lots of dark mahogany wood and ceiling to floor windows. The couches and chairs are extremely plush and all in a mahogany colored leather. The artwork is exquisite and captures my interest quickly. I watch the interaction of the staff. They seem genuinely polite but very aware of themselves.

“Sheridan, Caroline will see you now,” the receptionist brings my attention back to the reason I am here. I follow her down the hallway.

When we reach Caroline’s office, the receptionist knocks and announces me. As I enter, I notice it is decorated much like the waiting area with a few personal touches from the woman who occupies it. There’s a friendly looking lady sitting behind the desk. She looks to be around forty with fire red hair and porcelain skin. Her makeup and clothing are immaculate. She rises from her seat with a huge smile, “Please, come in and have a seat.”

I notice a southern drawl as she speaks which puts me at ease, somewhat. I take my place at one of the chairs she motioned to, in front of her desk. I notice that there is a paper copy of my online resume lying in front of her. We spend the next thirty minutes or so in a very informal interview. It feels more like two old friends having a discussion. This eases my nerves further. We discuss my experience working in offices on my summer breaks and my education.

At the end of the interview, Caroline begins, “Sheridan, I really like you and we’re looking for someone like you who doesn’t have a lot of experience. This way we can train you to assist Mr. Hawthorne. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Hawthorne is very demanding and he likes things the way he likes them. No questions asked. So anything you may have gotten used to in your other jobs, forget it.” Then her smile fades, “There is one other thing. Your clothing is a bit frumpy for our atmosphere. I’m not being disrespectful. It’s just the way things are around here. I can see that you have a good figure under all the material you have surrounded yourself with. Don’t be afraid to show it off.” I smile and feel my face flush slightly as I assure her that I will take care of it.

We then move onto business. She explains that twenty-eight year old, Damien Blade Hawthorne is the owner. She gives me a background on the company and emphasizes that Hawthorne Heights is one of the largest and most well-known real estate and land development agencies in New York City. Then she takes me on a tour. The floor we’re on is the executive floor where all the CEO’s and Vice Presidents are housed. We visit the floor that houses legal affairs, then another floor that houses all the real estate agents and another floor for accounting, and so on. She explains that the basement is an employee gym with a swimming pool and sauna.

We return to the executive floor and she begins introducing me to the staff. While we’re at the receptionist desk, a man gets off the elevator.
He is a god!
A gorgeous, tanned, muscular body with raven hair. He’s clad in tight jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt. My trance is broken when he begins barking orders at the girls behind the desk.

Caroline interrupts, “Mr. Hawthorne,” she gives him an almost motherly look, saying settle down. “This is your new personal assistant, Sheridan.”

He looks me over from head to toe and I see a hint of disappointment on his face.
It’s my clothes. I have to go shopping
. He extends his hand to shake mine, “Welcome,” he says sternly.

As soon as he touches my hand, I feel the electricity shoot through my body. I recoil my hand more quickly than I should, “I’m glad to be here, sir.” His eyes are the most beautiful color of cyan that I’ve ever seen and I stand breathless, caught in his stare. He returns to barking orders and Caroline leads me back down the hallway.

Once back in her office, she explains again, “Mr. Hawthorne is very demanding. He will want you to learn quickly and he doesn’t tolerate mistakes well.”

“I understand. I’ll give my job a hundred percent of my attention,” I nod.

“We need you to start on Monday at 9:00 am and I’ll be training you. Go ahead and fill out your paperwork here, then take it back down to human resources before you leave.”

As I’m filling out the paperwork, I can’t help but ask, “Where are you from, Caroline?”

“I’m from Georgia but I’ve been in New York City for thirty years.”

“I knew I detected a southern drawl,” I say. We end up laughing about the looks that New Yorkers give us when they hear us speak.

After I’ve taken care of everything in human resources, I head back to the apartment. I’m feeling very proud of myself, so I decide to celebrate with some ice cream. As I’m consuming my cone, I can’t help but get excited about this new adventure. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve been excited about anything, it’s a welcome change. I actually feel myself smile for the first time in weeks.

Back in the apartment, I immediately jump online to see if Donna is on. She is and I tell her all about my new job. “I’m so glad to see you smile. I have been so worried about you. When you left, I thought New York was the worst idea in the world but you seem to be settling in wonderfully,” she says. I smile again, hoping to keep up the illusion. We say our usual good-byes and I have that instant pain of how very much I miss home.

Monday morning I arrive early, eager to get started. I’m wearing one of my new outfits I bought on a shopping spree Saturday. I have my hair down and styled perfectly and I’m even wearing makeup so I will blend in with the other girls in the office. “Damn! That’s what I’m talking about,” Caroline says when she spots me and I can’t help but laugh. “You look amazing,” she adds.

My day is full of training on everything from the way Mr. Hawthorne likes his coffee, the fact that I am responsible for keeping up with all his appointments and meetings, to the paperwork he will expect me to have ready every day. By four pm, my head is reeling from all the information of the day. Caroline retrieves some office supplies for me from the storage room and leaves me to settle in at my desk, just outside of Mr. Hawthorne’s door.

Mr. Hawthorne has been out of the office in meetings all day but at a little after four, he steps out the elevator. This time he’s dressed in what is probably a three thousand dollar suit that is tailored to fit his body perfectly. He looks around and barks, “Caroline!”

Caroline appears from around the corner, “Yes?”

He lowers his voice but I can still hear their conversation. “Who the hell is that?” he motions toward me with his head. “Where the hell is the girl you hired Friday?” he demands.

Caroline puts her hand to her mouth and begins to laugh, “That’s her Mr. Hawthorne. I told you she would clean up just fine.” Caroline is still laughing as she walks away leaving him with a bewildered look.

On his way to his office, he stops by my desk and asks me to allow him fifteen minutes then join him. When the allotted time has passed, I grab my pad and pen and head into his office. “Sit,” he commands with a wave to the chairs in front of his desk. I instantly annoyed and I want to tell him that
I’m not a damn dog that you give commands to.
He sits down behind his desk and glares at me. Even though he has just pissed me off, I can feel the heat from his stare. I’m very uncomfortable and I shift in my seat.

“So, I take it Caroline has briefed you on all that is expected,” he barks.

“Yes, sir she has,” I confirm but he still proceeds to run over a few things that he feels the need to make sure I’ve gotten. He’s eyes never leave mine while he’s talking. It’s like he is looking through me or deep into me. There is so much intensity in the room that I feel myself holding my breath. I try looking down at my notepad, as I’m jotting things down, to break the tenseness. But each time I do, he raises his voice and my sees shoot back up to his.

“Did you get all of that,” he says, motioning to my notepad.

“Yes, sir,” I reply as I rise from my seat. He releases me back to my desk and I’m so glad to be out of his presence. I don’t know what the hell that was but I didn’t like it at all. He is so domineering that I lose myself around him.

The rest of
the week is a whirlwind of becoming more acquainted with the people and systems in the office and trying to please His Highness to the best of my ability. I think he has called me into his office more than a hundred times for the most obscure and petty things conceivable. He is tiring, and at any other time in my life, his amazing good looks might make up for it.

On Friday, Caroline comes by my desk, “Several of us usually get together and go out on Friday nights. We always take the new person, our treat. So, should I pick you up?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a long week,” I resist.

“All the more reason to go out and relax a little,” she insists. I end up agreeing because I know arguing will get me nowhere with this strong willed woman. But I insist that I will drive myself so she gives me the address of the nightclub.

When I get home, I pull up the Sip & Fly nightclub on the internet just to see where I’m going. It’s very ritzy looking and not a place I imagine enjoying. I begin going through my closet to find something to wear. With each outfit I try on, my inner witch quips her sarcastic disapproval. I remember I still have the red dress I wore on my twenty-first birthday. It was way too tight then so it will probably fit just right now. Not sure how I feel about ever wearing it again but I try it on to see. When I look in the mirror, a chill runs through my body. My inner witch insists I have to let it go, leave it in the past. Move on and stop letting it paralyze me. She’s right and I know it. I pool all my inner strength. Going out in this outfit will be my first step in getting past this.

When I arrive at the club, Caroline and the others are already there and she’s waving to make sure I see them. I’m almost to the table when a man approaches me, gently grabs me by both arms and says, “I just have to tell you, you are fucking gorgeous.” I’m taken back a bit. I don’t know if it’s because he is so forward or because he put his hands on me. All I can muster is a quiet thank you and I continue on my way.

I must have had a strange look on my face because as soon as I get to the table, Caroline seemed concerned. “Do you know that man?” I shake my head no. “What did he say?” she almost yells because the music is so loud.

“He said, I just have to tell you, you are fucking gorgeous,” I respond. Everyone around the table is looking at us now. I shrug it off with, “Well, folks, looks like they’re getting drunk early tonight.” Everyone laughs and returns to their conversations. I look up and Mr. Hawthorne is looking directly into my eyes with a smug half smile on his face. I flush and look down.

Caroline brings me back to earth, “What do you want to drink, Sheridan, honey.”

I’m a little out of my element here because I’ve had very few drinks in my life. To try to cover my inexperience I ask what’s good here. Instantly, Mr. Hawthorne calls the waitress over, “The lady will have a sex on the beach and put it on my tab,” he orders.

I’m caught a little off guard, but I usually am around him, “That’s not necessary but thank you.”