Breaking Shaun (56 page)

I sat silently as the woman in front of me continued talking about herself. She had grown up on a farm, riding horses. Her mother was a dancer, and her father a surgeon. She giggled as she pushed her perfectly styled hair behind her bare shoulder. Her well-manicured hand grazed her tan skin.

My mother had insisted I have dinner with this woman. Apparently, she came from a good family. She met her criteria—rich, conservative, and fucking boring.

But I’d lost interest thirty minutes ago when our drinks arrived.

Taking a deep breath to stifle the sigh I was dying to release, I brought my gin and tonic to my lips, and I didn’t miss the fact that her eyes followed. Her painted lips lifted on one side, and her eyes narrowed, giving her that seductive look women often went for while stalking their prey. I was no stranger to that look. I’d seen it often enough.

“So, what about you?” the woman asked.

I placed my glass back onto the table separating us. I hadn’t been listening. “What about me?”

She smiled like she’d caught me fantasizing about bending her over and fucking her when it really couldn’t be further from the truth. I was sure plenty of men had imagined it because she was a beautiful woman, but I wasn’t one of them.

“What kinds of things do you like?” She uncrossed her legs and then crossed them again, careful to graze my leg.

I took another sip from my drink and contemplated my response. I could keep playing this game, pretending I gave a shit if she liked me, or I could just be honest and get it over with.

“I like women with tattoos. I like a woman who genuinely gives a shit about what I think and not what’s in my bank account. I enjoy fucking women like I own them, and as you probably already know, I only own the best of everything.”

By the time I finished, her pretty pink lips were parted, and her big blue eyes had widened. It wasn’t until I lifted my hand, signaling the waiter for our check, that she realized it was a rejection. Her look of shock quickly morphed into appalled disgust.

I knew it seemed harsh to reject a woman I’d only just met, but I’d been dealing with women just like her my entire life. I could see the insincerity in her eyes as they had scanned the room around us for a bigger conquest. I could smell the fresh leather of her three-thousand-dollar purse that she hadn’t lifted a finger to earn. I could hear the manipulation in her voice as she’d tried to convince me that she was interesting and cultured. She was a fucking snob. She had nothing to offer me besides a blow job in the back of my car, and even that would probably be mediocre. There was nothing worse than a person who had never been desperate, never known what it was like to suffer. She lacked the compassion and soul I craved.

She still hadn’t said anything when the waiter came over with the check. I removed a random card from my wallet and slipped it inside without checking the balance. I never had to check the balance because, like the woman in front of me, I never had to work for my money. I chose to work mostly because I was scared I would end up just like her.

Often, the things we detested the most in others were the things we feared becoming. And I didn’t want to see myself in her eyes.

To my wonderful husband—Thank you for always being my rock. Thank you for making sure I take care of myself first, even when I fight you every step of the way. Thanks for dealing with my freak-outs and the hours I spend locked away, writing, while you take care of the kids. Your love inspires me every day. I love you—always and forever.

To my amazing family and friends—Your love and support give me strength. Thank you.

To Jen and Aly—Thank you for always having my back and for supporting me from day one. I wouldn’t be where I am right now if it wasn’t for your help. I will never forget what you’ve done for me.

To my editor, Jovana—You’re amazing, and your love and dedication to your work show. I’m incredibly lucky to have you in my corner.

To all my critiquers (Yes, I made up my own word.)—Thank you so much for reading my work and for giving me your honest opinions. I know my first drafts can be pretty rough, but you got through it. I hope I’ve made you proud!

To all the authors who inspire me—Thank you for being you and for having the courage to share your writing with the world.

To bloggers—You’re amazing. Indie authors could not survive without you.

And last but most certainly not least, to my readers—I cannot express in words how much your love and support mean to me.