Forever Branded (Billionaire Love Series #1) (4 page)

Shouting “Kiai!” he threw his leg out full force, kicking the hell out of one of the lower cabinets. A big chip of paint fell off, leaving a permanent dent in the top corner of the door.

“Ah, Mom. I’m sorry,” he said, his brown curls falling over his forehead, making him look like he was ten years old again.

“That’s okay. I’ll just think of you when I look at the poor, sad cabinet with the chip in it,” I said, kissing his forehead.

“I’ll fix it,” he promised.

“No, that’s okay. It’ll just be a little touch of character in the kitchen.”

“Should I sign it?” he asked, perking up at leaving a permanent memento behind.

He was so cheeky he made me laugh. “So when you get famous, people will know that Charlie Matthews lived here?”

“You bet,” he said, confident this would be true someday.

“The chip’s enough. I think I’ll pass on your autograph.”

“Okay, I thought it was worth a shot. I think I’ll go practice my Karate moves outside.”

“Good idea,” I agreed as I laughed.

He has always been incorrigible. It still made me smile when I thought about him, karate chopping the door. The memory was priceless.

The rest of the kitchen had a beachy cottagey vibe. The backsplash was a white subway tile with a teal glass tile inlay, which contrasted with the butcher-block counter tops I had put in. Reclaimed hardwood of various shades ran the entire length of the house. In addition to the beautiful floors, the kitchen faced west and sunshine poured in from the large windows over the sink, letting me soak in my fantastically beautiful backyard.

The overall feel was soft, warm, and comforting.

Just what I wanted.

Especially on a day like today.

As I waited for Grace, I changed into some black knit shorts and an old, worn, white T-shirt which was super comfortable. I ran back down to the kitchen, got out some cookies, and prepared the tea.

Twenty minutes after we talked, Grace pulled up in her red Audi.

I met her at the front door. “Come on in,” I said as she pulled off her black Prada sunglasses.

“Hey, sugar. Is the tea ready?” she asked as she put her glasses away in her Gucci purse.

“Uh-huh. Got your favorite.”

“Black currant?”

“Yep.”

She followed me into the kitchen where we sat down at the wooden table. Many heartfelt conversations had happened at this kitchen table over the years. Mostly between Emma and me. But Grace had joined our sisterly ranks in the last year.

She studied me sympathetically with her electric green eyes as she held her tea with both hands. “Okay, what is going on? You turned white as a sheet and got out of that party so fast, I thought your hair was on fire.”

I sighed heavily. “It’s a long story, Grace. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it.”

She nodded in acceptance. “I understand. But whatever is happening to you, it needs to breathe, Marla. It couldn’t have been all that bad. I saw how you looked at Beau Shepard. There was bright burning love etched across your face. I know there’s a fabulous story attached to that look.”

God, had Beau seen what Grace had?

My love on display after all these years?

Talk about feeling vulnerable.

I cringed, wishing I could be stone cold when it came to showing emotion.

“I don’t know, Grace. I’ve never talked about it before.”

“Never?”

I shook my head no, as I ran my thumbnail back and forth along the edge of the table. “It’s always been too personal and painful.”

“All the more reason to let it breathe, Marla.”

I didn’t want to hear that.

But I knew I needed to entertain the possibility of telling my story.

All those memories were threatening to shake loose and unravel into utter chaos. I stared at the shimmery teal glass tile, willing it to give me an answer.

Did I really want to swim in those deep waters?

What was the worst that could happen?

A trusted friend would know my deepest secret.

That wasn’t so bad. I could live with that.

Besides, Grace was a wise woman and I definitely needed a friend to help me sort this all out, now that Beau had walked back into the picture.

“Okay,” I conceded. “I’ll tell you the story. But are you sure you want to hear it?”

She gave me a comforting smile. “Of course, sugar. I want to hear it all.”

I took a deep breath as my foot bounced up and down nervously. “It happened my senior year of high school. I had just turned eighteen....”

It didn’t take long before the words began tumbling out as though they had been locked away in an overstuffed closet for too long as my mind wandered back to another time.

It was the early nineties, my dark hair-sprayed bangs were a mile high, and I had just gotten my braces off. I sat nervously at one of the round tables in my high school library, picking at the loose laminate around the edge.

I was nervous and uncomfortable. I was supposed to meet Beau Shepard and tutor him in English. He was a cocky jock who ran with his jerk posse.

I really had no desire to spend any time with him.

But my favorite teacher, Ms. Sprite, in all her wisdom, had asked me to do this favor one day after class. “Marla, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?” I asked, figuring she wanted me to help with some volunteer project.

“I want you to help Beau Shepard get up to speed on his
Jane Eyre
paper.”

Her request immediately filled me with dread and it took everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Really, Ms. Sprite?”

“Yeah, really, Marla,” she said as she stopped writing on the blackboard.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out to be a tutor,” I explained half-heartedly, watching chalk dust float through the air.

“Since when do you not want to help someone out, Marla?”

This touched a nerve. “It's not that I won't help...I just ...I just...”

“Just what?”  

I wasn’t able to come up with a legitimate excuse. “I don't know,” I admitted lamely.

She glanced at me with motherly concern crossing her pixyish face. “This will be good for you. I know it's been tough for you since your mom died. You've been taking care of Emma and being a mom to her. But this will give you a chance to do something different. There's more to Beau than what you see on the surface. I think this could be good for both of you.”

That was a curious thing to say. What did she know that I didn’t?

“Why would you say that?”

“No reason. I just believe in giving somebody a chance, that’s all. Our first impressions aren’t always right.”

Oh great, she was giving me the ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ defense. I was such a sucker for believing the best about people.

“Isn’t there anybody else?” I asked in a last ditch effort to avoid saying yes.

“Marla, if I had anybody else in mind, I would be talking to them.”

I studied her kind, determined face, knowing I wouldn’t win this battle. “Oh, all right,” I reluctantly agreed, knowing I would probably regret it.

And that’s why I found myself chipping away at the black flecks of laminate on the table in the library.

I still couldn’t believe I had agreed to meet Beau. I’d seen him briefly in the hall as I walked toward the library. A giggly girl was standing against a locker, looking like she was his prey of the moment, as he hung over her.

Yuck.

I wanted to say, “You know he’s just using you, don’t you?”

But I held my tongue and walked by, rolling my eyes.

I had fourth period Honors English with Beau. What he was doing in Honors English, I had no idea. He never seemed to take it seriously or care about what went on in class.

I looked at the big black rimmed clock on the wall in the library. It was already three ten.

Five more minutes and I was taking off.

At three fifteen on the dot, I swiped my folder off the table as he came waltzing in, looking like the cat’s meow.

With a grin a mile wide on his face, and acid stone washed jeans hugging his long thighs, he tossed his notebook down on the table. He grabbed a chair, turned it backwards, and threw the wooden back against the edge of the table.

He sat down, that winning smile still plastered on his handsome face.

I’m not gonna lie, Beau Shepard was gorgeous.

Tall, but on the skinny side, with nice broad shoulders.

Steel blue eyes that hinted at more intelligence and sense than he’d like people to think.

Full, even lips which were always in a permanent smirk.

Reddish-brown wavy hair cut in a mullet style.

Not hot now, but totally hot then.

“
Thanks for being on time,” I let out wryly as I folded my arms across my chest.

“Sorry, had to take care of something,” he explained with a flippant air about him.

I scoffed openly. “You’ve got to be joking. Making out with your girlfriend is not taking care of something.”

“Whoa. She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Then why are you making out with her?”

“Cuz I wanna. It feels good, Sunshine. Don’t you like to feel good?”

I didn’t really know what to say to that. “It doesn’t matter if I want to feel good. You kept me waiting like fifteen minutes.”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“Great.”

“Is this the library?” He looked around as if he had never been in one before. “I always wondered what was in here.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Yep. It’s the place that holds all the books,” I shot back, glancing at the rows of brightly colored encyclopedias to the right of us.

“So you're going to tutor me in English,” he said, smacking his gum.

“Yep. That’s the plan.” I shuffled my fingers through the paperback I was holding.

“Whatchya got there, Sunshine?”

I studied him, wondering if he was putting on some kind of act. “
Jane Eyre
...you know the book you were supposed to read.”

“Ah...” He drummed his pencil steadily on the cheap laminate table.

“Are you ready to get started?” I asked as he played his drum solo on his notebook.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Let's talk about the story. What did you think of
Jane Eyre
?” I asked, hoping he had at least read the story.

“Um...she was a chick who lived a long time ago,” he answered, making me want to groan in frustration.

“That’s all you got from reading the story? ‘She was a chick who lived a long time ago?’”

He shot me a sly grin. “Well...to tell you the truth, I didn't exactly read it.”

“How far did you get?”

“Mmm... about four pages in.”

“Four pages?” I asked in disbelief.

He smiled unapologetically. “Yep. It was boring.”

I had such a different opinion. “But this is a beautiful love story. Restrained passion. Love conquers all. Angst. Tragedy. I love this story,” I explained wistfully.

He scoffed. “Yeah...you like it because you're a girl.”

“You don't like passion?”

“I just don't get it. Besides, who uses words like angst anymore?”

“What’s wrong with angst? It’s a good meaty word.”

He shot me a sexy grin as he cocked his head sideways. “Meaty, huh?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Shepard,” I snapped, bristling at his racy tone. I was already on edge. His comments weren’t helping.

“How do you know where my mind is hanging out?”

“By the look on your face.”

He smirked. “Yeah, well keep using big words and you’ll see this look on my face.” He opened his mouth stupidly wide and dulled his eyes, making him appear completely bored.

My sense of humor wasn’t intact. He was neither cute nor funny.

“Do you even want to be here?” I asked, offended I was wasting my time on someone who clearly did not want help.

His slightly arched eyebrows furrowed as he shrugged again. “No, not really.”

“Well, I’m not exactly thrilled to be here either.” I tried to smile, giving it one last shot to relate to him. “But we might as well make the best of it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“You’ve got better things to do?” I questioned as he crossed his arms, pursed his lips, and nodded in agreement. “Well, so do I,” I finished in a huff, feeling more perturbed by the minute.

“Do you always talk like this?” he challenged again.

Everything coming out of his mouth was just reinforcing my opinion he was a big fat jerk.

I leveled my angry gaze to his mocking one. “Talk like what?”

“Like a grown-up. Boring.”