Salvage Him (Highland Park Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  "No." He smirked in my direction. "I think I have everything I need. Brooklyn, I'll be in touch when I have something to show you."

  I nodded my head. I couldn't speak. I didn't trust my voice to come out sounding normal.

  "We'll look forward to seeing your ideas," Paul answered.

  I wanted to run to Harrison, drop to my knees, and apologize.

  Instead, I watched him walk away with his broad shoulders slumped in disappointment.

  Harrison

  I climbed in my truck and squealed the tires as I pulled away from the curb. I waved an apology to a nanny pushing a kid in a stroller across the street. She spat some Spanish cuss word at me and moved on.

  "Yeah, well, estupido to you too," I said under my breath as I flexed and unflexed my fingers from the steering wheel. Who the fuck did that guy think he was, manhandling Brooklyn like that?

  I can't wait to fuck you in every room.

  Who the fuck says shit like that to their wife in front of other people?

  The guy was every short, balding late thirty-something asshole in my father's office. These guys made up for their small dick size by buying nine thousand square foot mansions and playing mine’s bigger than yours with whatever they got.

  Fuck, I hate him.

  I found a parking spot on the street near Justin and Seth's office, but I couldn't go in. I sent them both a text and went to the coffee shop across the street.

  I spotted them both as I got three coffees and found a seat in the back.

  "I've got another meeting in thirty minutes. Make this quick," Justin said, typing on his phone.

  Seth looked up at me and hit Justin on the shoulder.

  Justin put his phone away and took a seat.

  "What's up, man?" Seth asked.

  "How could she be married to that weaselly little prick?" My body tensed.

  "No," Seth said, elongating the o.

  He and Justin shared a look and nodded.

  "What?" I asked.

  "We've already had this argument,” Seth said.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  "Just because our new client’s husband is a douchebag doesn't mean we have to try to save her," Justin said.

  "But, I'm right, right?" Seth asked. "All I suggested is placing some well-intentioned hints while in her presence about how she needs to dump him and get a real man, wouldn't hurt anyone," Seth said.

  "Except us," Justin said.

  Seth's eyes narrowed. "How do you figure?"

  "She dumps him, no hundred-thousand-dollar fee for us." Justin sipped his coffee.

  "Good point." Seth and Justin fist bump.

  I groaned. Justin didn't care about the money. He didn't need it.

  "But she's hot, right? And she has a good eye," Seth said.

  "Yeah. She is beautiful, but she married the guy for his money. It's obvious," Justin said.

  Seth’s face scrunched up.

  My chest tightened, and I scowled. She wasn't like that. I didn't know how I knew it, but gold digger didn't fit. It was something else.

  "Hey, I'm not knocking her hustle." Justin held up his hands. "Put herself through Parsons, marrying a real estate developer was a good move for her and her future."

  "Yeah, well, we could throw some business her way. Just like we did for our little boy here." Seth reached out to rustle my hair.

  I ducked out of his way.

  "It will be our good deed for the year." Seth chuckled.

  "You like her," Justin said.

  "No, I don't. I . . ." I squeezed my hands together and shook them. "He's a dick to her. Why is she with him?"

  I wasn't helping my case of denying my feelings for Brooklyn.

  "She's a client. You are there to work on her house. Don't get into it," Justin said. He was the mature one of the group.

  "What?" I took a gulp of the hot coffee. "I'm agreeing with you."

  "Yes, he's a prick, and yes, he treats her like a child," Justin said.

  "He said he wanted to fuck her in every room of the house." I was caught up on that one.

  "Dude, it's his wife. Tell you the truth, so would I," Seth said with a smirk.

  I stood. My thigh hit the table, and our coffees sloshed out.

  "Seth. Shut the fuck up." Justin stood up. "Harrison, sit the fuck down."

  I wanted to smash Seth's perfect little face with his perfectly coiffed brown hair and his shitty grin.

  "What are you smiling at?" I asked.

  "Point proven. You like her." Seth wiggled his eyebrows.

  I shook my head.

  "Hey," Justin spoke in his I'm not refereeing you two today voice. He had always been the mediator between Seth and me. He led our group of privileged delinquents in high school, and the role continued in our adulthood. "Seth, don't you have a model to work on? The Daniels will be back in a few days."

  "Yeah. I'm going." Seth took a sip of his coffee and reached out to rustle my hair.

  I ducked away and punched him in his side, but he stepped out of the way and laughed.

  We were boys again.

  I settled back in my chair, anxious to hear some words of wisdom from Justin.

  "Stop," Justin said.

  I looked over at him.

  "What do you mean, stop?" I asked.

  "Whatever it is you're thinking. Whatever you may feel about her or her situation, you have to stop." Justin rubbed the back of his neck. "She's a client and a nice person, and she is in her situation for reasons we have no clue about. Don't do something stupid and make it harder for her."

  "How do you know it's not one of those situations where we need to intervene?" I stared at the ground. "What if he's abusing her?"

  "You don't know that. You can't save her if she doesn't want or need saving.” Justin leaned in, and I followed. "I get it. You have a sense about these things, but don't see something that's not there because you like her. I like her too, and if she needs us, we’ll be there for her."

  I squeezed my eyes shut. My mind went back to when I was eight years old. My mom and stepfather would fight one second and grope each other in front of me the next. When I say fight, I mean knock-down, drag-out, call the police in the middle of the night kind of fights.

  I told my father about the situation, and instead of helping my mother, he made me live with him. My mom didn't stop him, and I hated her for it. She needed our help.

  When I asked him why he wasn't helping her, he said what Justin said.

  She didn't want to be saved.

  That was when I moved into Highland Park and met Justin and Seth. They knew my story and knew what kind of guilt I held for leaving my mom in that situation.

  Three years later, my stepfather killed my mom and then himself.

  "What do you think of the house?" Justin changed the subject and pulled me back from the dark side.

  "The house is beautiful. Well designed. Very impressive," I said and chuckled.

  "You think so?" Justin nodded and sipped his coffee.

  "Yeah. You outdid yourself on this one."

  "Thanks, man. It kind of sucks, though." He grinned.

  "What?" I asked.

  "That house would make a great hideout," he answered.

  We both laughed.

  When we were kids, we planned to pool our trust fund money together and build a house of our own. One we could hide out in away from our parents and partake in what teenagers with too much time and too much money did. I shook my head and downed the rest of my coffee.

  We headed out onto the street. I needed to get back to my studio and work on some of Brooklyn's stuff and get my mind off her situation and her beautiful ass.

  "You good?" Justin asked.

  "Yeah, man. Thanks." I shook his hand and pulled him in for a hug.

  "I think Brooklyn needs us to be her friends right now." Justin patted me on the back. "We all have something in common but don't put your stuff on her. Don't make it harder on yourself."

  "I get it." I ran my hands
through my hair. "I'll check in later."

  "Cool." Justin stepped out into the street but turned back. "I'm going out of town for a few days, working on that beach house in West Palm. Let's do Crush on Saturday."

  "Sounds good. Safe trip." I waved.

  I headed back to my truck, I couldn't wait that long. I needed to work out some frustration now.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

  "Hello, Sir." Kelly's greeting got my dick hard.

  "How's my favorite today?"

  "Better now. When and where do you want me?"

  I smirked. "You at home?"

  "Yes, Sir. And ready."

  "I'm on my way."

  Six

  Brooklyn

  It hurt my heart watching Harrison storm off.

  I hated Paul's fake show of possessiveness. He didn't care what I did as long as it didn't embarrass him.

  I collected my stuff and headed out the front of the house. The workers had arrived to install the door. Even though we were six months away from moving in, I needed to get to work.

  Paul followed me. His new car sat near the curb in front of mine. He bought himself a silver Hummer H3.

  "I'll meet you at home," he said as he climbed into his SUV.

  I stifled a laugh as Paul reached over his head and pulled himself up to climbed into the monster truck.

  What did I ever see in this guy?

  All comparisons aside, it was a bad sign when you forgot why you were with someone.

  When we met, Paul pursued me with the same enthusiasm he did any big development deal. He did his research, spoiled me, and gave me any and everything I wanted to the point I couldn't deny him. I didn't want him to think I used him.

  When I stood up in front of a judge on the Brooklyn Bridge and told him I would love him until the day I die, I meant it. Lately, though, I died a little every single day.

  Since moving to Dallas, it felt like Paul was done with me. It should have made me sad, but it didn’t.

  We arrived at the apartment and rode the elevator up in silence. I unlocked and opened the door. The view from the sixteenth floor was beautiful but bored me after a few days. I dropped my stuff on the table in the living room. I walked over to the window.

  Paul walked up behind me.

  I flinched.

  "Why are you so jumpy?" he asked with his hands on my back.

  "It's nothing." I shook my head.

  He nuzzled my neck, reached around, and cupped me between my legs. I wanted to push his hands away, but I didn't.

  "Paul. I have a lot to work to do." I turned away, but he placed his other hand on my hip and pressed me into the glass.

  "Me, too," he said as he slid his hands inside my leggings and ran his fingers through my folds. I was surprised to find I was wet. "You are ready for me. That's my little girl."

  I cringed.

  I hated when he called me little girl. I hated when he called me outside my name.

  I leaned my head back as his fingers awkwardly rubbed me. When his fingers would skim my clit by accident, it sent a jolt of pleasure through me. I moaned.

  He rubbed harder.

  I closed my eyes, and my thoughts went to Harrison. His long fingers, his muscular forearms, and the way his dark blue eyes looked at me.

  As I neared an orgasm, Paul stopped. My throat hitched, and I turned to protest, but Paul grabbed my shoulders.

  "Stay right here." He placed a hand behind my neck and pushed me with force into the glass. He fumbled with his slacks. He panted as he stroked himself. It took him a long time to get hard. He didn't want my help or want me to watch. It was partly age and partly ego.

  Paul yanked my leggings down. He pushed his semi-hard cock between my ass cheeks. I squeezed my eyes again and waited.

  When he was hard enough, he bent down and pushed himself into me. If his penis size was any indication, we weren't compatible. He wasn't big enough, or I wasn't tight enough. I grunted when he pushed a finger inside me along with his penis to increase the friction.

  Sex was a sensitive subject for us.

  Paul knew about my past; the stuff I was into made him feel inadequate. Even when I made suggestions to make our sex life better, he took it as a blow to his ego and made me feel bad because I had experience. He would say, he didn't want to learn any of the dirty tricks I learned from all my other boyfriends.

  Paul was the second man I had been in a relationship with.

  The one guy I used to date, before him, had many faults, but at least, the guy knew how to fuck me.

  "Yes, yes, yes." He punctuated each thrust with this word every time.

  We usually had sex in this position, me, facing away from him. When we did it missionary, Paul never looked at me. Like he couldn't stand to see who he was fucking. It used to make me sad, but now, I was sad for him.

  He removed his finger and jabbed at me with short bursts. His breath labored and took on a high-pitched squeal. He pushed in one last time and came.

  He grabbed me around the waist, pressed into me hard so as not to slip out and fumbled with my pussy.

  "That was amazing," I said as I pushed his hand away and pulled up my leggings. I didn't even fake enthusiasm.

  I turned around and took him in.

  He wiped his hands on his black slacks. His cock laid flaccid down the front. It had shrunk back to its original size.

  I leaned in and laid a quick peck on Paul's lips and headed toward the bedroom.

  I got as far as the couch.

  "I'm leaving tonight for Dubai," he said.

  I stopped.

  "I'll be there for about three weeks."

  "Why did you even come home?" I turned to face him.

  "To check on you."

  "You don't need to check on me. I'm fine." I stared at the floor. "I have plenty to do."

  "Well. Great. I won't worry." He picked up his phone and pointed at his suitcase in the hallway. "Pack me some lighter suits and my swim trunks. You forgot last time. Thanks, Brooke."

  I pouted, but he had already tuned me out and was on his phone.

  I wanted to protest, stomp my feet, or throw myself out the window—something to get his attention—but I didn't. I grabbed his bag, hauled it into the bedroom. I packed his things. I ignored his special requests.

  What does a thirty-nine-year-old man need with a bathing suit on a business trip?

  I shook my head.

  The quicker I got this done, the quicker he would be gone. The quicker I could return to my little fantasy where my life was perfect.

  I jumped when the phone near the front door rang. It was a direct line from the front desk, and it startled me every time.

  Where I grew up, I didn't have a doorman.

  I pulled myself off the couch.

  "Hello." I said, but no one responded. I pushed the button under the speaker. "Hello."

  "Good morning, Mrs. McIntyre. I have a Miss Abbie here to see you."

  "Let me up, Brookie,” Abbie screamed in the background.

  Her voice and her attitude made me smile.

  "Please send her up." I hung up the phone, grabbed my keys, and headed toward the elevator.

  I couldn't wait to see my best friend.

  I stood in front of the elevator. Any closer, I risked door burn when it opened.

  Abbie was family. We met in middle school and had each other's back ever since. She actually introduced me to my ex-boyfriend. The guy I dated before Paul.

  She hated Paul but understood why I married him. She said he would make a good first husband and made me promise not to sign a prenup.

  I never told her I did.

  When the elevator opened, the car was empty.

  "Got you." Abbie jumped from the side.

  I screamed as she grabbed me and hugged me around the waist. I hugged her back as we fell out of the elevator laughing.

  "What are you doing here?" I leaned back to take her in. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

&nbs
p; "I wanted to surprise you. You sounded down and dull on the phone. I thought I would come and spice up your life." She squeezed my ass.

  I pushed her away but grabbed her and hugged her again.

  "God, I've missed you. Come on." I pulled her toward our apartment at the end of the hall. I stopped at the door.

  "You ready for it." I wiggled my eyebrows.

  "Show it to me." She giggled.

  I opened the door and stepped to the side.

  "Holy shit!” Her face lit up.

  "I know, right." I grinned.

  Abbie ran to the window and rested her head against the glass.

  "And I thought only New York had a beautiful skyline."

  "It's nice, isn't it?" I joined her at the window.

  "Where's the house?" She laid her cheek on the glass.

  "You can't see it, but it's north of here about fifteen minutes away." I pointed at the other side of the apartment.

  "Can we walk?" She turned and flopped on the white leather couch.

  "No, drive. People in Texas drive everywhere." I sat down.

  "Oh, yes, yes, yes," she said as she pointed her nose in the sky. "Too bad this place doesn't have a balcony."

  "Yeah."

  Abbie jumped back up and walked around the apartment and touched everything.

  "It's a long way from Carroll Gardens," Abbie said and grinned.

  "I miss Brooklyn." I shook my head. "What's going on? Tell me what you've been up to.”

  "I will but, first . . . what do Texans eat for breakfast?" She crawled over the back of the couch and held her stomach.

  "The same thing you eat for breakfast." I scrunched my nose and shook my head.

  "Come on. Take me out for brunch," Abbie said in her fake Southern accent. "I'm starving."

  Ten minutes later, we sat in a booth at a local diner that reminded me of New York. We both ordered pancakes with two sides of bacon. Abbie sipped her apple juice while I drank coffee.

  "So how do you like living in Texas?" she asked.

  "I like it."

  She narrowed her eyes.

  "What? I really do. The place is beautiful, and it has so many big beautiful homes. I figured I would be working on making a twelve hundred square foot space look like four thousand. Here, the homes are actually four thousand square feet."

  "You like the space." She nodded. I grew up in a small apartment and we moved into a smaller apartment after high school.