Unbreak My Hart (The Notorious Harts 4)

Pain. Hurt.

Mom.

I look around the room on instinct, making sure I’m alone—I am—and then squeeze my eyes shut to stop tears from forming. Mom. The man who got her pregnant and left her broke and alone was a billionaire. A freaking billionaire. Did she know who he was? Could she have contacted him, asked for help? Did she, and he refused?

I swallow hard and, despite the fact I’m scrunching my face up, a single tear leaks out of my eye, rolling towards the pillow.

I told Barrett a hint of what my life was like, but glossing over the details doesn’t do the true misery of it any kind of justice. My upbringing was defined by loneliness, fear, sadness and poverty. I built fantasies up around my dad; I so badly wanted someone to come

and help. I wanted someone to make my mom smile. As a kid, I instinctively knew I couldn’t give that to her. I hoped he would come and every day that he didn’t was like a fresh betrayal. This was the worst though. Knowing he was richer than Croesus, that he could have helped Mom financially, if in no other way. If he wasn’t already dead I’d want to kill him.

This is such a mess. I’ve wanted to know about him for a long time but now that I do I wish I could put that monkey right back in the box.

And at the same time I don’t. I want to know everything—that’s my analytical, facts-based brain. I press my palms into my eyes, hard, to stem the tears and lie there for several beats of time, running through what I do know. And all roads lead back to Barrett.

He knew my father—he knew him well. And he’s obviously tight with my father’s other children. Any questions I have are best answered by him.

I shucked my clothes in the other room but when I step out of bed I see a pile of fabric folded neatly on the seat beside me. A quick investigation reveals a pair of pants and a shirt—both my size—as well as some underwear with the tags still attached. A quizzical frown crosses my brow but I scoop them up, moving to the bathroom where I shower and dress quickly, finger combing my hair over one shoulder as I walk out of the room. I take a second to steady my emotions. I learned a long time ago that indulging feelings is a weakness, and I’m not weak, ever. I fortify myself, calming my features, then step out, ready to face him and the reality of what he’s just revealed to me.

I’m two steps into the enormous lounge area when I stop walking and stare. Barrett is sitting at the table with a laptop, a heap of papers, naked except for boxer shorts and a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. My body fires in a completely unexpected way.

Glasses?

He’s hot without but with them he’s every kind of fantasy brought to life. My mouth goes dry and I’m glad he hasn’t noticed me yet, so I get a few more moments to soak in the sight of him like this.

Perhaps the rushing of my heart calls to him because a few seconds later he lifts his eyes, spearing me with his gaze, the question in his eyes one I don’t know how to answer.

‘You’re busy?’ I prompt, gesturing towards the table.

‘Just catching up on some work.’

It’s a statement that momentarily pushes my own issues from my mind. ‘Work?’ I pad closer. ‘You mean you don’t just get to be all feudal in your manor with your serfs and your gold?’

His grin cuts through me. ‘Sadly, no.’

‘Shame. What’s this, then?’ I move behind him, my eyes running over the documents. He takes advantage of my proximity to spin in the chair, one of his legs on either side of me.

‘Treaties.’

‘Treaties?’

‘Mmm. I’m consulting for the EU at the moment.’

It’s surprising on a lot of levels. ‘What do you do, exactly?’ I sway a little closer without meaning to.

‘I’m a lawyer.’

‘Working with the EU?’

‘Right.’

‘Wow.’

‘Wow?’

‘I mean, I thought you were just a hot piece of ass.’

He laughs and the sound is so welcome, so normal, that I feel that ridiculous lump threaten to form in my throat all over again.