Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) (23 page)

by Missy Johnson

Available from Loveswept

I can see her through the small crack in the door before I even enter my office. Hunched over my desk with the light shining through the window directly on her, she sits in my chair as she goes through my laptop, looking for what I already told her she would never find. My body stiffens as anger pulses through me. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? And what annoys me even more is her stupidity. Why do this when she knows I’m going to be home? And why not shut the door?

Unless she wants to be caught.

Unless she wants me to know what she’s doing. For someone who claims to be so bright, she sure can be stupid. My body tenses as I run my gaze over her. I’ve owned every inch of that body. I’ve done things to it that she should feel ashamed of. A smile brushes my lips as I remember the night before, her petite body under me, fulfilling my every filthy need. I’m going to miss her.

“Something I can help you with?”

She jumps at the sound of my voice, her green eyes growing wide with fear. Only I don’t believe it’s really fear. This woman has proved herself cold and calculated…a female version of me. I struggle to believe that anything would upset her.

“Jaxon,” she breathes. “I didn’t think you were home.”

I laugh, my hands deep in my pockets as I stroll across the room toward her.
Bullshit
. As much as I love this woman, I don’t believe a word of what comes out of her mouth. She tenses as I near her, the fact that I still cause that kind of reaction thrills me. She thinks I won’t hurt her because of our history?

Big mistake, princess.
I’ll destroy anyone who gets in my way. Even those I love.

“You knew I was home, yet here you are in my office, doing the one thing I told you
not
to do.”

I feel strangely calm as I stand behind the chair she sits in, slowly running my hand down the curve of her neck. She sighs as my fingers trail inside her low-cut shirt, cupping her bare breast in the palm of my hand. Her body responds to my touch, her nipple hardening as I squeeze it between my fingers. My mouth closes on her earlobe and I bite down. Hard.

“You’re hurting me,” she gasps, trying to pull away. I grasp her harder, my cock tightening against the constraint of my pants. She likes the game as much as I do.

“You think you know pain, Brynne? Trust me when I say this: You know nothing. But if you keep this up, I guarantee you
will
regret it.” My voice is soft and controlled. I spin the chair so she faces me.

Leaning down, I wrap my fingers around her neck as her wide eyes fill with surprise. She panics as I increase the pressure until I can feel her blood pumping against my thumb. How easy it would be to snap that pretty little neck. I smirk, a feeling of satisfaction rushing through me as something I’ve longed to see fills her eyes.

Fear
.

She’s scared. And she should be. She knows all too well how this works. She has every reason to fear me, but even then she’s underestimating my determination.

Because she has no idea how far I’ll go to protect my past.

“Char!”

I look up and see Jess madly waving at me from the middle of the crowded bar. Walking past the well-stocked bar that lines the entire far wall of the converted warehouse, I head toward their table in the center of the room. I’m impressed with Jess’s choice of establishment. The trendy little place has much more class than I’m used to. It’s much better than the seedy sports bars Nick used to drag me to. That guy’s idea of a romantic night out was me eating nachos while I watched him and his friends scream at an oversized television.

I weave my way through the crowd, feeling underdressed in my faded jeans and fitted powder blue top.
I should have known Jess would pick somewhere like this.
Somehow, she and Dee managed to score a table on a night when it feels like all of LA is here. I laugh as she practically climbs on Dee’s shoulders, trying to get my attention, as Dee grumbles, trying to shrug her off. I put my hand up to let her know I’ve seen them, then head over to the bar to order a drink.

After the day I’ve had, getting drunk seems like a damn good option.

“What can I do for you, honey?” the bartender drawls.

The edges of his mouth curl up into a smile as his eyes roam over the low cut of my shirt and back up to my face. I push a loose strand of chocolate brown hair back behind my ear and shake my head. He’s making it very obvious what he’s thinking, and I’m not interested in the slightest. He’s cute—and probably the type I’d usually go for, with his dark hair and mysterious eyes—but the last thing I need in my life right now is a guy.

It’s been exactly two weeks since Nick broke up with me—or, more accurately, since I walked in on him fucking our neighbor. Naked and on top of her, he still tried to convince me that it wasn’t what it looked like. Apparently they couldn’t even make it to the bedroom, opting for the kitchen counter instead. I didn’t stick around to hear his excuses. Three years gone, just like that. It’s only during the last few days that he’s finally gotten the message that I have no desire to try to salvage our relationship.

“A dry white, thanks,” I say to the bartender, giving him a tight smile. I turn my attention to the crowd in the bar, which is my subtle way of letting him know I’m not interested in him or small talk.

“One dry white.” He smirks, pushing the glass across the counter. I hand him a bill and take my drink, not bothering to wait for my change.

I move swiftly through the body of people and over to the girls, slumping into the chair they’ve saved for me. My body language immediately alerts them to my bad mood and they exchange a look. It’s a look I see from them often; they know me all too well. I roll my eyes, not wanting their pity.

I’ve known Jess and Dee since we were fourteen years old. We attended West Meadows High School together, and somehow our friendship has survived the past ten years and is now stronger than ever. I’d do anything for them, and I know they’d do anything for me.

“Bad day?” Jess asks sympathetically, reaching across the table for my hand. They’ve been extra sweet to me since the breakup, even though I tell them over and over that I’m fine. And I am—mostly. “You had job interviews, right?”

I nod with a sigh. “The usual. ‘We’ll call you.’ But they never do.”

“They will. You just need to stay positive,” she encourages, reaching for my hand. “You’re going to make a damn good journalist when someone finally gives you a chance. What about the paper where you interned? That was a big one, right?”

I snort at her terminology. The
LA Times
is more than just “a big one.” It’s a dream for any up-and-coming journalist. Especially me. I’d do anything to work there. Hell, I’d do anything if it meant securing a job at any newspaper.

“They’ve thrown me the odd story, but they don’t have any entry-level work, and I’m not experienced enough for any of their senior roles.” I shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother me when it does. It hurts to be constantly overlooked, but I guess that’s what I get for choosing such a competitive career. The sheer number of graduates applying for the same positions I am is the reason I also majored in digital management. If I have an edge over my competitors, I have to catch a break eventually, right?

The worst part is that the editor at the
Times
is actually a really nice guy who I’m sure would throw me something if he could; but unfortunately for me, I can’t expect him to fabricate jobs out of thin air.

It’s hard to stay positive when all you get is rejections. I foolishly thought that finishing at the top of the class in my journalism program would pretty much guarantee me work at one of the top newspapers. Or
some
newspaper, at least. Apparently I was wrong. If something doesn’t come through soon, I’m going to have to up the ante on my freelancing—which I enjoy, but which hardly offers the job security I know I need.

I’ve thought about asking Mom for a small loan, just to get me through until I find something, but I can’t bring myself to make that call. It’s almost like admitting that I’ve failed, and I’m not ready to do that yet.

“Is Douchebag still calling you?” Dee asks, frowning. Her dark brown eyes are full of concern as she waits for my response.

“He’s cut down to one or two messages a day. And the flowers have stopped arriving, thank God.” Every freaking day for the last two weeks I’ve put up with a dozen roses sitting outside the door of my new apartment. Huge arrangements that I know Nick must struggle to even afford. And every day they’ve gone straight into the trash, which is where his dignity is, as far as I’m concerned.

“How did he even get your new address, anyway?” Dee asks, rolling her eyes. She tosses her long, dark mane over her shoulder and smiles at a sexy guy walking past, who nearly trips over his feet at her attention. I giggle in spite of my foul mood.

Guys are forever falling over Dee. It’s been that way since high school. Jess and I got plenty of male attention, but next to Dee and her exotic Brazilian looks, we stood no chance. The funny thing is, Dee is one of the most down-to-earth, natural people I’ve ever met. She has no idea how beautiful she really is.

“Who knows?” I shrug, taking a sip of my wine. “He probably conned our landlord into giving it to him after I arranged to have my mail forwarded.”

I was lucky that an apartment opened up in the same building as Jess’s the day after Nick and I were finished.
Lucky
might be a loose term, considering the previous tenant slit her wrists in the bathtub, but still…timing is everything in LA. Thank God I have some savings and a mother who is more than willing to help me out to get me away from that “twat knuckle.” Her words, not mine.

“Well, I think the best thing you can do right now is pick up a hot piece of ass, take him home, and fuck the life out of him,” Jess declares, her eyes wide.

I cringe, wishing her voice weren’t so damn loud. Now I have at least four guys checking me out, no doubt thinking I’m an easy lay. Who knows, maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need a rebound guy.

“Thanks for the advice, but I’ll pass on guys for the moment,” I say drily.

“That’s fine.” She grins. “I’m sure there are plenty of fuckable chicks here too.” She winks at me, and for a moment I wonder if she’s offering up herself. I laugh, because it wouldn’t shock me that much. Out of the three of us, Jess is the loudest and the one who is always up for anything. She’s also the one always calling me, begging for help whenever things don’t go according to plan. For Jess, that seems to happen a lot.

“How’s Craig?” I ask brightly, changing the subject. Craig is always a safe bet when I want to redirect conversation.

Dee catches my eye and smiles. I snort as Jess rambles on about her married boss, Craig—whom she’s been pining over since she began working as the events coordinator at the Fairmont Miramar, an ultraluxury hotel in Santa Monica, five months ago. Of course, nothing has actually happened, but that doesn’t stop her from dreaming. Even regular pickups fail to distract her from the amazing Craig.

“You should see the way he looks at me,” Jess whines, her pretty face forming a pout. “It’s obvious there’s something there. I mean, why else would he go on about how unhappy he is in his marriage, and always go out of his way to talk to me?”

“Because you drop everything for him?” I suggest. “He strings you along because he likes the attention, Jess. You deserve more than that.”

“Maybe,” she mutters. She narrows her eyes and downs the rest of her vodka. “I just wish he was that easy to get over.”

I flash her a sympathetic smile. I understand, but at the same time I hate seeing her chasing after some married guy. Maybe it’s the aftermath of being cheated on myself, but I can’t help thinking of the guy’s poor wife. No matter how bad their relationship is, nobody deserves that.

The rest of the night drags on. Not even the alcohol I’m consuming has the ability to make me forget the mess that is my life. Things were supposed to start going right for me this year, not get progressively worse.

Nick was the one thing I thought I’d always have. He was my constant. There was no hint that he wasn’t happy. Hell, I’d been half expecting him to pop the question on my upcoming birthday, but it obviously wasn’t meant to be. As much as I try to pretend I’m over him and ready to move on, I know I’m not. Especially when I keep wondering if I could’ve done more to try to salvage our relationship.

It’s nearly one in the morning when I stumble into my apartment. The night turned out to be much longer than I had planned, even though I left before the others. Last I saw, Jess had dragged Dee out onto the dance floor, where some random guy had begun hitting on Dee. I watched for a moment as they tag-teamed him, Jess rubbing her way down his front as Dee ground her ass into his back. It was almost painful to watch how drunk they were.

Most nights out with those two end up with me fighting a raging hangover the following morning. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take much to make me regret my behavior. What can I say? I’m a cheap drunk.

Back in the safety of my apartment, I kick off my heels and unzip my skirt, easing the smooth fabric down over my thighs. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I reach up and unclasp my hair clip, letting my long, dark curls fall over my bare shoulders. Looking at myself, I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m pretty cute. My body is in pretty good shape, considering the amount of crap I eat, and I like to think I have a good personality. So why did he cheat on me? I sigh, because I hate that he has me doubting myself. If there’s one thing I’ve never lacked, it’s confidence. But I guess catching your boyfriend fucking someone hotter and younger will do that to you.

I’m exhausted, but at the same time I’m too buzzed to sleep, so instead I run a bath. After a second I remember that that’s where my predecessor killed herself, and my desire to bathe begins to diminish rapidly. My mind is groggy from the few cocktails I had, so the last thing I want to do is fall asleep and drown while relaxing in the tub.

Pulling on my robe, I turn the faucet off and curl up on the sofa to watch the end of an old movie. Why can’t life be as simple as it is in these movies? When is my knight in shining armor going to swoop in and rescue me from the hell that is fast becoming my life?

I’m twenty-four, I’m unemployed, and my boyfriend of three years just cheated on me. I can’t imagine things getting any worse.