The Heartbroker (4 page)

Although we’ve run events in Queenstown before, it never fails to take my breath away afresh whenever I visit it. It’s a small town situated on a beautiful glacial lake, in New Zealand’s Southern Alps in the South Island. It’s a top tourist destination, and for good reason: it’s stunning. Mother Nature sure can get it so very right sometimes. And we figured the amazing setting couldn’t hurt our chances.

“What a
romantic
place to go,” Laura gushes, nudging me with her elbow.

I’m beginning to suspect she’s living vicariously through me. After all, she’s the first to admit her life is pretty much baby poop, dishes, and laundry these days. My life must seem enviably glamorous in comparison.

I’ve reached the end of my tether. “Okay, I’ve played along with this for long enough now, girls.” I try to give them my very best ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ stare in order to get my point across.

“All right, we’ll lay off, won’t we Laura?” Alexis replies, laughing.

“Do we have to? It’s so much
fun
,” Laura complains.

“Just be careful,” Alexis adds, turning to me. “Promise.”

“Yeah, Brooke,” Laura agrees. “He’s pretty cute, and you’re going to be working with him very closely.”

I smile at the way in which my friends care for me. They may take great joy in ribbing me, but underneath it all they’re the best friends a girl could have.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m perfectly in control. All I want from Logan McManus is to broker this deal, nothing else. This is all on my terms.”

“Hi there, girls,” I hear a voice beside me coo.

I turn to see Lucinda Hargreaves, a girl I used to get up to no good with as a wild teenager, standing at our table. Whereas I’ve moved on from our outrageous adolescent behaviour, she’s blossomed into Wellington’s resident vamp, with her big boobs, big blonde hair, and, should we say, ‘friendly’ personality to match.

“Oh, hi, Lucinda,” I reply in what I hope is a discouraging tone. The last thing I want is for her to join our little group tonight.

“Hi, Lu. Good to see you,” Laura says as Alexis and I share a look. It’s fair to say neither of us are big fans of Lucinda Strap-A-Mattress-To-My-Back Hargreaves, that’s for sure.

“Budge up,” she says to Laura, who obediently moves to the vacant seat on her right, despite Alexis’s and my glares.

Laura slaps her little butt down. “What’s up, ladies?” she asks, flicking her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. Extensions, for certain. Probably synthetic. Ick.

“Just chewing the fat, Lucinda. Catching up on the latest,” Alexis replies coldly.

Alexis and Lucinda have ‘history’. Alexis’s boyfriend, Tim, had a short-lived fling with Lucinda before Alexis met him, much to her dismay. It took her a long time to come to terms with the fact her new boyfriend could be attracted to both her
and
Lucinda. His insistence it was ‘just a sex thing’ didn’t help much. Men can be such idiots.

“Well, maybe I should share
my
news.” She adjusts her strappy figure-hugging black dress so more of her DD’s spill over the top. As if anyone needs to see more of
them
. “I’ve just won salesperson of the year. They’re sending me off to Thailand for the week with a friend.”

“Oh, how fantastic! You must be so proud. I know how hard you work. You deserve it,” Laura gushes.

“Wonderful news. Isn’t there a small problem? I mean do you have a friend to invite along?” Alexis asks sweetly.

Laura scowls at her and I can’t suppress a snigger. It’s fair to say Lucinda isn’t overly popular with the females of the species, no doubt because she’s slept with most of their men.

“She means, do you have a boyfriend to take, don’t you Alexis?” Laura says in an attempt to smooth over the blatant jibe.

“Of course I do,” Alexis replies. It’s clear she doesn’t.

“I’m between men, right now,” she begins, playing with her hair.

“That’s what they call ‘single’,” I can’t help myself saying, adding air quotes for good measure.

“Oh, ha ha. A bit like you, Brooke? Tell me, when did you last have a man? Oh wait, that’s right. Not since the hot tennis coach did the dirty on you with Jessica Banks. Right?”

I squirm uncomfortably in my chair. Being reminded of what Scott did to me is bad enough without the slut-a-licious Lucinda rubbing my face in it.

“I’m only joking, sweetie,” she adds, rubbing her hand on my arm. It’s all I can do not to recoil at her touch. “I’m sure you’re completely over him now.”

“She is. Absolutely,” Alexis replies defiantly.

I dart her a grateful smile.

“Speaking of men, who was the delectable guy I saw you talking to before? The one over there at the bar?” she asks, looking over in Logan’s direction.

I narrow my eyes at her, my heart hammering in my chest. I may have decided Logan is a no-go zone, but that doesn’t mean I want Lucinda’s mitts all over him. I shudder at the thought.

“His name is Logan McManus, one of Brooke’s colleagues,” Laura answers before I can shoot her a look screaming ‘
NO!
’

“Really?” she replies, turning to me. “You’ve kept that one quiet, Brooke. A man like him?”

“Oh, he’s only over from the States for a few days.” I glance over at him. He catches my eye and smiles at me. I give a fainthearted smile back, feeling self-conscious.

Great. Now he knows we’re talking about him. Again.

Like the eye of Mordor, Lucinda follows my gaze and, looking directly at Logan, tussles her hair as she pushes out her assets, shooting him a dazzling smile.

I swallow hard as I watch her advertise her impressive wares. Logan doesn’t stand a chance.

If we had those yearbook captions graduates from high school get in the US, I wonder what her tag line would have been? “Most likely to bed half the city’?

“Well, I’ll leave you girls to it. Lovely to see you all.” She stands up, smoothing down the skin-tight dress that leaves nothing to the imagination. “Bye, girls. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. She saunters off.

That rules out running for prime minister and wearing comfortable sweat pants. I think we’re good.

“She drives me
insane
,” I complain once she’s out of earshot. “She’s so fake: fake boobs, fake hair, fake tan. Ugh. Men just don’t see how manufactured she is. No one has hair that platinum blonde.”

“Ahem,” Alexis interrupts.

“What?”

“Something about a pot calling a kettle black? Or should I say the blonde calling the blonde blonde?” Laura says, ribbing me.

I let out a chortle. “I know. I’m not a natural blonde. But I like it. And it doesn’t look all fake and cover-my-nipples long like Pamela Anderson’s over there.”

“But you had such gorgeous hair before,” Laura protests.

“What was it like?” Alexis enquires. She’s never seen my natural shade.

“Soft, light brown curls, Alexis. Just divine. And she dyes it and straightens it,” Laura replies for me. “It’s a crime against hair.”

I shake my head at them. “Blonde makes more of a statement. I’m more confident as a blonde. I stand out more.”

“Well you do it much better than Miss Sex On A Stick,” Alexis comments, nodding in Lucinda’s direction.

She’s at the bar chatting up the barman now, by the looks of things. Poor guy.

“She’s all right, you two. She’s got a heart of gold,” Laura protests.

“‘A tart with a heart’, is that the expression?” Alexis asks cheekily.

“I think that one refers to prostitutes, actually, Alexis. Now, I may not hold Lucinda in the highest of regards—”

Alexis snorts with laughter, interrupting me.

“—but, I don’t think even she stoops quite that low.”

“I don’t know what you see in her,” Alexis says to Laura. Laura has remained friends with Lucinda since high school, and by all accounts they’re pretty close.

She shrugs. “I’ve known her for ages, and she’s a really nice person, even though she has sex on the brain half the time. She’s not all catty and competitive with me, like she is with you two. You bring out the worst in her, for whatever reason. And it’s pretty clear neither of you like her.”

“In Alexis’s case, I think we all know why.” I smirk at her.

“Oh, come on, you’d feel the same way if your boyfriend refers to her as ‘the best sex I’ve ever had’,” she replies indignantly.

Outraged on her behalf I exclaim, “Tim didn’t say that, did he?”

“Well, no, not in so many words,” she concedes. “But he may as well have.”

“What does it matter? He chose you. She was just a flash in the pan fling. You’re a proper relationship. Love is so much more than just sex,” Laura states.

“Exactly,” I agree. “She’s a cheap takeaway and you’re Cordon Bleu.”

I look over at Logan and his friend and am startled to see them now standing with Lucinda, laughing at something she’s saying as she flicks her hair, simpering at him. My belly twists as Lucinda places her hand on Logan’s arm flirtatiously and he looks down at her, smiling.

I bury my head in my hands. We’ve just unleashed Wellington’s weapon of mass destruction on the unsuspecting Logan McManus. He’ll be left shattered and gasping for air before he even knows what’s hit him.

A few moments of heinous flirting later, all three of them leave together. Logan looks in my direction. He has an expression on his face I can’t quite read. Is it regret?

He shoots me a quick smile and wave as he walks out of the door.

Where can they be going? More to the point, do I want to know?

I sigh, turning back to my friends. What Logan McManus does with his life is no concern of mine. If he wants to spend time with one of the fakest, bitchiest, sluttiest women to ever waggle her butt across the face of the Earth in six-inch heels, who am I to judge?

I’ve made my decision: hands off Logan McManus. I’m just a business owner trying to broker a partnership deal with his company. Nothing more, nothing less.

So why should I feel such uncomfortable pangs of jealousy?

A COUPLE OF DAYS later I’m at the family home in Brooklyn, a hilltop suburb close to the city with views over Wellington’s beautiful harbour. As I work a lot of weekends, I tend to catch up with my family during the week. We’ve developed a bit of a regular Wednesday night dinner thing, which seems to work for us all most of the time.

When I say ‘us all’ I mean my dad, his wife, my stepsister, and my half brother. My full-blooded brother, Jeremy, lives in Auckland, so he doesn’t count. Yes, we’re quite the modern, blended family, us Mortimers.

My mum died from cancer when I was just a kid. We have loads of photos and videos of her, which I looked at again and again after her death. It got to the point where the line between the photos and videos and my actual memories blurred, and now I don’t know what I remember of her and what’s been put there.

What I do know for certain, however, is when I think of her I’m filled with love, followed by a deep sense of sadness she wasn’t there to see me grow up, she wasn’t there to be my mum. To begin with her loss was a piercing, agonizing sadness. Now it’s more like a dull ache. It’s never gone away in all this time, and I doubt it ever will.

Not being one to mess around, Dad started dating one of her friends, Jennifer, within the year, and they were married by the time I was ten years old.

Although I got to realise the common girlhood fantasy of being a bridesmaid for them, the pretty dress and flowers did very little to appease the despair I felt inside. It was about this time I learned how to look ‘the part’: to appear as though I didn’t have a care in the world, even if I was dying a little bit on the inside. My trusty, tough, crab-like exterior was born.

Once Dad married Jeremy and I got a new mother, although we’d both just known her as Mum’s tennis doubles partner for all our lives. She was divorced with a four-year-old daughter of her own called Grace, a girl who we now were told was our new sister. It was beyond weird.

Of course I love Jennifer—in reality she’s been my mother for way longer than my actual mother was—but she’s not Mum.

What’s more, a few years after they married, they produced a half-sibling for us all: Dylan. He’s in his final year at high school now and we get on pretty well these days, but things between us weren’t always as rosy as they are now.

In fact, I felt like my life was over when Dylan was born. I was just about to turn thirteen, entering those weird and wonderful teenage years, when all attention was diverted from Jeremy, Grace, and me to this crying, pooping, vomiting little pink lump.

Jennifer was all-consumed by the newest member of our family, and it felt like Dad decided overnight I was no longer just his daughter, but also the live-in help, expecting me to do Jennifer’s bidding any time of day or night.

Cutting a long, predictable story of teenage rebellion short, I started acting out. Big time. Over the coming years I did things like cutting school, getting in with the ‘cool’ crowd, doing drugs, sleeping around. That’s when Lucinda and I became friends and, more often than not, she was my partner in crime.

I indulged in all the classic defiant behaviour any self-respecting teenager does. I got my rebellion badge and I wore it with pride.

It wasn’t until I left school I realised what a waste of energy it all was: it only served to provoke Dad’s anger, not his love. Which was all I wanted, after all.

“So what sort of deal do you think they’ll offer you, kiddo?” Dad asks as he spoons out some minted peas onto his plate.

Whenever we’re together Dad and I always talk work. He’s a successful businessman, running a profitable property development company, and I love getting his advice and sharing my achievements with him. It’s become ‘our thing’, something only we share, making it extra special to me.

“Well, I’m asking them to provide support, like finances and marketing, to help us move into the Australian and Asian markets. We’d be kind of like their Asia-Pacific face.”

“And what do they get in return?” he asks, ever the savvy businessman.

“I’ve offered them an equal partnership. As you know, right now I own one hundred per cent of
Live It
. By selling them half of the business we’ll have an equal say in the running of the company, and most importantly, they’ll have a vested interest in making our deal a success.”

Although I’m nervous at the prospect selling half of my baby, I realise it’s the only way in which I can move
Live It
forward. Truth be told, our latest financials showed we haven’t grown our markets, and are just stagnating. Something’s got to change if I want to achieve my goals.

“You’ve been trying to crack into the Aussie market for a while, haven’t you?” Jennifer asks, breaking my train of thought.

“Yes, we have. But it hasn’t exactly gone to plan. That’s where Logan comes in.”

“Logan?” she asks.

I colour at my inadvertent mention of his name. I clear my throat in a vain attempt to divert attention away from my current imitation of a tomato.

This is getting annoying. If I insist on blushing at the mere mention of his name, how am I ever going to spend the weekend with him in Queenstown?

Honestly, it’s getting ridiculous.

Jennifer shoots me an inquiring look. “Who’s Logan?”

I feign nonchalance. “Oh, he’s just the company representative from
You: Now
, that’s all. Here to check us out.”

“I see,” she replies, smiling quietly to herself.

Due to his status as a male, Dad is thankfully oblivious to any unspoken communication between his wife and I. “Well it sounds like you’ve done your homework on this one,” Dad says, tucking into his dinner. “Great potatoes, Jen.”

“Thanks, darling,” she beams back at him.

I watch the look they share and once again see how much in love they are. Despite my insistence I prefer to be single, I wonder if maybe one day I’ll have that with someone.

Lately I’ve started to feel a little less anti-men. My hurt and betrayal when I broke it off with Scott is somehow less acute, less demanding Maybe I could have another relationship some day? Or maybe not. The thought of opening myself up to someone still gives me night sweats.

And of course, this possible change of heart has absolutely nothing to do with Logan McManus.

“And what have you been up to lately, Gracie?” Dad asks.

“Dad,” she groans in frustration.

Jeremy and I have always called Jennifer ‘Jennifer’, but Grace called Dad ‘Dad’, rather than Roger, from day one. When she was old enough to decide, she changed her name to ‘Mortimer’ too. I guess it’s because she was only little when our respective parents got married, and her biological father moved to Brisbane when she was about three. She sees him a couple of times a year, so he’s more like a distant relation than a father to her.

“I’m a twenty-three-year-old woman, Dad. Please call me ‘Grace’, not ‘Gracie’.”

“Yeah, Dad,” I chime in. “It’s about time you did what she’s been asking you for—oh, I don’t know—ten years is it, Grace?”

“Exactly,” she replies. “Thank you, Brooke.”

“You’re welcome, little sister.”

“I know, I know. I keep forgetting. But you’ll always be my little Gracie to me.” Dad reaches over the table and playfully pinches her cheek like she’s the little kid she was when he and Jennifer got married.

“Dad!” she exclaims, glaring at him.

“Oh, lighten up, honey. He’s just messing with you,” Jennifer chimes in. “How’s work?”

Grace works as a fashion buyer for a chain of stores and loves her career. “Oh, it’s great, thanks. We’re looking at bringing in some new designers and Cybil wants me to check out their lines.”

“That’s wonderful, honey,” Jennifer replies.

“Thanks. I’m so excited about it.” She beams.

“Are you modelling much?” I ask before I take a bite. “Mm, this is delicious, Jennifer.”

Thanks to winning the gene pool game and getting the best of both Jennifer’s and her biological dad’s features Grace is also a part-time model. She’s one of those effortlessly beautiful women you grudgingly admire.

In stark contrast,
my
effortless beauty takes considerable effort.

“Just a bit, you know how it is.”

Ah, no, I don’t.

“Pass the peas, please.”

“Sure.” I pass her the bowl. She grabs the spoon to scoop some onto her plate, but manages to drop most of them onto the floor.

“Oops, sorry,” she mutters.

She might look like Giselle, but she’s a clumsy as a tap dancing elephant after a few beers.

“Can I be excused?” Dylan mutters, and we all turn in surprise to notice he’s licked his plate clean—well, not literally, we have standards in our family, you know. Clearly bored by the conversation, he wants to go back to texting and Facebooking his friends. Or whatever it is moochy teenage boys do these days.

“Of course,” Jennifer chirps. “Have you had enough, honey?”

“Yep,” he replies in that wonderfully succinct fashion favoured by teenagers the world over.

Dylan is a great kid. He does well at school and seems to have a good group of friends he hangs out with. Maybe because he’s a boy, my Dad and Jennifer are very soft on him and they let him do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I could only ever dream of the freedom he takes for granted.

Luckily for me I was good at climbing out of windows or my high school social life would have been limited to my eleven o’clock Friday night curfew.

Up until recently he and I would hang out together—catching a movie, going for a run—but I haven’t seen much of him in the last few months.

With Dylan leaving the table I spy the opportunity to head off myself. I want to get home, curl up under my duvet, and watch one of the rom coms I’ve got lined up for myself. Bliss.

I’ve been working my way through a list of the top one hundred rom coms of all time for a while now.

Have you ever wished life could be like a rom com? I don’t just mean the falling in love, the dishy guys, the fabulous fashion, or even the happy endings. I mean knowing who the right guy is for you from the outset. I’ll admit the heroine doesn’t always know who she’s going to end up with, but the audience does. And there’s such a feeling of calm, of reassurance and satisfaction when the hero and heroine finally do get it together at the end of the movie.

I’ve had boyfriends in the past who’ve complained rom coms are too predictable, that the girl always gets the guy. But for me, that’s the whole point.

If I knew who I was going to end up with I would forget my ‘no men’ policy and throw myself into the relationship with happy abandon.

Think about it: how easy would life be if you knew who the right person for you was? No stressing over whether he’s the one, whether you should follow your heart or your head. Just straightforward, no mess, happy ending.

Bam. Perfect.

Laura’s my partner in rom com crime. We’ve both been working our way through the list, although mostly alone as she’s got three young kids to deal with. As she puts it, her outings are usually limited to visits to story time at her local library, playgroups, and the supermarket. A glamorous life indeed.

Occasionally though I will turn up on her doorstep with a movie from the list, a slab of Whittaker’s milk chocolate, and a bottle of wine. Once the kids are tucked in for the night, we’ll laugh and cry our way through a movie together, relishing every moment, right up to the predictable happy ending.

“So what are the next steps with the deal?” Dad asks me as we put the final clean dishes away.

“They’re meeting us in Queenstown for our seminar this weekend. Logan and Brad Stephenson, one of the other executives, are attending as silent observers.”

“Well I’m sure they’ll love what they see, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I beam at him.

I’m not ashamed to admit I love it when my dad compliments me, especially about something as important as my work. Whenever he does so I swell with pride, and tonight is no exception.

Floating on Cloud Nine, I head home to watch Molly Ringwald try to win the love of the rich kid in that ‘Eighties classic,
Pretty in Pink.
And you know what? I bet my last dollar she does just that.