Breaking Braydon

  BREAKING BRAYDON

  MK Harkins

  BREAKING BRAYDON

  Text copyright ©2015 MK Harkins

  All Rights Reserved

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized by, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Formatting: Max Henry of Max Effect

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Epilogue

  Contact MK Harkins

  Playlist

  Acknolwedgements

  Nancy Bailey

  May 6th, 1953 – March 29th, 2013

  How to describe beauty?

  Kindness Patience Humor Love

  You are the best the world has to offer

  Every laugh, every hug, every positive and good emotion remains with you

  Because you are everything beautiful there is in this world

  Thank you God for letting me have Nancy while she was here

  I won’t forget

  I will always appreciate

  “Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

  - Maya Angelou

  PLAYLIST

  A Thousand Years – Christina Perri

  Beneath Your Beautiful - Labrinth

  Desperado – The Eagles

  I Can’t Help Falling in Love – Elvis Presley

  It Must Have Been Love – Roxette

  I Won’t Give Up – Jason Mraz

  Long and Winding Road – The Beatles

  Maybe I’m Amazed – Paul McCartney

  On Our Own – Heels To The Hardwood

  Over My Head – The Fray

  She’s got a Way – Billy Joel

  Somewhere over the Rainbow/It’s a wonderful world – Israel Kamakawiwo’ole

  Song for Someone – U2

  Thinking Out Loud – Ed Sheeran

  When I Fall in Love – Nat King Cole

  You are so Beautiful – Joe Cocker

  The music is the sole property of the copyright holder/artist represented.

  You can find all these songs on YouTube or iTunes.

  Heels To The Hardwood’s website

  ONE

  Braydon

  The high heel whizzed past my head at record speed.

  Damn. That was quick. Usually, when I told women to leave, it would take a few minutes before their anger boiled over. I leaned on the doorframe between the hotel bedroom and the large foyer.

  “Listen, Candy, it’s been fun. But like I said, it’s time for you to go.”

  She picked up her other shoe and hurled it at me. Missed again. There were many talents she shared last night, but, as it turned out, throwing shoes wasn’t among them.

  “It’s Candace, you ass. Not Candy!” Her face reddened. “You think you can just brush me off? We…we only finished like five minutes ago.” Her flowing blonde hair and angry green eyes were a sight to behold, I’d give her that. She tightened the sheet around her, making sure to cover herself completely. It was time to wrap this up.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m doing. You may consider this your official brush off.” Rip the Band-Aid off quickly. It was better for everyone.

  There were tears in her eyes. Here comes the drama. Women were experts at it. Good thing I knew what they were doing, along with their motivations. They wanted to be the one to snag the “Bad Boy Billionaire,” but I knew better.

  The women I invited into my bed knew the score. If they hadn’t been clued in by my reputation alone, I made sure to let them know before stepping foot in my hotel room. But still, they deluded themselves. They thought they’d be the one to change me, that they’d be the one who I’d marry. They didn’t care about me. I knew that with certainty. I’d seen it replayed over and over. They were all the same. I wasn’t a fool.

  “You knew what this was, Candace.” I emphasized her name properly. “Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave.” I nodded in the direction of the door.

  “Everything they say about you is true. You’re a damn bastard.” She continued to fist the sheet in her hands and stomped her foot.

  “So you’re angry because I’m exactly what you thought I’d be?”

  “Yes! I mean, no! I hoped you’d be different. I thought the stories about you were an exaggeration. Kind of like an urban legend or something.”

  She stopped and studied me. I worked to keep my face expressionless and crossed my arms. She knew. My body language screamed ‘Don’t even try.’

  She shook her head. “I was wrong. So wrong.”

  I continued to watch her as she gathered her clothes from the floor and moved into the bathroom to change. It was mindless sex, but it was so good. For a moment, I considered stopping her.

  What the hell? What was I thinking? What good would come from that? I hated this part of the evening. It always came, even if it was for only a split second. I knew I’d never change, yet somehow it would find its way into my consciousness—the creeping edge of an emotion. It felt a little like regret, but I immediately shoved it down before I was able to explore it. I didn’t need or want those feelings. I wanted everyone to believe I was unobtainable. Because I was. Women could have my body for a few hours. But they’d never touch the rest of me. Ever.

  TWO

  Jain

  It was routine. Every day during lunch, I’d peer into the mirror to examine my appearance. The harsh fluorescent lights in the bathroom at work didn’t hide a thing.

  My eyes were bright red again. Darn colored contacts made me look like I hadn’t slept in days. The contacts were a brown color, which made my clear blue eyes appear drab. They were perfect, except for the unfortunate fact that they felt like sandpaper.

  The light foundation I used on my face also helped. My “disguise” wasn’t complete without my skin tone appearing pale. The make-up was supposed to be a base, but it worked for my overall appearance. As long as the desired effect was achieved, I didn’t care. Dealing with my itchy, watery eyes was the least of my concern.

  I swept my fingers through my hair and turned side-to-side. Everything was still in place, except for t
he tears that had started to form. They were a result of the contacts; I was sure. I blinked them back and took a deep breath.

  I was invisible, and that was a good thing. Everything about me screamed plain. Plain hair, plain clothes, plain demeanor. Plain Jain. I fit that description to a T. I had to be okay with it because it was a necessity.

  During my high school years, I’d received admiration and flirty remarks from the boys, and jealous suspicion from the girls. If I even glanced at someone’s boyfriend, the gloves would come off, and a battle would ensue. So I never dated – until Jackson. We attended senior prom together. I wish I could forget that night, erase it from my mind completely.

  I knew Jackson never loved me, but it still hurt. He’d convinced me of his sincerity, but he turned out to be a typical player. The night of the prom changed me. I used that pain, though, to propel me toward what I really loved, medical research.

  Once I’d entered my sophomore year in college, I knew things had to change. If I were going to be seen as a serious academic student, I’d have to dress and act in a way that would ensure I was treated like one.

  I learned that prejudice was not limited to skin color, even if it was a prestigious Ivy League university. I was judged on my looks, as were so many others. I wasn’t taken seriously, by both students and professors. For some reason, the students I sat with at lunch or attended classes with, always assumed I would be more interested in gossip than my studies. They were wrong. When I asked my professors for more challenging work, they’d smile and reply, “You’re doing just fine.” I didn’t want fine. That’s when it occurred to me. People either consciously or unconsciously concluded that my looks would open doors for me and that I didn’t need to be smart. It was at that point I made the choice to change how the world perceived me.

  I was sure some people might not understand why I went to so much trouble to tone down my appearance. To me, beauty equaled pain and missed opportunities. First, with Jackson, and again in college, when my achievements were marginalized by my appearance. I loved the field of medical research, but there were other reasons I was driven toward success. I needed to make amends, and to hopefully right the horrible wrong I’d committed seven years ago. I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stop until I did.

  Once I made the decision to appear plain–it worked like a charm. I kept my head down and let the world ignore me. I finished college with top honors in only three years. Medical school took another three, again with honors. With my pick of job opportunities, I chose a small company specifically because they were on the cutting edge of ALS research, which was close to my heart.

  I loved my job. Bastion Medical Research was a top-notch facility, employing a small team of respected and dedicated doctors and scientists. Each day, I’d awaken, refreshed and ready to tackle the challenges presented. Our research was innovative, with the best technology science had to offer. It wasn’t a question of whether we’d make our mark, but rather when.

  After I was satisfied with my appearance, I returned to the cozy room we used for our breaks and lunch. It had started out as the usual, sterile break-room you’d expect to find in a medical research facility, but that soon changed once I got my hands on it.

  I used my own money to replace the worn plastic table and chairs used for lunch. I found a long, oak dining table with matching upholstered chairs at a nearby furniture store. A few side tables, lamps, and a small couch rounded out the space. I’d picked earth tones for the colors which made the room feel warm and inviting. I loved it here. It felt like home.

  My thoughts were interrupted by Colin, my best friend and co-worker. He plunked down next to me and asked, “How’s my best girl?”

  “Every girl is your best girl, Colin.” I gave him my best, most dramatic eye roll.

  He held his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded. Sincerely wounded.” His mouth turned down into his signature pout.

  “I’m not falling for that. I know you love everyone equally.” I patted his arm to let him know it was okay.

  He tilted his head back and laughed. His eyes shifted back and forth, searching for eavesdroppers. He whispered, “Shhh. You are my favorite. I love you. Well, like a sister, because anything else would be creepy.”

  I laughed in return. “It’s unfortunate because you’re the only man I can stand to be around for any length of time.”

  His expression dropped. “We need to fix that, Jain. I can’t stand the idea of you being lonely. You’re the only woman I’ve ever met who made me wish I wasn’t gay. But you know…” He shrugged.

  “Don’t say that! We have the perfect relationship. We don’t need to mess it up with a bunch of sex.” I pretended to shiver in mock disgust.

  Although, I will admit, if Colin weren’t gay, he’d be my dream man. His six-foot-two, toned body, dark, wavy hair, and deep blue eyes kept both men and woman interested. Too bad he was always working. He’d be the ideal catch.

  We sat huddled together, giggling like preschoolers, when Martin Bastion, the owner and director of our clinic, burst into the room. Red-faced with beads of sweat rolling down his neck, he said five words that would forever change my life.

  “Our funding has been cut.”

  No. No. No.

  Without funding, we’d have to close down. My vision blurred around the edges as my carefully constructed world came crashing down around me. Bastion Medical Research was my life. My entire life. I built everything around it.

  What would I do now?

  THREE

  Braydon

  “Here’s another one.” With a loud thud, Todd dropped the stack of papers on my desk.

  “No, Todd, no more.” I pushed the stack away, hoping the pile would disappear.

  “You know you love this stuff. You could’ve done anything with that over-achieving brain of yours.” Todd was convinced I was some superhero. He’s wrong; it was just hard work and determination.

  I was the numbers man while Todd led the executive unit. He was also my right-hand man, including head of creative development. We were a great team, and yes, we did help medical research facilities, along with many other innovative companies. But we didn’t deserve all the accolades my father and some others gave us. All we did was put together a good event, and if we were successful, we’d receive a small portion of the profits. I’d also invested heavily in a few start-ups. Fortunately for us, my choices had been very successful.

  I took a deep breath and surveyed my office. I had a deep sense of gratitude for what we were able to accomplish. It never got old – the large windows that accentuated the beautiful Seattle skyline, the oversized desk shipped from Europe, the plush carpet and original art pieces. The interior designer had done a fantastic job setting the right tone of prestige and success for our potential clients.

  I started my business, BCD Funding Solutions, right out of college. It was all work, no play, for the first two years. I didn’t even make an income back then. Good ole dad had to put up with me moving back in after college, until I was able to turn a profit. Luckily, we got along great, and it was more like having a roommate rather than a parent. I bought him a waterfront home on one of the San Juan Islands last year, I hoped he felt compensated for having my sorry ass in the spare bedroom for so long.

  My dad, Brian Decker, was about as proud as a father could be. After the company’s net worth reached the billion dollar status, I couldn’t shut him up. At places like the grocery store, he’d say, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Hey Marcy – did you know Braydon is a billionaire now? Can you believe it? My son the billionaire. And he’s doing great things for the world. You name it – he raises the money. Cancer, Multiple Sclerosis, Parkinson’s, AIDS –you name a disease, and I’ll bet he’s already raised money for it.”

  My dad’s proclamations had always embarrassed me. I wasn’t responsible for the treatments developed or the cures that some of the brilliant medical researchers had discovered. Those people were amazing. They’d spend their entire
lives in the effort to help people heal or cope with diseases that were not only debilitating, but just downright horrendous. I only played a small part in the raising of capital, so they could continue their groundbreaking discoveries.

  Todd gave my arm a shove. “Did you fall asleep? Where’d you go? Daydreaming about Angela again?”

  I brushed Todd’s hand aside and stood. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  He stepped back and held up his hand. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just commenting on the fact that you spent the entire night staring at her.”

  “Yeah, well, I knew her back in high school. She’s a royal bitch.” I shook my head as I gathered my wits. What’s wrong with me?

  I sat back down in my chair. “Sorry, man. I guess the mention of her name pushed a button. My school years weren’t pleasant.” That was an understatement.

  “Ahh, I thought her name sounded familiar. Angela.” He tapped his finger on his temple, eyes raised toward the ceiling. His spine straightened; he dropped his gaze and looked directly at me. “She’s the chick who—”

  “Stop! I don’t even want to think about it!” Shit. When did I tell him about that?

  “I told you about that?” For the life of me, I couldn’t remember.

  “After the celebration for Waxon Technologies. If you recall, it was our first million dollar payout. You were celebrating, quite enthusiastically as I remember.”

  I remembered that night—well, most of it anyway. We’d raised almost a hundred million dollars in one of our first sponsored charity events. It was a soaring success, guaranteeing our company many new clients. The rounds of eighteen-year-old Sazerac shots didn’t stop until we were almost passed out. I guess that’s when I must have let some of my childhood memories slip. I remembered it like it was yesterday. Angela, she’d put me through hell.

  “Oh God. What did I tell you?” I was almost afraid to ask. I was an expert at keeping certain emotions clamped down. Anger was easily expressed; helplessness and vulnerability were not. I had vowed never to put myself in the position to experience those feelings ever again.