Beautifully Broken If I Break #3

Cal’s back, and his arrival changes everything.

Lauren knew it was coming but what she didn’t think he’d bring with him was an ultimatum.

A choice.

One that Lauren feels trapped under. A choice she’s unsure will make a difference but could possibly change everything.

The ultimatum isn’t the only thing Cal’s got with him but answers. The ones Lauren so desperately craves. But the truth won’t only affect the lives of him and Lauren but everyone around them…and not everyone wants the truth to come out.

The thing is Cal doesn’t give a F…

…There are two sides to every story. In this one there’s three.

Chapter 1

 Cal

February 28th, 2008

Freedom.

Most people think that they’re free, but they’re
aren’t. They’re slaves—to their jobs, to suffocating families, to misplaced
priorities, drowning under the weight of what should be life. I see them. I’ve
lived with them. The pathetic thing is that at one point I
wanted to be just like themI wanted to be just
like them at one point. Well, a part of me,
at least. Then things changed. I was lost, and
now I’m found. Many people would wonder how a 23 year -year-old
with no formal education, no background in business, and a pretty shitty
attitude—I admit it— ended up with a job making six figures to entertain
ass-kissers, all with trust funds from mommy and daddy to convince me of why
our company should consider saving theirs. My job is atypical,
but then again, I’m not the typical guy.

There is far more to me than meets the eye. It’s my
secret weapon, my gift, and my curse. But every curse can be used to your
advantage if you can wield it just right.

I
had a lot against me when I was born. The cards weren’t stacked in my favor
but. Still, if my parents never gave me
anything else, they passed along a good combination of their genes, which has
given me a little bit of an edge up in the world. Regardless of your
personality or your IQ, the right looks will get you everywhere—but,
without the right mentality, you can only go so farIQ,
the right looks will get you everywhere, but you can only go so far without the
right mentality. Lucky for me, a combination of looks and IQ have
has taken me from under-paid farm hand
in a town most people never heard of to one of the greatest cities in the
world, with the best food, the most interesting locations, and—my favorite
part—the most beautiful women you have ever seen.

I wouldn’t trade my life for the world. Besides, I’ve
already done that once.

I wasn’t always like this. I used to be like everyone
else, suffocating in a shell of a man. A yes-man, until he broke in two. He
couldn’t handle the pressure of life—the real side of it, not the sanitized
made-for-TV version of life that was created for him. He couldn’t handle
take that reality is ugly. Which
worked great because I handled that
part just fine. But the beautiful part of life, I’m telling you, is what I
love. The life some people never experience. My favorite part of this job is
being among the most gorgeous women Chicago has to offer. Like an ice- cream
shop, that has any flavor you could think
of, and I’ve tasted so many I should
be embarrassed. Distractions that make me put up with the irritating part of my
job.

My prospect tonight is already pissing me off, ; most
of them do. Fucking babies. All used to having their asses kissed. I’m like a
breath of fresh air for them, I guess. Somehow not giving a fuck works. And Dex
pays me a whole lot to not give a fuck. The first time I went out with him to a
business venture boring dinner, the client was a dick. I didn’t even work for
him yet, and the guy who had my job was just
about ready to get on his knees and suck it. I told the client to go
fuck himself, and that’s how I got my first job.
Not your typical interview, is it? But Dexter Crestfield isn’t your typical
boss; and his
training isn’t your run-of-the-mill HR BS.

“… a deal with Crestfield even possible,
Cal?” This guy’s voice irritates the hell out of me. It’s like a cross
between a pissed-off teacher and a fast-food worker. His expression looks like
he hasn’t taken a shit in about four days. He looks irritated and now I’m
irritated. Why the hell would I waste my time if a deal wasn’t possible?

“Another drink, gentleman?” One of the bottle girls
interrupts us but what a welcome interruption she is,
but she is a welcome interruption. Did I say how much I love
Chicago?

I forgot her name, . I’ve
seen her here a few times before. Michelle, Mallory, something or other. My two
clients eye her tits.

“Not right now, hon. Make sure you come back in a couple
of minutes,” he says with a sly grin. Mr. Constipated, his counterpart, gives
her the eye, and I try to contain my laughter. I
must admit whoever does the hiring needs a raise—a big onthat
whoever does the hiring needs a big raise.

“And you, sir?” her voice drops an octave as she
flashes her bright green eyes at me. I have a thing for women with beautiful
eyes, but I can tell she’s a pro as she
leans into me, slightly licking her lips, a bold red, the same color as her
hair.

“That’ll be it,” I whisper in her ear, sliding a bill
in her hand. She smiles appreciatively and stuffs the fifty into the valley
between her tits before sauntering away.

“What? Do I need a pair of Double-D breasts to get his
attention?” Mr. Constipated says. If he wasn’t so fucking cheap, he’d be the
one she’d be pressed up against tonight.

“The terms of the agreement you’re offering… I don’t
think it’s worth the risk,” I state simply.

“Well, to be frank, we’d rather discuss this with Mr.
Crestfield.  And in a proper place of business, not this swamp of Jersey
Shore elite,” Mr. Constipated says tightly. I grin and signal another bottle
girl back to the table.

“Can you pour Mr. Freeman here a drink? Because I think
he needs to cool the fuck off.”

“Look, Cal, we don’t mean any disrespect,
w. We’re really anxious to make this
deal happen,” the less annoying one says. I hate guys like Mr. Constipated, men
with degrees that cost more than people’s mortgages. They know I’m not one of
them, t. They
can tell—sense it, blue blood—bull shit. Good The
good thing is, I don’t give a shit. So I smile, the same smile I
could flash his wife and have her on her knees in ten minutes and play it cool.
After all, it must suck being him.

“I’ve taken time out of my schedule on my day off to
hear a proposal, a legitimate offer to take back to Dexter, and
you bring me this shitty deal? Bottom line is, we have better options to
review,” I say before standing up.

“Wait. Wait, everyone. Calm down. Tensions are high.
Cal, we really appreciate the fact that you’ve come out to hear our proposals.
This is actually one of our properties. Cegan, how about we go see if the
property holders are in, and how things are going?”

This is how it usually works. They’re caught off guard.
They think the deal is off the table, and
now their heads are spinning. I pull out my phone as I make my way from the
table. I shoot Dex a text saying he has them exactly where he wants them.

I make my way from the VIP area down to the main area
of the club. VIP is exclusive and all of that shit, but
the main floor is where the fun is, and,
once work is done, it’s time to play, and
there are so many toys out tonight. I feel a hand slip around my stomach and
turn to see the sexy red head from earlier.

“Are you looking for Tori?” she says,
leaning into me.

Tori’s a bottle girl who works here. She’s
supermodel-hot, fun, easy, gives me space but answers when I call. She’s one of
my regulars, and when I’m in the mood for
something different than her for the night, she doesn’t cause a scene or throw
a fit. Hell, sometimes she’ll come with me and my flavor of the night. Bad
The bad thing about her, is
she likes to drink on the job, i.
If it wasn’t for me sliding her manager a couple of hundreds to
look the other way, she’d have been out on her ass.

“Maybe,” I tell her as I watch her hand slide down my
arm and land on my Cartier watch, her finger lingering over it
and. I immediately know this girl is
looking for a cash cash-out,
not fun, and I don’t play with her type.

“She got canned today. She spilled two thousand dollars’
worth of champagne,” she says with a gleeful smile on her face.

What the fuck Tori…

I liked that she walked on the wild side of life,
but there’s nothing sexy about getting wasted. It takes you off your game,
makes you a different person, and I have enough quirks in that
area. Needless to say, it was irritating that she always wanted to get shit
shit-faced. Tipsy girls are cute.
Drunk off your ass is fucking disgusting. There’s nothing sexy about it.

I’m
not the type to hold a girl's hair up while she pukes.

“Don’t look so sad. I can keep you company tonight,”
she purrs in my ear. Not interested. I forgot this girl’s name,
but I’m pretty sure she was Tori’s friend, and
nothing's more of a turn turn-off
than disloyalty.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” I say,
pushing her hand out of my way and heading to the bar. There are too many other
prospects in here. If I want to take someone home tonight, it wouldn’t be a
money-hungry backstabber. I push my way through the crowd, where a few women
catch my eye. I don’t want a drink, but the
bar is the place to be, so that’s where I am. Tori’s friend
squeezes beside me. She shoots me a flirtatious grin. She either didn’t take
the hint or is desperate.

“How fucking long does it take to get a shot?” some
drunk guy next to me shouts loud enough to be heard over the music. There’s
There are other grumblings from people
around me. It looks like they’re backed up.

“Steven’s out sick,” the girl whose name I forgot says,
leaning into me before her hand roams up my thigh. If she keeps it up,
I might just let her give me a blow job before sending her on her way.

“The owner has waitresses covering,” she adds. I shrug
and turn my body away from her. She’s starting to annoy the fuck out of me, and
besides that, she’s blocking other girls. I need
to find someone to make her get lost quick. I start to head away from the bar
but, as I do, the girl behind the bar catches my eye. She more than catches it
because I have to double-back to reclaim the space I just lost at the bar.

Who the hell is she?

“I’m so sorry for the wait, everyone. Please be patient
with us.” Her voice is light and airy, and
her smile makes my heart skip a beat. She’s sexy as hell. Creamy white
skin, long dark wavy hair, and she has a cute tight little body. She’s short
too, . I’ve
always had a thing for short girls—‘Fun Fun-sized.’
Not only is she sexy, she’s but she’s also fucking
gorgeous. Most girls are either one or the other, but
she’s both. Adding to that, mesmerizing brown eyes, big and
bright ones that make her look innocent. She’s only in front of me for
a few seconds, apologizing to everyone again before she goes to
the other end of the bar and does the same. My eyes follow her. Her face is
clean. She’s not wearing pounds of make up
like most of the other girls in the club. She has perfectly plump lips and on
her feet, my favorite shoes on a woman, ‘come fuck me pumps.’

“She’s taken,” ‘Whatserface’ says in my ear.

Too bad.

There’s There are too
many single chicks in the world to bark up that tree, but I decide to play
around, just to make ‘Whatserface’ jealous.
Since she won’t leave me alone, I might as well have a little fun.

“That’s never stopped me before,” I taunt her,
and her face scrunches up like a finished bag of chips.

“She’s not like that,” she says defensively.

“Really?” I say sarcastically.

“No, really. She’s not, s.
She’s all into the other bartender that works here. She
Lauren doesn’t talk to any other guys,
not even to flirt for tips,” she counters with a satisfied grin on her face.
Beautiful and loyal…hmmm.

It’s been a while since a girl seemed unattainable and
that piques my curiosity.

It doesn’t take more than a smile, a little attention
and a few shots and Whatsername has given me all the details I want.

Lauren, I like that name, is
dating a dude named Michael. I’ve seen him before at the club. Typical
pretty-boy douchebag. The frat boy type, screwing anything that walks. I don’t
know this girl but seeing any beautiful, loyal
woman attached to some ass wipe that did any chick he could, ticked me off.
This time, it irks me more than it usually does.

My
first impression is right. He’s a creep if I ever saw one. The type of dude
that makes a girl fall for him, traps her in a dead dead-end
crappy one-sided relationship, screwing anything that moves but telling his
girlfriend he loves her every chance he gets.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no fucking Prince Charming,
but I never lead girls on. I don’t make promises I’ll never keep. I don’t lie.
Each one knows to expect nothing from me but a good time. There’s no need to
play with a girl’s emotions. No There
is no need to tell them you love them when you don’t mean it, and,
if you are fucking someone else, you definitely don’t mean it. You can’t love
someone else and screw around just because they make your dick hard. I’ve seen
enough girls get screwed over by the pricks in disguise and, unluckily for Michael.
I was going to have a little fun.

I have to admit, the dude
had balls. I watched him for three nights, and
each night he’d pull some girl drunk off her ass into the storage room and come
out like he just won a prize. Cheating is routine for most dudes, but doing it in
the place your girlfriend works, takes
a lot of fucking nerve.

Night
four, I decided it was time to watch the show. It only cost me fifty bucks to
get one of the waitresses at the club to point her in the
right direction of the storage room. A cute little Asian chick was his meal of
choice for the night. I have to hand it to him. He has good taste. Every girl
I’ve seen him with was a fucking ten.

I
signal the waitress I paid earlier and see her go over to Lauren. I’m not sure
what she said, but it makes Lauren smile,
and I feel my palms start to sweat. Not a reaction I expected.

I’m
nervous…and I don’t get nervous.

Screw
it.

I’m ready to see the fireworks. I can’t wait until she
catches this jerk-off. I glance at my watch. It shouldn’t take more than five
minutes until she finds them.

I’m right.

It only takes two before Lauren is flying out of the
storage room, but she’s crying. I expected profanity, yelling, maybe a cat fight,
but none of that happens. I thought she’d just be pissed off instead of…this.
I thought the aftermath would be funny, entertaining, that the joke would be on
this Michael dude, but this girl, she’s
devastated. A few other waitresses chase after her, seeing how upset she
is. The other girl in the storage room runs out,
adjusting her dress and disappears into the crowd. Michael looks confused as
hell and frantic.

“Lauren!” he shouts, looking around for her. He goes in
the other direction.

This is what I wanted.

Entertainment. But this doesn’t feel right.

I feel like a bigger
asshole than her boyfriend. I think…I feel bad. It’s a foreign-ass feeling,
and I want to make up for it.

This girl has no clue who I
am or what I’ve done, but, shit, I feel fucked up over
it. This is the first time I’ve cared how someone feels when it doesn’t
affect me. I want to make it up to her. I want to make her feel
better. The only problem is, I don’t make things up to people. I sure as hell
don’t make situations better. I fuck shit up, and I
have no fucking clue how to not do that.