Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)

I started to play it off as insomnia.

Sierra shook her head. “You are about to tell me a little white lie, or change the subject. I didn’t push last night about what happened with your sister. I’m pushing you now.”

“Yeah? You sure you wanna hear about my nightmare where I watched my psychotic mother torch the house and my sister?”

She bobbled her cup. Then she drew in a slow sip of coffee. “I’m sorry. I knew you were restless last night. Did sleeping on the couch help?”

“The five shots of Jack Daniels helped.”

“I imagine so.”

I don’t know why the hell I’d expected her to pass judgment on me; she never did. “Thanks for trying to take the edge off last night.”

Her lips quirked which meant she was thinking dirty thoughts.

“With the massage thing,” I stressed, “but I wouldn’t have turned down a blowjob.”

“Really? You like blowjobs? Huh. I wasn’t sure.”

“Smartass. So you gonna bust my balls or do you wanna hear about Oakley?”

“Bust your balls,” she muttered. “Sometimes I think you forget I’m not Raj.”

I lifted a brow. “I promise you I never discuss my balls with Raj.”

“Point taken. Go on.”

I gave her the short version of the Oakley situation.

Sierra said, “She’s lucky to have you, Boone. You didn’t have anyone.”

“I haven’t heard from her yet this morning so I’ll call her after you go to work.”

“Yay, I can hardly fucking wait for this day to start after the spectacular shit show I dealt with yesterday.”

Guilt punched me in the gut. I was a self-centered prick last night. “What happened?”

“Finger-pointing at DPM. Greg neglected to update the paperwork for a lease renewal with a fairly big client and we lost the account. He tried to blame it on his assistant, Melissa, claiming he finished the project and she misfiled it. He fired her. Melissa had expected that, so she’d come to me earlier in the day with documentation of all the things he’s fucked up over the last year. So I think I finally have enough evidence of his misconduct to take to the big boss.” She looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “Unfortunately, the big boss in this case is not my dad. After I assured Melissa I’d find her another position at DPM, she said it’d be worse for her if she stayed. Which sucks ass because she was a great employee.”

“Will any of this backfire on you?”

She shrugged. “We’ll see. Then, to make my day even better, I dealt with mama drama when I received an email from my mother.”

I frowned at her. “An email?”

“Yes. Evidently that’s how today’s busy socialite corresponds with her daughter. And because I was curious about what warranted a fucking email, I opened it and then I wished I wouldn’t have.”

“Why? Did she ask you to fill in as a bridesmaid?”

“That’s not even funny to joke about.” She rinsed her cup and put it in the dishwasher. “Apparently someone is hosting a bridal luncheon for her. Since I hadn’t RSVP’d she wondered if I planned to attend. She was so condescending about being ‘understanding’ if I couldn’t go on such short notice.”

“When is the luncheon?”

“Saturday.”

“This Saturday?”

“Yep. She claimed my invitation must’ve gotten lost in cyberspace. But I know that she didn’t even bother to invite me in the first place.”

I couldn’t tell if Sierra was hurt by this or just pissed off. I turned her around and tugged her against me. “That’s shitty. I’m sorry. I’m betting you RSVP’d with a big ‘fuck you’ in all caps.”

“Hell no. That’s what Ellen wants. So you can bet your ass I will be at that luncheon.” She pecked me on the mouth. “I have to go. Will I see you tonight?”

“I work midnight to noon the next two nights.”

“I’ll be late, but not that late.”

“See you later, McKay.” I clamped my hands on her face and gave her a morning mouth fuck goodbye…just because I could.





Late Saturday morning I’d arrived on time for the bridal luncheon at the new “club” my mother had joined upon her engagement to Barnacle Bill.

After I assured her I’d be in attendance for what she called her big, special day, she’d sent me a link to her bridal gift registry—which I ignored. Then she’d tacked on a “reminder” of the appropriate attire for a fall-themed soiree at a prestigious country club.

Rebellious Sierra dreamed of showing up high as a kite, wearing a black leather halter and disco-era gold lamé pants. But practical Sierra with the business degree chose the high road and a nondescript dress that allowed me to fade into the background. I hadn’t bothered with jewelry. My mother’s friends’ accessory of choice was a glass of white wine or a pumpkin spice martini, so I secretly lamented that I’d left my flask of Crown at home.

I wandered around, not making polite chitchat as much as listening to conversations.

Which I soon discovered were boring as hell.