Bad Friend Read online

  Bad Friend

  Bad Housewives Club, Book 2

  Carmen Falcone

  Contents

  SUMMARY

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Carmen Falcone

  SUMMARY

  Single mom Brit wants a boyfriend, more money and a better life for her and her son—

  but not in this order. Knowing her track record with men, she hopes to boost her makeup artist career by attending a coveted convention. But the cost is way too high—unless she agrees to temporarily work for the hottest man in town, AKA her best friend’s ex-husband. Nothing can go wrong, right?

  * * *

  Damian’s life is a mess—his wife abandoned him, leaving him to balance his busy surgical career and raise their two children alone. Still, he’s determined to open his charity hospital for burn victims—a promise he’d made to his mother. Overwhelmed, he proposes that Brit help him get his life on track as he persuades his investor to bankroll his dream. He’s got a hands-off policy with all his employees, but once nighttime falls, she becomes a forbidden temptation he just can’t resist.

  1

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Brittany Jean Russell talked to her car, flicking her key relentlessly trying to start the engine. She drew in a breath, then exhaled in short spurts like she was in labor and not sitting inside her ten-year-old Nissan, begging it to work.

  After a couple of minutes, the automotive gods heard her prayers and she heard the thump, then a loud purr and at last, green lights appeared on her display. Phew. She sighed out loud, blowing her bangs out of place. “Shit, it almost didn’t start.” She made a mental note to take car to the shop.

  “That’s a bad word, Mom,” her daughter, Libby, said from the backseat.

  Leave it to a six-year-old to keep her honest even in the worst moments. She slanted Libby a look, straightening her shoulders. “Yes, it is, honey. I was making sure you flagged it when I said it.” She glanced at the rearview mirror and forced a smile. “So you know it’s a bad word to say.”

  Libby lifted an eyebrow, unfazed. “Sure, Mom.”

  Why does she have to be so smart? Brit took off from her driveway and began cruising to the other part of town, where her friend Violet lived. Well, used to live. Eight months ago, Violet had left her home, including her husband, Damian, and two children, one-year-old Trevor and six-year-old Amanda. Violet had been dealing with some depression, but also had requested a divorce before she left for a mental health clinic across the country. Truth was, no one was sure why Violet left and she didn’t get into details with Brit and her friends Lara and Nikki, members of the Bad Housewives Club. That’s what they called their support group where they met every week and shared laughs, glasses of wine and the usual stuff.

  Well, so much for support now. She couldn’t avoid the frosty thought. She’d always shared almost every part of her life with her friends, even the embarrassing ones, like her financial status. Out of the four, she’d always been the one with less money.

  Thirty minutes later, she approached the entrance of one of Tulip’s most exclusive gated communities. The security guard, from the inside of his station, waved at her, opening the gate, a hint she’d been coming here way too often lately. When she’d come up with a task force to help Damian with his two kids, she thought Violet would return soon. But days turned into weeks then months, and while Damian had hired a nanny for the children, a lot of times, he was called in for emergency surgeries and needed someone to pitch in out of the blue. Besides, the children enjoyed seeing Violet’s friends, and the kids in the group all played together.

  Brit slid her car into the community, driving until she arrived at the last mansion-like residence to the right. She parked the car, internally praying for it to be silent. But of course the motor had other plans, releasing a gassy hiss. Groaning, she turned it off. “Let’s go, Libby.”

  “Mom, you know this car is on life support and at some point you need to pull the plug.”

  She made a face at her shrewd daughter. Damn it, she needed a lot of things—a better car, a hot boyfriend to save her from the longest man drought on Earth, and most of all, enough money to attend a coveted conference for makeup artists such as herself. She’d love to bump shoulders with Lady Gaga’s stylist, and network with the best in the field. She’d be able to show the samples of a makeup line she envisioned. B. Jean Cosmetics had been created with ingredients and pigments in her home. Hopefully, if she captured interest from a distributor or investor, she’d share it with the world. If only she had the money to pay the conference fee.

  Libby didn’t wait, rushing ahead to ring the doorbell. Brit glanced over her shoulder, still seeing some smoke sneaking out of her motor. She’d taken it to the car shop, but the guy said he’d only managed a band-aid fix at best. Well, she needed a gauze strong enough to wrap around an elephant’s ankle.

  The door swung open, and Amanda, the six-year-old, greeted them, hugging Libby. “Lib-bey! You’re finally here!”

  “Ssshhhh.” Damian Forrest appeared behind her. “Trevor finally went down for a nap.”

  Libby whispered something in Amanda’s ears, and they dashed into the house, giggling.

  “Problems with the car?” Damian asked, pointing at her vehicle.

  Her stomach knotted. Oh no. He’d seen her arrive or worse, heard it die in his driveway. Embarrassment pinned her to the spot, and when he fished the key from her hands, her palms slicked with cold sweat. Sure, she’d trusted her girlfriends with her money situation, but… Damian?

  She watched him march to her car. Even with the sun setting not far away, the impressive outline of his shoulders stretched the shirt he wore. She avoided looking at his back, because usually her gaze traveled lower to his ass, and her mouth watered.

  Bad Brit. Bad friend.

  Technically, he and Violet were separated and there was no coming back, but still. Violet had always been the good girl, the most conservative one in the group, and she wouldn’t forgive Brit if she knew Brit had scorching hot dreams about Damian.

  She’d never kissed a man with a trimmed beard before. What would it feel like? Would it make her cheeks itch, or would it tease her flesh, setting her insides on fire? A jolt of excitement bolted through her.

  Yep, she needed a boyfriend. Badly.

  Lack of sex definitely messed with her brain. Broke and dick thirsty she might be, but her mom certainly didn’t raise her to ogle a friend’s ex—legally, not even an ex yet.

  “Brit?” Damian called, walking up to her.

  She cleared her throat, wishing instead of the sweatpants and T-shirt she had on something more flattering. Especially because of her extra pounds, mainly hanging on her belly and ass, anything else would give her a better shape. Damn, she’d settle for a pear shape instead of the whole fucking fruit basket.

  He tilted his head, a flick of concern in his lush hazel eyes. “Your car’s dead. Shall I pronounce a time of death?”

  That would be two years ago, but I keep resuscitating it. No wonder she’d been calling her clunker Buddha. Poor thing probably dreamed of reincarnating as a butterfly or a puppy. “I’ll make it work.”

  He perched his hands at his waistline. “What happened?”

  Being a single mom and trying to start up a career. Warmth filled her cheeks. She rarely blushed, but him asking those questio
ns threw her off balance. “Oh, it’s been like this for a while. I’m saving to get a new car.”

  “You shouldn’t be driving around like this.”

  “Look, don’t worry, okay?” she snapped, then drew in a breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come across as ungrateful. But I’ll take care of it.”

  “Sure.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Your call.”

  He gestured for her to enter his home, and she did so. She smoothed her hand over her sweatshirt, her shoulders suddenly tight and heavy. After removing her shoes, she walked across the marble floor.

  A collection of expensive rugs, paintings and accents added warmth to the spacious, airy living area. The kids had already gone to the second floor to play, and she imagined one-year-old Trevor napped in his room. She placed her back in one of the chestnut colored sofas, and turned to him. “Anything I should know?”

  “No. I should be back in three hours. I have dinner with an investor, and I can’t cancel.”

  “Sure, I understand. New business venture?”

  A twinkle hit his eyes. “Yeah. I’m pitching a new hospital for surgeries that insurance companies don’t cover to those who can’t afford.”

  Sign me up for an overhaul. “Oh. Yeah. Like, I could walk in there and get a lipo or butt reduction surgery at no cost?” She chuckled.

  “You don’t need any of that,” he said.

  “Easy to say from a man who never saw me naked,” she said. When she heard herself out loud, a flush slapped her cheeks. Shit. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Oh, that sounded bad. Sorry, it’s been one of those days.”

  “No worries. Wish you could come to dinner with me instead. It’s been a pain going to these things alone.”

  “Yeah my sweatpants ensemble would really impress an investor.”

  He chuckled. “It might. Shows we really need the money.”

  Regret clogged her throat, and she recoiled, unsure if anger or embarrassment flowed through her veins. He must have sensed her discomfort, for he bridged the gap between them and squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, that was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry.”

  “S’okay.” She waved him off. After a childhood of wearing secondhand clothes and finding out the many ways she could recycle old shoes, his comment cut deep into her soul. She’d thought she made it by having a misleading glamorous occupation, where she helped people become prettier. Or perhaps by hanging out with her friends who never made her feel out of place even though they had fatter bank accounts.

  But his words had the power of taking her on a time travel back to when she’d been a teenager and worked double shifts to help her mom make ends meet.

  “No, really. After all you’ve done…”

  “Violet is my friend. She would have done the same for me,” she said, and the pulse in his neck jumped. She lifted her chin in challenge, aware he didn’t like whenever anyone mentioned Violet.

  He looked away. “I won’t be late. Thanks again.”

  She squared her shoulders. “My pleasure.”

  “Very well, Damian. You have an ambitious plan,” said Bill O’Donnell, the fifty-something investor who he’d been trying to get ahold of for weeks. Finally, the man agreed to have dinner with Damian.

  “It’s a win-win. The investors will get great PR, and also enjoy tax write-offs.” Damian lifted his tumbler of scotch to his lips, and sipped. His goal was to provide benefits for the people who really needed procedures deemed mainly cosmetic by insurance companies, but he knew focusing on the financial aspect of it would sway Bill a lot faster.

  “What motivated you to do this?”

  “Growing up, my mother was in a fire accident and faced horrible burnings. But after a while, she couldn’t afford surgeries and the insurance considered some elective. She had a hard time finding jobs.” Guilt tightened his heart like a rope. If he hadn’t distracted his mother from cooking and asked her to play with him, maybe she wouldn’t have forgotten the gas was still on.

  Bill nodded. “I’m sorry. Must have been tough.”

  “Yes. I wanted to become a surgeon to help her with her scars, and I did—mostly. But I can’t stop thinking there are lots of people out there still needing help,” he said, pleased at how casual he sounded.

  Bill ran his fingers through his curly red hair, a gift from his Irish heritage. “People will always need help. Listen, I have a financial advisor who goes over these projects with me. It’s easy to say yes, but sometimes crunching the numbers first is better in the long run.”

  “I fully understand.”

  “I’ll get in touch with him and send him the proposal. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Sounds great,” he said. Enthusiasm sung in his bloodstream. A man like Bill O’Donnell wouldn’t have accepted to have drinks with him if he weren’t interested, and he certainly wouldn’t pass the info to his financial guy if the idea didn’t warrant merit.

  “Yeah.” Bill ordered another drink, and began talking about his love of sailing. Damian told him about his own sailboat he rarely used. His gaze strayed to his tumbler, half empty. He motioned to touch his cell phone, and fished it out of his pocket quickly for a glance to make sure everything was normal at home.

  Well, why wouldn’t it be? Brit was pretty great—his kids loved her, and they understood her. The discerning way she looked at him when he made that stupid joke haunted him. His gut clenched. There had to be a way to make it up to her.

  During the past few months, once a week Brit came to visit his kids to provide them a sense of normalcy. Violet’s other close friends, Nikki and Lara, had also offered their help. But Nikki got married, and had her hands full with a big work project. And Lara didn’t have children herself, so Damian felt bad asking her to fulfill that role with his kids.

  So, Brit stepped up.

  Until tonight, it hadn’t occurred to him she needed money. Sure, she wasn’t wealthy, but she always had some interesting makeup on her pretty face, and she worked at the beauty counter in a luxury department store at the mall. He assumed she did okay.

  The memory of a small rip in her sweatpants popped in his mind. It caught his eye when she walked in front of him, and sadly, not only because of the worn-out fabric. The sway of her curvy hips sent a thrill of excitement through him. What a crazy idea. He’d never looked at her that way. Not because she wasn’t attractive, but she was one of Violet’s best friends. Though he didn’t plan on getting back with his former wife, an entanglement with Brit would only cause problems for everyone. Besides, relationships were the last thing on his mind. After his failed marriage, he needed months, if not years alone.

  Then, why didn’t rationalization work this time?

  Why did the image of her lush ass increase his internal temperature?

  “Damian,” Bill called him, raising his voice. “Are you with me?”

  Damian cleared his throat, yanking himself back to the present. Don’t screw this up. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I haven’t had scotch in a while and it just hit me.”

  “That’s right. I heard your wife left you with the kids.” He took another sip of his drink, then shot him an apologetic smile over the rim of the glass. “Bet that’s hard.”

  Damian clenched his tumbler. Hard didn’t begin to cover it. How did he go to bed and wake up each morning not knowing when to tell his children their mom would return exactly? “Yeah. Which is why a project like this will give me a great boost.”

  Bill chuckled. “You’re an interesting man, Damian. Focused. I like that.”

  A blonde woman in her late twenties slid next to them, squeezing Bill’s shoulder. “Hey, honey.”

  Bill’s eyes glinted with pride. He kissed her cheek. “Hi, love. Damian, meet my wife, Candi. She was having dinner with friends at the restaurant next door and decided to say hi.”

  Damian stretched out his hand. Was this wife number three or four? “Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure,” she said, her gaze resting on his. A small smil
ed curled at her lips, far too big for her age. He recognized a filler job when he saw one, and damn, that lady certainly didn’t need it.

  “He’s been pitching an interesting idea.”

  Candi tossed her long hair to the side. “Oooh, I remember you mentioned him. You’re a surgeon, right?”

  “Reconstructive surgery, yes.”

  She nudged his elbow. “Interesting. Married?” She leaned in.

  “Separated,” he said, hoping his ex would sign the divorce papers he’d sent through his lawyer. He saw a spark of interest in her eyes, then decided to add, “Two kids.”

  “Why do you care, Candi?” Bill asked, scratching his chin.

  She played with the straw in her cocktail drink. “Oh, honey, you know I have a lot of single friends and I love playing matchmaker.”

  Damian held up his hand. “It’s okay. I’m good.” A couple of doctors from his practice had suggested he should date to distract himself from the chaos his life had become, but he’d been able to be blunter with them than now with the investor’s wife.

  “Anytime,” she purred.

  He looked away. She certainly sent some flirty vibes his way, and he hoped she acted like this regularly. Some people enjoyed attention, and whenever he told his profession in a social setting, he either intimidated women or encouraged them to hit on him. He didn’t want to cause any friction between Candi and Bill, especially before he got him to agree to his proposal.

  “Well, I should leave you two to it and will follow up with you soon,” he said, staring at Bill.

  “Wait,” she said in a sultry voice. “We’re having a party next week. You should come.”