Then He Happened Read online

  Then He Happened

  Claudia Burgoa

  Contents

  Untitled

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  Prologue

  1. Jason

  2. Jason

  3. Jason

  4. Eileen

  5. Eileen

  6. Jason

  7. Eileen

  8. Jason

  9. Eileen

  10. Eileen

  11. Jason

  12. Jason

  13. Jason

  14. Eileen

  15. Eileen

  16. Eileen

  17. Jason

  18. Jason

  19. Jason

  20. Eileen

  21. Eileen

  22. Jason

  23. Jason

  24. Jason

  25. Jason

  26. Jason

  27. Jason

  28. Eileen

  29. Eileen

  30. Eileen

  31. Eileen

  32. Eileen

  33. Eileen

  34. Jason

  35. Jason

  36. Eileen

  37. Jason

  38. Eileen

  39. Eileen

  40. Jason

  41. Eileen

  42. Jason

  43. Jason

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Maybe Later

  My One Regret

  Found

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  Copyright © 2019 by Claudia Burgoa

  Cover by: By Hang Le

  Edited by: Paulina Burgoa

  Ellie McLove

  Dannielle Leigh Editorial

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic, photocopying, mechanical or otherwise, without express permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, media, places, storylines and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and-or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, of which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  www.clauidayburgoa.com

  Created with Vellum

  Also By Claudia Burgoa

  Standalones

  Maybe Later

  My One Despair

  Knight of Wands

  My One Regret

  Found

  Fervent

  Flawed

  Until I Fall

  Finding My Reason

  Christmas in Kentbury

  Chaotic Love Duet

  Begin with You

  Back to You

  Unexpected Series

  Uncharted

  Uncut

  Undefeated

  Unlike Any Other

  Decker the Halls

  For Sebastien and all the amazing people who have worked with him throughout the years.

  For my family and my readers

  “So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”

  ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

  Prologue

  Jason

  Eight Years Ago…

  “You can’t stay here,” Jack, my brother, says as he looks down at me. “We’ve got to move on.”

  I sit on the steps of the altar, staring at the envelope burning a hole in my hand—the one she served me with, ensuring a life sentence of agony and despair.

  For a moment I wonder the meaning of Jack’s words. Is he talking about the garden? Or the moment? I snort. Who cares, I can’t even breathe.

  For fuck’s sake, my world just shattered, and he wants me to move. I can’t feel my legs.

  How can I move on?

  I can hear the advice coming from everyone who just witnessed the devastation of Jason Spearman’s world. Mom was the first one to hit me with her wise words.

  “Love can last forever if you’re with the right person,” she said after I fell to the ground, defeated.

  What did she mean by that?

  I am in love with the right person—my soulmate. At least, that’s what we’ve said to each other. Or were her declamations of love useless words meant to enchant me? Meant to make me believe that her love for me was absolute?

  It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone.

  And now here I am, broken without a clue on what to do next.

  My error was to fall in love.

  As if my dad could hear my thoughts, he says, “Loving someone is never a mistake.”

  He pats my shoulder and leaves to do some damage control. There’s nothing they can do that will repair what happened today. My heart is breaking. Blood oozes from my wound, not that anyone can see what’s happening to me.

  My throat is thick, I’m having a hard time swallowing—or breathing.

  I loosen my bowtie, gasping for air. My throat is thick.

  “I should’ve known,” I say out loud.

  Neither one of my brothers says a word. They remain close enough in case I need them but giving me the space I crave. The rawness of this moment shreds my gut, and I am left questioning everything. Wondering what I’m supposed to do now?

  “How will I survive?” I tighten the grip of the fucking paper I haven’t read.

  “By living the best life that you can,” Alex, my younger brother, says. “You slap that bitch by showing her this didn’t affect you. There’s life after her. You are Jason fucking Spearman.”

  But how will I survive?

  1

  Jason

  The soft melody of a piano follows me around like a lounge singer. She plays me something jovial to shake the stage fright out of me.

  The air is as thick as smog caught in a smoker’s exhale, but I can make out the faint outlines of the audience somewhere in front of me.

  Hesitantly, I sway to the tune the piano titters out, both of us awkward and stiff from years of neglect.

  Someone in the first few rows wolf whistles to encourage me. I put a little more swagger into it—like my drama teacher used to tell us in high school put your soul into your hips and make love to the world.

  Yeah, in hindsight that was fucked up.

  But the audience eats my lame moves up with a silver spoon. A sound comes out of my throat, a lot like the shit I used to sing. It’s like being a different person.

  It feels like being alive.

  The piano gets to an accelerando, and I run out of shits to give. I belt out my baritone blues of being lovelorn and exhausted, of counting down the days until my life makes sense again… is really truly mine.

  I get a standing ovation and almost forget my stage turned into a rundown wedding altar halfway through my set. The cheering fades as the piano’s sweet loving melts into ear-piercing blares—

  My cell phone wakes me at ass o’clock in the morning. Cold sweat trickles down my spine as I reach toward the nightstand for my phone to check who is calling me.

  Great, it’s my attorney.

  “Go for Spearman,” I say, the lump in my throat clogging my airway and my fucking hollow chest.

  Fuck, it was just a dream. Yet, my heart still pounds hard as if it just re-lived through the agonizi
ng moment when my entire life…

  “Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past couple of hours,” my lawyer, Fitz Everhart, says, ignoring that he lives two hours ahead of me.

  He should’ve learned to fuck off this early in the morning by now. I sigh, squinting as my eyes adjust to the dim blue light coming from the hallway.

  Maybe I should call him before I go to bed. Wake him up at three a.m. his time and see how he likes it.

  With an enormous effort, I heave myself out of bed. I fish a pair of underwear out of the neglected laundry pile next to my closet before I head to the living room. Maybe I should hire a housekeeper. That’s a subject for another time.

  “Well, you got me,” I say finally, rubbing my eyes. “Where’s the fire?”

  “I just sent you a new investment proposal. Have you decided about the one from last week?” he asks.

  I groan in response. It’s too fucking early for this.

  “Look, I don’t have a problem going through the proposals, but you have to give me an answer right away after I send you the details.”

  This is one of the reasons why I hired Everhart and his team. They go through all the proposals, contracts, and documents. They save me time by combing through this shit and spotting potential investments.

  Since I sold my tech startup five years ago, I went with the only job in the world left for rich, soulless, boring dickbags—venture capitalist. Aside from the terrible networking events and wading through piles of shit ideas, it pays well.

  Theoretically, it leaves me plenty of time to live my life. Nowadays, most of the ideas that actually get to me are profitable. They have lots of potential.

  “I take it you’re going to say no,” Fitz implies.

  “They want more than money,” I argue. “I don’t have time to hold anyone’s hand right now.”

  “Makes sense,” he says. “Well, I’m off to disappoint yet another person and add that you’re only looking to invest—at the moment—into your requirements. You don’t babysit or teach. In that way, you’ll only get the proposals that make sense for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say before hanging up.

  Trudging back to my bedroom, I open the shutters, and the sun illuminates my room. That’s when I see her.

  The blonde I hooked up with last night never left. She rolls onto her stomach. She’s still naked, eyeing me like meat, ready for another round.

  “Well, it’s been nice…” I pause, was it, Brittany or Lauren. “Umm, Lisa,” I lie politely.

  And by the stink eye she gives me I know I fucked up her name, but it’s too early in the morning to remember my own name, let alone a piece of ass that should already be gone.

  She flashes a fake smile as she says, “It’s Lina.”

  Well, close enough, I think.

  “You’re kicking me out?” she says incredulously. “What happened to breakfast?”

  “Who said anything about breakfast?” I sputter.

  And who eats breakfast this early? I look at the time. Well, seven isn’t that early as I thought but fuck if I don’t need a cup of coffee.

  “We could spend the morning together,” she says suggestively.

  Together?

  What do people even do this early in the morning?

  Turn on “Morning Joe” or some other corny show and talk about what? Gossip? Their opinions and what to cook? Share the same half cold cup of coffee with some lazily thrown together eggs and talk about what they’re doing that day?

  Who’d even like that quiet domesticity? You did once, asshole.

  I shake my head while gathering her clothes.

  “I don’t know if you recall,” I say with the same fake calm voice I used the summer I worked nights at a call center in Tuscaloosa back when I was in college. “But I told you that I had an early morning meeting. Staying over was your call.”

  I toss her clothes on her lap... her underwear may have accidentally hit her square on the nose. Not that it fucking matters at this point if she blacklists me online or some shit like that. If I hurry, maybe my assistant won’t see her.

  I don’t bring people to my apartment, especially hookups. I hear a snort inside my head.

  Valid, I only do hookups.

  But honestly, I know better than inviting women into my apartment. They think sleeping over is an invitation to settle in and never leave.

  I can appreciate a good fuck and decent conversation at two a.m. about docks in Amsterdam or “what do you think the Grand Canyon looks like right now?” But no one’s ever interested in enjoying the moment.

  They size me up while I’m flirting and decide I have something to give them. No one cares about who I am beyond their Sex and the City fantasy. I’d be insulted if I weren’t so fucking tired.

  “We had a good time,” she says.

  “It was fun,” I admit.

  It would’ve been more fun if you used your mouth as much as I used mine.

  “Why don’t we go one more round?” she asks with a pout.

  I usually fuck once, and I leave—or in this case, she leaves. That’s how it’s supposed to work. This is what I get for asking her if she wanted to come over instead of sucking it up and going across town to her place.

  We met at my downstairs neighbors’ party so that also made wanting to go to a random apartment in Thornton impossible.

  “You know what they say about too much of a good thing,” I offer politely.

  She scowls, moving the covers to offer glimpses of her body. When that doesn’t entice me, she makes sure to offer her bare breasts, and open her legs wide, exposing her bare pussy.

  Classy. I wonder where she picked up that party trick.

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” she says like a mind reader. “I’ve heard of you in my circles. Jason Spearman, famous playboy and cold-hearted fucker.”

  “The one and only,” I say, smirking. “Now do me a huge solid and get the fuck out of my room.”

  “I’m taking a shower,” she mutters while heading toward the bathroom.

  She stops right in front of me, pressing her breasts into my side.

  “Unless you want me to stay for one last round,” she attempts one more time.

  She’s really on my last nerve. I have things to do. And my assistant will kill me if she finds a naked woman in my house.

  “Out,” I repeat.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she screams this time. “I was hot enough last night and now I’m nothing to you?”

  “Good morning, boss,” Josselyn, my assistant walks into my bedroom, handing me coffee. “Great, we picked up a souvenir from last night’s rendezvous.”

  “Jossie,” I groan.

  “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch,” Lyn? Liza? says storming almost naked out of my apartment.

  Josselyn follows her with those bright amber eyes of hers and glares at me.

  “Pretend you didn’t see anything.” I shut my eyes and try to concentrate on the sweet nothings the caffeine in this coffee is whispering.

  After a couple of sips, I open my eyes to see her giving me a lopsided smile and a pat on the shoulder. “If I find you half-naked with a guest one more time, I’m quitting. Get ready. We have a lot of work to do.”

  2

  Jason

  For the last couple of years, I’ve been helping my brother, Jack, with his company. At first, it was just with his clients. He's not what we would call a “people person,” or “friendly,” or “gives enough shits to have manners sometimes.”

  That’s where I come in. I’m like his spokesperson or his professional wingman—swooping in to seal the deal and make him look like an empathetic billionaire.

  He has a lot of rules when it comes to working for him.

  Said rules have come in handy with my own clients and business deals. But regardless, there’s still a little thing called common sense. And common sense says if I want people to trust me, I should probably not look like a womanizer while trying to close a deal.<
br />
  My public image starts and ends with the shit that comes out of my mouth—including whatever my breath happens to smell like the morning after putting it to good use. Breath mints come in handy to remedy that.

  Jossie would argue more than she probably needs to. But like I said, my mouth needs to be in top form. Which also means my version of small talk leaves out or ignores phrases like “What do you have planned after our meeting?”

  Tonight, I’ve been pretty patient and discreet while having a business dinner. Even when there’s a bombshell redhead by the bar with legs for days. I’ve only snuck a glance in her direction when I’m sure no one’s looking. So exactly three times.

  But hey, my research is as thorough as it is brief.

  “I think we're set,” Mr. Smith, my soon-to-be new business associate says, finishing his drink. “Please, have your lawyer send me the contract.”

  “You'll have it first thing in the morning,” I say as I offer him a handshake. “It's a pleasure having you on board.”

  “By the way,” Mr. Smith adds. “Let’s meet to talk to about your brother’s company soon. I heard he's going public.”