Free Broken Build by Rachelle Ayala

before committing.
    She pulled a lavender envelope from her iPad cover pocket and opened it again. A sympathy card. I’m sorry for your loss and apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Your friend, Dave. She turned it over. The scribble did not make an indentation in the card stock. A shiver stole its way through her heart. He had called her a friend.
    “How can you work with all this noise?” Christy interrupted. Across from them, Mrs. Walker’s five-year-old grandson pounded the table with a spoon while his mother cut the birthday cake.
    Jen laid her iPad down and surveyed the arcade room and general pandemonium. “Remember our strategy. Make the Walkers happy and they’ll give you more freedom. Isn’t Nate cute? Why don’t you play with him?”
    Christy made another sour face. “You’re the one who likes babies. Not me.”
    Jen winced, but covered by gesturing toward the arcade. “Hey, you want to drive? That racing game’s free, let’s go.”
    Christy shrugged and slouched toward the game booth. “Sure, anything’s better than watching that snot nose slobber in his ice cream.”
    She was probably upset because they never had birthday parties. Mami always remembered to bake a cake, but it had been the three of them and cake mix with no frosting.
    Jen shoved her iPad into her backpack and followed, admiring a sleeping baby boy whose eyelids fluttered in his dreams. She had just plugged in her tokens, when a chubby boy of about ten bumped her.
    “What the beep?” the boy exclaimed. “I was here first.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought it was empty.” Jen clambered out of the seat and stumbled over her backpack.
    A man’s arm steadied her. She turned and faced his neck and tailored shirt. A whiff of magnetic danger, woodsy with a hint of spice, drew her gaze up. The corners of the CEO’s panther grey eyes wrinkled. A jolt of panicked adrenaline shot through Jen. What if he recognized her? She stumbled backward.
    “Whoa, there, do you need to put your head between your knees?” He lowered her to the spectator bench nearby.
    Her pulse drummed through her veins. “I’m fine. I stood too fast.”
    He released her arm and squatted in front of her. “It’s okay. Don’t mind the kid. The car’s yours.”
    He looked at her too intently, but his face was relaxed, not one of a man about to fire her or one who recognized an enemy from the past.
    Jen’s cheeks simmered. “I, uh, have work to do. My backpack…”
    She reached for it, but he grabbed it and held it behind his back. “You just checked a minute ago. It’s okay to have fun with your family. I’m not that much of a slave driver, am I?”
    “Not you, but—” She bit back the words. Not wise to argue with him while he was being friendly.
    He hefted her backpack over his shoulder and gestured with his head. “I’ll race you.”
    It was too late. The boy and Christy were in the game booth, screaming and shouting while they wrestled with the steering wheels, trying to bump each other off the road.
    Dave nudged Jen toward a pair of motorcycles, whispering close to her ear, “Prepare to be road kill.”
    His soft chuckle zapped currents of delight through her body, and her heart looped a three-sixty wheelie. Damn, he’s hot.
     

Chapter 7
    Saturday morning, Jen checked her profile against the mirrored medicine cabinet. Her Roman nose was no longer as prominent as before the surgery. She touched the birthmark on her chin. She should have had it removed when she had the plastic done. Last night had been close, too close. Yet Jewell gave no hint he knew who she had been. She blew out a big breath, and her shoulders tingled. He’d been attracted to her, of all people, and almost kissed her. Too bad she’d have to stay away from him. Jen finished applying her makeup and stepped out of the bathroom.
    “All dolled up to go for a jog?” Sherry looked up from the television with a smirk. “By the way, where were you last Saturday