by K. D. Black
Fuck. What kind of girl can almost give me a hard-on just by saying my name?
“I—” Her almond eyes are hesitant, coy, and hopeful all at once, and I have to put a colossal amount of self-control into staying in my chair. “I’m sorry about the other night. Well, not the night,” she corrects herself with a tiny, suggestive smile. “The morning after. I just needed some time to think. Can I make it up to you? Drinks after work this evening? So we can talk… and stuff?”
Now I’m more aroused than I should ever be at the office and I also have whiplash. Brooke’s sudden reversal of attitude spins my thoughts around like clothes in a dryer. “Sure,” I manage after a moment.
“Good.” Her smile stretches her lips, softens her eyes, and reveals two rows of white teeth. Her phone, clasped in her left hand, lights up and plays an upbeat tone. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Nicholson, I need to take this. AutoVS HQ,” she says briskly into the phone as she steps out of my office, closing the door behind her.
No one in my employ or my entire life has ever managed to take me so far by surprise as Brooke has multiple times within the past few days. At least this time, it’s a good surprise.
I vow to myself that one day I’ll get to know Brooke well enough to predict her. Until then, I have an entire, dragging day of business concerns to stumble through before I can have a real talk with her.
I can see what she’s doing, of course. Brooke clearly has a policy similar to my own about dating in the workplace, and by using the names Hayden and Mr. Nicholson, she showed me how she chooses to separate me from AutoVS.
She can call me whatever she wants wherever she wants as long as I get the opportunity to talk to her and settle this strange alternation of ballooning and sinking my heart is going through.
A call, a meeting, another call, some signed documents, another meeting, a trip downstairs to HR—tasks I usually put myself to with a good will slowly peel the edges off my patience. Wide and glassy, my eyes try to make it through a proposal I have to read for tomorrow, but they keep getting stuck on every other sentence. Then, of course, I forget what I read before and I have to go back, but I just get stuck again….
My half-dazed demeanor vanishes in a flood of anticipation when I glance at the clock for the millionth time and it’s finally time to leave.
I meet Brooke outside the front of the building, and together we get into my car. “Do you have a particular bar in mind?” I ask, refraining from pointing out that my bar at home probably has a selection just as wide as any establishment in Manhattan.
“Yeah. It’s a place I used to go to with friends when I went to NYU. There’s this place called 212 where all the students always go to get 5 dollar cocktails, but it was always really crowded, so my friends and I found a bar a bit farther away that wasn’t as popular.” She reaches to the console in the center of the dashboard, enters the name—
“Curious Bicycle Outpost?” I laugh as the car accepts the name and rolls forward.
“Owner said she was drunk when she named it.” Brooke giggles as the car repeats the name and arrival time. “I never said we were going to a classy bar. It’s nice enough, though, and I have a lot of good memories there.” She leans back in the seat and glances at me sideways, a little shyly. “Maybe I can make another one tonight.”
As she admitted, the bar isn’t particularly classy, but it doesn’t have that unpleasant smell cheap bars always seem to have and the place clearly takes cleanliness seriously.
“Huh,” the short, curly-haired bartender says, sauntering over as soon as we sit down at the bar and squinting his eyes exaggeratedly at Brooke. “Brooke McColl. Been a while since I’ve see you.”
“Have you drunk enough tonight to give us a couple free drinks?” Brooke jokes.
“Nah. Couple of discounted ones, maybe. Who’s the suit?” I can’t help but knit my eyebrows in a frosty glare.
“Um—good question. I guess I’ll find out after those discounted drinks?” She taps her fingers suggestively on the counter.
“Okay, okay. What’ll it be?”
We order our drinks. “Who’s that?” I ask, nodding to the bartender.
“Friend from college. He asked me out once. I told him I don’t date men shorter than me.” The man’s job takes him to the other side of the bar, and Brooke leans closer. “He was actually just a douchebag.”
Even after a long day at the office, Brooke’s hair smells phenomenal and it brushes softly across the arm I casually left on the bar. Consequently, I barely hear what she says. “Sorry, it’s kind of loud in here,” I explain when she raises her eyebrows at my non-existent response.
“It’s busier than I expected,” Brooke admits, glancing around. “I guess the kids are all out getting a few rounds in before classes start.”
I follow her gaze. A lot of the talking, laughing people making most of the noise do look to be around college-age. When my head swings back to Brooke, the bartender has brought our drinks and Brooke is staring into hers, the good cheer she’s been exuding all day absent. “Did he get your drink wrong?” I ask, hand twitching in preparation to call the idiot back over.
“No, no,” she hastens to assure me. “Just remembering college days.”
The smile returns to her face and knocks the question I intended to pose straight back into my throat. We have all night. I don’t need to bring anything up yet.
As the drinks begin to set in, our chatter grows less and less restricted. I finish my second embarrassing college story, mock-frowning as Brooke laughs outright. “It wasn’t funny when it happened.” I feign anger, jokingly turning my back to her.
Her hand digs into my shoulder as she spins my stool around and we both chuckle. “Yeah, and it’s hilarious now,” she giggles, then squeaks as my stool rotates further than she meant it to and falls into me. I catch her arms to steady her, my heart immediately doing front flips in my chest as it always does whenever Brooke gets at all close to me. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I swear that was a genuine accident and not me being drunk.”
She’s only had two and a half drinks and she’s speaking clearly, so I believe her. I, however, need to stop drinking soon unless I intend to embarrass myself tonight. “Whoops.” I glare at the small pool of water that somehow managed to avoid my mouth when I tried to take a sip. “I’ll be right back.”
I slide off my stool and head to a napkin holder on a table a few feet to the right. Deftly pulling out three napkins in a quick, precise manner that convinces me I still have control of basic motor functions, I head back to my seat.
There it is again, that sudden, total lack of good cheer that has appeared on Brooke’s face once or twice during the night. It’s like whenever we’re not talking, she suddenly remembers some pressing concern she has to take care of.
“Are you okay?” I ask for the second time.
She jumps as though I caught her making off with tips people left for the bartenders. “Yeah. Yeah,” she repeats, and this time she sounds like she means it.
But I don’t know. I feel like something’s wrong, and maybe it’s about time I stop stalling and ask her what that night meant to her.
Chapter Thirteen: Brooke
“Come on, Brooke. Something’s wrong,” he presses, and the genuine concern for me in his stormy gray eyes chips away at the deteriorating pillars of my resolve.
“No, I’m fine, really. Just had a bit more to drink than I thought, I guess.” My phone vibrates, and my hands flash to grab the distraction. “Oh, it’s a friend from the rescue. Just give me one minute?” I don’t wait for an answer. Sliding out of my chair, I head outside and take a deep breath before I answer. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Sam’s voice replies. “We’re just closing up, and Ashley noticed the form from the event isn’t in the files yet. Are you still getting it from that guy?”
I glance through the window of the Curious Bicycle and shuffle a few steps so “that guy” can’t see me behind the entryway. “Yeah, sure. He coul
dn’t get some information when I was there the other day, but it’ll get filled out soon.”
“Okay. You know Ashley likes her records. Especially since it’s so important to know where our money’s going right now.” Sam sounds tired.
“Yeah, I know.” As if I need reminding how badly the shelter needs money.
There’s a brief silence. “Hey, are you okay, Brooke? You sound like you’re on the streets. You’re not walking around alone this late, are you?”
“No, I’m not alone,” I assure her quickly. “Kind of wish I was, though. I….” I decide to share a piece of the truth with my friend. “I decided to go to this bar with a guy and I’m not sure it was the right choice.”
“I don’t know,” Sam jokes, “if you made it, it probably is the right choice. You’re good at making choices.”
“Not this time,” I insist, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. “I just….” Again, a small fraction of the truth. “I feel like if I stay with this guy, I’ll end up hurting him, and if I leave now, he’ll be better off, but I won’t be.”
Sam sets the joking quality aside and adopts her serious friend voice. “What, like you think you’ll hurt him but you love him anyway?”
“Whoa, whoa, Jesus, Sam,” I splutter, glancing around like there’s some way Hayden could have heard that. “I never said I loved him. I just mean that if I’m going to be good for him, I’m going to hurt someth—someone else.”
“Then I guess you need to choose what’s more important to you,” Sam reasons. “This guy or your someth—someone else.”
“But it’s not that easyyyy,” I whine, trying to make light of the situation with the exaggerated complaint.
“Of course not. But I meant what I said about you being good at making choices. Do you want me to come meet you? Or pick you up?”
Yes. Take me away, somewhere AutoVS, my father, and Hayden Nicholson aren’t. “No,” I sigh. “I left my purse inside with him, anyway.”
“Just do what feels right,” Sam encourages me. “Everything will turn out fine.”
“Okay. Talk to you later.”
“See ya.”
I squeeze my phone tightly, take a breath, and head back into the chattering voices, clinking glasses, and 80s rock music.
“Everything okay?” Hayden asks yet again as I sit down.
“Yeah, just stayed outside a little longer to get some air.” Spirits and determination slightly recovered from my chat with Sam and the thought of NYAR’s situation, I glance meaningfully around the bar. “Your balcony is a lot more peaceful.”
The hint isn’t lost on Hayden, who I’ve come to realize is actually very perceptive and excellent at picking up on small changes in behavior. Lying to him isn’t easy—and it hurts so much more than I ever imagined. When I'm with him, I can’t help but enjoy myself. The moment he walks away like he did a moment ago for napkins, I remember what I’m doing and why I’m here and misery clutches my heart.
“We could go back to my place, then,” he offers immediately. “I might be done drinking for the night, though.”
Hayden’s far more jovial and amenable than usual and I can tell he’s not 100% sober, but he definitely isn’t drunk either. Just another hitch in my evil plan, I suppose. I’ve technically had three gin and tonics, but I managed to subtly pour most of one of them in an abandoned glass and I held the glasses of the other two tightly between both palms to melt the ice and water them down. Most of my hopes rested on Hayden getting quite a bit drunker than me, which he hasn’t done.
Now, I’ll either have to somehow figure out a way to excuse myself to his kitchen and grab the letter from its perch in plain sight from the balcony, or I’ll have to have sex with him and wait for him to fall asleep.
I’m pretty sure following my second plan will earn me a one-way ticket to the further corners of Hell, and I don’t even think I can do it. I nearly started crying twice tonight already because I hate what I have to do so much.
“Sure.” I make a show of downing the contents in my glass—the liquid tastes like flavored water—and get Matt’s attention. “Thanks for the discounts. We’re out of here.”
“Aw, but we’re just getting busy,” he pouts as a stream of new merrymakers pour into the Curious Bicycle.
“Exactly.” I reach into my purse for my wallet, but Hayden beats me to it and hands Matt a card. “You don’t have to do that.” Really, please don’t, because you’re driving a knife through my heart.
“Billionaire,” he says simply after Matt turns away to swipe the card. “Relax, I tell my sister the same thing.”
After I get my hands on that letter, how much longer will Hayden be a billionaire? I just stay silent, giving him a bright smile when he glances at me. He responds with one of his own, and even though I’ve seen the effect so many times now, I’m still blown away by the radical change his face goes through. Forbidding to welcoming in the twitch of a lip. How does he do it?
Once we leave the crowded, noisy atmosphere of the bar, I immediately feel better. Oh, not about what I’m about to do. But at least, with the streetlights flashing by and the cool air from the cracked window of the car rushing against my face, I don’t have to hide my expressions from Hayden for just a few minutes.
Since I’m with Hayden, the man at the front desk says nothing as we walk past into the elevator. Hayden uses a keycard to activate it, pushes the button for the top floor, and silence reigns between us on the long ride upward.
“Do you want anything else to drink?” he asks as he lets us into his penthouse.
“Just water, please.” Queasiness consumes my stomach, and even though I know it has nothing to do with the gin and tonics, I need to stop drinking.
Like I did the day I brought Hayden the form, I lean my elbows against the counter and glance idly around. My heart plummets into an abyss of disappointment when I see the letter, sitting on the counter with some other mail just as before.
Hayden touches my arm and I jump. “Sorry,” he says, confusion flitting across his face. He sets my water on the counter and takes a step back, probably thinking I want space or something.
I can’t tell him that step—that anything farther than his arms around me—is too far away. I can’t tell him that the strength of his arms makes me feel safe. I can’t explain how much I love just being around him. “It’s fine.” My lips feel like wood, but I bend them into a smile. “Guess I had more to drink than I thought.”
Hayden just turns away and empties his pockets on the counter. I’m getting worse and worse at lying to him as my emotional state plummets and my resolve weakens. I need to grab the letter and go or I’m never going to be able to.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to change out of this suit. Do you want a shirt or some sweatpants or something?”
Thoughtful. He’s being thoughtful now, because I’ve managed to insinuate myself into his life as one of the few people he’ll allow to see him outside a businesslike environment. Around me, he acts like he did that day with Ava and Riley. “Sure,” I manage, and my voice is clear and strong, not thick and half swollen shut like my throat feels.
He gives me an odd look and heads back to the bedroom. I hear the door click as it shuts.
Now. This is it. Before I collapse into a sobbing mess on Hayden’s sofa, or just vanish of the face of the planet in shame, I have to grab the letter and go.
I circumvent the counter. My shaking hands reach for the envelope. The paper burns the tips of my fingers, but I take it anyway. One hand retrieves my purse from the counter. One step, two steps, three steps, and I’m close enough to reach for the handle. My slick, sweaty palms touch the knob.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Chapter Fourteen: Hayden
I look from the envelope in her hand to her face, then back at the paper again. I recognize it immediately, but not in a million years could I guess what the hell Brooke wants with it.
All I know is that here’s Brooke, snea
king off again, and this time stealing something from me in the process. “Did you steal something when you ran off last time, too?” I demand coldly, striding toward her.
My socked feet stop dead when a bit of genuine fear creeps into her face and she steps back. I’m pissed, confused, and hurt, but I never wanted to scare her, and I have no idea what to do or say when tears begin to pool in her eyes. Even though she’s standing at my door, poised to run off with something that belongs to me, I still don’t want to see her hurt.
“I-I—” Her words fail her and she glances wildly around like something in my penthouse will inspire her. “I-I just, uh—” A single tear trickles down her cheek, then another and another, and soon shining wet trails adorn both sides of her face. “I was just—”
“Yeah?” I ask, leaning against the counter. “You were just what? Looking for something interesting in my mail?”
“No! I j-just saw the letter, and I-I noticed it was in Russian, and….” Her voice trails off. The fear intensifies.
Even in the face of whatever betrayal this is, concern supersedes my anger. “Brooke, what the hell is wrong with you? You suddenly want to go to a bar with me after we have sex without even talking about what happened, you’ve been acting off all day, and now you’re stealing my mail, of all things? Fucking talk to me,” I say, and the earnestness in my voice surprises both her and me as I step forward.
“I can’t!” she chokes out, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. “I just… Just let me leave, please? I’ll resign, recommend a new assistant, whatever you want, then you never have to see me again.”
“Is that what you think I want?” My voice is low, barely audible over her sobs. “I don’t want to never see you again, Brooke. I want you to talk to me and tell me what’s going on.”
Something breaks inside Brooke, and she straightens up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and leaving a fire in the wake of the tears. “Okay, fine. You want to know what I’m doing? I’m here to take this letter, give it to my father Darren, and help him get you displaced so he can be CEO of AutoVS.”
