Sebastian shakes his head vigorously and turns to Brooke. “You go ahead and have your lunch. You did a great job with this proposal. So good, in fact, I’m not going to make any changes.”
I can see the conflict on Brooke’s face. She wants to be pissed and affronted at Sebastian, but she also wants to be pissed at me since I made a scene and also physically assaulted what could be her boss at some point. It’s especially conflicting for her because Sebastian just complimented her work, and who doesn’t like a sincere compliment?
I hold my hand out to Brooke and she takes it somewhat reluctantly. We walk out of the conference room, out of the management offices, and straight to the elevator that take us down to street level.
When the elevator doors close on us, I spin toward her and put my hands to her face. She doesn’t resist me as I give her a kiss of greeting and also of longing. I sure missed the fuck out of her while on this road trip. I want her back on the road with me, but if she gets this new job in merchandising that will end. That puts me in a terrible position, because obviously, it’s to my benefit if she stays in team services. But I know that’s not what Brooke wants, and I need to support her desires and ambitions.
It’s what any mature boyfriend would do.
When I break the kiss, all of the anger is gone from her face. Instead she looks at me with warm eyes and says, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I tell her.
* * *
—
We exit the elevator on the main level, and leave the arena through an employee door that leads out onto the courtyard surrounded by the Vengeance Town shopping complex. We choose a small Irish pub because Brooke said she was craving fish-and-chips.
Once we order, Brooke looks at me with a slightly condemning look. “You know you probably just killed my chances of getting that job in merchandising.”
I don’t want to admit that she might be right, so instead I ask, “Is there really a job? I mean, have you verified it?”
That seems to be the real question.
Brooke wrinkles her nose slightly. “I have no clue. But apparently Nanette gave him a blow job during her interview, so I would have to say she’s more in the running for it if there is actually a job to be had.”
“What the fuck?” I blurt out in astonishment. “She actually did that? And she told you she did that?”
Brooke nods with her lips pressed into a grim line. “She was all too happy and proud to tell me all about it last night before the game started.”
A thought occurs to me. I lean across the table and growl, “Has he ever asked you to do that?”
Brooke shrinks back with a horrified look in her eyes. “God, no. But you’re kind of adorable when you get all worked up.”
“What was that hand-on-your-back shit?” I ask her.
“He’s never done anything like that before,” she muses. “Maybe he was feeling cocky given what Nanette gave him. But no, he’s never done anything other than some flirting with me like you just saw.”
I hold my hand out and wag my finger in her face. “Oh no, no, no. That was not flirting. That was physical assault.”
“Laying his hand on my back was not assault,” she argues with me. “That was just unwanted touching.”
“I believe you will find that is the definition of assault,” I grit out.
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “I think the real assault occurred when you jammed your forearm into his throat and threatened to break his arm. You could have gotten in serious trouble, Bishop.”
I grin across the table at her. “Did you see how scared he was?”
Brooke snorts and gives a resigned shake of her head. “Again, all of the job stuff is probably moot. There’s no way Sebastian wants me working with him after that, and I definitely cannot compete with an assistant who’s going to suck his dick as part of the job duties.”
She’s putting on a fucking brave face for me and that really gets me. Touches me deep, because it’s for me. “I’m sorry. I know you would really like to move over into merchandising.”
Brooke sighs heavily. “I’m just not happy in team services. It’s not challenging enough to me.”
“What’s the alternative?” I ask her, afraid to really know the answer.
“If I can’t get into merchandising here, I think I’m going to go back to New York, Bishop. I emailed my former boss yesterday and she said the job is mine if I wanted it. She’s only been using a temp since I left.”
The absolute bottoming out of my stomach and heavy disappointment weighing down on me that almost makes it difficult to breathe tells me more about how I feel about Brooke than anything else has so far. The thought of her leaving is just…I don’t want to think about it.
“If there’s actually a merchandising job available,” I say to her carefully. “Can you really work with Sebastian? You have to admit, he’s been behaving inappropriately and he clearly has no qualms with having a complete stranger give him a blow job for an interview. Let’s be real, the guy’s a douche and I need to know if you can really work with that.”
Brooke blinks at me a moment before she admits, “If he were to offer me a job, I would have to have a very serious conversation with him that set clear boundaries. But I have to tell you, outside of me knowing about that blow job—which could be a lie from Nanette for all I know—and the flirting, he’s not been inappropriate with me in any way. He’s actually very good at what he does and we work well together. So I guess the answer to your question is yes, with clear boundaries I could work with him.”
I stare at her a moment, weighing my need to keep her protected versus my long-term need to keep her close by. Finally I tell her, “I’m going to find out from Christian Rutherford if there’s an actual job opening. And if there is, and you’re eligible for it, then I’ll leave it up to you as to whether or not you can work with the guy. I trust your judgment.”
Brooke merely smiles wanly, and I know this decision—if an offer comes—will be incredibly difficult for her.
I decide to change the subject. “My mom’s plane lands tomorrow morning around eleven. Think you can swing lunch with us?”
Brooke smiles at me and I see an actual eagerness for her to meet my mom. Brooke knows I told my mom all about us and she is well aware of our duplicity. But more than anything, I’ve talked so much about my mom to Brooke I know she is just excited to meet a person she already knows to be incredibly kind, generous, funny, and sweet. I’m equally excited for my mom to meet Brooke.
“I can totally do lunch,” Brooke says, but her expression turns slightly worried. “But shouldn’t you be resting and gearing up for the game tomorrow night?”
“You’re cute when you worry about me as a hockey player.”
“Sort of like how you’re adorable when you assault men on my behalf.”
“Exactly.” I grin at her, taking in those beautiful eyes staring at me through her glasses. I make a waving motion. “What’s up with those? I thought you wore contacts.”
“What? My glasses?” Her hand comes up and she touches the frames almost tentatively.
“Yeah…they’re sexy as fuck.”
“You can’t be serious,” she says, dropping her hand back down.
“Dead serious. You can wear those to bed anytime with me.”
Brooke rolls her eyes. “I forgot to order more contacts. The new ones should be here in a few days, so you only get these glasses for a little bit more.”
“Tonight, baby, you’re playing sexy librarian and I’m playing the naughty thug hockey player that fucks her over the back of the desk, okay?”
Brooke’s face goes beet red, but she nods her agreement at me.
Chapter 25
Bishop
My mom and I arrive at the restaurant about ten minutes early. Brooke had insisted on meeting us
here so I didn’t have to drive the extra twenty-five minutes out of our way to pick her up. I don’t necessarily like that, but this is probably better, because having them meet for the first time in a car is not conducive to good conversation. Plus, it gives me a chance to get settled in and relax as much as I can. Let’s face it…this is a big deal. Ruse or no ruse, this is the first time I’m introducing a girl to my mom.
“You seem nervous,” my mother says.
I don’t even bother asking her how she knows. She’s my mom. She just knows.
I shrug. “I’ve never done this before. Fear of the unknown and all.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I’ll like her.”
I can’t help but grin at my mom. She always knows how to make me feel safe even in the midst of something incredibly stupid that I have done.
“Oh, before I forget, let me give you this.” She turns and bends to reach into her purse, pulling out a light gray velvet box. She hands it across the table to me.
I open it and stare at the engagement ring that my father had given my mom so very long ago. He’s been dead now almost two decades and the ring has been sitting in the drawer of her bedside table all these years. My mom dated someone seriously a few years after my dad died, and of course, she’d removed her wedding rings. That relationship didn’t go the distance, but my mom never felt compelled to put the rings back on. She dated other men over time, but never anyone who made her want to get married again. She’s actually in the “on” part of an on-again, off-again relationship with a wealth management advisor, and as long as she’s happy, I’m happy.
When I had told my mom about us perpetrating the fake engagement to get Coach Perron off my back, she apparently mulled that over for a few days. She called me just yesterday morning to tell me that she was going to bring the engagement ring with her and that Brooke could wear it as part of the charade.
Not going to lie…it didn’t sit well with me at first. I’d told her it wasn’t a good idea.
She didn’t agree and assured me that it was not only fine, but that maybe it was actually appropriate. Her way of thinking was that if the ring—a symbol of her and my father’s commitment to each other—could be used to help out their son and a woman he cared about, then that was the reason she had kept it all these years beyond sentimentality. She believed the ring had a higher purpose: to help her son out.
It’s a simple ring and something a newly graduated engineer would be able to afford: a thin yellow gold band with a simple, unadorned marquise diamond that’s not quite a full carat.
My mom reaches over and points to the side of the diamond. “There’s a flaw in there. It’s visible if you look really hard. Your poor father fretted over that stupid flaw. It was the reason he could get me a diamond that big on his meager wages early in his career. I’d have never noticed it, but your father felt so guilty about it he had to show me a few days after he proposed. He was such a thoughtful man.”
Chuckling, I turn the diamond and hold it up, trying to see what she’s talking about. I finally locate a very tiny cloudy area and examine it a moment. I think it lends the ring character.
When my eyes come back to my mom, she says, “You’re so much like him. Not just in looks, but in personality and character traits.”
I nod, not because I know this for a fact. I don’t remember a great deal about my dad, but merely because my mom has told me that so many times over the years, I believe it. “Brooke’s a lot like you…isn’t the type of woman who would care about the size of a diamond or whether or not it had a cloud in it. In fact, I’m not sure she really would care if she got a diamond or not. I think the ring more than anything is the type of symbolism she would gravitate to.”
A corner of my mom’s mouth quirks up in amusement.
“What?” I ask her.
“Do you realize how well you actually must know this woman to make an observation like that?”
I shrug. “I could be wrong about her.”
“We’ll see,” she says vaguely. She then folds her hands and places them on the table. “Besides, using this ring is going to save you money. I hated the thought of you spending money on a ring.”
“It wasn’t about the money for me.” I close the box, lift my hips slightly to reach my front jeans pocket, and stow it away. “This whole situation is all kinds of fucked up—pardon my language—that we even perpetrated this farce in the first place. The fact that we’re continuing it shows you just how moronic your son can be. If I had to buy a ring, so be it. I could have returned it.”
“Well, now you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I suppose,” I say, letting the words hang in the air.
“What?” she pushes at me, encouraging me to finish my thoughts. To never hide something from her, because she won’t judge but only try to help.
“It’s just…I feel like I might be marring or tainting the actual day that I would ask a woman to marry me.”
My mom reaches her hand across to pat mine sympathetically. “Honey…Yes, you’re pretty stupid to have done this. But it is absolutely too late to moan about it. Your intentions were solid…The both of you. Brooke started this whole thing because she was trying to protect you and her father. You’re keeping this going because you’re trying to do the same for them. I would say you are stuck in the middle of this because both of you are good people. If you have to see this through to keep everyone’s feelings from being bruised, then at least do it with your head held high. Because your hearts are in the right place—a very, very good place—there’s no way this could ever taint any true proposal down the road.”
I blink at my mom in surprise. I know she supports me in anything I do. But she actually just legitimately validated my stupidity in a way that doesn’t make me feel quite as…stupid. She made it about the type of people Brooke and I are at our core, and it’s about the nicest thing she could have ever said to me about this.
“Besides,” my mom adds mischievously. “Who knows? This would be a great story to tell your kids one day.”
I actually jolt in my seat and look at her with astonishment. “Why would you even say that?”
Why would she even think to imply that Brooke and I would get married and have kids one day?
She lifts her shoulder casually, but her green eyes sparkle with wickedness. “Because I might be the only one who really sees what’s going on here.”
“What do you see that’s going on?” I ask her urgently, as if she’s bent over a crystal ball and about to lay my future out. She doesn’t answer me, though, as something catches her attention.
She smiles and I turn to look over my shoulder. There’s Brooke walking toward both of us like a vision, stylishly dressed with those fucking glasses that I most definitely made her wear last night while I fucked her with her legs over my shoulders.
Brooke gives me a slight smile but then turns her gaze to my mom. We both stand and my mom walks around her chair, holding her arms out to Brooke. I’d expect no different.
Brooke hugs my mother tightly, and I see a world of relief in her eyes. Thankful my mom is so cool about all of this. “Hi, Marianne. It’s so nice to meet you.”
Last night, Brooke had asked me before we fell asleep how she should address my mom. Her first name or Mrs. Scott. She was actually fretting about it and I was charmed. I assured her my mom was a first-name type of woman.
When they pull apart, my mom takes Brooke by the shoulders and lets her eyes roam all over her face. “Oh my…Bishop said you were beautiful, but I had no clue my son could land someone as gorgeous as you.”
That produces a belly laugh from Brooke, who waves off the compliment, turning one back on my mom. “Your son is the one who’s gorgeous, and you and he look just alike.”
That’s true and endearing Brooke thinks so. My mom thinks I look like my dad, and I
definitely inherited his blond hair and green eyes. Those are the obvious similarities. But I got everything else from my mom. The shape of my nose, the fullness of my lips, and the way the left side of my mouth raises just a bit higher than the right when I smile. We also have the same eyebrows, and they quirk the same way when we’re skeptical or surprised. My mom and I even have the same exact laugh.
The fact that Brooke just called me gorgeous is a bonus.
“Okay,” I say gruffly as I pull Brooke away from my mom. “Got a hug for me?”
Surprise flashes in Brooke’s eyes, but she easily walks into my embrace. Her arms come tight around my neck and I press my face into her hair for a brief second, before blatantly squeezing her ass with the palm of one hand. She gives an indignant growl and leaps away from me, face burning bright red. My mom just shakes her head, but her smile tells me she enjoys that her son can be playful.
We take our seats with Brooke between my mom and me.
“I’d ask you to tell me all about yourself,” my mom says to Brooke. “But Bishop has told me so much already.”
“Oh really,” Brooke drawls teasingly, cutting me a sidelong glance before her eyes go back to my mom. “What exactly has he said?”
Leaning back in my chair, I get comfortable to listen. I have indeed told my mom a lot about Brooke, and this happened just yesterday morning. My mom actually grilled me, I think just overexcited that I’m interested in and have feelings for someone.
“Let’s see,” my mom says with a smile. “He said you were intelligent and had a dry sense of humor, which he adores.”
“Not exactly what I said,” I interrupt, wanting to be a part of this conversation to keep my mom on the straight and narrow. “I think I said you were intelligent and witty, and that you were a smartass at times.”
Brooke rolls her eyes at me and turns back to my mom. “Bishop brings the smartass out in me, I’m afraid.”
“I can totally understand that,” my mom returns as she leans toward Brooke in a conspiratorial way. Her voice lowers and she says, “One time…”
Bishop Page 17
