by May Sage
“I mean, I know when someone is selling me a package on Facebook; I just scroll through without giving it a second glance. We can go for a pretty model sitting in a high-rise apartment no one can afford.” Ouch; that must have hurt. That was exactly their previous campaign, and one glance at their stats showed it hadn’t worked “Or we can take it out, make it dirty. Your sports band is waterproof, and resistant to high temperature. Get it underwater. Take it to the top of the Himalayas. We have contacts across the globe who can get that done in half a day, giving you a unique, beautiful video that screams adventure. And we can do that at half the cost, because our filmmakers are already on our books.”
They signed. They didn’t have any other choice, really.
Bryant dragged Tori’s gorgeous butt to the closest restaurant to celebrate, although she kept on saying it was nothing more than her job. Bullshit.
“Damn, woman. You could talk your way out of Hell.”
She shrugged. “It’s not just me; Emma down in design drew up the whole panorama slide. Pretty sure that helped.”
He tried to remember if she’d ever taken a praise easily, and came up blank.
Wanting to test it out, he said, “You’re brilliant.” She rolled her eyes. “And beautiful. And incredibly smart. And adorable when you’re glaring like that. And you really can’t stand compliments, can you?”
“I can,” she lied. He just sent her a look until she caved. “Okay, so, maybe not, but that’s because normally people, in general, and men in particular, only bother to praise me when they want something.”
“The only thing I want right now is to let you know I see you, Victoria Brown.”
She averted her eyes. Damn. He’d only had a chance to peek behind her walls, but each time he did, what he saw, he wanted to keep.
“Why do you move your shoulder like that all the time?”
Caught in mid movement, he saw he was in the middle of absentmindedly rolling his shoulder and tilting his neck.
“Uh?”
“Never mind, silly question. Everyone working in an office has back problems. Is it your neck or your arm?”
He had to think. “Both?”
“And do you do anything about it?”
Sure, he went to see a physical therapist, got some massages, and downed pain killers every four hours or so.
“You should try yoga, stretching helps.”
Bryant laughed. “Only one problem with that, luv: I don’t have a vagina.”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s plenty of guys in my class.”
“Sure, but how many of them are straight?”
She didn’t reply, knowing he was right.
Tori got her phone out of her gray woolen coat and started typing. It was only then that he realized he hadn’t even seen her phone until now. Yet another thing that set her apart from Naomi: he didn’t think he’d ever spent five minutes with his ex without her playing with her phone. When she was with him, Tori never did.
Catching his gaze zeroing on the device, she said, “I’m telling Sam to clear your afternoon.”
Interesting.
“Oh?”
“Yep. You’re going to crash and burn once we’re done.”
Next, she made a quick phone call; just listening to her end of the conversation, it sounded like she was making an appointment. She didn’t tell him what for, and he managed not to ask. It killed his controlling ass, but she obviously expected him to argue with her. Besides, it wasn’t like it mattered. The likelihood of him refusing an afternoon with her was nil, regardless of what she had in mind.
He hadn’t known what she’d meant right then; three hours later, he did.
What the bloody hell had happened to him? Had they drugged him or something? Bryant wasn’t one to nap, but he felt like keeping his eyes open for another second was in the realm of impossibility.
“I’m just… gonna close my eyes for a bit,” he said, before fading into oblivion.
Rather than taking a cab, Tori had dragged his sorry ass to the subway. Bryant didn’t have an issue with the tube in London, because it made fucking sense, but the NYC subway was beyond his comprehension, and he’d avoided it like the plague after getting lost there years back.
She knew where she was going, so he just followed Tori like the lost puppy he was, until they stopped somewhere in Brooklyn.
“I’m not the distrustful sort, but these obscure alleys do make me wonder whether you plan on hiding my body somewhere.”
“Don’t be silly. I’d take you down to the river if that was my intention.”
Okay, then.
Eventually, they got to a door, above which hung a sign written in Chinese.
“My Mandarin is rather rusty, luv.”
She just laughed, heading inside.
They were greeted by an Asian couple in white coats.
“Victoria! Good to see you,” the lady smiled, herding them towards one of the three green doors on their left. “We had a last-minute cancellation, so you got lucky. This is for your man today, yes?”
Her man.
Bryant turned to her, fully expecting her to say something along the line of Bryant is just my boss, but she only replied, “Yeah, Bryant’s neck is hurting.”
“Let’s have a look at you.”
The woman took him to a small, clean exam room. Bryant noticed the furniture was on the cheap side, but the walls were covered with unusual art.
“I’ll need you to fill in this patient form, then you can tell me where it hurts.”
He did so, thinking that there was no reason why he shouldn’t at least try Tori’s doctor. He hadn’t taken the time yet to see anyone since his arrival in the city, and his body was seriously starting to protest against being neglected.
“Lie down on your belly, head in the headrest. Perfect.” Then, she pressed on his neck, hitting the sorest point right away. “Does it hurt here?”
“Ye—" he started to say. Before he’d finished the word, something sharp pierced his skin, surprising him.
He just had time to register that it didn’t really hurt when a second needle found its way into his shoulder. A third went in right under his shoulder blade and he just moaned against the headrest, feeling boneless, all trace of pain disappearing.
He barely recalled the trip back, and it was nine o’clock before he opened his eyes after his four-hour nap, his body feeling better than it had in years.
All the same, he felt restless, displeased.
His home was empty. Dark, and empty.
Bryant was used to solitude by now. There was a humongous difference between being alone and feeling lonely. He’d never had an experience with the second before Tori Brown waltzed into his life.
It hit him that he couldn’t even call her, find an excuse to get her there. He didn’t have her phone number.
Fuck that shit.
What’s Tori’s number?
James started typing almost immediately: Bryant saw the three little dots moving.
Didn’t I say you should leave her alone? Like, numerous times?
He could have found an excuse, something work-related, perhaps.
If she can take The Tower without running out, I’m probably going to end up marrying that gal, brother. Deal with it.
Yes. He realized that that sort of talk was premature for anyone who didn’t reside in Hollywood. He also didn’t give a damn about what was the done thing. Never in his life had he met a woman he clicked with half as much as her. He craved her, although he’d already had her; truly craved her touch, her presence. But it was only today that he’d accepted she was a potential Mrs. Parker. Because she’d taken care of him. She’d seen him hurt and she’d immediately changed her own schedule, as well as his, to fix it.
No one had ever done anything like that for him. No one.
If this thing between them could work, he wasn’t letting her go.
Society
The rest of week dragged, painfully slow; she was still c
ompletely rushed off her feet now she’d added Harper to her active accounts, but Tori was counting the seconds until Saturday.
The only thing keeping her sane was her phone. Tori had never been much of a ‘phone person’, preferring face-to-face interaction to texts or calls, but that Tuesday night, receiving a Thank you, love. Feeling much better. I owe you something pretty for this from an unknown number, she changed her mind.
Texts rocked.
I have found that payments in fancy coffees are more than suitable, she shot back.
She stared at her phone, watching the three little dots move as he typed a reply, all the while recalling how many times she’d rolled her eyes at her friends for doing just that. Staring wasn’t going to make the reply come any faster.
Pretty sure most gals would prefer something from Tiffany’s.
I don’t like jewelry. Not even diamonds. They all look fake, don’t you think? Especially the big ones.
Marry me.
She laughed, and they carried on chatting about irrelevant stuff for the rest of the week. She was doing so on Thursday at the Rooftop bar, a stupid smile plastered on her face, when Cassie, the traitor, remarked in front of all their friends.
“Fucking hell, Tori, are you texting?”
No one had paid attention to her at all until the annoyingly observant novelist picked up on her action.
“No,” she lied, putting her phone down. A telltale beep betrayed her, though. “Why are we meeting in such a touristy place anyway?”
“Because I’m seeing a friend who’s visiting NYC for the first time for dinner here. Anyway, stop deflecting. You totally are texting.”
“What’s the big deal?” asked Cali, a bubbly, pretty brunette Tori didn’t know well. She rarely made it to their meet-ups. “I text all the time. You know, now Wren bought me a phone.”
“The big deal,” Piper smirked, “is that Victoria Brown is completely against texting.”
Lucinda Warner nodded emphatically. “Yes, she’s above such things. You text her? She calls you back to say that yes, she will grace us with her presence.”
“I couldn’t say something half as haughty if I tried,” she replied, glaring at Lucy. “But yes, I’m not too fond of texting. Doesn’t mean I never do it.”
Another lie, and, unfortunately, one person amongst them knew it.
“Not buying that. See, Tori was dumped by text junior year of high school. Then, second year of college, she was informed that the office where she was working part time was closing - basically, fired - by text.”
Cassandra knew better than to speak about the third strike: when Sandra had texted her to let her know her dad had died.
Tori shrugged. “I maintain that texting is the coward’s way out for bad news. That doesn’t mean I can’t text about irrelevant stuff.”
“And who are you having this irrelevant conversation that makes you blush like that with, Ice Queen?”
She tried to glare until they dropped it, and failed: the half dozen women looking at her eagerly, expectantly, leaning forward, finally managed to make her laugh and spill the bean.
“James’ younger brother.”
“Would this younger brother happen to be hot, by any chance?”
Hot didn’t begin to cover it, but all she said was, “Maybe.”
Finally, it was Saturday.
Tori spent the morning shopping. She’d decided on her dress days ago, but looking at it when she’d woken up, it had seemed inadequate, boring. Plus, she’d already worn it once at a gala.
Coming back home a few thousand dollars poorer, and with a bunch of pretty bags weighing her down, she then freaked out about underwear. Dammit, why had she agreed to let Bryant pick what she wore after the benefit? How was she supposed to choose panties now?
Reaching for her phone, Tori asked him, what am I wearing later?
The response was almost instant. Surprise.
That just won’t do. I need to know what underwear I should wear; you know, so they don’t show or anything.
Simple. Don’t wear any. :)
Tori rolled her eyes, taking it as a joke at first, but then, she remembered the dress; the one she’d had all along. It was backless, sleeveless, so the design came with some padding; she didn’t need a bra with that. The long skirt hid her ass well enough. Blushing and grinning, she resolved to take that bait.
Terrible idea. She’d forgotten how wet she got around the guy; just seeing him was enough for her to embarrass herself. Four hours later, when he picked her up wearing a black tux that fit him in a way that should be illegal, she felt her thighs get sticky. Fuck. What if there was a wet patch on her damn skirt now?
“What’s with the limo?”
He grinned in response. “I figured you could get changed in there later.”
“Into what?”
The look in his eyes made her fear the worst.
“Let’s get this benefit out of the way and then you can find out.”
Tori had started attending benefits right out of high school. Not that she wanted to, at first, but Sandra had met William at a benefit, and she was insistent that her daughter should show her face until she reeled in a decent suitor.
Like, seriously. That was actually what had come out of her mouth. The reason why she’d caved the first time was because going to school was expensive and time consuming; Tori could have taken a part-time job like many of her fellow students, but Sandra did offer to pay a decent allowance as long as she went to those damn benefits. In an appropriate dress.
Needless to say, eighteen-year-old Tori had definitely dragged her heels. But her first benefit had been for teenagers living on the streets, kids who were just a few years younger than her, and who had nothing. That had been humbling, to say the least. She’d started volunteering to help them out when she could. Then, the second benefit had been for teenage mothers. And survivors of a hurricane, right here in the US. And other things which actually mattered.
After years of faithfully turning up each time she was invited, she was noticed by some of the organizers, and they now had lunch a couple of times a year, sitting at a table and discussing the next charity they wanted to help. Tori had been a nobody; mainly there to take notes for a couple of years. Now that she’d convinced James and his checkbook to attend, she had a better standing amongst the society women.
“Tori, dear,” Jessamine Abraham, the mayor’s daughter, greeted her, kissing her cheek, and peeking behind her shoulder. “Is this hunk with you? Tell me he’s with you, darling. If anyone deserves all those shoulder muscles, it’s definitely you.”
She probably should have said that Bryant and she weren’t an actual thing, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the stunning American Sweetheart who would have, no doubt, jumped at him.
“Yep, he’s with me.”
“I need me one of those. Now, fair warning: your mother’s already here. She’s put her hooks on daddy, and, no offense, but she strikes me as Evil Stepmother material, so what do I do?”
“Throw a bucket of water at her. Wait, no, better go for a sure thing and just hit her with a house instead.” If it worked on the Wicked Witch of the East, it ought to be efficient on her mother.
They were laughing when Bryant, done talking to his contact, joined them.
“Jess, this is Bryant, James Croft’s brother. Bryant, Jessamine Abraham.”
She fully expected him to flirt with her, she was ready for it; that was what he did with everyone, right? But Bryant said, “Nice to meet you,” and took Tori’s hand. Not one flirtatious smirk, not one glance at Jess’ generous cleavage. What the hell?
“Are the others coming?” Tori asked, then she explained to Bryant, “There’s a lot of regulars here, but only a handful of us are in our age range, so we stick together if we can.”
“I heard from Vanessa; she’ll be late but she’s stopping by. Keira hasn’t talked to any of us since she got jilted at the altar.”
Tori couldn’t blame her. Sh
e hadn’t made it to the wedding, but everyone knew that the groom had gone for her stepsister.
“Unfortunately, her ex and her sister are coming, and we’re stuck at their table. We basically can’t talk to them, out of solidarity.”
How she’d missed fourth grade. Not.
The ex and the sister were wise enough to request a different table, which meant that the next two hours were mostly drama-free.
Bryant fit in; his suit and his job title meant that the guys around the table accepted him, his accent and his prettiness swayed everyone else.
Halfway through the dinner, after listening to way too much gossip, Tori was ready to sell her soul to get out of there. The food was always exquisite, although he wouldn’t have minded portions twice as large.
“So, is this your version of a fun weekend?” Bryant asked in a hushed tone.
She wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or be offended. Probably both.
“I’m bored to death,” she whispered back.
“So, what are we doing here?”
She opened her mouth, but it was Jess who replied, from the other side of the table. Damn. She was still good at reading lips.
“In half an hour, they’ll be auctioning a bunch of stuff we don’t need, and a bunch of rich blokes like you are going to bid on them in an epic pissing contest. We,” she pointed to her chest, “are the witnesses. Without us, and by that I mean the sexy women they can’t have, and the successful, hot, and young guys who get to fuck us, they wouldn’t try to piss nearly as far, sweetie. They don’t want to give money to charities; they want to be seen doing so.”
That pretty much summed it up.
Bryant seemed amused. “I never saw it that way.”
“Of course not. Men prefer to think we’re here to try to bag us a sugar daddy. Makes them believe they have a chance.”
Out of all the socialites she knew, Jessamine was probably her favorite person, because she was one of the very few who said it like it was.
Finally, the auction started.
Tori never participated herself; sometimes, she did it on behalf of Croft Advertising, but she could see James raising his sign at the other end of the room.
