A Brit Complicated

by Brenda St John Brown

  Oh God. My hands go clammy and I avoid Tom’s eyes by focusing on logging into my laptop. “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you were supposed to text me when you got to Greenwich. Did you end up not going?”

  I squint at my screen as if my login’s gone wrong. “Yes, I went. Sorry. I didn’t end up staying very long.” I glance up. Mostly to see if Tom’s about to call bullshit and he saw Bradley and me together. Then I ask, “How was your weekend with Kelly?”

  “It was good.” Tom grins. “We went on an open-top bus tour.”

  “Oh my God. I hope she at least gave you a blow job for that.” Wrong thing to say. Memories of Bradley’s cock in my mouth flood my head and I squirm, crossing my legs.

  Tom doesn’t notice. “We’re friends. I told you that. Besides, it wasn’t so bad. Better than the World’s Largest Tea Party, if I had to choose.”

  “Nope. The World’s Largest Tea Party wins every time.” Because that’s where things kicked off with Bradley. However, if the day had turned out differently I might agree with Tom.

  “That’s why you stayed so long? Or did you have a hot date?”

  Shit. Another wave of panic hits my stomach. Is he playing coy because he saw us and he’s waiting for me to spill? Or is it just Tom being Tom? In a split second, I decide it’s got to be the latter and say, “You know me. When they’re lined up around the block, I’ve got to fit them in sometime.”

  Tom laughs and rolls his eyes. “I forget what a femme fatale you are.” Then he looks over my shoulder and says, “Hey, Brad. How was your weekend?”

  Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck. The wave of panic in my stomach becomes a tsunami. I’m not ready to see him yet. Not here in front of Tom, who knows me. And, more importantly, knows Bradley and will be able to tell if he’s being weird.

  Bradley’s voice, though, is smooth and even. “My weekend was fine. You?”

  Fine? Seriously? FINE?

  “Yeah, good.” Tom nods and his expression shifts from easy to alert. “What’s up?”

  “I was hoping you’d be free to go to New York this week. Anne von Thaden has requested a quote for her new supper club, but of course she needs some wining and dining to go along with it.” Bradley reaches to hand Tom a folder and I catch a waft of his cologne. Before Saturday I never even realized he wore cologne, but after spending yesterday tangled up in his dress shirt, I’m intimately acquainted.

  “We’re talking the same Anne von Thaden as always, right? Isn’t wining and dining her your department?” Tom raises an eyebrow and I get the sense there’s more to this story, but I keep quiet. I also keep my back turned and click on my email. Bradley and Tom have had endless conversations just like this one and I’ve never paid them any attention before. I shouldn’t start now.

  Bradley’s voice remains flat. “This time I think it would be best if you took on that role. I’ll let her assistant know you’ll be flying in tomorrow and will be available until Thursday, if that’s fine with you?”

  “No problem.” Tom nods once and I feel Bradley step away.

  I’ve just let out a long breath when he says, “Oh, Ms. St. Julien, I’d like to speak to you about the meeting rooms now that you’ve seen the site.”

  I swivel in my chair so I’m facing him. My knees turn to water. Thank God I’m sitting down because seeing him here in the office is as nerve-racking as I thought it would be. It doesn’t help that Bradley’s upped his game today as well. His dark blue suit fits like it was custom made for him – who am I kidding, it probably was – and his sunset yellow tie provides such a great contrast that the first thing I blurt out is, “Hey. Nice tie.” Fuck. Me. To my credit, I don’t miss a beat. “I’ll pull together my notes and pop into your office in about fifteen minutes?”

  Bradley nods once. “Great.” He pauses. “And thank you.”

  He continues towards the kitchen and I turn around to find Tom staring at me. He lets out a low whistle. “Did I just hear you compliment Brad?”

  “No. I complimented his tie. Totally different.” Please don’t blush. Please don’t blush.

  “Still.” Tom makes a tick mark in the air with his finger. “Progress.”

  Best thing I can do right now is change the subject. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Mr. New York. Is that a short-straw trip or are you looking forward to it?”

  “It will be okay. I’m surprised Brad isn’t going though, considering the history there.”

  Tom’s clicking away at something on his laptop, so he’s not looking at me when I ask, “What history?”

  Or when he answers. “Anne von Thaden is Brad’s ex-fiancée.”

  Oh. My.

  Bradley and I didn’t spend Saturday night exchanging sexual histories, but really? First of all, Bradley has an ex-fiancée? And it’s Anne von Thaden? If I’m thinking of the right person, she’s flamboyant and striking. The kind of woman you’d be drawn to in a crowd. “Isn’t she a famous classical pianist?”

  “Was. She broke her wrist in a sailing accident a few years ago, so she traded in her piano for an exclusive supper club in Tribeca. Word on the street is she’s looking to open another on the Upper East Side, which I assume is what we’re going to be quoting.” Tom looks up. “Play your cards right and maybe you’ll get a trip to New York out of it. Anne would like your work.”

  I bet she wouldn’t like the fact I’m fucking her ex. No one ever does.

  “How does someone like her end up engaged to someone like Bradley?” I shouldn’t ask. Even as the question comes out of my mouth, I know I should take it back, but I don’t.

  I let it float in the air between Tom and me until he says, “Uh, uh. Not providing fodder for the gossip machine. I shouldn’t have even said what I did.”

  “You’re no fun.” I stick out my tongue and focus back on my screen. Pushing the issue with Tom would be a big fat don’t. I’ve never been interested in Bradley before and now to be interested in his personal life…

  Besides, I’m going to be face-to-face with him in ten minutes and I need to be prepared. The new office space has been the last thing on my mind this weekend, so thank God I stayed late on Friday night to draft some new ideas.

  A quick scan of my notes makes my stomach sink. They’re all wrong. Still. After seeing Bradley’s flat, hearing him talk about art and his own love of all things artistic, my ideas feel flat, pedestrian. A little bit boring. I squeeze my eyes shut and bang my knuckles against my forehead.

  “If that’s not a bad sign on a Monday morning, I don’t know what is. I usually don’t see that kind of despair until Thursday,” Tom says.

  I cup my chin in my hand and shake my head. “This is doing my head in. I may start day drinking soon.”

  “I don’t think Brad would be on board with that, even if it did make you more creative.” Tom looks like he’s on the verge of a smirk, but he manages to keep a straight face when he says, “Speaking of, he’s ready for you.”

  “Fuck.” I grab my notebook and make a move towards my laptop, but end up leaving it on my desk. There’s nothing worth seeing there anyway and maybe I’ll have a brainstorm between my desk and the glass castle.

  And maybe my heart will stop beating like I’ve sprinted up ten flights.

  I shove my hair behind my ear and stride towards the glass castle before I can think too much about why I’m feeling so flustered. I knock once on the door and push it open. Bradley doesn’t look up from his screen until I’m seated, legs crossed, back straight. The slit of my skirt is high on my thigh, but Bradley’s eyes stay on my face as he says, “Good morning. I only have a few minutes, but I’m heading back over to the site this afternoon and I wondered if you wanted to come with.”

  “Sure. That sounds great.”

  “I also looked through your London list and I wondered if we might detour to Fortnum and Mason on the way back?”

  “Yes, but if this is going to be another tick box exercise, let’s save it.” I feel the familiar irritation rising in my
chest. Slightly outweighed by relief. This emotion I know how to deal with.

  “It’s not.” Bradley gives me a Saturday night smile, which throws me off balance. Has he done that before? Or am I imagining an intimacy that’s not there? “I keep meaning to go there anyway, and I owe my mother a birthday gift, so it’s two birds, one stone.”

  “You want to shop?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Is that a problem?” Bradley asks.

  “Not at all. I’ve never bought anything there before. It might even be fun.” God, I could lose myself in the biscuit selection alone.

  “Fun.” It’s just one word, said in Bradley’s usual tone. It’s not until I finish rolling my eyes and glance at him that he lowers his voice and says, “Well, we aim to please, Ms. St Julien.”

  “I know.” My tone matches his and I have to fight not to squirm. Damn if he can’t turn me on with a handful of words. That’s new. And dangerous.

  Bradley’s lips purse, but I see amusement around his eyes. “My driver is ill today. I hope you don’t mind a short detour to pick up my car.”

  “You have a car here?” Of all the things I’ve pictured Bradley doing, driving isn’t one of them.

  Bradley furrows his brow. “I’m leasing a car, yes.”

  “Why do you have a driver then?” This probably veers into the too personal territory, but why wouldn’t you drive if you had the option?

  “It’s a tradeoff. Most of the time I opt to work instead of drive.” Bradley’s eyebrows go back up. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can arrange a car.”

  “No. No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” I swallow so I’ll stop saying ‘fine’ and then say, “What time did you want to leave?”

  “I need to be back in the office by five, so shall we say one?”

  Okay, an hour at the site, an hour at Fortnum and Mason, half an hour travel time. That leaves an hour and a half unaccounted for. A gap I know Bradley’s factored in, since I’m betting his car is in the garage underneath his flat. Still, a girl likes to be sure. “Of course. Did you want to spend longer at the site today?”

  Judging by the way his eyes narrow, Bradley knows what I’m doing. “Not necessarily.”

  “Shopping then? Fortnum and Mason has an amazing tea section.” I widen my eyes and swallow a smile.

  “Noted.” Bradley nods. “I doubt shopping for tea will take very long.”

  I furrow my brow and bite my lip. “That’s a very long time for you to be out of the office when you’re such a busy man.”

  Bradley picks up a pen and twirls it through his long fingers. Fingers I remember touching me. Inside me. “I’m hoping to squeeze lunch in as well.”

  Oh.

  He leans across his desk and continues before I can respond, his voice a low growl. “I was thinking I’d like you on my dining room table. For lunch.” Bradley leans back and from the look on his face, we could have been discussing the weather. “Unless you object, of course.”

  “No. No objections here.” I lick my lips, but my mouth is dry. I stand and it’s my turn to lean over the desk. Just a little. Just enough to give Bradley a view of my cleavage in my hot pink lacy bra. “It’s a good thing I’m not wearing knickers today then.”

  Heat flares in Bradley’s eyes. “Yes, it is.” He turns towards his laptop. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Ms. St. Julien, I have five minutes to forget you said that before I have to make a call.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. My bad.” I turn on my heel and smile a little, but it grows as I leave the glass castle. I’m full-on grinning when I catch a glimpse of Bradley frowning at his laptop as I slip back into my seat.

  “Are you walking away from a conversation with Brad with a smile on your face?” Tom’s tone is half teasing, half incredulous.

  Shit. I shrug and dial down my grin about ten notches. “I got a stay of execution. We’re going over to the building site later and he doesn’t want to talk about my new ideas until then.”

  That he didn’t ask about my new ideas doesn’t mean he doesn’t expect me to not have them. Which gives me a few hours to come up with some, period.

  Tom says, “Ah. I thought for a minute you and Brad had turned over a new leaf and were getting along.”

  I make a noncommittal mmm sound and focus on my screen. Tom doesn’t say anything else, but his words echo in my head. Bradley and I have turned over a new leaf. I just hope it’s not a fig leaf. Because if today is any indication, we’re playing a dangerous game bringing whatever it is we’re doing into the office, but I’m not sure either of us are willing to stop.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  I can’t help bringing this up to Bradley as we slip into a taxi outside the office. His flat is a five-minute drive or a fifteen-minute walk. No brainer. “Do you worry someone will find out about –?” I can’t bring myself to say the word us. There is no us. “This.”

  “No. I don’t.” Bradley glances up from his phone, buzzing in his hand. “Excuse me for a moment. I have to take this call.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before answering in French. I listen before figuring out it’s the same guy as last time. The one Bradley raked over the coals like it was a competition. I put a hand on his knee and whisper, “Be nice to him.”

  I don’t say anything else while I stare out the window. But I leave my hand where it is. And I eavesdrop. While Bradley isn’t all butterflies and kittens, he’s not harsh either. There’s a point in the conversation where he even laughs and it doesn’t sound sarcastic or forced. When he hangs up – as we walk through the main entrance of his building – I say, “Look at you. Working well with others. Someone might think you’re in a good mood today.”

  “That’s what François said.” Bradley grins and his hand lands on my back as we enter the lift. There’s a guy with a mop on the stairs and I don’t know if Bradley’s feeling impatient or if he figures my heels and wet tile are a bad combination, but either way, I’m grateful. “I need to be careful. You’re a bad influence on me.”

  I’m surprised I’ve got any influence on him, bad or good, but I’ll think about that later. Maybe. Right now, I take a step closer and say, “Says the man who’s about to ravish me on his dining table.”

  I run a fingernail down Bradley’s tie and look down in time to see him spring to attention, creating a tent in his trousers. He cups my ass, but keeps the distance between us and says, “The minute you walked into my office this morning, I wanted to send everybody home so I could have you on my desk.”

  “You’re the boss.” I let my fingertip slide towards his belt buckle. “Why didn’t you do it?”

  The lift arrives at Bradley’s floor and he tugs my hand to follow him off. “Another time.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Those are the last words I manage for quite some time. At least the last coherent ones. Let’s just say Bradley is as good in the dining room as he is in the bedroom. Even when he’s dressed for the boardroom.

  Because, you guessed it, he takes off his suit jacket but doesn’t lose the tie. And it is hot. It also means I can never again see that yellow tie without remembering the things he did to me while wearing it. A fact I point out as we drive across London in his two-seater BMW convertible.

  “You know you can never wear that tie to the office again, right?” My knee is tucked up under my other leg and I’m half-facing him across the gear shift. When Bradley’s hand isn’t on the stick shift, it’s on my bare leg.

  “Why not?” Judging from his grin, he knows exactly why not.

  I shrug. “I can’t be held responsible for what I might do, that’s all. I think I’ve got a conditioned response now.”

  Bradley’s fingers slip under the hem of my skirt, but no higher. “To become a quivering mess of multiple orgasms?”

  “No. To expect you to give me multiple orgasms. Preferably with your mouth, since you are exceptionally talented that way.” And I mean exceptionally. Oral sex is pretty hard to get wrong, but I’ve had some guys who
would have been better off not trying.

  Note: Bradley is not one of those guys.

  His loud laugh fills the small car. “I told you. I aim to please, Ms. St Julien.”

  “I’d ask you where you learned to be so wicked, but I don’t want to know. Just make sure you thank her for me.” A vision of Anne von Thaden comes unbidden into my head. Shit. And no. No. No. NO. Don’t need that. The end.

  Bradley laughs again, but it’s not as robust. “I’ll be sure to pass along your appreciation.”

  “I hope you’re joking.” Get out of my head, Anne. Now. I take a deep breath, but she’s still there. Her red-painted mouth half-open and her black curls wild and sexy as hell. Why couldn’t Bradley’s ex be someone hot instead of larger than life? And why does it niggle at me? It shouldn’t and the fact that it does is annoying. There’s only one solution here. Work. “Speaking of, what are we doing over at the site today? Did you have an agenda or was it just an excuse for some afternoon delight?”

  “I thought it would be more productive to go over your ideas at the space.” Bradley grins. “And I was hoping you’d enjoy our detour.”

  “As if that would be an issue.” I roll my eyes, but it’s half-hearted because my mind is ticking. Ideas. I’m supposed to have ideas for the office space. And not the crap ones I keep coming up with, but good ones. Ones that prove I’m worth both the chance Bradley took in hiring me, and the promotion I keep angling for.

  Before I can think too much about all the ideas I’m not having, my phone rings. I press the button to answer, but don’t even get to speak before Tara’s speaking. “Girls’ night in. Tonight. I’m calling it.”

  I twist my body so I’m not facing Bradley anymore. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, but you’ve been MIA all weekend and I need some Chardonnay therapy.” Tara laughs, but it’s not with amusement. “I had an epiphany.”

  “Oh God. That sounds…thought-provoking?” Tara’s last epiphany was about how to make her hummus recipe without olive oil. So…