Extra Extra (Working Girl Series Book 1)

by CY Jones

  5

  Confession Time

  It has been a blissful week. A week of Justin and I playing house, fucking each other’s brains out while we explore and learn each other. But you know what they say. All good things must come to an end. Those they people are real party poopers and I’d like to know who they are, so I can ask who shit in their fudge.

  Justin is a great distraction and not just his body or the wondrous things he does to my body with said body. He’s a good listener and like Chaz, I have no problem opening up to him. Besides fucking we have been on a few of dates. He’s proven he has an adventurous side with skydiving; batshit Gloria’s idea, to being a cliche romantic with a date to the on the Boardwalk, complete with the ‘top of the Ferris wheel kiss’. We showed off our competitive sides at the beach doing water sports and dined at fancy restaurants where he didn't mind indulging my sweet tooth. He’s even spoiled me by taking me shopping, going as far as to stay by my side and not leave me to sit in the waiting areas with a bored expression on his face like the other men roped into going shopping with their significant others. To reward him, I may have taken him into a dressing room or two. Okay, it was every dressing room, but in my defense, a well-trained man is irresistible. I should have known that when my brother finally cleared through the fog of marital bliss, he’d notice I hadn’t really been around.

  “Come on, nectar of the gods, pour faster,” I urge the coffee maker. “I need it now!” The steaming cup of coffee, I'm not so patiently waiting for, is tempting me with its addictive aroma. If I was addicted to anything, it’s coffee. Slice me open, you’d find out I’m only five percent water and the remaining sixty coffee.

  “Talking to the coffee maker again?” my brother says, startling me. In his hand is an arrangement of the most perfect lilies that he sets down on the kitchen island. I’m surprised he’s actually dressed today and not walking around half-naked for water breaks. In jeans, a heather grey t-shirt, and work boots, he’s not dressed for the boardroom, but to work on a demo site. Peering around him, I look for any sign of Paige, but I don’t see her.

  “Where’s your wife?” I ask, frowning. “Aren’t you two normally joined at the hip?” Or your dick, I say in my head. “Don’t tell me you murdered her by fucking her to death and you’re here to ask for help to bury the body. Are those flowers for her grave?”

  “Har har, sis. I see you’re still the same Brookie. Hilarious as ever. Paige is at work going over designs with the new house stager.” I shudder thinking about the last stager. You think I’m insane? That bitch was coo-coo for cocoa puffs psycho. Jealous of Paige, she tried to kill her by tying her up in a chair and leaving her there to die after setting a house fire at one of my brother’s work sites. He rescued her like a prince in a fairytale but suffered third-degree burns on his leg.

  “What’s the flowers for then? Isn’t it a little too early in the marriage for you to already have fucked up that you have to buy her flowers?”

  “I don’t need to fuck up to buy my wife flowers and these are for you, not Paige,” he huffs.

  “Really? Why’d you buy me flowers?” I’m so confused. Does he really feel that bad about leaving me to my own devices? It was no hardship at all thanks to Justin, but it’s not like I can tell him that.

  “I didn’t buy these, your fiancé did. They were delivered last night, but you weren’t here, so Paige left them sitting on the coffee table for you. You must not have seen them when you came in.”

  “Oh,” I mumble. So, now The Turd has stepped up his game and is sending flowers now. And not just any flowers but lilies, my favorite. He knows how cliche I think roses are. Well, so what? An expensive flower arrangement isn’t going to fix our problems, which I’m sure he knows. He’s probably buttering me up before he puts his plan into action.

  “You don’t look too excited. What’s going on with you two, anyway? I was surprised when you showed up alone, but after seeing him all over the news, I figured he was too busy with work."

  “We broke up.” Yep, rip the Band-Aid right off. He was going to find out eventually.

  “What?” he roars. “How dare that asshole break up with my baby sister. What the hell are these, sympathy flowers?” he growls, gesturing to the now offensive flowers.

  “Calm down, Rambo. First of all, I broke up with him and, as for the flowers, you can throw them in the trash on your way out.”

  His whole demeanor changes at my admission, and he gives me that look I hate. The same one he donned at our parent’s funeral. He’s about to go into big brother mode and I’m going to have to kick him in his balls and remind him I’m a grown-ass woman. I may be short, but all five foot two of me is fierce. “Brookie,” he says in his soft gentle voice. Yep, I’m going to slap him. I rather have his anger than pity.

  “Is that why you’ve been looking for apartments in New York? I thought you two were upsizing or something.”

  “Brother,” I gasp, clutching my heart dramatically. “How dare you snoop through my browser history? What did you think I was looking up? Porn? I rather stream that on the big screen where I can sit back and touch myself. Does your wife know you have stalker tendencies? Is this your cry for help?” Shuddering, he glares at me. Yeah, big bro. Your little sister watches porn.

  “I wasn’t snooping,” he says defensively. “Chaz called and told Paige he had a place for you to check out when you get back to New York, but he couldn’t get a hold of you to tell you about it.”

  “Really? That’s awesome. I haven’t had any luck finding anything decent in my price range that’s not super far from my office.”

  “I’m hurt, Brookie. When were you going to tell me any of this? I’m your big bro. The person who’s supposed to be there for you always. We only have each other and since you moved away to New York, I’ve been feeling the distance.”

  “It wasn’t intentional. You’ve been busy with the wedding, your weekend trip away, and fucking Paige six ways from Sunday. I wasn’t about to come here and unload my problems on you.”

  “I don’t care how busy I was. You should have pulled me aside and talked to me.”

  “What if I didn’t want to talk about it?” I shout. I didn’t want to get to this point, but sometimes the big brother act can be infuriating. He’s always been like this, but since our parents died it has only gotten worse. “I’m not Paige. I’m not a princess you can keep locked safe in a tower and hope the outside world won’t touch me. I’m a pint-size warrior with a touch of crazy. I may be wearing my princess dress, but it’s tattered and stained, barely holding onto my scarred frame, and you know what? I accept that. No one can be perfect. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Armed with a spiked bat and crazed smile, I can fight for myself.”

  “You’ll always be my little sister, Brookie, and whether you want me to or not, I’ll always worry about you and I’ll always go to bat for you.”

  “You’re so stubborn,” I grumble.

  “And you’re a brat,” he volleys back.

  “Well, since you won’t tell me what happened right now, and yes, I do mean as I said it, you’ll be telling me later while we’re out.”

  “Out? Where are we going? Don’t you have work?” I ask, eyeing his clothes.

  “I’m calling off so I can spend some much-needed quality time with my baby sister.”

  Harrison’s definition of spending quality time with his baby sis is ramming the shit out of me at bumper cars. Dude came at me from all different directions like he’s a Super Mario Brother. I was half expecting him to toss a banana peel to slip me up or have a tiny green dinosaur named Yoshi running alongside the track to taunt me. I’m sure this is the demented bastard’s form of payback for me being tight-lipped about my personal life, but it’s about time he learned I’m not the same little girl that left for New York, but a grown-ass woman. My poor sore body is really getting put through the wringer. It’s more fun to be rammed by Justin than my brother.

  After bumper cars, he too
k me to lunch on the beachfront, where I ordered the world’s biggest sundae. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it was pretty big and tasted divine. A much-appreciated indulgence that I needed. Days like today bring me back to when we were younger and he’d skip hanging out with his friends to take me to the 50s themed diner in our old neighborhood. He’d always order a burger, fries, and a Coke, and I’d order the chili cheese fries and a root beer float made from the creamiest, oh-so-delicious vanilla ice cream. I really miss that place. Too bad it’s closed down now. The previous owner, a sweet elderly man with snow-white hair and beard like Santa, died, and his greedy offspring decided to be douches and sell the place and split the profit. I hear there’s a furniture store in its place now. How boring.

  I’m halfway through my float when my phone starts to ring. Instead of letting it go on, I repeatedly jab the ignore button in a stabbing motion that would make Jack the Ripper proud. You can tell when you call someone and the ignore button has been pressed. A subtle hint that the person you’re calling doesn’t want to deal with you, or god forbid, they’re busy having a fucking life. In fact, don’t leave a message because obviously whoever you’re calling doesn’t want to talk to you. These are the rules. I didn’t make them up. They’ve been around for years for asshats just like my ex, but do you think a little ignore button deterred him? Nope. The Turd took it as a challenge like he has been doing since I arrived in Cali. I should have remembered how much The Turd enjoys a good challenge. Me running away is probably all a game to him. I may be a little crazy, but he’s a fucking psycho. I’m probably making him hard right now. That's why I’m not surprised when my phone immediately starts to ring again. Sighing, I throw it in my purse, hoping it’ll get lost among the endless junk.

  “You know you can’t ignore him forever,” my brother comments, stating the obvious.

  “Thank you, Captain Obvious, but I’ve got this. I think I’ve proven more than once how stubborn I can be.” His words have merit, but I’d rather not think about my ex right now.

  “Well, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to call Drew up and ask?”

  “You wouldn't,” I gasp horrified, holding my hands to my heart in a dramatic manner, looking at his smug face, I know he would.

  “Of course, I would. I want to know why my little sister called off her engagement. Since you want to be difficult, I might as well call him. I’ll bet my entire fortune he’d be more willing to speak up. So, unless…

  “You know what, big bro, you make me want to punch you in that pretty face of yours more and more. A lot more actually. Like, Muhammad Ali’s Rumble in the Jungle, eighth round knockout. I’m not kidding. I want to Mortal Kombat, finish you, hurt you right now,” I ramble threaten. Yes, that’s a word. I just made that shit up.

  “Stop stalling and spill,” he replies, folding his beefy arms. Geez, how many beams has he been lifting? He’s definitely been eating his Wheaties. I sigh loudly. Why does he has to be such a stubborn fuck? He’s not going to let this go. I try to remember if I have any get out of jail free cards to cash in, but I come up with nothing. Damn my wild youth. Fuck it Nancy, this is all your fault.

  “Fine,” I huff. “But after I tell you, we’re not going to dwell on the subject, nor are you allowed to go to New York to kill him. Got it?” It’s not The Turd’s welfare I’m worried about. I’d rather not have to explain to Paige why her new hubby is getting locked up and then trying to convince her that conjugal visits are the shit. “Harrison Jack Hartford, promise me you won’t go after Andrew.”

  “Using the whole name, huh? He must have really fucked up.”

  I give him a look that says, ‘I’m not budging on my conditions’. Rolling his eyes, he sits back in his seat and waves for me to continue like he’s some pompous king, and I’m the court jester here for his entertainment. Fucker, I’ll make him pay, but later, when I can think of a good way to get him back. I’m not happy about it, but I explain the whole sordid affair without leaving any details out. Why should I? I was the one seriously wronged here. I don’t want my brother to think I’m being my extreme, melodramatic self. A career may not seem important to some people, like slackers or trust fund babies who get everything they ever wanted handed to them on a polished to perfection silver platter. Whatever their story, my career means everything to me. My whole life I’ve always been in my brother’s shadow. The little sister of Harrison Hartford. But in New York, I was able to make a break from Peter Pan and make a name for myself. Brooklyn Hartford was reborn. I worked my ass off to get where I’m at and not even my brother can tear me down.

  “That fucker,” he growls, standing up so quickly his chair goes crashing to the floor. Wow! He’s pissed.

  “Will you calm down? You’re scaring the children,” I tell him, looking around at the frightened and horrified faces of the family sitting next to us. A little girl sitting in a booster seat starts to cry and her mom gives us the evil eye before comforting her.

  “Come on, let's go,” he demands, paying for our food and throwing a large tip on the table before walking toward the exit, not even bothering to make sure that I’ll follow. I eye him warily. Hopefully, he’s not plotting The Turd’s murder.

  On the way back to his place, he’s completely silent. I could feel his anger seeping out his pores, hot enough to frizz up my product covered curls. Angry Harrison I can deal with, but a quiet angry Harrison is a whole other story. I can’t argue when I don’t know what he’s thinking, and my demented brother is the all-star of payback. He’s like an elephant who never forgets, and when you least expect it, pow! He’ll obliterate you with some well thought out, ingenious plan that took years in the making.

  Prime example, I had an old boyfriend in the seventh grade. One day, I slipped up and mistakenly referred to myself in one of my other personalities. Needless to say, not even a horny teenage boy finds crazy appealing so he broke up with me and told the whole school I was a nutcase with an imaginary friend named Nancy. Kids are cruel, and it took years before I wasn’t the town’s laughing stock, the loser of a kid who still believes in imaginary friends. Three years later, at homecoming, is when Harrison made his move. He knocked Tyler out and kidnapped him as he was on his way to pick up his homecoming date. Stripping him naked, he transported him to the school in the trunk of his car. Right outside the gym where homecoming was being held is an old oak tree that’s probably been there since the school was built. Earlier that day, Harrison drilled a hole in the bark big enough to fit Tyler’s tiny pecker and tied the poor bastard to the tree with his dick inserted into the tree. Beside him was a sign that said, ‘I’m hard for Glinda’.

  Of course, Tyler knew it was my brother, but he couldn’t prove it. He never saw who knocked him out, and my brother is a stealthy fucker. There wasn’t a single eyewitness, although I still find it hard to believe no one saw him. Even then, he had the town’s undying loyalty. Long story short, Tyler Hardy messed with the wrong sister.

  When we get back to the house, I’ve had enough. Why couldn’t I call his bluff and keep my big trap shut? Paige is sitting on the couch reading a home interior magazine, and I run over to her, panicking.

  “You might want to leash your hubby. I reset his factory settings without reading the instructions first, and he’s about to go on a rampage.”

  “Wait! What? What’s going on?” she asks with wide eyes while shooting worried glances in the direction Harrison disappeared to.

  “You see, I may have told him something, and now he’s in protective mode,” I answer.

  “And this something was?” she prods.

  My heart is beating fast. I sit down, leaning over with my elbows on my knees and my palms pressed against my temples. “It was about my ex-fiance. He did something really stupid, and I broke up with him, calling our engagement off. Harrison made me tell him what he did, and now I’m pretty sure he’s working on some devious plan to kill him, and it’s all my fault because I didn’t want to tell him in the first
place, but he made me, and there was ice cream, and he’s a stubborn, protective bastard. You need to stop him because I can’t be the reason why my big bro is in jail for murder. I mean, what if they don’t give him conjugal visits? He’ll be real cranky 'cause he’s not getting any and will have to jerk off into a tiny tin toilet in his room while Bob, his roommate, watches on for entertainment,” I ramble on without taking a breath.

  “Whoa, babe, calm down. Take a deep breath,” she says, rubbing my back. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? Whatever Harrison is plotting in his study, I promise, I won’t let him carry it out.”

  She smiles, and I can’t help falling into the comfort she’s offering, so for the second time today, I find myself spilling my guts. This is uncharted territory for me. Usually, I soldier on until I find a solution and fix my own problems.

  “Oh, hun, what an asshole,” she says, pulling me into a hug.

  “You don’t think I overreacted, do you?”

  “Of course not. Your actions were perfectly justified. If you can’t trust someone, that’s a good sign that you shouldn’t marry them. Without trust, the marriage wouldn’t work no matter how much you wish differently.” Her voice takes on a wistful tone and I can’t help but think she’s not just talking about my situation. I know she has my brother now, but does she wish things turned out differently with Justin? I don’t know why, but I just have to know the answer. Things with Justin are good right now, but I’m no fool. What we have has not been defined, which means it won’t last forever.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m opening my mouth and I ask, “Do you still love Justin?”

  “Oh, wow, that’s some change of topic, but I guess I opened myself up to the question, didn’t I?”