Mr. & Mrs. Wright: A BWWM Romance (Wright Brothers Series Book 2)

by Stevens, Camilla

  “I’m—I’m sorry about it all, Alex,” she said, her body crumpling to the couch. “I didn’t expect it to go this far. It’s just I thought maybe if she was out of the picture….”

  Brandy spilled out of her snifter and down her arm, which she ignored as her body shook with tears.

  Alex didn’t make a move toward her. Whether it was real or just some ploy, he didn’t care. He hadn’t been lying when he said they were done.

  Realizing he wasn’t coming any closer, her tear-stained eyes shot up toward him. “You don’t know how lucky you are. I don’t even have a trust fund.”

  Alex rolled his eyes, and gave an exasperated sigh. “So, what? Is this about daddy not giving you enough spending money?” he exclaimed.

  “Daddy doesn’t have any money!” she screamed at him. “Don’t you get it; we’re broke!”

  She saw Alex’s eyes scan the luxe accommodations she was currently residing in with a cynical twist of his lips.

  She gave a sharp laugh. “Secretly on the market. Shhh!” she laughed, drunkenly, holding a finger up to her lips. “Mustn’t let on…. Oops!”

  She fell back on the couch. “Newspapers, CDs—it’s all history. Obsolete. The manufacturing business is kaput! Then Daddy pours all his fucking money into real estate...right before the bubble burst. Then that stupid Siverion collapse. I don’t know if he’s stupid or just plain unlucky.”

  She looked bitterly down into her glass. “At least with a trust fund, I would have had something. Now I have nothing.”

  She pouted as tears came to her eyes again.

  It was more than Alex could stand. He strolled over to her and sat on the couch, taking her shoulders in his hands and twisting her to face him.

  “Bri?” he said softly.

  She heard the calm tone in his voice and looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Yes?”

  “Grow. The. Fuck. Up!” He gripped her shoulders harder. “Welcome to the real world. Now it’s time to get a fucking job. Sell your shit. Do what you have to do. Just stop acting like a spoiled brat. This is how ninety-nine percent of the world operates.

  “Hey, look on the bright side; my prediction is Joe on the Go might be hiring soon. Of course that would require some people skills. You may want to start brushing up on that. Either way, not my fucking problem. Stay the hell out of my life, and stay the hell out of Brooklyn’s life. Otherwise you may find yourself in deeper shit than you are now. And yes, that is a warning.”

  He gave her one last shake before standing up and walking out the door.

  Chapter 27

  London had avoided her father’s texts the rest of the weekend. She hadn’t gone to church with the family yesterday. She wasn’t sure if she could face that sort of ironic environment.

  She knew at some point they’d have to face one another, so why not the usual route: The Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson & Associates Monday Morning Strategy Session. The usual scenario was for the three partners, Frank, her bother Cleveland, and London to discuss current cases and clients and prioritize what was to be done during the week.

  Today there was only one priority.

  Fortunately, Cleveland was late as usual, this time most likely on purpose. She couldn’t blame him. London had already done the walk of shame through the few members of the paparazzi that remained outside their firm. Now London sat through her father’s typical ranting and raving alone, this time the focus was on her.

  “Contemptuous!” he said raising a finger in the air. “Down right despicable!”

  “Alright, Daddy, I’m going to stop you right there,” she said, her hackles officially raised. “I’ve had enough of you criticizing my relationship with Michael. It’s completely unfair for you to use a few strategically taken photos splashed all over the internet and judge us. I’m your daughter and you should be supporting me, not tearing me down. If anything, you should be thrilled seeing how happy we are and how much we obviously love each other, even if some conniving individual wants to taint it.”

  Her father leaned on the desk facing her with a patient expression. “Are you done?”

  Maybe it was because she was cranky and exhausted. The trip, the media, and her life being torn apart were having not just an emotional toll on her but a physical one as well. Right now she was more than happy to let some of that rub off on her father.

  “No, I’m not done,” she said raising her voice and her body out of the chair at the same time. She leaned down on the desk to face him. “I think—”

  “That was rhetorical,” he said raising a hand and closing his eyes, stopping her in her diatribe. “And since you’re obviously misinterpreting my thoughts here let me correct that. Now don’t get me wrong, I can’t say I’m pleased with what you two have been up to over there in Europe,” he uttered the last word as though London and Michael had spent the past two weeks in some crack house. “And before you go enlightening me, I don’t want to know,” he said giving her a pointed look.

  “So what are you talking about then?” London asked, only slightly less heated.

  “Dion Davis,” he said pressing his lips together in resignation.

  That was enough to cause her to sit down and ponder.

  “Don’t tell me it didn’t occur to you that he’s the one responsible for all of this? That trip really did mess with your mind.”

  He pulled himself up off the desk and went back to pacing back and forth in front of his window. “I should have known it. Europe. Topless beaches? They probably let them go fully nude too! Who thinks of these things? Good old fashioned American beaches for me, thank you very much. Nothing wrong with Florida, or Hawaii, where people know how to stay covered....”

  London ignored him as she thought about what he had just said. Of course it was Dion Davis. Europe really must have messed with her mind for her not to pick up on it. So it had been that slimeball all along.

  All of a sudden she was more tired than ever. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Here are my thoughts on what to do,” Frank said, shifting gears from the “Hippie Dippies across the ocean” back to the problem at hand. “We’ll have a press conference, don’t worry, I’ll do most of the talking as usual—”

  That woke her right up. “Absolutely not!” she insisted.

  He blinked in surprise. “But London—”

  “Daddy, I’m not a client doing a perp walk. Good god, the last thing I want is more media attention. Don’t you see that will just fan the flames?”

  “Sweetheart, you forget who you’re dealing with. Do you realize how many turds I’ve been able to polish.”

  London glared at him. “Please don’t tell me you’re comparing your daughter to a turd.”

  “Okay, bad choice of wording,” he sighed “Fine, no press conference, but at the very least—”

  “No,” she insisted.

  “London, I’m your father and I know what’s best—”

  “No.”

  “You can’t just—”

  “No.”

  “London, I’m going to have to put my foot down and insist—”

  “No!”

  “Hey everyone, I’m here! I figured everyone could use some—” Cleveland rolled in, perfect timing as usual. He stopped in his tracks, a coffee tray in his hand with three cups for each of them, watching with wary eyes as he sensed the tension in his father’s office.

  London sighed, and stood up. She grabbed the coffee with her name on it. “Thanks, Cleve. Enjoy your day. I’m going home sick. Whatever he tells you,” she looked at her father, then back to her brother, “The answer is no!”

  * * *

  Downtown, the other man in London’s life was coming to the same conclusion that Frank had. He sat facing the window behind his desk at work, a finger to his lips as he thought about it. It all made sense. It wasn’t enough to paint London as the meddling attorney who destroyed Dion Davis’ marriage, he had to go and paint her as the town whore.

  London might be satisfied w
ith sitting back and letting the storm blow over, simply rolling with the punches. Michael Wright most certainly was not.

  While Frank was focused on salvaging London’s reputation, much to her chagrin, Michael was focused on justice…with a healthy dose of revenge.

  Chapter 28

  Brianna wasn’t quite done with Alex yet. As a British playwright once warned: hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

  That Friday everyone had their own reaction to Brianna’s fury.

  * * *

  “Wow,” said Annie.

  The rest of Brooklyn’s friends turned to Annie with a mixture of condemnation but conspiratorial agreement with the sentiment.

  Then they all watched Brooklyn’s face to gauge exactly how they were supposed to respond to the situation at hand.

  Finally, Justine was the one to speak up. “Well, at least now we know why you spend so many nights at his place.”

  It broke the tension enough for them to breathe out a few giggles, before seeing the frown on Brooklyn’s face deepen as she stared at her phone.

  “That bitch,” she muttered, which nipped any giggles in the bud. They all nodded in cliquish agreement at the sentiment, transitioning right back into attack mode.

  * * *

  Richard Wright was sitting up in bed next to Svetlana, laughing out loud. He couldn’t deny that a small part of him was happy that for once, it was another Wright’s personal embarrassments that were making the news these days; even if it was his own son. The little BDSM scandal had been plummeting him down in the polls faster than TNT could bring down one of his buildings.

  He would never admit it publicly, but it was a huge blow to his otherwise very healthy ego. Perhaps going into politics wasn’t the wisest move after all.

  What was the world coming to when people couldn’t handle a little slap and tickle…and maybe a few handcuffs…and a riding crop…and a little—?

  “I zee nossing to be eembarazzed eebout,” shrugged Svetlana, looking a little too intently over his shoulder at his phone, with one eyebrow raised.

  That brought Richard out of his momentary funk, and back to the present.

  “Well, at least we know whose son he is!” he exclaimed proudly, trying to reclaim at least some tiny part of his pride. “Can’t say I agree with all his choices in life,” he said, looking at one thing in particular, “but there’s no denying genes!”

  His jubilation was momentarily flustered by Svetlana moving in for a closer look.

  She shrugged. “I zee some reezembleence,” she said in her heavily accented English, only partially agreeing with him.

  He wasn’t sure if she was complimenting him or his son. It was moments like these that he had slight misgivings about marrying a woman half—okay maybe a bit less than half—his age.

  * * *

  Frank Jefferson, having long ago realized that a news alert should be set up as far as his youngest daughter, and these days one Alex Wright, was concerned, was informed immediately.

  “I told you, Estelle!” he exclaimed to his wife. “You pooh poohed me setting up this alert, but look at this! Actually, maybe you shouldn’t” he said, frowning and holding his phone closer to his chest. “Like father, like son,” he mumbled to himself as he took another curious look.

  Frank continued shaking his head. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again honey, white people are crazy. What in the world have my daughters gotten themselves mixed up with?”

  He then sent the notification to London, hoping maybe she’d have a talk with the girl. He and Brooklyn had become closer these past few months...but not this close.

  * * *

  London had taken the full week off. To his credit, her father had left her alone. Which was a good thing, because the tiredness she felt on Monday had evolved to full fledged lethargy by Friday. She briefly wondered if perhaps she were suffering some sort of depression, what with everything that had gone on the past few months. Her entire body just felt…blah.

  It was during one of her continual slumbers that she was jolted awake by the buzz of her phone alerting her to a message from her father.

  Have you seen this?

  London clicked on the link, and woke right up. She literally had no response for her father. Frankly, she was speechless.

  So it would seem both Jefferson sisters were having some kind of week.

  * * *

  It would have surprised the entire family to learn that Lucille Jefferson was the most social media savvy of the bunch.

  She sipped her tea and looked at her phone with an appraising eye.

  “Well, well, well, Mr. Lincoln Town Car,” she chuckled to herself, remembering the ride that Alex had procured for her and her granddaughter to go to church one Sunday a few months ago, “At least I know my grandbaby is in capable hands.”

  She smiled to herself as she imagined the heart attack her son, Frank, was most likely having this week at the predicament both his daughters had found themselves in. Perhaps this would do the man some good. Frankly, he could use a bit of loosening up.

  She sighed and set her cup down. It was probably time for a little intervention on grandma’s part. She got up and went to work dusting off her good crystal.

  * * *

  Michael was sent the notice through various acquaintances and colleagues. It was a momentarily amusing distraction from the plan of action he had been working on with regard to London. He’d tried once or twice to get in touch with her but she was constantly “too tired” to talk, which was obviously code for “we’re still on break.”

  He looked at his phone again and thought maybe London wasn’t the only one needing a little damage control in life. Michael had no idea what the “relationship” situation between Alex and Brooklyn was these days, but if what he was looking at was any indication, it was probably just as on the rocks as London and Michael’s was.

  Since Michael had every intention of working things out with London—hopefully one day permanently—it would probably be a good idea for his brother to not be on the Jefferson family shit-list.

  At any rate it was about time the two brothers had more than a grudging tolerance of one another. They were family after all.

  He clicked over to his telephone directory and scrolled down until he found the number.

  * * *

  Alex was staring at the photo of his dick, and the accompanying tattoo, on Twitter—a site which had no qualms about this sort of thing—with a caption that read: Alex Wright...man whore extraordinaire!

  Despite his warning to Brianna, he—and worse, Brooklyn—had been hash-tagged, @‘ed, and identified in any and every way possible. It was as though she had taken it as a personal challenge to not leave both of them the hell alone.

  The raging inferno building in him was jolted into submission as the phone rang in his hands. It was Michael. He’d no doubt heard—or rather, seen—the latest regarding his degenerate younger half-brother and decided it was time for another good spanking for the black sheep of the Wright family.

  Just fucking great.

  “Listen, Michael,” he began, not wanting to deal with this shit tonight. “If you’re calling to—”

  “Just shut up and listen,” Michael said on the other end, actually laughing into the phone.

  Alex closed his mouth.

  “So, how much have you had to drink tonight already?” Michael asked.

  Alex bristled. He knew it! “Why the hell do you care?” he replied.

  “Because I’m about to take you out for a bottle of much needed whiskey, and depending on how many sheets you are to the wind already, it’s either going to be very expensive, or slightly less expensive. So again, how drunk are you already?”

  Alex paused, and then found himself actually chuckling into the phone. After the stress of the past week, and this latest little shit-storm, it was a relief to have someone actually have his back. “Well, I was about to open a bottle of Shiner Bock I had in the fridge, but since you’re offering.�
��

  “Okay, don’t do anything that drastic...I’m on my way over.”

  Alex actually found himself shaking his head as he hung up the phone. Wonders never ceased.

  Chapter 29

  “This right here is a $1000 bottle of whiskey, little brother,” Michael said, nodding to the waiter who had just placed it on the table of the little corner of the dark bar Michael had taken Alex to.

  “I think it should be a good start to get us through the night.”

  Alex looked around the place. It was definitely a $1000-bottle-of-whiskey sort of scene; a far cry from the raucous party environments he was used to in his line of work—which had a completely different form of $1000 bottle service.

  The bar seemed like more of a lounge, all leather and wood and hushed voices. He felt a bit out of place in his standard t-shirt, jeans, and Converse shoes, but when your companion had started the night with $1000 tab placed on his Black Amex, no one here was going to complain.

  “So hit me with it then,” Alex said, taking a swig. It was indeed some damn fine whiskey.

  “Contrary to what you might be thinking, I’m not here to judge. I just figured you could use a sounding board,” Michael assured him. He took his own sip before adding, “Frankly, I could use a good ear myself.”

  “That sounds ominous,” Alex replied, “but based on your own little photo album, I can see where you’re coming from.”

  He noted the dark look come over his brother’s eyes and laughed. “Oh come off it Michael. Frankly, I have to say I’m impressed. I always thought you were a bit of a wet blanket when it came to actually having fun.”

  The dark look became a slightly offended scowl.

  “Hey, at least you don’t have your schlong plastered all over social media,” he said, attempting to soothe his brother’s ego.

  Michael’s mood lightened and eventually he gave a soft chuckle. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume—hope?—that wasn’t a recent acquisition?”