Tame Me

by Natalie Rios

  I’m only half aware of my surroundings right now. The sound of my pounding heart blocks out most of the audio, but I can see Mina stepping up to Tanner, yelling at him.

  As for me? I’m too busy trying to control my breathing. You would think dealing with this would get easier over the years, especially with all that therapy. I practice relaxation techniques on a daily basis and know how to control my breathing. The rational part of me knows if I take a few deep breaths, I can eventually calm myself down.

  But the room is spinning and I’m scared. Scared of what’s happening with Tanner, scared of giving in to my nauseous stomach and vomiting in front of all of my new coworkers, scared that I haven’t gotten better, scared that I’ll never get better.

  Scared that I’m quickly losing control.

  I’m completely detached from the unfolding scene between Mina and Tanner. Focused solely on my breathing, I never saw him coming. One second, I’m staring down at Tanner’s shoes and the next, I’m behind a wall of solid black wool.

  “You are really toeing the line, brother.” It’s Mr. Connors. Though he’s keeping his volume low, I recognize his baritone. “I’m only going to tell you this once: back off. If I ever catch you harassing one of my employees again, you’re out. And it won’t matter that we share the same last name. Got that?”

  Tanner mumbles a yes and Mina demands he apologize. Not that I stuck around to see if he actually would. Mr. Connors cups my hand in his and leads me out. Instead of heading for the office like I expect, he leads me to a bench located near the resort’s front entrance. He pushes against my shoulder until I lower myself onto the bench.

  Then, ever so gently, he nudges my head between my legs.

  “Take a deep breath,” he instructs in a tone that demands I do as he says. So I do. And then I take another one. And another. Some time passes, with me just breathing and Brody gently rubbing circles on my back.

  “I must be in an alternate universe,” I mutter. How long have we been sitting here? Ten, twenty minutes? These episodes usually last no more than half an hour, but I’ve completely lost my sense of time.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because. You’re being nice. That never happens. Tell me, has hell truly frozen over? If I looked up right now, will I find flying pigs?”

  Brody snorts. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your insolence. But since you’re well enough to speak now...here.” Something cold presses against the side of my leg. Sitting up, I grab the bottle of water and take a large gulp.

  This is the awkward part, where people usually bombard me with questions: What happened? Are you seeing someone? Have you considered medication?

  “Well?” I prompt, hoping to get this over with.

  “Well, what?”

  “You’re not going to ask?”

  “No.” His short response has my eyes snapping up to meet his.

  “No?”

  “No,” he repeats. “If you want to talk to me about it, you’ll tell me. No questions necessary.”

  Well, then.

  An unexpected reprieve from the most unlikely of sources. Weird thing is, by not pressing the issue, I feel more inclined to share. Prying puts me on the defense. Brody backing away makes me feel like I can breathe.

  Of course, I still don’t feel comfortable sharing everything. But I do feel like I owe him sort of explanation for what just happened. “Panic attack. I used to get them all the time, but it’s been a while now.”

  “That day we were in town, with Neil?”

  I grimace, partially embarrassed by my overreaction to what turned out to be a harmless encounter. “Yeah, that was a mini one. The first I’ve had in five years.”

  “Charlotte.” The way he says my name makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Gentle Brody. Prince Charming. Sucking in a breath, I take in his concerned expression. “Do you feel safe here?”

  “Here? Like on the resort grounds?” I shrug. “About as safe as I feel anywhere.”

  “And how safe is that, exactly?”

  This is heading into dangerous territory. “I’m from New York, Mr. Connors. This small resort town has nothing on the Big Bad Apple.”

  “You don’t have to call me Mr. Connors when we’re in private.” Excuse me? He was the one who made a big deal out of the name thing in the first place!

  “Color me confused. The other day you called me Charlotte and then slipped back into Miss Kensington like it was nothing. Can you please explain your rules for names? Is it first names on days starting with the letter S and last names on days starting with a T? This should totally be covered in the employee handbook.”

  He appears unperturbed by my snappish tone, instead stretching his arms across the back of the bench. “I’ve already explained the rules.”

  Frowning, I think back to when we first met. What had he said about using first names? “Friends or relatives, right? Did I miss the part where we became friends?”

  “Of course, you could always continue calling me Satan.” Fuck. How the hell did he know about that? A wave of heat crawls across my cheeks and I try to school my expression to remain neutral. But I must not be doing such a good job because the son of a bitch is smirking at me. “Or do you only do that behind my back?”

  “I’m taking this as permission to say it to your face from now on.” Crossing my arms, I try not to fidget in my seat. “If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck...” Satan barks out a laugh. “How did you know, anyway?”

  He arches a brow, like the answer should be obvious. “I know everything that goes on around here. What kind of a leader would I be if I was asleep at the wheel?”

  A horrible thought strikes me. “Do you have spies? Oh my god, did Fallon and Mina snitch on me? Fallon would never!” Getting my cell phone out, I start typing out a text: Snitches get stitches, ho!

  Brody snatches my phone away. “Jesus. Don’t send that. I don’t have spies. Those two are incredibly loyal to you. Even though they’ve known you all of, what, five seconds?”

  “Maybe you should reanalyze how you treat people, be less grouchy. It’s amazing how loyal people can be when you’re pleasant. They might even want to be your friend.”

  “I don’t have any trouble making friends. But I don’t see the point in exchanging pleasantries with people I’m not interested in having as a friend.” Ouch. Direct hit. He’s mean to me because he isn’t interested in my friendship. It shouldn’t hurt, given how much of an ass he’s been. Why would I want to be friends with someone who has been nothing but rude to me?

  Still, his words sting.

  Because for some reason, I want him to like me. I want him to respect me, to be awed by my ideas like he was the other day with Jacques. He’s hot and smart and strong. I want a man like that to like me. So even though he’s been a jerk and plays hot and cold, I can’t just write him off.

  Brody is a mystery. One I desperately want to solve.

  “Ready to head back, Your Highness?”

  I narrow my eyes at the nickname. “Your Highness?”

  The diabolical grin he shoots me has my toes curling. Why does the man have to be so damn hot? It would be so much easier to hate him if he looked like Napoleon Dynamite. The world truly isn’t fair. “It’s what I call you behind your back. Your Highness and Queen. Because you’re a royal pain in my ass.”

  And I’m smiling, suddenly feeling better about the status of our relationship. He knows a secret of mine and I know a secret of his. He may not like me (yet) and I may not understand him (yet), but we’re back on equal footing at least.

  Chapter Ten

  Life is...surprisingly good. Brody and I actively walk around calling each other variations of Satan, Queen, Devil, Your Highness, Beelzebub, and Brat. The first time it happened in public, we got a lot shocked looks, but people got used to it fairly quickly. No one, myself included, seems to understand our dynamic but it works for us.

  And like the saying goes, if it ain’t broke, don’t try to fix it.
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br />   Over the past few weeks, I’ve learned Brody is a chocoholic. He will eat any scone, muffin, croissant, or pancake I leave for him so long as it contains chocolate. No problem there, I happen to be a chocolate aficionado myself. I usually just grab two of whatever chocolatey thing Mina has at the café, leaving one on his desk with his coffee while I enjoy my breakfast at my desk.

  He’s never thanked me for getting him breakfast, but he stopped giving me bullshit assignments. I consider that a W for Team Charlotte.

  Another W earned by Team Charlotte? The phone situation. I passive-aggressively mentioned the lack of phone calls on an hourly basis. In person, via email, over the phone. Whatever mode of communication tickled my fancy at the moment. After two days of that, the little FWD disappeared from my screen and the phone magically started ringing. Satan never said a word about it, but he also doesn’t hover over my shoulder or test my phone skills anymore.

  I’m taking that to mean he tentatively trusts me now.

  I’ve also made quite a bit of progress planning the summer party with Fallon. My connections are godsend, freeing up money that can be allocated elsewhere. And, shock of all shocks, I’m a damn good negotiator. Seriously. I convinced several local shops to give partygoers discounts on costumes and a new doggie treat shop will be donating samples to hand out as party favors.

  Yes, you read that right. Doggie treats for party favors.

  “You realize this is a party for humans, right?” Fallon snorts between giggles when I deliver the news.

  “Obviously. But we can invite their dogs, too. Everyone has a dog, right?” Let’s just ignore the fact that I don’t own one myself. Nor have I ever seen any of the Connors’ siblings walking a dog around the resort grounds.

  “Brody’s going to freak when he finds out you plan on inviting dogs.”

  “Why? Is he allergic to them?” She shakes her head and I puff out my cheeks. “Then he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Free swag is free swag. And if we have to let the dogs out to enjoy it, so be it.”

  She blinks at me for a few seconds before howling with laughter. “Charlotte Kensington, you are something else!”

  Shrugging, I take no offense. I’ve heard those words quite a bit in my lifetime. “When is Mina supposed to get here?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Any second now.”

  We’re having Happy Hour drinks together at the resort bar, something we’ve gotten in the habit of doing at least three times a week. Even though I don’t actually drink. Usually the two of them get tipsy while I sip on a glass of free water and pretend it’s a mimosa.

  I’m not a teetotaler like my cousin Ellie. I love cosmos and martinis, spending much of my twenties imitating a fish. An alcoholic fish. But I can no longer afford such a habit. Even in this sleepy town, one cocktail can set you back $6 easy. And, as the budget template I downloaded from a Google search has taught me, $6 here and $5 there can add up. Especially given my limited income.

  Being poor sucks.

  Speaking of being poor, did you know banks charge you for being poor? The other day I logged into my checking account and found the bank had charged me $15 fee. The rep I spoke to over the phone explained this was a minimum balance fee, which I incurred when my balance fell below the bank’s minimum limit.

  Luckily, I’d already received my first paycheck by then. Otherwise my bank balance would have dipped into the negatives.

  How is this even legal?

  But I digress. The point is, my broke ass settles for water most of the time. Still, it’s nice having a small group of girls I can hang out with. I hadn’t realized how much I missed my besties. Between my traveling, Liz’s job, and Mag’s baby (pause: WTF! It still blows my mind my besties have BABIES now), it’s practically impossible to get us all together for anything.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Mina suddenly appears, a bit flushed and out of breath. “We have a new waiter at the café and let’s just say he’s a walking disaster.”

  “You’ll get him in line soon enough,” I reassure her. “Boss lady.”

  “Whatever.” Mina rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curve into a smile. Yeah, she likes her temporary promotion. Very much so. Waving at the bartender, she leans across the bar to place her order. “Can we get a round of tequila shots, please?”

  “Whoa. Tequila? What’s wrong?” Fallon demands, slamming down her beer mug with a commanding thump.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just in the mood for tequila.” Reaching for the shot glasses, she distributes the drinks among the three of us. “Bottoms-”

  “No!” Fallon yanks the glass out of Mina’s hand and holds it close to her chest. “The only time you drink tequila is when you’re trying to get shitfaced. And you always regret it the next day. Always. Tequila is not your friend, Mina Costello.”

  “Give me my drink, Fal,” Mina snaps.

  “Not until you tell us what’s wrong.”

  “I told you. The new waiter.”

  “Liar. If it was just the waiter, you would have said so from the beginning.” Studying her friend, Fallon sighs. “Is this about Emily Baker’s party?”

  “No!” Mina’s response is so quick and sharp, I instantly conclude it is indeed Emily Baker’s party that’s upset her.

  “Who is Emily Baker?” I ask.

  “No one!” Mina croaks just as Fallon says, “The snobby local mean girl who used to bully Mina when we were in high school.”

  “Oh. Oh. And she’s having a party?”

  “Yup. She invited the entire town except for Mina.”

  “Well, not the entire town. I didn’t get an invite either,” I point out.

  Fallon waves this aside. “Yeah, well, you’re new. She probably doesn’t know who you are. Though I’m sure she’ll hate you once she realizes the weird relationship you have with my brother.”

  I feign innocence. “What weird relationship?”

  “Oh, come one. You two walk around calling each other Satan and Queen, making heated bedroom eyes at each other.”

  “Hmm,” is my only response to that. I’m not even sure what bedroom eyes are. Though I have to admit, I fantasize about Brody more often than I care to admit.

  What would he look like shirtless? The man’s shoulders and chest look ginormous in a suit. I have a thing for broad shoulders. I don’t know why, but I find them super sexy. The wider the better. And Brody’s are wide, almost as wide as Dwayne Jonson’s. Maybe wider. Who knows? I’ve never met Dwayne Johnson. But it’s comforting to know Brody is perfectly capable of scooping me into his arms and carrying me out to safety should the building ever spontaneously burst into flames.

  What? It can happen.

  “Emily has a thing for the Connors brothers,” Fallon says, interrupting my shoulder fantasy. “She dated Tanner in high school and now she’s got her sights set on Brody.”

  Ew. Why would anyone want to date a set of brothers? Isn’t that awkward? Just imagine Thanksgiving dinner. Hey everyone, remember me? Last year I was with Tanner, but this year I’m with Brody. Now you awkwardly have pictures of me with both brothers and there will be lots of confusion among the children and grandparents, but on the plus side, there’s no need to update your Christmas list. Keep the ugly Christmas sweaters coming, Aunt Opal!

  I have to give this Emily chick credit for one thing though. Brody? Huge upgrade from Tanner. HUGE.

  But back to Mina and the bullying situation. “I don’t get it. Why does she hate you?”

  “Because of Tanner,” Mina grumbles. Huh? Did I hear her right?

  “Tanner?”

  “When Tanner found out about the way Emily treated Mina, he dumped her. Emily’s been a royal bitch ever since,” Fallon explains. “It wouldn’t surprise me if this whole party thing is just her way of trying to rain on Mina’s parade. A way of saying, ‘you may have gotten a promotion, but let’s not forget who is still the queen bee’ type of thing.”

  I shake my head. “Still don’t get it. It
sounds like Emily already hated Mina?”

  “Not hated, exactly,” Mina mutters.

  “More like she’s jealous of how close Mina is to Tanner,” Fallon cuts in. “She has serious insecurity issues.”

  Tanner and Mina are...close? I try to decipher Mina’s expression, to gauge if she’s interested in Tanner romantically, but all I can see are clear signs of misery. Damn, not being invited to this party is seriously bumming her out. Being left out sucks, but to continually be bullied by your childhood tormentor? That’s a rough gig.

  Oooh, evil genius idea alert! This was how I can help Mina!

  “Listen, if you want to stick it to that snobby bitch, I say we show up to her party anyway.”

  “What! Are you crazy?” Mina hisses.

  Fallon quirks a brow. “We?”

  “Yes, we. The three of us. We show up and party. Dance and flirt the night away.”

  “And exactly what will that prove?”

  “Silly, Mina. Haven’t you ever heard the expression living well is the best revenge? We go there and have a better time than even Emily’s having. It will annoy the shit out of her. Trust me.”

  “We can’t just show up at a party we weren’t invited to!”

  “Why not? My brother and I used to do it all the time. You show up, plaster on your best shit-eating grin and, if approached by the host, passive-aggressively thank them for the late invitation. A good 95% of the time, they just say ‘oh, of course’ and then proceed to glare daggers at you for the rest of the night. But we’ll be too busy dancing to care.”

  “Wait, that actually works?” Fallon is skeptical.

  “Yup! Most people will do anything to avoid a scene. Even snobby bitches who get off on being bullies. And if her crush is there, all the more reason for her to be on her best behavior.”

  “You know, Min, I think Charlotte might have a point. If Emily’s trying to get into Brody’s pants, she won’t be catty with you in public. And if she is, you know Brody will have your back. You’re like a sister to him.”

  Mina gawks at us. “You can’t be serious. Crashing her party can’t possibly end well.”