A Brit Complicated (Castle Calder Book 3)

by Brenda St John Brown

  Note: I’ve imagined this scenario eleventy billion different ways. Make this eleventy billion and one.

  My heart leaps, but practical me says, “Why?”

  “You caught me off guard earlier this week and I have to admit, I’m not a hundred percent sure what I’ve done wrong. I thought we were fine.” I hear a tinge of uncertainty in Bradley’s tone that’s not usually there.

  “I think that’s the thing, though. There is no we.” I give him a sad smile as my heart plummets back to where it came from. “When you reminded me what this is supposed to be, I realized I don’t want to be your clandestine lover. Fading into the background isn’t really in my wheelhouse.”

  Bradley smiles a little too. “No, I suppose it’s not. So that’s it then? Game over?”

  “I’m your employee. You’re my boss. I understand discretion is in order, but I don’t like being your dirty little secret. I like you a little too much for that.” I let my voice trail off because, though I’ve practiced this little speech in my head, I couldn’t practice how saying it makes me feel.

  Vulnerable as hell, thank you very much.

  “I like you, too.” Bradley studies me and for a minute it looks like he’s going to say fuck it. It doesn’t matter because this was more than an arrangement to him, too, and we’ll figure something out. But then he nods once and says, “I’ll let you get on with cleaning up your things. I’m sure you’d like to enjoy at least part of your weekend.”

  “Thanks.” I turn back to my paintbrushes. They’re all sorted. The reason I’m fiddling with them is because it gives me something to do with my hands. And I don’t have to look up. Because I’m afraid if I do, Bradley will see the expression on my face, and if he asks me what’s wrong, I’ll tell him the truth.

  I miss him. Way more than I ever thought I would.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  By the time I get home from work on Wednesday night, my whole body aches, my hair smells like turpentine, and I’ve got a streak of Flame Frenzy 3 paint across my chin. All I want is a bath, a cup of tea, and a toasted crumpet. I definitely do not want to talk to my mum when she calls as I turn on the hot water.

  But daughter guilt is more powerful than work fatigue. I leave the water running and walk back out into the hallway. “Hey, Mum. How are you?”

  “Well, I’m good.” Mum sounds decidedly not good.

  “What’s wrong?” I try to recall if I’ve forgotten something important, but I don’t think so. I know I haven’t been calling as much as I should since I was up there for the week, but I manage a couple of calls per week with a ton of texts in between.

  “Your brother called. He and Bea are having issues.” She says issues the same way she says hubby, a word she loathes.

  “What kind of issues?” Crap. I haven’t talked to Bea or Jasper in a couple of weeks either.

  “I don’t know, but he’s talking about coming home for a few weeks. He says he needs a break from Hotlanta.” Mum sucks in a breath. “Last year he couldn’t bear to leave her and now he’s coming home for a few weeks. Something’s not right.”

  “Maybe he just wants to come back to the U.K. for a bit?” He didn’t say anything when I talked to him a couple of weeks ago, but that doesn’t mean anything. “Have you spoken to Bea?”

  “I’ve texted her, but she hasn’t indicated anything’s awry, which makes me think maybe she doesn’t even know?”

  I slump against the wall. “I’ll do some reconnaissance and let you know. But I’ve just gotten home from work and I need a few minutes, so I’ll call you back tomorrow, okay?”

  “Oh, darling, you’re pushing yourself too hard. How are things at work anyway?”

  I know this is Mum’s indirect way of asking about Bradley, but I’m not going there. “Super busy. We have a big client event on Friday and I’m doing the artwork and design for two of the conference rooms, which is a big job. I’m done, though, which is a great feeling. I’ll take some photos and send them to you once the furniture’s in and they’re tidied up.”

  “That’s fantastic, Scarlett. I’m so pleased for you.” She pauses. “And your boss?”

  “Nothing to tell.” I walk back into the bathroom and turn on the cold water. “I’m going to hop in the bath, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  Mum lets me off the hook and off the phone and I brush my hair as I wait for the cold water to work its magic. When I step in and place my phone on the bath tray, the hot water feels amazing and I let myself close my eyes and inhale the steam for a few minutes before propping my phone against a bottle of body wash and pressing FaceTime for Bea.

  She answers on the third ring, squinting at the screen. “Are you in the tub?”

  “I’ll try not to flash you.” I adjust the phone so only my head is visible. “How are you?”

  “Good. How are you? Why are you calling me from the bath?” Bea looks good. She’s tan and relaxed and doesn’t look like she’s having issues.

  I’m too tired to even beat around the bush. “My mum called. She thinks you and Jaz are having problems because he said he might come home for a bit this summer.”

  Bea furrows her brow. “How does that mean we’re having problems?”

  “You might break up?” I shrug. Oops. Boob shot. “Which would be terrible, by the way, since we all like you better than him.”

  “Be nice.” Bea pretend-glares at me. I know it’s not real because I’ve been on the receiving end of her real glare plenty of times.

  “So what is it? Are you two good? Bad? Indifferent? I’ve been instructed to report back, but you know you can tell me.” I wasn’t the nicest when Bea and Jasper were getting together last summer, but I’m sincere now.

  “We’re good, but Jasper isn’t.” Bea’s face drops for a second. Along with my stomach.

  “What do you mean?” I sit up straighter, boob shot be damned.

  “He’s so stressed. One of the guys working in the lab with him is super competitive and Jasper comes home every day ready to kill him. Plus, it’s so freaking hot here he won’t even run to help deal with it all.” Bea bites her lip. “I think if he could get out of here for even a couple of weeks it would do him a world of good.”

  “Are you coming with him?”

  Bea shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m still teaching summer school, and then we’re going to the coast of North Carolina for a week at the end of August. I can’t do both. Besides, I think it will be good for him to go and let your mom and Lou spoil him, read in the garden, and do nothing. Maybe he could even come down to London to see you?”

  “I’d love that, although I’d love it more if you were here, too.” I fake pout. “But I get it. It sounds like Jasper could use a break and you’re being your wonderful self and pushing him to take one.”

  “Stressy Jasper is no fun and it’s not good for him. I want what’s best for him and right now, what’s best for him is to relax and get the hell out of dodge.” More proof that Bea is an absolute saint? She says, “I mean, he’s started doing equations in this little notebook he keeps by the bedside table. I woke up the other night and he was scribbling away, and that’s when I was like, ‘Okay, we’ve reached urgent status here.’”

  “Jaz can be a perfectionist and if something’s not going right at work, he stews on it.”

  Bea grins. “You don’t say.”

  I laugh. “Okay, as long as you’re not breaking up, no one has to panic.”

  “Definitely not breaking up.” Bea says this with so much assurance I don’t bring it up again.

  We chat for a few more minutes until my bath water has cooled. When we hang up, I dip my head under the water. Definitely not breaking up. Bea is so sure. Jasper’s coming home without her – at her insistence – and she’s pushing him out the door. Not because she wants to get rid of him but because she knows she’s doing what’s best for both of them.

  All through toweling off and blow drying my hair – I’ll straighten it tomorrow morning – the same
thought circles around in my head, but I refuse to let it land. Until it does as I stand in front of the toaster waiting for my crumpet to pop.

  If I were that sure of Bradley, what would I do? What could I do? I don’t have an answer yet. But I have a pretty good idea.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I’ve thought about it and thought about it and finally decided. I’m going to tell Bradley I want to give it a go. As in, I’d like to date him and I want to figure out how we can make that happen.

  Note: I believe there’s nothing wrong with a woman asking a man out. I’ve just never done it.

  But that’s what I’m doing if I say those words to Bradley. I’m asking him for a relationship – or at least the possibility of one. I’m not asking him to be an arrangement. Or a fuck buddy. Or a hook up. I’m asking him to be my boyfriend-slash-lover. The slash is because when I think of boyfriend I think of an actual boy. Bradley’s all man.

  A man who owns a very successful company with an implied company policy against coworkers dating and a stated personal policy that makes it a no go. So, asking him for a relationship also means acknowledging that I’m willing to quit my job. Which is way, way, way scarier. Both the possibility and the fact I’m willing to do it. Bradley couldn’t and shouldn’t give up his company. But could I find another job? I’ve bookmarked a few already, so yes, yes, I could. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I also notice that the jobs I’m bookmarking aren’t anything like the job I have, but that’s another realization altogether.

  For now, however, both my declarations and my epiphanies are going to have to wait. At least until after this client party. Which has me tied up in knots tighter than the one I just tied in my dark red halter dress. I’ve learned from experience – a big bow is an invitation when enough drinks have been consumed and my bare boobs flashing the room once was more than enough. Granted, that was a student art reception last year and I doubt there will be many guys at today’s party willing to yank my top down on a dare, but still.

  I glance in the mirror and rub a speck of mascara from my cheek with a damp finger. I need to go if I’m going to get to the new office space by 3:30. I haven’t seen it since the furniture’s been brought in, and to say I’m nervous is a huge understatement. What if my work looks cheap and amateur next to the rest of the décor? What if the furniture Bradley or one of the other designers chose doesn’t match the look and feel of the art? What if? What if? What if?

  It’s not even my event and I’m a giant ball of stress, so I can only imagine what Bradley’s like. Not that I’ve seen him. I’ve been working at the new office all week, and yesterday, my one day in the office, he was out with a client all day. Tom says that Bradley’s cool and collected about today’s party, but I won’t believe it until I see it.

  I give one final glance in the mirror and head back to my bedroom to throw on some jewelry. Tara catcalls as I walk by her open bedroom door, “Whoohoo. Look at you, lovely. You look amazing.”

  I stop in her doorway and twirl. “Thank you. Are you sure you’re not coming as my date?”

  “And give up an afternoon in my bed watching Love Island on catch-up? Are you kidding me?” Tara grins and waves her box of tissues in the air. “Besides, I think my accessories would ruin the vibe Bradley’s going for.”

  “Mmm. But the plague look is in, I’ve heard. Red nose, wild hair, shoulders hunched from hacking up a lung.” I give Tara a sympathetic look. “Can I get you anything before I go?”

  “No. Just come home with lots of photos and gossip and I’ll be happy.” Tara coughs and sinks back into her pillow. “And maybe some more Night Nurse?”

  “I’ll get you some on the way home. Feel better. I’m bringing Tom back with me because he wants to check on you?” It’s not really a question, but this is the first time either one of them have been poorly, so I get Tara’s reluctance.

  She surprises me by saying, “Okay, but he gets ten minutes and then I’m kicking him out. No need for both of us to be sick.”

  I wriggle my eyebrows at her. “There’s a lot you can do in ten minutes.”

  Tara throws a dirty tissue at me. “Sod off and go. You’re going to be late.”

  God. I so am. I run on tiptoe down the hall, throw on a chunky silver necklace and nude Jimmy Choo sandals, and I’m in a black cab in record time. I tap my crimson-painted fingernails on my knee and count to five for every inhale and exhale. It’s an old trick I learned in sixth form to help me calm down before I took my A-levels. It worked then, but it’s not working now.

  By the time I walk in the front door at the new office building, my heart is in my throat and my ankles wobble. Did I eat lunch? I think so, but why don’t I remember? Maybe that’s why I feel so shaky.

  Well, that and…this.

  This being the buzz of voices as I step through the open door. It’s a warm day, but the interior is cool and bright with all the sun streaming through the windows onto the gleaming hardwood floors. It smells clean and fresh and the flower arrangement on the table in the foyer is filled with several different color roses, which smell amazing.

  A uniformed waiter scurries by with Tom on his heels. Who stops abruptly. “How’s Tara?”

  “Not great, but she’s got trashy TV to keep her company.” I look around as another waiter flies by. “How’s it going here?”

  “Good. Have you seen the common workspace yet?” I shake my head and Tom says, “You should go look. It’s phenomenal. And speaking of phenomenal, I predict you’ll steal the show today.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I mean your work is better than even Brad expected. I have a feeling you’re going to bring a lot of work to WS.” Tom’s smile is wide and he looks so pleased in his white shirt, dark suit, and bright blue tie that my heart constricts at the thought I might not be at WS much longer. I like it here. Maybe I don’t love everything about my job, but my coworkers make up for that, and what if I’m not so lucky next time? When I look back up at Tom his smile has faded and his face is filled with concern. “Or not. You know, either way, right?”

  “Sorry. I’m just nervous. I’m glad you like it.” I point to the stairs, as it seems to be my most immediate escape route. “I’m going to go up and take a peek at the workspace. You want to join?”

  “I’m going to check the food situation in the kitchen.” Tom points down the hallway. “And speaking of food, your brownies are here.”

  “Great. I’ll make sure to save you one.”

  Tom grins again. “I already had one, but I could manage another later.”

  “Cheeky.” I roll my eyes at him and start up the stairs, keeping my hand on the polished wooden railing. Later, the stairs will be carpeted, but for now the bare wood gleams and it looks treacherous as hell for these heels.

  When I get to the top, my breath catches. The sun is beaming in through the open windows and streams through the stained glass in the upper panes, painting the floor in reds and blues. Half the room is unfinished, in sharp contrast to the half that hosts several round white tables surrounded by colorful chairs. A handful of cubicles are tucked by the stairwell, and sofas and chairs are arranged by the window. A bookshelf takes up a good bit of the wall behind the sofas and it manages to look modern yet cozy at the same time.

  Footsteps slow on the stairs behind me and I shuffle to the side and turn. It’s Len from IT, looking harried. “Scarlett. I saw your meeting rooms. Well done.”

  “Thanks, Len. The space looks great, doesn’t it?”

  He nods. “It will look a lot better when I get the video cycling through on the smart screen.”

  I didn’t even notice the smart screen, but he points to a white screen on the wall and I see the small rainbow-colored circle of death spinning in the middle. That’s my cue. “I’m sure you’ll sort it. Good luck.”

  Len mutters something under his breath and I tread gingerly back down the stairs towards my meeting rooms. I shouldn’t be nervous, but as I approach, I hav
e to clasp my hands together so I won’t wipe my clammy palms on the skirt of my dress.

  I go to the Brixton pottery room first and the tightness in my chest unravels a little. This room is the one with the fireplace and I’ve chosen deep earthy colors – hello, Flame Frenzy 3 – to make it warm and inviting. My mural is part of the shop window display featuring tall vases and hand-dipped mugs. But the piece I love most in this room is the portrait of the Brixton pottery guy, Robert Bowes himself. I’ve painted the black and white portrait with deep jewel tones and it turned out well, but his grin is by far the best thing in the whole room. It’s infectious and bright and just so damn happy; it makes me smile every time I see it. A few of his coffee mugs sit on the rectangular coffee table, which features a dark blue sofa on one side and two wing chairs on the other – one a deep red and the other a dark gray, pulling from the colors in the mural. The furniture for this room matches perfectly, which is a huge relief.

  However, it’s my Borough Market room that I’m most eager to see finished. I step around the corner and push the door open. The windows are open and light fills the room, reflecting off the clear glass table in the middle of the floor. But what makes me gasp are the chairs. They’ve got chrome legs and arms, but the leather seats and backs are different colors – one white, one bright pink, one turquoise, one yellow, one orange, and one lime green.

  “They are perfect.” I whisper the words into my hands.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Bradley’s voice is soft behind me.

  I whirl around. He’s a couple feet behind me, looking immaculate and wearing that bloody yellow tie. “Did you pick the furniture yourself?”

  He nods. “When I saw what you’d done in here I didn’t want to leave it to anyone else.”

  “Thank you. It’s amazing. I don’t think I could’ve asked for anything better.” I glance around and take in the vase of flowers on the table and the plates of brownies. I turn back to him with a sheepish grin. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty of ordering in some treats.”