by Jill Winters
He laughed at that, the corners of his eyes creasing with genuine amusement. "Exactly. And also... I scare you."
"No you don't," she nearly yelped, surprised. Then realized instantly it was another lie... sort of. "It's just... well, why are you always around when I least expect you?" Scared her? No. Threw her off, shook her defenses, sent her heart speeding inside her chest? Yes. Absolutely.
He paused for a moment, then said, "It's only been twice now." He had a point. But twice in two days? In a city of eight million people? "And one time doesn't even count," he went on casually. "When you set a building on fire, you gotta expect the fire department. You can't blame me for that one."
With a puff of a sigh, she rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it. "I hope you're not gonna yell at me again," she said, weary at the prospect. At the same time, she inwardly fought the nervousness that encroached on her chest with each breath she took.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Why? Do I have a reason to yell at you? You didn't throw one of your girlie rituals this morning, did you? Forget to blowout your candles?"
She nearly groaned. "I'm really not in the mood for that whole speech again." Leaning harder on her hip, tilting her head defiantly, she said, "Like I said, I've got to get back to work. Thanks for the sandwich and for... helping me." She motioned vaguely with her head to the mess she'd made just a couple of feet behind her. Maybe she was being too guarded, too humorless, too much a defensive dud, but she was still irritable from all the pushing and shoving at Lemberto's, then her klutzy, embarrassing debacle, and then, on top of everything, his exasperating presence that inexplicably frazzled her.
Before she turned to go, he squinted down at her a bit, studying her, and said, "Why do I get the feeling that you don't like me very much?"
His voice, low and deliberate, instantly melted her resolve. And what the hell was she so resolved about anyway? Making a fool of herself? Snapping irrationally at the man who'd first saved her life, then saved her boss's sandwich? What was her problem today anyway?
Softening her stance, she let out a small sigh and relaxed her shoulders. With a sardonic twist of her lips, she said, "If I don't even know your name, I can't very well dislike you—yet."
"Oh. Well, let's hurry up and get to the good stuff then. It's Rick," he said. "Rick Pellucci. I'd shake your hand, but I see they're both kind of full at the moment. And I wouldn't wanna bring on another disaster."
With a deprecating grin, she struggled to think of something snappy to say, but her mind blanked; her heart was racing too fast, her palms were beginning to sweat, feeling hot and slippery against the hard surface of the clipboard. Then Rick touched her lightly and smiled at her. It was a devastatingly sexy smile.
"You probably won't believe this, but I'm actually a really nice guy."
Gretchen's stomach fluttered at the gruff but softly spoken words. She wasn't sure if it was the boyish charm of what he'd said, or the low, smooth quality of his voice when he'd said it—or maybe it was his warm, strong hand she could still feel on her wrist even though his fingers had only briefly grazed her skin.
His face was close enough to hers for her to notice the nick along his jaw and the small curved scar on his forehead. She hadn't noticed it before; she'd been looking at his eyes.
"How about a cup of coffee?" he said.
"Huh?" That threw her. "Oh... no, I couldn't possibly... um, when?"
"Now."
"I can't," she said and glanced down at her pile by way of explanation.
"Okay, I'll have coffee; you can have your sandwich."
"No, no," she said, shaking her head, "I couldn't. Like I said, I have work, and—"
"Brody!"
Abruptly, Rick turned his head, then cursed softly. Gretchen followed his gaze and saw Brett coming toward both of them with his hands out, palms up, as if to say: What the fuck? "What's up, man? I thought you said you'd be only a minute." As he came closer, he took notice of Gretchen. A smile spread across his face. "Oh, hey, there." He winked. "What's up?"
She barely got out a hello—she was too stunned. This was the person Rick was visiting? And why was he calling him "Brody"?
"I thought you were coming back to the smoothie place! I told you I'd buy you a fruit smoothie," Brett said, his focus back on Rick. "I drank my smoothie waiting for you. What, you don't want a smoothie?"
"God, not so loud, will you?" Rick muttered.
Comprehension might have been slow to set in, but when it did, it hit with a thud. Holy cow, was Rick... could Rick be... Rick and Brett... brothers?
But Rick's last name was Pellucci. If Brett's last name was Ramero...
Duh. If "Romeo" was fake, "Ramero" could easily be fake, too. Winking again, Brett said to Gretchen, "I see you've met my brother. I hope he hasn't been bothering you."
Fervently, she shook her head as she took in the details. Now she could see a resemblance. The blackish hair. Although Brett's was styled and gelled, while Rick's looked soft to the touch. And the eyes. Both had crystalline blue eyes, bright and beautiful. Rick stood about five inches taller than his brother—but his face was rougher, less striking, less, well, perfect than Brett's.
"Sorry," Rick said to him now, "I should've come right back."
"I can't believe you two are brothers," she said, shaking her head.
Yet even as she processed it, it was extremely hard to believe. Rick Pellucci was the same guy Brett had been talking about at the staff meeting that morning? Rick was the mentally slow or "skittish" unemployed hanger-on whom Brett had been describing in such pathetic detail—the one with the interminable "issues" who worshipped the ground Brett swaggered on? That must be why Brett was afraid to let him out of his sight for too long. Dear Lord... how unbelievably strange.
In fact, it was almost inconceivable. Rick Pellucci seemed way too confident to play second banana to anyone, much less his younger and much shorter brother. (For something of a shrimp herself, Gretchen was ludicrously hung up on height all of a sudden. But she'd tackle her issues some other time—right now she was preoccupied with Rick's.)
Issues. She contemplated the word. What was it Brett had said exactly? She remembered the crux of it was that his brother's morale was in the dumper—and then there was the part about how he wasn't "all there," whatever that meant. A thought occurred to her. If Rick was a fireman (and clearly she knew that he was), then why had Brett said he was out of work?
Instinctively, she gave Rick a supportive smile. Whatever his problems were, whatever the details of his situation, it wasn't her place to figure it out. She gave him another smile—this one spreading closemouthed across her lips, freezing meaningfully on her face, as if to say, Chin up, Tiger, it's all gonna work out in the end.
He just looked at her.
"Yeah, I'm just giving my bro here a tour of the studios," Brett elaborated, clapping Rick on the back. "You having fun so far, bro?"
Rick slanted him a look.
"Oh, by the way, I hope you're coming this weekend, Gretchen," Brett added.
"Coming where?"
"To my house in the Catskills," he replied. "Didn't Susanna mention it? It's my birthday bash. Everyone will be skiing. It's gonna be awesome. You gotta come."
"Oh... well, thank you..." This was the first she'd heard about it, but then this was also only her second day, which raised another point: She didn't particularly want to go to Brett's party. She couldn't ski to save her life. Who would she even know there? Of course, she knew the logical answer: She would meet people there and then she would know them. That was all well and good, but it sounded like a lot of effort for her first week at work. She was more the type to let relationships form naturally with those around her, not to try to force friendships too fast. Or maybe she was just being lazy about this. After all, she didn't exactly have a surfeit of close friends these days. Let's see, there was Dana and...
Dana and...
Okay, this was getting sad. She'd reverted back to the shy, so
litary ways of her youth sometime when she hadn't been paying attention.
"So, Gretchen..." Brett continued. "How are you liking the new job so far?"
"I love it," she replied.
"Working for Susanna, I imagine that's pretty, uh, challenging," he said, smiling warmly and topping off his statement with a wink. He made winking look natural and breezy. He was one of those people who could wink without contorting his face, which was sort of a skill, she supposed.
"Yeah, I've definitely learned a lot so far," Gretchen replied diplomatically. The second day seemed a bit early to vent about her boss being a diva—speaking of which, she suddenly remembered the other errand Susanna wanted her to run that afternoon. This was the perfect opportunity! She had Brett right here; she could pose the idea to him of guest spots on his show. If it would ameliorate Susanna, it was definitely on Gretchen's to-do list, because, the truth was, she really did like her job so far. "Listen, Brett, I—"
Just then someone came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned Gretchen got a look at the girl. She was cute and blonde, probably about twenty-five, with curly hair and an enormous smile bordering on horse teeth (yet still pulling off cute). "I'm sorry to bother you," she gushed in a giggly voice, "but I'm a huge fan of yours..."
She went on to ask if he'd come to her lunch table and sign autographs for her and the other girls she worked with. Apparently they worked across the street, but frequently had lunch at Terra Cottage. He excused himself, saying he'd be right back, and followed the girl to her table.
"Well, don't let me keep you from your work," Rick said casually and gave her a friendly nod. "See ya." He turned to go in Brett's direction, when Gretchen seized an opportunity.
"Wait!" He stopped and angled his head back. "About that cup of coffee," she said, shimmying the stuff in her arms to balance the weight as she came closer. "Let's do that— now." He appeared momentarily confused, but when Gretchen added eagerly, "The three of us," his quizzical expression flattened to one of bland understanding.
She didn't want to leave Rick room to say no—in case he was to tell her that he and Brett were spending the day together or whatever. And she needed this chance to talk to Brett about his show. As it was, Susanna would already be peeved about how late her lunch was, and maybe she wouldn't even like the sandwich Gretchen had had made for her. Think how thrilled she'd be, though, if Gretchen returned with a resounding "yes" from Brett on the guest-appearance question.
But Rick just looked blankly at her, so she pressed on. "I mean, I can see you and Brett are hanging out, so I'm not going to take you away from him or anything. Oh! Not that you have some kind of weird attachment, but... uh... I still can't believe you two are brothers."
When he continued to look expressionlessly at her, she suddenly felt vulnerable, naked. No, forget naked. She felt like she was vulnerable and wearing a pair of ill-fitting, period-stained underpants. That beat naked for unflattering any day of the week.
"Anyway, a cup of coffee—the three of us—sounds like fun," she finished.
Finally, he nodded slowly. "That would be fun," he said, now not really looking at her, but out in front of him, as though contemplating the idea, really nursing it, appreciating its wonder. "But I think I'll pass."
He'd stated it so bluntly that Gretchen felt the blow of rejection almost instantly. "Oh..."
"See ya around," he added with a brief, dismissive wave and walked away.
Just like that he left! Gretchen was left standing there, slack jawed, confused as to what had just happened. Hot color suffused her cheeks, as the embarrassment of Rick's bland dismissal sank in. He'd dusted her—rejected her outright—abruptly and with no explanation.
Well, she couldn't very well trail after him and try to ask Brett about Susanna now. She had her pride, after all. She'd just talk to Brett some other time. Damn his stupid brother!
Turning on her heel, Gretchen sighed, shaking her head, as she moved briskly toward the elevators, hitting the button with her knuckles once she got there. This was ridiculous. Why should she feel embarrassed? He was the weird one; he was the one who ought to feel like an ass. And why did she care so much that he'd rejected her? What she should be frustrated about more than anything was the fact that she hadn't gotten to talk to Brett. As she slipped into the elevator, she told herself that Brett had been right about his brother after all. Hot or not, the guy had issues.
Chapter 9
As Rick waited for Brett to come out of his private bathroom, yet again, he thought about what had happened downstairs. It was kind of hard not to with Brett still carping at him. "I can't believe you, man," he was saying. "Here I hire you as my freaking bodyguard and you go off and leave me—"
"Hire me?" Rick said, swiveling in his chair to face the closed bathroom door. "I'm getting paid for this?"
"You know what I mean. Not hire, but—"
"Beg."
"Fine, whatever. The point is, I ask you to come and watch my back, and then you're off hitting on some chick. I mean, come on, man, this is my life we're talking about."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Rick said, folding the newspaper he'd been glancing at and tapping it against his open palm. Honestly, he wished he had a good excuse. Granted, he really hadn't gone that far, and he'd been pretty much 100 percent sure nothing was going to happen to Brett in the middle of a crowded food court, anyway. Whoever was behind the threats obviously liked toying with Brett, liked being secretive, sly. It seemed unlikely, then, that he'd suddenly burst out of the shadows waving an Uzi. Assuming he was even someone who worked at TCN. And assuming it was even a "he." Rick still hadn't ruled out the possibility that one of Brett's exes was behind this; it could all be a bad joke, and God knew Brett had a boatload of exes.
That said, it was still inexcusable. The fact was, in those moments when he'd realized the girl on the floor was Gretchen, and when the shock had begun subsiding just as the kick he got from being close to her again took effect... he'd temporarily forgotten his brother.
God, what kind of shit am I?
"I mean, I'm gonna need to count on you better than that, bro," Brett continued. "I need protection here." He was really laying it on with this guilt trip, though Rick knew he deserved it.
"I said I was sorry. I'm sitting here guarding your bathroom door while you take a shit. Doesn't that count for anything?"
"Shut up, shmuck," Brett called back, and Rick laughed. After a pause, Brett said, "So you think she's cute? That Gretchen chick?"
Actually... he had until she'd shown her opportunistic streak. The one who thought she was gonna use Rick to get to Brett. The one who'd suddenly become interested in spending more time with Rick once she'd found out that Brett—the big TV star—was his brother. He could still see her now, beaming about the prospect of "the three of us" having coffee—after she'd just turned Rick down, saying she had too much work. But her whole demeanor toward Rick had changed once Brett had come up to them. And what was up with those weird pity smiles she kept giving him?
The faint scent of her perfume seemed to linger, at least in his mind. He couldn't help it—she'd smelled good. Good enough to stir his blood, to send heat right to his groin... and what was with the hot red dress? Damn. She was by far the best-looking girl he'd seen all day.
"Brody?"
"Oh," he said, snapping back into focus. "Gretchen? She's okay, I guess."
"Yeah," Brett agreed. "Actually, she is pretty cute. She's got great tits." Rick smiled grimly. He couldn't argue with that. "But she's not as fit as I like," Brett went on. "I mean, she's not fat or anything, but I dig girls who are more athletic. Tiny, tight little chicks, you know? With hot butts."
"This is a scintillating conversation," Rick remarked dryly, and tossed the newspaper back on Brett's vanity.
Hell, when had they switched gears to what Brett preferred? Who said it was all up to him? But the hell of it was... it was usually true. Which pissed Rick off even further. It was up to Brett. If he dec
ided he wanted Gretchen Darrow, he could snap his fingers and get her. It was goddamn annoying.
"Jesus, are you almost done in there?"
Finally the toilet flushed. Water ran (surprisingly) and Brett came out. "Sorry about that. I guess something didn't agree with me."
Maybe it was the constant consumption of raw vegetables instead of real food, but Rick didn't bother saying it. Instead, he rose from the chair and asked, "And, by the way, could you have made me sound more like a lame-ass tourist down there?"
"What do you mean?" Brett asked.
"Forget it," Rick said, realizing he didn't want to get into it. Who cared how he looked to Gretchen? She was obviously more interested in his brother, so that meant Rick wasn't interested in her. Sure, he might be physically attracted to her, but that's where it ended—cold.
Besides, Brett was obviously anxious to talk about the more serious matter of his safety. "So come on, give it to me. It's almost two o' clock. You've been here for five hours now. What have you noticed so far?"
Rick drew a breath, then shook his head. "Nothing, honestly. If anyone's been lurking around you, they haven't been lurking around me. I checked out the layout of this whole place while you were in your meeting earlier. I've checked the locks to your dressing room, which are secure, but anyone can just walk onto your soundstage."
"But they'd need security clearance on the first floor," Brett countered.
"But if they work here, they already have it," Rick said.
"Oh, good point. I guess that was pretty obvious."
"Have you gotten any more e-mails?"
"I was afraid to check," Brett said.
"Let's do it now."
They booted up his laptop, accessed his corporate e-mail. There was one new message; it was from Susanna Tate. Rick opened it and found a link, followed by a short note from Susanna that read: Thought you'd find this article interesting! It was a piece in the Daily News about the growth of American cuisine in New York City.
"This must be what she'd sent me that she wanted me to see yesterday," Brett remarked.