My Fair Brady

by K. C. Wells

  “That would really suit you.” The sales assistant was back, nodding, those eyebrows arched.

  Before Brady could utter a word, Jordan called out his name. He glanced across the store to where Jordan stood in front of a rack of casual jackets, beckoning him and smiling. He held up a dark brown leather biker jacket with one long zipper that went diagonally and three smaller ones, also diagonal.

  “What do you think?”

  Brady touched the soft leather and fell in love. “Oh wow.”

  Jordan held it against him, nodding. “Try it on. And don’t look at the price tag. That’s an order.”

  Brady bit back his smirk. He removed his own plain black jacket and slipped his arms into the leather sleeves. Unhurriedly, he pulled up the zipper. It fit him as though it had been made for him.

  “Oh. Oh, this is… beautiful.”

  Jordan nodded. “It really suits you.” He helped Brady out of it and returned it to its hanger. “I think I’m going to keep hold of this one. And I also think a pair of straight-fit black jeans would complement it perfectly.”

  “Jeans? Really?”

  Jordan grinned. “What did I say? Trust me.”

  That was when Brady really relaxed. There remained one little niggle, however.

  “Jordan, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you bringing me here, but….” He gestured to the gorgeous clothing around them. “This isn’t exactly cheap. You can’t spend all that money on me.”

  Jordan put down the jacket and placed his hands on Brady’s shoulders. “One—you are doing me a huge favor by accompanying me. Two—think of it as a bonus.”

  “Huh?”

  Jordan’s dark eyes were kind. “You do so much for me—and don’t say that’s your job. We both know you go above and beyond your job description on a daily basis. This is small recompense for everything you do. And three—I want to do it.” He smiled. “It will make me happy.”

  Brady’s chest tightened. “Far be it from me to come between you and happiness.” Then he tried to sneak a peek at the price tag.

  Jordan wagged his finger. “Uh-uh. That’s for my eyes only. All you get to do is choose a few more outfits.”

  Not that the shopping expedition went without a few hiccups. When Brady cast longing glances at the Prince of Wales classic-fit shirt, Jordan steered him firmly but gently toward the gray sharkskin tailored shirt or the classic-fit shirt in fine pink poplin. When they got to cardigans, Jordan didn’t even let him get close enough to breathe on them. Brady merely sighed and followed him. But he had to admit, the slim-fit evening shirt in white silk Jordan picked out for him was… gorgeous.

  And when Jordan found him the dark green cocktail jacket and black pants—and a matching bow tie—Brady was officially in heaven. The outfit was so… him, and yet it wasn’t. It belonged to a more elegant Brady, a Brady who wouldn’t look out of place in a roomful of equally elegant party guests. He absolutely loved it, even when Jordan mentioned how the wool jacket might prove a little… warm for the Hamptons in October. Brady would not be swayed, saying he could always take it off. Jordan gave up at that point.

  The sales assistant clung to Brady like a shadow, so obviously that Jordan leaned in close to whisper, “Either he thinks you’re about to steal something, or he wants to give you his number.”

  Brady snickered. “Like I’d want his number.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Jordan gazed across the store to where the young man was watching them. “He seems okay.”

  “If you like pretty boys. Not my type.”

  Jordan chuckled. “You have a type? Do tell.”

  It took all of Brady’s strength not to say he liked older guys with dark eyes, a permanent five-o’clock shadow, and strong, broad shoulders. Instead he coughed. “Yeah—anything except pretty boys.”

  When they finally left the store, with Brady clutching three or four bags of clothing, he was giddy with excitement. Like a little kid, he wanted to go home and try on everything—hardly the behavior of a mature twenty-seven-year-old.

  But Brady didn’t feel twenty-seven. He felt like he was eighteen again, about to go to the prom and longing to dance with Chase Garton, who was without doubt the most good-looking boy in his high school—and who never even looked at him once.

  At least Jordan will be paying attention to me. Not that Brady expected anything to come of it. Not a fairy tale, remember?

  Jordan got off the phone to the car service. “He’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

  “We’re done now, right?”

  Jordan shook his head slowly. “Shoes.”

  “Shoes?”

  “Shoes,” Jordan repeated in a firm tone.

  Brady indicated the store behind them with a flick of his head. “We couldn’t have gotten them in there?”

  Another shake of the head. “We’re going to Christopher Street. And before we get there, you’re not allowed to look at price tags in there either.”

  Brady rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. The shoes are all made from the skin of some rare mountain goat that can only be located in the Himalayas.”

  Jordan widened his eyes. “How did you know?” When Brady gasped, he snorted. “Gotcha. We’re going to Leffot. I buy all my shoes from there.”

  By then Brady knew it was pointless to argue. “I shudder to think how much you just paid for all this.”

  Jordan shrugged. “I look at it this way. I don’t have any hobbies, expensive or otherwise. I go on vacation once a year. So what if I want to spend my money on clothes that make me feel good?” He smiled. “And you too, in this instance. Because you did feel good in that jacket and shirt, didn’t you?”

  Brady couldn’t deny that.

  Jordan nodded again. “And just in case you think I’m being extravagant… Leffot has a selection of ‘preowned’ shoes. Their own brand, but ones clients have sold back to them, in excellent condition. That’s if you don’t mind the idea of secondhand shoes.”

  Brady laughed. “Yeah, right. Secondhand designer shoes. I think they’d be a step up from the ones you’d find in Goodwill, right?”

  Jordan snickered. “Okay, a fair point. But when we’ve finished shoe shopping, that will be it for the day. And seeing as we won’t be all that far from one of my favorite little Italian restaurants, I thought we might have dinner.” He tilted his head. “That is, if you don’t mind Italian?”

  Brady beamed. “I love Italian. And dinner sounds great. Thank you.” Inside he was buzzing. The day was shaping up to be one of the best he’d ever had, and the prospect of dinner with Jordan made it just about perfect.

  “Though I should warn you,” Jordan added. “Palma isn’t exactly huge. It’s a cozy place, and the food is awesome.”

  A cozy Italian restaurant. Someone up there must really like me. Then Brady thought about how much money Jordan had already spent. “On one condition. I buy dinner.” When Jordan opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, Brady shook his head. “No deal. Either I buy dinner—or no designer shoes, preowned or otherwise.”

  Jordan sighed. “Fine. You can pay for dinner.” He stroked his chin. “There’s always McDonald’s on West Third Street….”

  Brady rolled his eyes. “Oh, look, Jordan made a funny. Don’t even joke about it. Not after you have me drooling at the thought of Italian food. And I’m good for it, after all.” He gave Jordan a hard stare. “A pretty good meal, I can deal with. Buying my clothes at Tom Ford? Yeah, not so much, unless it’s one piece at a time on credit.”

  Jordan chuckled. “Just teasing.” He patted Brady’s arm. “You’ll love it.”

  Brady was pretty certain that if Jordan was involved, loving it would not be a problem.

  Trying not to get his hopes up, on the other hand….

  Brady was going to have to be very careful. Because there was the very real possibility that Jordan could break his heart.

  Chapter Eight

  BRADY had to admit, Palma was a real find. It didn’t look like much on the
outside—three slim bifold windows, their frames painted in a creamy yellow—but inside, it was a delight. To one side there was a long wood-topped bar with stools, and at the far end of the bar stood a large earthenware pot, containing what looked like a small tree. To the other side were wooden tables covered in silverware and glasses, with candles glowing. Jordan had been correct: the interior wasn’t all that big, but Jordan told him there were more tables out the back, with a covering in case of inclement weather.

  Aromas assaulted him as they entered, making Brady’s mouth water. “If the food tastes as good as it smells, this is going to be fantastic.” He gave Jordan a quick smile. “This was a really good idea.” Inside his head was an insistent voice that kept repeating, Don’t be stupid. It’s just dinner. It’s not a date. Don’t make it out to be more than it is. Don’t get carried away. It’s not a date. It’s not a—

  Jordan cleared his throat. “Brady?”

  With a start Brady realized the server was waiting patiently to show them to a table.

  Jordan’s eyes sparkled. “You did want to eat, right?”

  Brady rolled his eyes. “No, I thought we’d come here to admire the decor.” He smirked.

  As they followed the server, Brady did his utmost to breathe evenly. If he wasn’t careful, he’d do something stupid, and then Jordan would regret asking him to spend the weekend in the Hamptons. That still felt so unreal. Then he glanced down at his shopping bags.

  Definitely not a dream.

  AFTER watching Brady read through the menu at least four times, Jordan figured he had to step in. “Problems?”

  Brady looked up, biting his lip. “Too many delicious-sounding things on here to choose from. I think I need a little help. Got any suggestions?” He smiled. “I mean, seeing as you come here pretty regularly.”

  Jordan knew that feeling all too well. “Seeing as it’s your first time, let’s go for the whole experience. Antipasti, a couple more courses, dessert….”

  Brady snickered. “Then our next stop will be a tailor’s to let out the clothes you just bought. Because if I eat that much…. Trust me, I could put on ten pounds just by reading this menu.”

  Jordan gave him an appreciative glance. Brady was slim, obviously careful about what he ate. Then it struck him that until recently, he hadn’t paid any attention to how Brady looked. He was just…. Brady. It had taken him being off sick to open Jordan’s eyes.

  “Jordan?” Brady was grinning at him. “You did want to eat, right?”

  “Very funny.” Jordan scanned the menu, then came to a decision. “How about if I choose for both of us, and then you get to try mine too? I recall someone saying he was a regular little omnivore, so I’m assuming there’s nothing I need to avoid ordering.”

  “You’d assume correctly—although this might be a good moment to point out that I have little experience with tentacles, in case you were thinking of ordering something a little more… exotic.” Brady’s eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

  “I take it calamari wouldn’t be too exotic for you?”

  Brady chuckled. “Calamari, fine. Octopus, yeah, not so much.” He shivered. “Too many legs.”

  Jordan cleared his throat. “Can I just point out here that squid have the same number of legs as an octopus? Even if they do have two additional suckerless tentacles for feeding with.”

  Brady stared at him. “Oh my. I’m having dinner with a marine biologist.” He rolled his eyes.

  Jordan had a feeling dinner would prove to be entertaining.

  The server appeared at their table, and Jordan rattled off his selection, along with a bottle of Ros Alba. Then he leaned back in his seat and regarded Brady inquiringly. “So, tell me about Brady Donovan.”

  “What would you like to know that you haven’t already seen on my résumé?” Brady appeared relaxed, which pleased Jordan. This had been an impulse, but once he’d thought about it, dinner was a great opportunity to get to know the man who’d be keeping him company the following weekend.

  “What made you decide to follow this particular career?”

  Brady snickered. “If you ask my mom, she’d say I was born to it. She used to regale all her visitors and relations with tales of how I color-coordinated my closet.”

  “Lots of people do that,” Jordan remonstrated.

  “Not when they’re four years old, they don’t. And then there were the times we went on vacation, and I’d draw up an itinerary of what we’d be doing and when.” Brady shook his head. “Other guys’ moms show prospective boyfriends their baby photos—mine got told embarrassing stories of how really anal I was.”

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Jordan said quietly. “You’re amazing at what you do.” He cleared his throat as the server approached their table, carrying an ice bucket with a bottle of wine sitting in it. Once Jordan had tasted it and the server poured two glasses, Jordan raised his. “To you, Brady. The most efficient, capable personal assistant it has been my pleasure to know.”

  Brady stared at him for a moment before taking a sip of wine. “Can I ask you something about today?”

  “Sure.” Brady’s slightly cautious manner had him curious.

  “I know you said I should consider the clothes a reward for all I do, but this whole makeover so that even my mom wouldn’t recognize me…. That was what you said, right? Well, I just got to thinking… I’m not sure I’d want that. It’s like… you’re trying to change me. So I suppose that got me wondering…. Do I need changing?”

  Shit. Jordan put down his glass. “Listen to me,” he said in a low voice, leaning forward and taking Brady’s hand in his. “No one is trying to change you. You were the one who said you didn’t want to embarrass me, not that you ever could. The new clothes are simply to make you feel good. That’s why I only bought things you were happy with. If you’d wanted that velvet camo jacket, I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.” He smiled. “I might have lifted an eyebrow if you’d wanted that bright pink sweater, however….” Jordan lightly squeezed Brady’s hand. “I only wanted you to go to this weekend feeling confident. And if you want to go in your chinos, white shirt, cardigan, and bow tie, that’s fine by me too.” He released Brady’s fingers.

  Brady shuddered out a sigh. “Thank you. That makes me feel a whole lot better.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Are they irritating you?”

  Brady shook his head. “They rub sometimes. I really need to get used to my contacts. I have boxes of them, sitting on my bathroom shelf.” He lifted his head and smiled, and the breath caught in Jordan’s throat at the sight. Brady’s eyes were beautiful, a deep rich brown that was almost bronze, framed with long dark lashes.

  It wasn’t his place to express an opinion, but Jordan secretly hoped Brady would get used to his contacts too. Then he reasoned that looking into those eyes on a frequent basis would prove a terrible distraction.

  The more time I spend around him, the more I notice that he’s a beautiful man. A gorgeous man, whose personality matched his exterior.

  IS that how he sees me? Efficient? Capable? Then Brady scolded himself for expecting anything else. This was his boss, for God’s sake. The whole shopping trip had gotten his head in a mess. Brady had thought he had a handle on things, and then Jordan totally derailed all such thoughts by holding his goddamn hand. He took a drink of wine and forced himself to be rational.

  This is just dinner. Then I go home, and by Monday everything will be back to normal.

  Except Brady had no clue what was normal anymore. And since when was it normal to go to a weekend party in the Hamptons?

  Thankfully, the antipasti arrived, and Brady shoved aside such reflections in favor of prosciutto di Parma, mozzarella di bufala, and the most delicious focaccia he’d ever tasted. The fried calamari melted in his mouth, so unlike the chewy, almost rubberlike examples he’d tried in the past. He was sure his face was nothing but one blissful smile from the first bite to the last.

  When the
server took away their dishes, Brady let loose a happy sigh. “Now I know why you like eating here.”

  “I gather you like olives,” Jordan remarked dryly.

  It took Brady a second or two to register his words, and then his mouth fell open. “Oh my God. I ate most of them, didn’t I?”

  Jordan chuckled. “You let me have one or two, yes.” He smirked. “I’m hoping to be luckier with the pasta.”

  Brady’s cheeks grew hot, until he spied the twinkle in Jordan’s eyes. He straightened in his chair and lifted his chin high. “You obviously need to be quicker off the mark.”

  Jordan laughed. “My plan was to distract you with a cute server. I figured it was the only way I stood a chance of eating anything tonight.”

  Brady was glad he wasn’t eating the next course at that moment. Spraying one’s boss with half-chewed pasta wasn’t the way to impress.

  The two pasta dishes arrived, and Brady had to admit, the taste of prosciutto-filled tortellini and spinach-and-ricotta-filled agnolotti was sublime. The tomato and basil sauce was the perfect accompaniment, and Brady used his last morsel of focaccia to wipe up every last smear.

  Jordan grinned. “Hmm. Maybe you were right. I do have the number of a good tailor.”

  Brady brandished his focaccia. “This is all your fault. If you bring me to amazing restaurants where the food is nothing short of awesome, what do you expect?” He popped the bread into his mouth and savored its flavor before taking another sip of wine. “And this is delicious.” He sank back into his chair, perfectly content.

  “Anything else I should know about you? Apart from your early penchant for color coordination,” Jordan added with a smile. “Do you come from a large family?” When Brady blinked, Jordan gave an embarrassed shrug. “I’m amazed at how little I know about you after three years of working together.”