“There are some things I like to keep private in my life.” Jessica crossed her legs at the ankle and wiggled her foot back and forth.
“We know that—jobs, marriages...” Jessica’s head jerked up as her father pushed off from the sofa and joined his wife at the bar. “Would you like another beer, Simon?”
“I’m all right.” He raised his bottle, which was three quarters full. “But maybe Jessica wants a drink.”
“Jessie?”
“I’ll take two. You knew about my job at CSM anyway, didn’t you?”
Brett drew his brows together and carefully poured the martini mixture from the pitcher into a glass, filling it half-full.
“Don’t be naïve, Jessie. You had to figure a slick customer like Evan Chase would turn right around and tell me he hired you.”
“I didn’t realize he knew my identity...at first.” She rose to take the glass from her father, pinching the stem between her fingers to avoid touching his hand.
These Bretts were a cool lot. At least with each other.
He’d felt Jessica’s heat and passion up close and personal.
“Are you still running around using my maiden name?” The Ice Queen turned to Simon. “Jessica prefers the simplicity of my maiden name, Jones.” He nodded as if he knew people who changed their surnames all the time. Jones wasn’t a helluva lot more simple than Brett. Jessica obviously preferred distancing herself from her family, name and all. At least in his family’s household, people yelled and screamed at each other. All this civil rancor between the Brett family gave him a headache.
And the Brits were supposed to be the ones with stiff upper lips.
“Yeah, Evan hired me as Jessica Jones, so I didn’t think he made the connection. Then I found out you owned the Waves, and everything sort of fell into place.” She took a deep drink of her martini and met Simon’s eyes over the rim of the glass for the first time since she graced him with that little wave.
Was that supposed to be some kind of explanation about why she didn’t come clean with him? If so, the volley went way over his head.
“Really, Jessie, when you think about it, why else would a sports agency hire you?” Brett flicked his hand in her direction.
Simon shot a glance at Jessica, standing stiffly by the wet bar as her father returned to her mother on the sofa.
Her lip curled, but her eyes glistened with tears. Bloody bastard.
“Jessica’s great at her job.” Simon jumped up from the deep cushions of the chair and walked toward Jessica, blocking her from her parents’ vision. He winked at her.
“She swooped down on me at the airport, clipboard in hand, lists of tasks, agendas, schedules. She had it all together, the picture of efficiency.” Brett snorted. “Isn’t that the night you went out on the town and got arrested for vandalizing the Hollywood sign?”
“Uh, no, that was another night.”
“The night you drove your Ferrari into the ocean?”
“Another night completely.”
“Sounds like Jessica’s been efficiently getting you into trouble ever since you landed on American soil.” Jessica’s eyes shone with humor instead of tears, and Simon touched his beer bottle to her glass and grinned.
“No, I’m afraid that’s all me, sir. I told you before, I court trouble and trouble flirts back.”
“And I told you before, Simon, if your propensity for the spotlight interferes with your soccer-playing abilities, we’ll have a problem.”
“And I told you before, sir...”
“Oh shut up, both of you.” Jessica plunked her glass on the granite counter of the bar. “Where’s Ken Richards, or was this dinner invitation just a ruse to expose me to Simon?”
Her parents exchanged glances and said in unison,
“Expose you to Simon?”
“I already told your parents I knew their daughter worked for me through CSM.” Jessica’s eyes widened, and Simon squeezed harder. “I explained how you told me as soon as I mentioned Roger Brett’s name.”
“W-well of course I did. I meant expose all this to Simon.” Her arms flailed around the room, encompassing all its luxury.
“I’m sure Simon’s not surprised by our wealth. His soccer teammates must’ve told him something about Roger Brett. The Ice Queen’s green eyes narrowed.
Jessica possessed the same color eyes as her mother, but without the glaze of frost.
She might still believe she and her husband arranged this little surprise for Jessica, but he’d protect Jessica from admitting her deception in front of them. Not that he planned to let her off the hook with him.
“So is Richards coming or not?” Jessica pulled away from his grasp, but rewarded him with a tremulous smile.
Brett answered, “He’ll be here later for dessert.”
“Where’s R.C.?” Jessica turned to Simon. “My brother.”
“Upstairs playing video games, as usual.” The Ice Queen wrinkled her nose. “I’ll tell Pilar to get him down here.”
“Pilar already got me.”
A teenage boy, an iPod shoved in the pocket of his jeans and ear buds stuck in his ears, lumbered down the two steps to the great room. Simon’s gaze darted back and forth between the slender forms of the Brett women and the overweight boy slouching against the wall. Jessica’s brother probably had his father’s build, but while Brett had a husky, fit physique, his son had layers of fat hiding his.
“Where were you?” Jessica flew across the room and hugged her brother, placing a kiss on his chubby cheek.
“Didn’t Mom and Dad tell you I was coming for dinner?”
“Yeah, but you’re always late, so I figured I had plenty of time to download some new music.”
“What are you listening to these days?” She snatched the ear buds from his ears and plugged them into her own.
“Not Lot 49.”
“Yeah, me either.” She giggled, raised her eyes to the ceiling for a few minutes and threw the buds back at him.
“That’s crap. R.C., this is Simon Bosford.” R.C. hoisted his shoulders off the wall and crossed the room to Simon. “Yeah, I know. One of Dad’s athletes.”
“Nice to meet you, R.C.” From R.C.’s tone, it sounded like he thought Dad’s athletes were a bunch of wankers.
From his body, it looked like he wanted to make sure he never joined the ranks of the wankers.
“I’ve been working as Simon’s assistant.”
“I heard.” R.C. folded his arms and stood in front of his sister. “Did Dad get you that job?”
“Not really.” Her eyes glittered. “At least I didn’t think so when I took the job.”
R.C. nodded and a current of understanding seemed to flow between the siblings. He lowered his voice. “Then why do you still have the job?”
Jessica spun around to her parents, their heads together in conversation. “Is it time for dinner yet? I’m starving.”
Everyone gravitated to the dining room across the massive hallway, and Simon almost tiptoed to avoid all the land mines planted around the house.
As Pilar served them, Simon sought to break the uncomfortable silence with an innocuous question. “So, R.C., are you in high school or at university?” The eating noises of clinking silverware and glasses ceased, and Simon glanced up to look around the table.
Brett clutched his knife and fork on either side of his plate, looking like he wanted to plunge them into someone. Mrs.
Brett held a napkin to her lips as if ready to hurl at the table, and Jessica clenched the stem of her water glass, a crease between her brows. Only R.C. seemed unaffected by the simple question.
“I’m a senior in high school, and I’ve already been accepted at Otis.” He sawed into his steak and popped a piece into his mouth.
Otis. The word dropped like a heavy piece of cutlery in the middle of the table. Otis must be a bad, bad thing. Kind of like the word football at the dinner table in his childhood home.
Simon cleared his throat. “Otis?”
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“Otis College of Art and Design,” Jessica explained.
“If you went to Otis and majored in fashion design, I could help you out.” Jessica’s mum crossed her knife and fork carefully at the edge of her plate. “I still have my contacts in the fashion world.”
“Do I look like a freakin’ fashion designer?” The kid had a point there. He didn’t look like Project Runway material as much as Project Ton-Weigh. While he congratulated himself on his cleverness, Simon shifted his gaze back to R.C. where it collided with an accusing finger.
“Even the dumb jock can see how ludicrous it is.” R.C.
wagged his pudgy finger in Simon’s face.
Simon’s blood seared through his veins. Nobody called him a dumb jock and got away with it...except his old man.
He snatched R.C.’s finger and crushed it. “Wait a bloody minute. Who are you calling a dumb jock? I can kick your ass in any sport and read more books than you in a week.” R.C.’s eyes bugged out, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Okay, man, you’re on.”
“You’re challenging me to a speed-reading contest?” Simon’s gaze slid to Jessica, sitting next to her brother wearing a matching grin.
“Nah, I’ll take you on in basketball. We have a court in the back. We also have tennis courts and an Olympic-size swimming pool, but I can’t swim for shit, despite what you’ve heard about the floating abilities of fat asses.” Jessica giggled, but the outraged voice of her mother interrupted her. “Roger Chandless Brett the third, you watch your manners and your language. Maybe if you spent more time socializing and less time in front of your computer, you wouldn’t come down here insulting our guests.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Brett.” Simon avoided the sight of Jessica snorting laughter out of her nose. “I’ve endured worse insults than that.” He released R.C.’s finger. He liked the kid. He was a little outrageous around the edges like his sister. “So if you’re not going to be the next Isaac his sister. “So if you’re not going to be the next Isaac Mizrahi, what do you plan to study at Otis?”
“Computer animation.”
“For animated films?”
“Mostly for video games.”
Brett swallowed his grunt with a swig of wine. “We’ll see.”
The rest of the dinner passed without incident, at least no further insults to his intelligence, no jabs at Jessica’s competence, and no more mention of the big white elephant, Otis.
Must’ve been tough growing up in this household. The Bretts had high expectations of their children, but no confidence or faith that they could meet them on their own.
The Bretts laid out the expectations and then provided the means to achieve them, not allowing Jessica and R.C. to prove what they could do.
Looks like one sibling had a mind of his own. R.C.
knew what he wanted to do, and it didn’t look like he was going to let his parents stand in the way. And Jessica? Did she tell her brother the truth? Did she know her parents got her the job with CSM or not? Not that he blamed her. He made a habit of taking the easy road and didn’t have the right to criticize her for doing the same thing.
After dinner, R.C. skipped dessert, for probably the first time in years, to change into shorts for the basketball showdown. The Bretts passed on the excitement, but Jessica followed them out back.
Simon stood at the edge of the brick patio, inhaling the heavy, sweet scent of jasmine in the night air. The grounds extended as far as the eye could see. A covered pool with a cabana occupied one half of the backyard that stretched past the patio. A trail curled down through lush foliage of the yard to a lighted tennis court and a basketball court next to it.
Okay, maybe the two Brett siblings didn’t have it so bad growing up here. This set-up sure beat the smell of heavy industry and the train tracks that scarred the landscape behind his childhood home.
Simon followed R.C. down the trail to the basketball court, and Jessica reclined in a lawn chair to watch the match-up.
Despite his girth, the kid had some moves, and within fifteen minutes sweat dampened Simon’s shirt. He unbuttoned it and tossed it to Jessica on the sidelines.
“Whoa, the dumb jock has to show off his rippling muscles.” R.C. taunted him as he tried to steal the ball from Simon.
“Bring it on, fat ass.” Simon dribbled the ball around R.C., shot, and missed.
R.C. scrambled for the rebound, but he doubled over with laughter and collapsed in the middle of the court.
Simon tripped over him and sprawled on his hands and knees.
“You guys are pathetic.” Jessica giggled.
“Jessie, Ken Richards is here.” Jessica’s mother traipsed down the path in her high heels, walking just like a model should.
Two men accompanied her, an older bloke and a younger one, both outfitted in khaki trousers and Oxford shirts. Must be the solicitors.
“Look who he brought along, Jessie, your fiancé.” Joanna swept her hand to the side as if presenting prizes on a game show.
Simon felt rooted to the asphalt. He jerked his head toward Jessica, still lounging, one long leg crossed over the other. She didn’t even have enough shame to be embarrassed.
He pushed up from the court to scrutinize the two men
—must be the younger one—and if Jessica wasn’t embarrassed, the two bright spots on the bloke’s cheeks indicated he was, and he didn’t even know Jessica had slept with Simon. Did he?
“In your dreams, Mom.” R.C. scooped up the basketball and fired it at Jessica’s fiancé. “Little one-on-one, David?”
“No, thank you, R.C. Joanna, you know Jessica and I broke up several months ago.”
Simon forced air back into his lungs, starting to breathe again. An ex-fiancé. Did she have any more exes stashed away somewhere?
“Actually there never was an engagement, Mom. David and I just pretended to get you off our backs.” Jessica sauntered toward the group and dangled Simon’s shirt between her fingertips in front of him.
He snatched the shirt from her hands and shrugged into it. Ms. Jessica Jones Brett had a lot of explaining to do, and she’d better do it without that little smile playing across her lush lips and those long, dark lashes fluttering over her dewy eyes. He’d prepared once before to confront her about being Roger Brett’s daughter, and she’d waylaid him with her sweet touch and spicy lips. He wouldn’t let her off so easily this time.
Once Jessica made the formal introductions, leaving off the ex-fiancé part, she grabbed Ken Richards’ arm and pulled him toward the house. “Come on Ken. Let’s go over those papers, if you really have papers.”
“I do have papers.” He swung his briefcase out to his side.David took a step up to follow them, but Jessica placed her palm flat on the buttons of his crisp Oxford shirt. “We don’t need your expertise, David. I’m sure your boss can handle it.”
David shrugged and stepped back. “Maybe I’ll play basketball with Simon and R.C., although tennis is more my sport.” He turned toward Simon. “Do you play tennis, Bosford, or just kick a ball around?”
“I just kick balls.” Simon narrowed his eyes. Where did David’s hostility come from? Maybe Jessica was only pretending about the engagement, but David obviously hoped to make it a reality.
“You play tennis like you have a stick up your ass, David. I bet Simon could beat you even if he never played before.” R.C. stood, legs astride, tossing the basket ball up in the air.
“What do you say, Simon? Care to play a game?”
“Sorry, mate, I’m all played out. The fat kid gave me a right workout on the court.”
R.C. fired the basketball at Simon. “And I’m ready to take you on again, Dumb Jock.”
Simon grabbed R.C. around the neck in a head-lock and then shoved him over. “The only thing you need to take on is a shower.”
“I’m going to get my dessert if there’s any left over.”
“Why don’t you skip it tonight? It wasn’t that good anyway.”
R.
C. jogged up the steps to the path and turned his head over his shoulder. “I’ll be sure to tell my mom’s cook you said so.”
Simon laughed and collapsed in a lawn chair, and David sat on the edge of the chair across from him.
“Don’t think you can befriend that boy or help him out.” David removed his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief he’d pulled out of his pocket. “He’s got a sarcastic tongue.”
“So does his sister, but that doesn’t seem to deter you.”
“Don’t let her protestations fool you, Bosford.” He carefully placed his glasses on the bridge of his narrow nose. “Jessica and I will be engaged, and we’ll get married.
And it will last a lot longer than her marriage to that freak, Jimmy Doe.”
“I think you better tell Jessica that because I just watched her shoot you down in front of her brother, her mother, her solicitor...and me.”
“Oh it will happen because her parents want it to happen.”
“Last time I looked, Jessica was an adult. Her parents don’t control her life.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” David made a guttural sound. “And she allows them to do so.”
“She thought she got the job with CSM and as my assistant on her own. She didn’t know her father owned the Waves.”
“You’re right there. She never would’ve taken the job if she knew Roger owned the Waves, but it’s what she did once she found out that speaks volumes about Jessica.” The guy made Simon sick, and he had a strong urge to flatten his skinny nose with his fist. But he had to admit that sinking feeling in his gut had as much to do with his uneasiness about David’s assessment of Jessica as the man himself.
David had to be wrong. If Jessica’s parents had her under their thumbs so much, she’d be toeing the company line and keeping him out of trouble instead of encouraging him in his revels.
“You’re full of shit, mate.” He rose from the lawn chair, buttoning his shirt.
“Why do you think she’s working overtime getting your name and picture splashed across the tabloids every day?”
“What?” Simon’s hand jerked so hard, he pulled off a button.
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