“I don’t think she has anyone like that in her program since the whole dating philosophy is to help match girls just like her: smart, strong, and confident.”
“Voodoo pokers can be all those things,” Roark says. “You never know until you dig deep in the closet of skeletons they’re hiding.”
Christ. I rub my head with my palm, feeling a headache starting to form behind my eyes. I know I don’t plan on taking any of these dates that Julia sets me up with seriously, but I also don’t want to be trapped by a clinger or someone who’ll pluck a strand of hair from my head and use it against me down the road.
“What do I do? I have no idea how to answer these questions.”
Roark and Rath exchange glances, both of them nodding at the same time before turning toward me, their silent conversation irksome. “Just randomly fill in the bubbles,” Rath says. “You have three hundred of these questions, right?”
I slowly nod.
“Just fill out the sheet, because this is only the beginning.”
“What do you mean?”
Rath pops a chip in his mouth. Crunch. Crunch. The sound echoes through my apartment as the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “Didn’t she explain the way this works?”
“Just that there will be testing for a week. Isn’t that the three hundred questions?”
Rath chuckles and shakes his head. “No, man. This is just one of the tasks you have to go through. There will be reading material and interviews. You’re only at the beginning. There is a whole science to what Julia is doing and answering some questions—”
“Three hundred questions isn’t some questions.”
“Either way, you’re at the very beginning. You have a marathon ahead of you, man.” He pats me on the back. “I’m so glad I’m not the one who lost.”
I lean back in my chair, slightly defeated. Hell, what did I get myself into? And how the fuck will doing this shit win Julia . . . as mine?
Chapter Six
JULIA
Sophomore year, Yale University
“Where have you been?” Clarissa asks, making room for me at the table she’s claimed in the library.
“Ugh,” I groan, sitting down and flopping my books on the table, scattering my crap across the surface. “Professor MacKenzie went on a rampage today.” I toss my paper about human behavior on the table, showing the slaughtering it took from Professor MacKenzie’s red pen.
Eyes wide, Clarissa picks up the paper. “Holy shit, what the hell happened?”
I slouch in my seat. “I got MacKenzied. She hated everything about my paper and spent the last two hours reiterating why she hated it so much.”
“She gave you a C?”
I nod. “She said that was generous.”
“What was she going to give you if she wasn’t being generous?”
I give Clarissa a pointed look.
“An F?” she asks, completely shocked as I once again, nod.
“She said it was failing material. The only reason she didn’t fail me was because my editing was impeccable and because I quoted her.”
“Oh, how thoughtful of her.” Clarissa rolls her eyes. “That woman is an egomaniac with too much power.”
“Tell me about it. I don’t know if I’m going to be able to bounce back from this grade. She made it quite clear that she thought I was dumb, and the only thing I had going for me was my ability to pay attention in class long enough to quote her.”
Clarissa takes a sip from her water bottle. “I hate to say it, but . . . that woman needs some self-love. Next paper you turn in, include a vibrator and a subscription to some porn website. Might help ease the tension she clearly has coiled inside of her.”
“If you’re trying to guarantee I fail this class, then that’s the way—”
“Julia,” a deep voice interrupts from behind. Moving closer, a guy in tight-fitting jeans and a forest-green sweater comes into view. “It’s Julia, right?” Slowly, my eyes work their way up to the man’s face, taking in his narrow waist, broad shoulders, five o’clock shadow, and light green-blue eyes.
Bram Scott.
I swallow hard. The man’s beauty is hard to avoid becoming wrapped up in the minute you feel his presence.
I met him for the first time at one of Rath’s frat parties a few months ago. Both of them were drunk off their asses and slurring their words almost beyond recognition. They both wore cardigans with no shirts on underneath, sleeves rolled up, looking like total tools, but even though I knew they were the definition of douche that night, I couldn’t help but notice how attractive Bram was and the way his eyes raked over me a few times, taking in my stay away from me outfit.
Rath warned me that if I didn’t dress like a homeless person, frat boys would bombard me, so I took his advice and dressed down. It worked, for the most part, yet some guys didn’t seem to mind the tube socks. Specimen A in front of me being one of those guys. Surprisingly.
Although the outfit wasn’t too far from what I normally wear. I’m not really into fashion. I have a few set things I like to wear, overalls and tube socks included, and I leave it at that. Clarissa, on the other hand, has more fashion sense than I do as her headbands match her shirts.
“Am I right? Or am I thinking you’re someone else?” He bends slightly, trying to get a better look at my face.
“Um, no, I’m Julia.”
“That’s what I thought.” Without an invitation, Bram takes the chair from behind him, spins it around, and sits in it backward, resting his arms on the back of the chair, his powerful legs straddling the seat. “How’s it going?”
A little startled with how close he is, I scoot back in my chair to create some distance. I push my hair behind my ear and adjust my glasses. “Fine.”
“Yeah?” He studies me and then takes a look at the table where he immediately spots my paper. I snag it from view, but it’s too late. “Looks like you got the red mark of death.”
Embarrassed, I stuff the paper in my backpack and turn away from him, sitting properly in my chair, unlike him. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing? What class?”
“It’s none of your business,” I snap. This is mortifying. My first ever C, and my brother’s best friend has to see it.
He holds up his hands in defense. “Hey now, I’m not trying to upset you, just help. I’m a senior, seasoned if you will, and I know my way around the faculty and how to please them. The frat has an excel sheet with every teacher listed on it—what they teach, their weaknesses, cravings, and what they can’t get enough of on top of their grading scale. Our fraternity might be the house with the most parties, but we also have the highest grade point average, and it’s not because we’re all intelligent motherfuckers. It’s the excel sheet. So come on, I can help you. Who’s the teacher?”
I eye him suspiciously. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Nope. He tugs on my hair, but I swat his hand away, causing him to shake his head and laugh. “You’re Rath’s little sister. He’s my best friend, therefore I look out for his people, which is you.”
“I think I’m good.” I turn back to my bag where I pull out my laptop.
Watching the entire exchange from across the table, Clarissa sticks her nose into my business by saying, “Julia, don’t be dense, you need his help. I don’t think the vibrator is a viable option.”
I squeeze my eyes shut the minute I hear the cocky tone in Bram’s voice. “Vibrator? Things just got interesting. What kind of vibrator are we talking about?”
“There is no vibrator.” I open my computer and enter my password.
Not knowing when to stay quiet, Clarissa adds, “She has Professor MacKenzie for human behavior. The lady seems to have a distaste for Julia.”
“Clarissa,” I snip at her, but she doesn’t heed the tone.
Leaning over the table, she holds her hand out to Bram. “I’m Clarissa by the way, Julia’s best friend.”
; “Ex-best friend,” I mutter.
Bram takes her hand in his and gives it a gentle shake. “Bram Scott. I’m Rath’s best friend.” He turns to me and says, “So you got MacKenzied, huh?”
Bram doesn’t seem like a guy who’s going to quit with a brush-off, so I press my fingers to my temple and lean my head toward him. “I did.”
He nods in understanding. “She’s a fucking piece of work. It took us two years and six brothers to figure out what her deal was, but once we did, we aced every single assignment.”
“Really?” My eyes widen.
The way his smirk stretches his mouth out to the point that the smallest of dimples appears makes me wonder how many women this man captures in his little web on a daily basis.
“Really.”
“Okay . . . so what’s the trick?”
His smirk grows. “Oh, so you’re interested in my help now?”
I roll my eyes. “If you’re going to be a dick about it, forget it. I don’t need your help. I’ll just ask Rath.”
“Okay”—he shrugs his shoulders—“ask Rath.” Shocking me, he quickly stands from his chair and swivels it back to its matching table. He gives us a curt nod and says, “Ladies, happy studying.” With a wink, he takes off toward another table across the library, fist-bumping a few guys as he passes.
God, he’s annoying.
“Why didn’t you let him tell you how to get around MacKenzie?” Clarissa’s mouth is practically hanging open in shock.
I pull my phone from my backpack. “Because, he’s one of those guys who thrives on knowing everything. I know his type well, and giving in to the dangling carrot he was hanging over my head would have done me no good. It would have only indebted myself to his arrogant ways.” I start typing out a text. “I have other ways of getting the information.”
I shoot a text to Rath.
Julia: Hey, do you have an excel sheet about how to handle all the professors?
The dots start bouncing, Rath responding immediately.
Rath: I don’t personally. Bram is in charge of it. Want his contact info so you can ask him?
Ugh, of course.
I press my forehead against the table, slowly pounding it against the hard wood.
“Let me guess,” Clarissa cuts in. “Bram is in charge of it?”
“How bad do I want to do well in this class?”
“You want to do well in every class. This will bother you to the point that you will bother me, therefore, you better stand from your chair and march your ass over to Bram to figure out the secret.”
I groan even louder. “I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
She’s right, I really don’t.
This is going to be incredibly painful, giving in to his arrogance, letting him “win.” God, I hate this with every bone in my body. It’s not really about hating Bram, but he’s the obvious choice for my anger at this point.
My chair scrapes against the ancient hardwood floors, my body slumped and defeated. “Fine. But please note how hard this is for me, to give in to his annoying knowledge.”
“I’m well aware, and I’m also aware that hard work and studying isn’t going to get you anywhere with MacKenzie. You need the key to success.”
“I really, really do.” With heavy steps, I make my way toward Bram, who has a book in hand and a highlighter in his mouth, his eyes moving back and forth over the page in front of him. He’s slightly slouched in his chair, and he seems so overconfident, and for some reason, that really irritates me.
His table is full with three other guys taking up space, two of them on their computers, the other highlighting just like Bram. All at once, they all look up at me besides Bram, their stare blazing a hole of embarrassment straight through me.
Keeping his eyes trained on his book, Bram says, “Let me guess, Rath sent you over to me because he doesn’t have access to the excel sheet?”
I count to ten as my jaw shifts back and forth. “For the record, I don’t like you.”
He finally lowers his book and sets his intense gaze on me. “You know, that hurts, Jules.”
“Don’t call me that. My name is Julia.”
“Well aware, sweetheart.” He pats the empty chair next to him. “Take a seat.”
“I prefer to stand.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He gives me a once-over, his eyes lingering on my Bermuda shorts that hover just above my knees. “Are you really that stubborn?”
“I’m here for information about a teacher, not a chat, so if you don’t mind divulging what you know about Professor MacKenzie, I’ll be on my way.”
The guys at the table take in the conversation, never once adding to it or turning away either, just watching as if they’re watching a TV show, waiting to see what happens next. News flash: if Bram doesn’t spill the beans quickly, the next thing that’s going to happen is a swift kick to his crotch.
Brutal? Maybe, but I’m not in the mood.
I’ve never had such a hard time in a class before and it’s bothering me. I’ve worked hard for my near-perfect grades. I’ve studied my ass off. School is everything to me and if there is a code I can’t crack but have the answer at my disposal, I’ll take it. Hence why I’m impatiently standing in front of Bram Scott.
Smiling, Bram sits up and sets his book on the table along with his highlighter. He clasps his hands together and nods toward the chair. “Sit like a normal person and I’ll tell you how to handle MacKenzie. I refuse to tell you as you hover over me like a blood-thirsty vulture.”
“I’m not a vulture,” I scoff, reluctantly taking the seat next to him. I ensure my body language is as closed-off as possible, mentally building a fortress around me . . . moat and all.
“You’re sure acting like one.” He rips a piece of paper from his notebook, picks up a pen, scribbles across it, and then hands me the paper.
I can barely read what he wrote, his handwriting sharp and slanted. “James . . .”
“William James,” Bram offers. “Every paper you write for MacKenzie should be focused around William James’s theories with additional quotes from MacKenzie herself. Even if she talks about other theories, always circle them back to William James.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup, the minute you center your entire paper around William James is the minute you start acing the class. The theory has been tested at least five times, which means, it made it into the excel sheet. Works like a charm.”
“You’re serious.”
He keeps his eyes trained on me when he says, “Hayward, how did you ace MacKenzie’s human behavior class?”
A guy from another table turns toward Bram and says, “William Fucking James, my savior.”
A smile curves at the corner of Bram’s lips. “See. William Fucking James. Trust me. You’ll have MacKenzie eating out of the palm of your hand.” With a wink, he picks his book back up and returns to reading.
I glance at the torn piece of paper in my hand and then back up at him.
Conflicted, I can’t figure out if I want to punch him in the eye for being so damn arrogant, or throw my arms around him, showing him how thankful I am for the information.
Neither seem appropriate so instead, I dismiss myself and walk back to my library table, a brighter pep in my step, excited to test out the new theory. I’ve never had to resort to this level of manipulation to pass a class, so the humiliation of seeking Bram’s holy grail for passing better work.
Bram better be right.
Chapter Seven
JULIA
“Hey, Linus.”
Bram’s assistant looks up from his computer, fingers still poised at the keys. “Miss Westin, it’s a pleasure to see you. You’re here for your three o’clock with Mr. Scott?”
“Yes, is he ready?”
Linus nods. “I think he’s about to finish a conference call, but he told me to send you in when you got here.”
I clutch my purse strap tighter and ma
ke my way toward Bram’s office, wondering when it became okay for me to make “office calls.” Since I started my business, all interviews have been conducted in my office, yet here I am, for the second time, meeting Bram in his building, on his time.
I blame it on his ability to convince anybody to do exactly what he wants. He’s a charmer, someone larger than life and so exhilarating at times that you can’t help but get caught in his web. It’s another reason why I’m nervous to have him in the program, because he could easily break a lot of my clients’ hearts with one simple smile from his full lips.
When I push through his door, he’s walking back and forth in front of his window, Bluetooth attached to his ear, hands in his pockets.
I’ve seen Rath conduct business, and he’s ruthless and tense. Bram is nothing like Rath in the way he works. He’s so carefree, easygoing, and the only thing that gives him away is his intense glare and the way his voice drops when he’s determined. The man is a millionaire, and that didn’t come from relaxed business acumen or an easygoing attitude. He’s focused and tenacious, and has probably never lost a deal or not achieved any goal he's pursued. In that way, we are very much alike. And in that way alone.
The minute he spots me, his eyes zero in on my dress and then quickly snaps to my eyes. He brings his hand to his earpiece, says “Send me a report,” and then hangs up. He sets the Bluetooth on his desk and rounds the corner only to lean against the surface and cross his arms over his impressive chest. That grin is terrifying to be on the receiving end of.
“Hey Jules, thanks for coming by.”
Remember last time when I noted he’s attractive? I meant it. It isn’t only the way he looks with his messy dirty-blond hair, or the constant scruff caressing his jaw, or the fullness of his lips. It’s the attitude he possesses, the way he carries himself—confident and charismatic. Thankfully, over the years I’ve come to know Bram on a different level, meaning, I think I’m one of the only girls who’s crossed his path and resisted him.
The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister Page 5