But right when I try to get mad, I think about the gentle way he took care of me—the kindness and concern in his voice—and not to mention the way he left his jacket for me to snuggle up to when it’s freezing outside.
How could he possibly be a red?
* * *
Julia: Thank you for taking care of me earlier today. I appreciate it. I haven’t had a headache like that in a long time.
Bram: No need to thank me. I was glad I was there for you. Right timing I guess.
Julia: You came to bring me a drink this morning?
Bram: Yup, I had this whole spiel too, but the minute I saw you in pain, I took action.
Julia: What was your spiel?
Bram: Well, remember that one time I ran into you outside of the math building and you looked like a living nightmare? Your words, not mine.
Julia: Vaguely.
Bram: I remember it like it was yesterday. You were on the ground trying to find a set of notes. I came up to you asking if you needed help. Without saying a word, you started piling notebooks and textbooks into my hands while grumbling about how much work you had to get done.
Julia: Wow, yeah, I don’t remember that.
Bram: I asked you what would help and you said nothing unless I was able to pull a chai latte out of my ass.
Julia: And then you brought one to me while I was in class.
Bram: Yup.
Julia: That was . . . I can’t believe you did that.
Bram: I’ve always looked out for you, Jules. Always. What affected you affected me. Always has.
* * *
Knock. Knock.
I look up from the glaring light of my computer and blink a few times, taking in the male form in my doorway. Because I took the day off yesterday—nurse’s orders—I’ve been working twice as hard today to catch up. I begged and pleaded for Anita to come in earlier than normal with all the cords I needed, but she said she was promised keys to Bram’s place in The Hamptons for a long weekend if she stayed away until eight. Apparently she really wanted a weekend away this summer.
Slowly my eyes focus and Bram comes into view. Surprised, I sit up straight. “Bram.”
“Hey Jules.” He walks in, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small bag. “Are you feeling better?”
I push my glasses up on my nose. “I, uh. I am. Why are you here?” Although, it doesn’t really surprise me. I would have been more surprised had he not turned up to check on me. He’s often given me moments of his time despite being an incredibly busy man.
“Just wanted to drop something off.” He puts the little brown bag on my desk and then takes a step back and buttons up his suit jacket. “Go ahead, open it.” He nods his head at the bag.
Tentatively, I eye him, wondering what he’s up to. Second day in a row he’s here, acting as if everything is normal and that we didn’t have the most awkward Friday known to man.
“Go on.” He rocks on his heels, a grin tipping the ends of his mouth up.
I tip the bag and reach inside, my hand connecting with something soft and plush. Confused, I pull it out of the bag to find three pairs of fluffy pink tube socks. When I look up at him, he smiles even brighter.
“The first day I met you, you wore tube socks, and ever since then, they’ve been a huge turn-on for me.” He winks suggestively. “Consider it lingerie in my book. Keep those feet warm and those legs sexy. Have a good day, Jules.”
With that, he takes off, leaving me with my mouth slightly agape and my heart racing.
Tube socks? Sexy? What?
* * *
I take a deep breath. God, I hate the smell of pee and mold. I have to leave this tunnel at some point.
But . . . it’s pouring freezing cold rain. The only reason I know is because every person who’s passed me has made a deathly sound and then sprinted up the stairs.
Subway or rain? Subway or rain?
Why didn’t I come prepared?
Knowing I can’t hang out next to this pee wall all day, I suck it up and make my way up the stairs. I’m first hit by the cold and the followed by the hard pounding of rain.
“Christ,” I mutter, my back arching, the water freezing.
I make it up the last step just as an umbrella covers my head. What?
I look to the side to find Bram standing in the rain, his shoulders practically touching his ears as rain pelts his handsome face.
“Bram?”
“Took you long enough to get here. Christ, woman.” He pulls me in at the waist and plasters me against his body, tucking us both under the umbrella. “Come on.” He starts walking me toward my office building.
“Have you been waiting here this whole time?”
“No,” he shouts over the pelting rain, “I was waiting in your office with your favorite breakfast sandwich, but when I realized it was raining, I figured you’d have forgotten an umbrella just like you always did in college.”
Is he serious right now?
“So, you just came out here with an umbrella and waited for me?”
He guides me into my building. Thankfully it’s close to the subway stop so we didn’t have to walk too far.
Shaking out the umbrella, he shuts it and then holds it at his side. “Yeah, I waited. I’ll always wait, Jules.” He steps to the side and calls over his shoulder, “Enjoy breakfast.” Sweeping by me, his jacket brushing past my hand, he walks out the door to a waiting town car that he quickly hops into.
What just happened?
What in the holy hell just happened?
It almost feels like one of those old-fashioned movies where a man lays down his jacket over a puddle for a woman so she doesn’t get her feet wet, but instead of his jacket, Bram offered me an umbrella.
He saved me from the rain, walked me to my office building, brought me breakfast, and took off, leaving my heart pounding and surprisingly wanting more.
* * *
No chai latte.
No socks.
No breakfast.
No welcome brigade as I came out of the subway this morning.
It’s going to be a regular day, and damn it, he’s conditioned me to expect him with a smirk on his face and some sort of present in hand over the last three days. I hate to admit it, but I’m slightly depressed over not seeing him, hearing his explanation for why he’s in my office, or feeling his comforting touch.
Ten o’clock and I’ve barely gotten anything done. I turn back to my emails, determined to at least answer some questions from clients.
Okay. I shake my shoulders, blow out some air, and set my fingers on the keyboard.
Focus.
My eyes dart to the door. Is he here?
No. We’re not worried about Bram right now. We’re focusing on . . . Marge. Marge and her . . . new dog. Will that change her dating color?
I peek out the window and down at the street. Any black town cars down there?
No. Come on, Julia. You’re better than this.
Marge. She’s a lovely blue with a heart of gold. Animals are a great addition . . .
Did I just hear Anita talk to someone? Is someone out there with her?
I press the intercom on my phone. “Anita, is there a visitor outside?”
“Umm, no. Are you expecting someone?”
I nervously laugh. “No, sorry, just thought I heard someone. Carry on.” Ignore the crazy.
This is pointless. I lean back in my chair, hand to my forehead, and groan. What has he done to me? And how did he do it to me so fast? It doesn’t work like this. Little visits to my office should not be able to turn me into a puddle of mush waiting for him to return. I’m a strong, confident woman, after all. My world does not revolve around a man coming to visit me. This is absurd.
I stand from my chair and put my heels on. I need to go for a walk, clear my head, and then help out Marge, who sent ten pictures of her dog in case her dog wasn’t a blue as well.
* * *
“How was your walk?” Anita asks as I barre
l through the doors.
“Wonderful, just what I needed.” I smile and tap her desk as I walk by. “I’m thinking Chinese for lunch. What about you?”
“Sounds good, want me to order?”
“That would be great.”
The minute I pass her, the smile I’m wearing fades and my irritation takes over once again.
Go for a walk, it will clear your mind—that’s what everyone says.
Lies!
They are all lies.
All I thought about was whether or not I would run into Bram. Whether or not I would see Bram today. Whether or not he would be wearing jeans or a suit. God, I love both.
That was not a leisure walk; that was a walking nightmare.
Disappointed in myself, I push through my office door and go straight to my desk where I flip my shoes off my feet and exhale loudly while waking up my computer. I literally hate—
“Do you always blow in here like a tornado?”
Jesus Christ. My heart flips in my chest as I nearly fall out of my chair.
“Holy hell, Bram.” I try to tame my racing pulse. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He chuckles and casually drapes one leg over the other, hands perfectly poised in his lap on the couch. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Jules, but hell, it would have been hilarious if you’d flipped back on your chair.”
I smooth out my skirt and scoot in my chair. “Yeah, real funny.” Even though I’m annoyed from his unexpected appearance, I’m also trying not to show how happy I am either, because if I were to be honest, this is exactly what I wanted. To see him today. Again.
That smirk, those eyes, and the way his dexterous fingers so easily button his suit jacket. He’s confident and secure with himself, and despite his social status, his attitude anything but stuffy. He’s addicting to be around and hard not to think about when he’s gone.
“I’m glad I caught you before I left. I wanted to give you this.” He rises from the couch and picks up another paper bag from the ground before walking toward my desk.
What I really like about Bram is even though he has a lot of money, he rarely showboats the fact. It’s only noticeable if you look closely at his expensive Tom Ford suits or the sexy watch that graces his thick wrist. Every present he’s given me has been in a simple brown bag. No fancy wrapping, no useless ribbons, just a bag. It’s cute. He packaged it himself. It’s also very me.
He hands me the bag and steps back from the desk, both hands in his pockets. “Back in college, Rath used this mug every morning. No one was allowed to touch it, or even think about using it.”
“Really?”
He nods, lips thin. “Yup. It was a mug you gave him in high school. Pictures of you two together all over the damn thing. And you know what? After I met you, I was a jealous motherfucker every morning I saw him drink out of it. I wished I had a mug just like it.” He nods at the bag for me to open it.
I reach in and pull out two coffee mugs, both with a wraparound picture of Bram and me in college. There were photos of us in college?
“One’s for me.” He reaches over and takes one. “I love this photo of us, because it was one of the few times I had my arms wrapped around you. Now, every morning I can have breakfast with you, just like Rath did, and maybe if you want”—he nods at the mug in my hand—“you can have breakfast with me.” He walks toward the door, the coffee mug swinging on his fingers. “Did I mention you look beautiful in that white blouse?” He gives me a parting smile. “Have a good day, Jules.”
Silence sets in my office as his footsteps sound down the hall, my door finally clicking shut. With a heavy feeling in my chest, a weight pushing down on my lungs, I take in the mug in my hand.
It’s a picture from a toga party the boys hosted that I barely remember taking. Bram is shirtless, of course, and I’m wearing a turtleneck with a toga draped over me. I look absolutely ridiculous with my giant glasses and frumpy hair, and yet, Bram is smiling at me.
I study his face, the way he was looking at me. So genuine . . . a loving smile on his face. He’s holding on to my side firmly, and his eyes are trained on me as I smile at the camera. He seemed truly happy to be with me, to have me in his arms. I love this photo of us, because it was one of the few times I had my arms wrapped around you.
This squirrely, nerdy girl who didn’t look like she belonged at all had the undivided attention of the most popular boy on campus.
The same girl has his attention now.
I roll my teeth over my bottom lip, a jittery feeling in my belly, my muscles starting to shake, my mind whirling.
He liked me in college. He even really, truly likes me now. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t some prank. This is Bram putting himself out there, wanting desperately to date me. And even though I’ve tried to deny it—I’ve come up with every excuse in the bag to avoid him—I know deep down, I can’t avoid him forever. There has always been a part of me who’s liked Bram on another level. I’ve just been scared to let her out.
Maybe it’s time I explore that side of me. Maybe it’s time I go out on a date with Bram Scott.
Chapter Twenty-Two
BRAM
Oh here’s a mug, think of me, have breakfast with me, be my girlfriend.
Christ!
What the hell was I thinking?
The look on her face said it all; get the hell out of my office right now, you fucking psycho.
Yeah, her face said that. Her facial expressions are unambiguous.
I drag my hand down my face, wanting to kick myself in my own dick for thinking that she would like a coffee mug with our picture on it. What am I? Five? Apparently, because at the time I thought that was a great idea. I’m so charming, so loveable . . . so freaking dumb.
“Mr. Scott, David Preston is on the phone. He wants to talk about the property on Seventh Avenue.”
I need to get some work done, get my mind off my stupidity, so I take the phone call. “David, how’s it going?”
“Well, well. Thank you. What about yourself?”
Other than I’m a pathetic sack of a man, vying after a girl who thinks he’s an absolute psycho, perfect.
“Great. So what’s going on over at Seventh?”
“Everything is good with the building, we’re all leased out, but I wanted to bring something to your attention. Word on the street is the building next to yours is going up for sale soon. Thought you would be interested.”
I run my tongue along my teeth, that excitement I get in the pit of my stomach when a new acquisition lands on my lap starts to simmer. “Is that so? Do you know what they’re asking for it?”
“Not yet, but I bet if you go in there with a decent price, they’ll sell before it’s even put on market. They want out and quick.”
“Why?”
“They’re selling all their real estate and moving to Tahiti to live on some island they’re in the midst of buying, hence wanting to sell their buildings as soon as possible.”
“Interesting. What other properties are they selling?”
“I’m not sure, would you like me to find out?”
“Yes.” I pick up a pen and start clicking it. “Can you put together a report for me? Give me a rundown of the properties they’re selling, their value, and find out how desperate these people are. And if you can also figure out if there is anyone else interested, I would appreciate that.”
“Not a problem. I’ll have it to you by Monday. Does that work?”
“Yeah, but if you find out these properties are urgent, please let me know sooner.”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, David.” I hang up and for a brief moment, forget about my relationship woes. I haven’t had a new property in over six months, and I’ve been feeling a little antsy about it. Having another building on Seventh would bring my portfolio to the next level. It’s just what I’m looking for when it comes to taking that next big leap.
“Mr. Scott,” Linus says, peeking his head through the door. “I’m g
oing to head home unless there is anything else that you need.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good, Linus. Thanks. Have a good weekend.”
“Are you sure? You seem a little off today.”
I give him a fake smile. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m going to stay a little late, try to get through some of these emails. I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Okay,” he answers hesitantly. “If you need anything, let me know.”
“I will.” I nod in his direction and turn back to my computer.
Inbox overflowing, I flip through the subject lines, none of them even remotely gathering my attention.
When did this happen to me? When did I become so desperate and needy for one woman?
Hell . . . it was the godforsaken fundraiser. I blame this all on Rath . . .
* * *
Seven months ago. The Fundraiser.
“This is some stuffy shit.” Roark lifts a glass of Jameson to his lips. “Look at that lady. She legit has a stick hanging out of her ass.”
He gestures to an older woman wearing a gold dress and her nose halfway to heaven. In one hand she holds a wine glass, pinky out, a diamond the size of my eyeball gracing her finger.
Yeah, he’s right. This event is stuffy as shit, but Rath invited all these socialites for a reason: to raise money for his foundation, Children First, whose goal is making sure no kid goes hungry here in the city. It’s a charity he started a few years back with his now ex-girlfriend. Even though they parted ways, he kept the foundation going because after years of spending time with these kids, his cold and stiff business façade melted, and the kids uncovered his heart. Can’t say it surprises me given how much he’s always cared for his younger sister. It’s in his nature to care beyond most.
Mind you, he’s still a tough-as-nails businessman, but when it comes to the kids, his heart lightens.
“I’m pretty sure that lady you’re talking about is married to Richard Munson.”
The Secret to Dating Your Best Friend’s Sister Page 20