A Brit Complicated

by Brenda St John Brown

  Okay.

  He falters as he continues. “Or maybe I am asking you because we have a personal relationship. I realize I could ask one of the admins to do it, but I don’t like the idea of someone I don’t know well in my living space.”

  I almost point out that Bradley doesn’t know me that well, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I nod. “Okay. What do I have to do?”

  Bradley’s shoulders drop and the line between his brows eases a little. “Just let them in and stay there while they fix the pipe. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  My back is to the office so I let my lips pucker into a pout. “Maybe you can show me?”

  “I always have preferred actions to words.” Bradley gives a slight nod and says, “What are you doing tonight at eight o’clock?”

  “I don’t think I have plans.”

  “You do now.” Bradley locks his eyes with mine and heat sizzles between us until he looks away and starts rummaging around in his desk drawer. He holds out a set of keys and says, “Here are my keys. The blue is for the front door and the green is for the apartment door. Please feel free to make yourself at home. I have some leftover Chinese from Saturday night in the fridge if you get hungry.”

  I make a face as I close my hand around the keys. “Yuck. No, thank you.”

  “Suit yourself.” Bradley shakes his head, but there’s a trace of amusement on his lips. “And thank you again. You’re saving me from a huge hassle of trying to schedule this for another time.”

  “No worries. I’ll text you and let you know how they get on.” I spin on my heel towards the door, pausing right before I pull it open. “And good luck with Westfield. I’m sure you’ll be fab.”

  I am sure of it. Bradley’s got a great business sense and he’ll bring his A-game to a potential client like Westfield. What I’m less sure of? How on earth we’ve turned into people who text each other. Two weeks ago, that would have been inconceivable and now it’s just something we say?

  My brow is still furrowed when I get back to my desk. I don’t see Tom studying me until he says, “A pound for your thoughts?”

  “Not nearly enough, my friend.” I put my hands on my hips, conscious of Bradley’s keys jangling from my fingers. “Um, you have something to tell me, I think.”

  “Do I?” Tom tries – and fails – to hide a grin. I raise my eyebrows and he laughs. “Okay. Yeah. I don’t know. Do you want some chocolate?”

  He holds a Cadbury bar out to me. “Don’t think you can sway me with chocolate. Talk.”

  “Haven’t you spoken to Tara?”

  “No, because when I got home last night she was with you. When I woke up this morning to come to work, she was still with you. And now we’re at work and I saw you first.”

  Tom blushes. It’s hard to tell with his dark complexion, but I’m ninety percent sure. Then he says, “She took me to the opera place you recommended. We had a great time and ended up back at my place talking. I took her out to brunch on Saturday and here we are.”

  “So you’ve been together since Friday?” My eyes widen. Neither Tara nor I are stay-all-weekend kind of girls. Except now Tara is? And I’m still an I’m-leaving-it’s-eleven kind of girl, if last night is anything to go by.

  The thought makes me feel lonelier than I did walking into my empty flat last night.

  “It just sort of happened.” Tom shrugs.

  “One night just sort of happens, but three? I don’t think so.” I raise my eyebrows and unplug my laptop. “I need to find Tara for the real scoop, obviously.”

  “So you’re decamping over to the architecture team for the day?” Tom points to my bag. “Seems a little extreme.”

  “No, I’m–” I stop myself just in time. I can’t tell Tom I’m going over to Bradley’s to let the plumber in. Not in a million years. “I’ve got a few calls to make for my mum, so I’m going to work remotely this morning. And I’m going to check out a couple photographers for my plan for the new space.”

  “How is your mom?”

  “She’s okay. Frustrated not be able to do more, so driving my dad insane. The usual.”

  Tom nods in understanding and glances down at his computer screen. “By the way, Brad and I talked about your plan last week. I like it. Maybe we can discuss it when you get back? How long are you going to be?”

  “A few hours. I’ll come find you over in the architecture team when I get back.” I grin and Tom rolls his eyes.

  Either I’m a good liar or Tom’s too wrapped up in his own life to question mine. It’s probably a combination of both, but I feel like I’ve gotten away with something when I unlock the door to Bradley’s flat and step inside. Even though I was just here last night, it strikes me all over again how well it reflects Bradley and how different it is from what I would have imagined.

  It’s a gorgeous sunny day and Bradley’s drawn the blinds to keep his art safe from the sun’s harmful rays, so the flat is cool and dim. I’m tempted to fling them open – I know he does when he’s here – but I kind of like it like this. It feels like a cocoon.

  I kick off my heels, ready to settle in on the couch when I hear a rattle from down the hall.

  Fact: growing up in an old, refurbished castle, you learn not to be afraid of things that go bump in the night. Or day.

  I start down the hallway, glancing into the spare room and the guest bathroom. Nothing’s out of place. The door to Bradley’s bedroom is half closed and I push it open. His bed is unmade, which surprises me. When I stayed here that Saturday night he didn’t make the bed, but I had assumed that’s because we were in it most of the time. Last night we never made it off the couch, so I have no idea what his usual modus operandi is.

  I hear the rattle again, coming from the en suite and walk over to peek inside. I see the cause of the noise straight away. Bradley’s left the window open above the loo and the wind is blowing the hangers hooked onto the towel rail against the ceramic tile. I take them down and clasp them in my hands as I survey the bathroom counter.

  It looks like a bomb site. Again, my only frame of reference is the night I stayed here, but I don’t remember it being quite so disheveled. Now, toothpaste is stuck to the counter, a razor and shaving cream lay in a puddle of water and a T-shirt is draped over the edge, covering the loo roll. There are two bottles of aftershave, both with the tops nowhere in sight and a box of toothpicks.

  I stand gaping until I catch a glimpse of myself in the spotty mirror. I look like I just walked in on Bradley making a porno, which might be less shocking. Because, against all odds and against everything I thought and assumed about Bradley Waring-Smith, the fact is: he’s a slob. Maybe just here in his private bathroom, but still.

  I’ve worked in housekeeping and hospitality at Castle Calder since I was ten, so my instinct is to tidy up the counter, make the bed, restore some sense of order, but I don’t. I place the hangers back on the towel rail and pull the window closed just enough so they won’t rattle and inch out of Bradley’s bedroom.

  For all I know, he’d appreciate my efforts, but he just as easily might not. He’s shown me his playful, sensual, and sexy side, but I have a feeling this is a different level. Regardless of whether his bedroom and bath were this messy last night, he didn’t bring me back here because he’s not ready or willing to feel so exposed.

  I walk back down the hallway to the living room and it’s sterile by comparison. Because, even though there are signs of Bradley around, it’s not the same. It feels almost…lacking. I pull my laptop from my bag and settle back onto the sofa. Which is also lacking somehow now.

  And maybe it’s the fact that I was here just last night with Bradley doing all the things we did, but now I want the plumber to hurry up and get here so I can focus on something other than the devil that’s poking me between the eyes, forcing me to admit: being in Bradley’s flat without him makes me feel strange. And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear it feels an awful lot like missing him.

  CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE

  Over the next few weeks, Bradley and I settle into what can only be called a routine. I stay over at his place on Friday and Saturday, becoming a stay-almost-all-weekend kind of girl, although neither one of us suggest I stay on Sunday, too. Then, once or twice a week we detour via his flat en route to the new office space, or we both work late and end up grabbing dinner or sex (or both) afterwards. It’s evolved from a hook up, but we haven’t talked about ‘us’ and I still insist there’s no us to talk about. I will admit – to myself at two a.m. when I can’t sleep – this feels a lot like a relationship and I don’t even mind.

  I’ll also admit that it’s been far easier to carry on discreetly since Tara’s otherwise engaged with Tom. They’re both full speed ahead and she’s all but moved in with him, save for the occasional night she decides she feels guilty for being a bad friend and calls Chardonnay therapy.

  Like now.

  “I always swore I wasn’t going to be that girl, you know.” Tara takes another swallow of Chardonnay. “The one who forgets her girlfriends when a guy came along.”

  I take a bite of pizza. This time it was Tara who was too lazy to go get Thai. “Oh, come on. You were always going to be that girl. You just didn’t think you’d ever find the guy.”

  “I think I’m offended by that remark.” Tara doesn’t look like she thinks she’s offended. She is.

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t act like I’m not right. You never in a million years thought a guy like Tom would come along.”

  “I did. Eventually.” Tara starts to protest, but then she breaks into a grin. “But I figured I’d be at least forty and he’d have a mean ex-wife and two kids who’d hate me.”

  “Instead you get Tom, who’s worldly and nice, and did I mention hot and already half in love with you? Hell, he’s probably in love with you full stop by now, even if he hasn’t told you yet.” I’ve been around Tom and Tara enough to know I’m not just talking out of the side of my head. He’s got it bad. When I’m tired and disenchanted, I feel a little jealous. Tonight, though, I’m happy for Tara.

  “Um, well.” Tara takes another sip of her Chardonnay and looks full to bursting when she says, “He said it last night.”

  “No way.” I jump up and throw my arms around Tara. “And you feel the same way, I assume?”

  Tara beams. “I do. I know it’s fast, but he’s amazing. And I feel like I’m qualified to recognize a prince after all of the toads I’ve kissed.”

  “You totally are. And Tom’s one of the best guys I know. If you weren’t so into him, I’d…” I giggle. “Okay, no I wouldn’t because Tom’s like my nicer older brother, but still. He’s the kind of guy any girl would feel lucky to be with. And, do not sell yourself short, my dear. He’s damn lucky, too.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. He knows.” Tara grins. I’ve never seen her so happy. Her smile widens. “So here’s the thing.”

  “You’re moving in with him?” My heart sinks. I make decent money at WS, but I can’t afford this place on my own and the thought of looking for another roommate fills me with dread.

  “Oh, God no. My father would kill both of us.” Tara takes a breath. “I want to throw him a birthday party in a few weeks.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I furrow my brow. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “I wouldn’t say problem, exactly. It’s just I kind of want to do it here. His place is small and, while it’s fab for just the two of us, five would feel like a crowd.”

  Still not a problem. Tara and I have had parties before. As long as we warn our neighbors, it’s fine. “And?”

  “And I’m hoping you can invite Mr. Walking-Sex?” Tara winces a little like she expects me to yell.

  I’m not going to yell, but I feel a tinge of panic. Why does she want me to ask him? She doesn’t know, does she? I don’t know how she would, but maybe I’ve been more careless than I think I have. I take another sip of my wine before responding. “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you spend time with him. He took you up to see your mum and you go to the new office with him sometimes, so I assume you talk. Tom likes him a lot and I think he’d be chuffed to bits if Bradley was here, but I can’t imagine marching up to him in the glass castle to ask him to a party.” Tara says party like most people say moist. Complete with the facial expression to go with it.

  “But you see me doing that?” I make myself scowl.

  “Oh, come on. Take one for the team. You can ask him when you’re out at the new office. Make it more informal. I hardly ever talk to him, so asking him turns into a thing, whereas it’s something you can mention casually.”

  “Okay.” I shrug. “I’ll ask him.”

  “You’re the best. Thank you.” Tara’s eyes widen. “Do you think he’ll say yes?”

  “I think he might because it’s for Tom.” And he’s relaxed a little. Not that he’d ever admit it, but I even heard him laughing with someone in the kitchen the other day.

  Tara nods. “Okay, good. I’m also going to invite Len from IT and his girlfriend and some people from accounting. Tom doesn’t know that many people out of work.”

  “How many people are you thinking all together?”

  “Twenty max. Anyone you want to invite?”

  I immediately think of Claire and Greyson, but Tom wasn’t a fan of Greyson last time they met, so they’re out. Tara and I have a few uni friends who are possibilities. “Let’s be sure to invite some non-work people. If we don’t mix it up, it will become a night of work talk.”

  “Good point, especially with the boss here.” Tara shakes her head. “Do you think inviting him is a good idea? I mean, I know Tom likes him, but maybe it will make it weird for everyone else?”

  I can say with a good degree of certainty that Bradley won’t care if he’s invited or not. Just because he’s chilled out a bit doesn’t mean he’s not still of the opinion that his presence makes social situations awkward. And, dammit, he’s probably right. But double dammit, I want him to come. I probably need to examine that in more detail, but for now I shrug and say, “I think Tom would be pleased.”

  “You’re right. He would be.” Tara gives a firm nod, then says, “So you’ll ask him?”

  “Sure. I’ll ask him tomorrow.” Or tonight via text, but I kind of want to see his face to get a read on his response.

  “Great. Thank you.” Tara tips back her glass and drains her Chardonnay. “So, who are you going to bring as your date? I don’t even know what’s going on with you these days. Who’s the latest?”

  For a second, I’m tempted to tell Tara the truth. I haven’t told anyone. Not Claire or Bea or even Jasper. The one person who even has an inkling of my relationship with Bradley is Bess from Borough Market because we’ve gotten into the habit of stopping by for a brownie if we’re out wandering around on a Saturday. She’s given me that knowing look but hasn’t put me on the spot, thank God. Because what would I say? To her or Tara?

  Yep. Exactly.

  I shake my head. “There’s no one I’d invite.”

  “Oh, come on. There’s always some guy pining for you.” Tara refills my glass and then grins. “Or maybe you’re holding out for Bradley Walking-Sex? We could figure out a plan to get him drunk so you could take advantage of him.”

  “Uh, no.” That won’t be necessary. I like a drink as much as the next person, but I can count on one hand the number of drinks I’ve had with Bradley. I asked him once and he said he has nothing against a drink or two, but aside from an occasional glass of wine, we seldom drink together and it hasn’t been a factor in lowering his inhibitions. Or mine.

  “I could see you two together, you know. I mean, I think he likes you.”

  I shouldn’t ask. I know better. But with an opening like that I can’t help myself. “Why do you say that?”

  “Oh, come on. He’s way more involved in your project with the new office space than he is in some of the client projects. And I know he’s mentoring you.” Tara puts air quotes around mentori
ng. “But Tom says he’s normally way more hands off with new hires.”

  “Interesting. I don’t know. We’ve kind of gotten to be friends.” Sex or no sex, this is the absolute truth. Still, I sound a bit too sure, so I add, “I think?”

  “Tom says he needs someone like you in his life. Someone who won’t just tell him what he wants to hear.”

  I’m dying to dig, but I can’t. Instead, I say, “If you’re going to become one of those people who starts every other sentence with ‘Tom says’ we’re going to have to have a word.”

  “Oh my God. I’m sorry.” Tara covers her face with her hands. “I really am turning into that girl.”

  “You’re not that bad. Yet.” I give Tara my sternest look, then continue. “So, let’s plan this party. What are you thinking? Food or just drinks? Any kind of theme? Fancy dress?”

  “I think Tom would campaign hard against fancy dress, but love it in practice.” Tara’s eyes dance. “So I say we do it.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  For the next two hours, Tara and I brainstorm and look up decorating and costume ideas on Pinterest. We laugh so much I end up with the hiccups and my mascara smudged from crying with laughter. But we have a theme – Greeks and Romans – as well as a to-do list. Tara’s sorting the drinks and catering. The two things on my immediate to-do list are getting electric candles and asking Bradley.

  Who calls at 11:30 on the dot. Like he’s been doing since I was at Castle Calder. And because I’m super relaxed and have had a little too much wine, I answer with Tara sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Hey. What are you up to?”

  “I just got off the phone with a guy in L.A.” Bradley lets out a long sigh. I bet he’s stretched out on his couch and I try to ignore how much I like knowing that. “I’ve decided all of the stereotypes are true.”

  “What stereotypes?”

  “His major questions were all about our sustainability practices, and then with five minutes left in the call he wanted to talk cost. Which of course is too high because of our sustainability practices.” Bradley laughs. “Dickhead.”