A Brit Complicated

by Brenda St John Brown

  “It’s been a pleasure.” I stuff the brownies in my bag next to the bottle of wine and glance at my watch. I’ve got a little over half an hour until I’m supposed to be talking to James Townsend. “Okay, I have to run, but I’ll be back tomorrow for Tom’s cake.”

  “Great. Come after three. I’ll keep it in the refrigerator until then.”

  Bess waves me off and I swerve through the market. As I nibble on the butterscotch brownie in a cab on the way to the new office space, I mull over the fact that Bradley’s been a Bess’ Brownies regular since we’ve stopped seeing each other. It’s weird, right? It’s not like he’s eating away his sorrows, and he made it pretty clear he doesn’t fancy Bess. So what on earth would take him down to Borough Market three or four days a week for a brownie? Obviously, he and Bess have interacted enough that she calls him Brad. I mean, Brad? I’ve had his cock in my mouth and I don’t call him Brad.

  I’m still dwelling on this when I walk into the new office building. It’s ridiculous because it has nothing to do with me, but something about it niggles at me.

  “Hey, Scarlett,” Anthony’s voice calls across the long hallway. “Are you looking for Brad? He was here, but he left about twenty minutes ago. Said he’d be back later.”

  “No, I’m meeting the photographer in a little while, so I thought I’d sneak over a little early on a Friday afternoon and chill in my favorite space.”

  “Good plan. My guys are just finishing up. Let me know if you need anything.” Anthony steps onto the first stair. “You still have a key, right?”

  “Yep. No worries. If you’re still here, I’ll yell when I’m leaving.”

  Anthony says something that sounds a lot like ‘cheerio’ as he heads up the stairs and I make my way back to the Borough Market room, closing the door behind me. I sink down into the pink leather chair. It matches my scarf. I always have been good at accessorizing. Maybe I should sit in the yellow chair and I can look like the wrapper for that kids’ bubble gum, Hubba Bubba. Or is that green and pink?

  Either way, the thought makes me smile. So when my phone rings on cue at four o’clock, I answer with a grin. “This is Scarlett St Julien.”

  James Townsend’s assistant says, “Hold for James Townsend, please.”

  This makes me smile more. I don’t know why, but I think it’s because it’s more than a bit pretentious and James, with his floppy hair and wrinkled linen trousers, doesn’t come across that way at all. James comes on the line thirty seconds later. “Scarlett. I’ve been looking forward to talking with you.”

  “Thank you. Me, too.” It’s true, even if only so I can get it over with.

  “I imagine you’ve had a lot to think about,” James says.

  “I have. As you know, my experience with WS has been very good. I’ve had opportunities here that I doubt I would have had elsewhere.” I pause for a second. Not for dramatic flair, but because I need a deep breath. “It’s been a difficult decision.”

  “I’m sure it has. Bradley has an incredible team, as you know, and WS has a lot to offer.” James’ tone reminds me of my dad talking about the new chain hotel being built in Windermere, the nearest town to Castle Calder – practical and measured.

  “They do, but I can’t ignore the potential I see at Kincaid for someone with my background.” This time I take a deep breath and it is for dramatic flair. And to steel myself. “I’m interested in your offer, but I’d like to know if you’ll match my offer from WS financially?”

  “And if I say no?”

  You’ll be calling my bluff, sir.

  Aloud, I say, “Considering you didn’t ask what the offer is makes me think that’s a rhetorical question.”

  James laughs. It’s rich and deep and if it’s meant to lull me into a false sense of security, it works. “You’re a clever woman, Scarlett. It’s no wonder Bradley wants to keep you on.” James pauses. “What’s your offer from WS?”

  I tell him the number. Which is generous for entry level and I know it.

  James lets out a low whistle. “That’s a good offer.”

  “I know.” I press my knees together so hard it hurts.

  “Do you think you’re worth that much as a greenie?” James used that term a lot when we met for lunch, talking about the process inexperienced employees go through at Kincaid. Now I feel like he’s using it to remind me I’d be one.

  “I’m not as green as a brand new grad, so yes. The question is, do you think I’m worth that much?” I’m glad we’re not on a video call because I’ve started biting my lip now.

  “I’ll give you two grand less and include private health insurance. We also have a travel discount scheme and a portfolio of other benefits, so I daresay you’ll recoup your two grand and then some in perks.” James’ voice has an air of finality to it.

  “I think I can work with that.” I push the chair back and start pacing, just to burn off some of this energy.

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” I hear a smile in James’ voice. “I’d like to start onboarding you as soon as possible. Fiona will be your team leader and she’s going to be on holiday the last two weeks of August, so the sooner the better.”

  “But I still have a contract with WS to finish.” I’ve stopped pacing because I can’t keep it up while my stomach churns like this.

  “Brad said your major projects were nearing completion. As I understood it, there was a possibility of you being released from your contract as early as next week.”

  “Next week?” I grip the back of a chair. “Um, I…maybe. I’ll, um, have to check.”

  “Okay, you do that and I’ll get the paperwork started on our end. If you text me after you’ve sorted your dates, I should be able to get a contract over for you to review within a day or so,” James says.

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  If James notes my sudden lack of enthusiasm, it doesn’t impact his. “If all goes well, you could be at Kincaid by this time next week. I’m looking forward to it, Scarlett. I think you’re going to be terrific.”

  “Thank you. Me, too.” My voice isn’t as robust as James’, but I don’t think he notices. I promise to be in touch and we hang up.

  Which is just as well because I have to sit down. I sink into a chair and bury my hands in my hair. Next week? I’m not ready. I still have to finish the last meeting room. Granted, it’s the smallest one and this time Anthony and the guys have painted the walls for me, so my job is just the art. But still. I’m not ready.

  Did I already say that?

  I must have.

  And I must have said it out loud because a low voice behind me says, “Does this mean you’ve taken the job?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I lift my head. Bradley’s standing five steps away in his charcoal gray suit and purple paisley tie, hands thrust in his pockets. His eyes are steady on me and he looks relaxed and easy –the opposite of how I feel. He also looks damn good to me. Still.

  Realizing this does not make me feel any more relaxed.

  “Did you take the job with Kincaid?” he asks.

  I nod. “I think so.”

  “You think so.” He frowns. “That feels like the kind of thing you should know for sure.”

  I offer a half-smile in response. “Yes, I took the job. But I need to iron out some details.”

  “Like?” He raises an eyebrow at me.

  “James seems to think I might be available to start as early as next week.” It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Apparently you’ve given the okay for that?”

  “It makes sense, rather than get you involved in client projects at WS you won’t be a part of.”

  “True.” I study my fingernails. The pale pink polish on my middle finger is chipped. I pick at it as I say, “Are you not going to make me a counter offer?”

  “Do you want me to make you a counter offer?” Bradley’s voice drops a notch.

  I take a deep breath. Pick a little more of my nail polish. Look at my mural on the w
all for a good minute before letting my gaze slide back to Bradley. I take another deep breath for good measure and shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  Bradley smiles, if you can even call it that. “That feels like the kind of thing I wish you knew for sure.”

  His words unleash the tension I’ve been holding in all week. I rise from my chair, my voice a little too loud. “Does it? That’s funny because you know what I wish I knew? What you want from me. You knew I had this offer sitting on the table, and you know what the implications are for me choosing the offer with Kincaid versus staying at WS. You knew and you couldn’t have made yourself more scarce. As if you can’t be arsed to even talk to me about it?”

  Bradley’s brow furrows and he takes a step closer. But just one. “Is that what you think? You think I was avoiding you because I can’t be bothered?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. How would I because we’ve not even said more than three sentences to each other since Tuesday when you told me about James’ offer. You dropped a bombshell on me and then disappeared.” I throw my hands up. “I know you’re not obligated. I know we don’t have an arrangement anymore, but I kind of thought you had more common courtesy than that. What would you think if you were me?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that I was avoiding you on purpose?” Bradley’s voice hardens around the edges.

  “Uh, yeah. That’s exactly what I thought.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Then tell me, how could I see you and not ask you to refuse the offer at WS? It’s your decision, Scarlett. It’s your future. What right do I have to impose my feelings on you? None. You’d be the first to say I haven’t earned that right and I agree with you.” Bradley rakes a hand through his hair. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have a strong opinion.”

  “So you wanted me to take James’ offer?” My heart beats in time with the thoughts swirling in my head. “Why?”

  “Jesus Christ. I’m half in love with you. Do you not know that?” Bradley takes another step forward. He’s close enough to touch now.

  “How would I know that?” I shake my head. “We were an arrangement, and every time we’ve talked since we stopped–”

  “I’ve asked you out. Dinner. Drinks. Dinner and drinks.” Bradley gives a rueful smile. “You’ve shot me down every time.”

  “Because I knew the minute we slipped back into spending time together, we’d be back in your bed.” I furrow my brow. “Besides, you weren’t exactly direct.”

  “Let’s stop with you critiquing my method of asking you out and focus on the first part of what you said.” This time when Bradley smiles, it’s one of his after-hours smiles. And it’s lovely.

  “Do you mind if we focus on what you said?” It’s taking a whole lot of willpower not to reach out and tug him closer.

  “Which thing?”

  “The thing where you said you’re half in love with me?” Even saying the words makes my stomach somersault.

  “More than half, to be honest.” For the first time since I’ve known Bradley Waring-Smith he looks unsure, like he expects me to kick him to the curb.

  “And that’s why you don’t want me to work for you?”

  He nods. “That’s why I don’t want you to work for me.”

  I can’t keep the smile from creeping onto my face. Just like I can’t resist tugging on his tie and pulling him close until he’s pressed up against me. “I guess it’s a good thing that I took that other job, isn’t it?”

  “So fucking good.” Bradley’s mouth is on mine in an instant and his kiss is passionate and rough and so filled with need, it takes my breath away.

  His hands are everywhere – cupping my ass, fondling my breasts, sliding up the backs of my thighs. But mine aren’t still either. I run my fingers through Bradley’s hair before slipping my hands underneath his suit jacket and running them down his hard chest, resting on his belt buckle. He backs me up until I’m half-leaning on the glass table and I break away from his kiss, panting hard. “I’m not sure this table is going to hold us.”

  “It will if you turn around, but I’m not done with the front of you yet.”

  No, no, he is not. By the time I’m bent over the glass table and hear Bradley’s belt buckle being undone, I’m ready to climb out of my own skin, I’m so turned on. He moves closer and pushes my skirt up and his hand has just skimmed the tiny lace string of my thong when I hear, “Scarlett? Are you back here?”

  I jump up and pull my skirt down, hissing, “Christ. It’s Nicola. She’s dropping off the canvases for room three.”

  Bradley’s expression is torn between incredulous and amused. “I’m not sure she should come in here.”

  I look down at his cock standing at attention in his boxer briefs and feel an ache hit me right between my legs. “Hold that thought.” I take a step towards the door and call, “I’m down here, Nicola. Do you need help carrying anything?”

  Bradley mouths, “I do.”

  I don’t even look at where his hands are, but I grin and walk out of the conference room. Nicola’s got a large canvas in one hand and I take the small one from her other and lead her into meeting room three. She’s talking about traffic and the rain coming this weekend, but I’m barely listening.

  My attention is on conference room B and the man inside. He’s in love with me. Halfway, at least. Which is as good a starting point as any for whatever happens next, when we’re not boss and employee, but two ordinary people falling in love.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  When Bradley and I show up at my apartment Saturday afternoon carrying Tom’s birthday cake and a carrier bag full of liquor, Tara’s first glance takes in my clothes – the same ones I wore yesterday – and my face – make-up free, lips swollen. But Tom is the one who says, “Well, this is interesting.”

  “Very,” Tara says. She takes the cake box from me and sets it on the table. “Can I have a word?”

  “Sure.” I follow Tara into her bedroom, ready to confess everything.

  But she starts. “You’re doing the walk of shame with Bradley Walking-Sex? At five in the afternoon?”

  “Um, yes. But it’s not like that.” I have to swallow before I can say the next part. “We’re kind of together.”

  “As in you shagged him and now he thinks you have a thing?” Tara asks.

  “As in we have a thing full stop.” I don’t know why I’m finding this harder to say to Tara than I did saying it to Tom. Maybe because it makes it more official? “I love him, T.”

  “Bloody hell. Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?” Tara steps back and looks me up and down. When I don’t laugh she says, “Oh my God. You do. You freaking love Bradley Walking-Sex. How does he feel?”

  “The same. More so, I think. He’s had more time to get used to the idea than I have.” I can’t help smiling. “It’s a little surreal.”

  “Holy hell. You’re in love with Bradley Walking-Sex?” Tara puts her hands on her hips. “He was the guy, wasn’t he? Your Saturday night special?”

  I grimace. “We hooked up, but it got weird. Then yesterday we kind of had a come to Jesus moment.”

  Understanding starts to dawn on Tara’s face. “You took the other job.”

  I nod. “It’s an amazing opportunity, plus nothing could happen with Bradley if I worked for him.”

  “Wow.” Tara shakes her head. “I mean, you two are perfect for each other, but I’ve never heard you talk like this. I’m tempted to ask what you’ve done with the real Scarlett St Julien, but I think she’s right here in front of me. Glowing. I’m so happy for you.”

  I smile so wide, it’s a wonder my face doesn’t crack. “Thanks, me too.”

  “So, are you, like, together here tonight? Because everyone’s going to wonder if they all of a sudden see you canoodling in the corner with the boss.”

  We talked about this over breakfast this morning – Bradley made French toast and bacon that was amazing – and decided tonight wasn’t the night to go publi
c. “I don’t want to take the spotlight from Tom, so no. There will be no canoodling. He’s staying for the party, but neither one of us want to make it into a thing.”

  “Tom might appreciate you taking the spotlight from him.” Tara looks me up and down again, this time with a smirk. “Although if you don’t change out of yesterday’s work clothes, you’ll be in the spotlight whether you want to be or not.”

  “Good point. Let me go put some jeans on and I’ll be right there to help.”

  “Okay.” Tara shakes her head again. “I’m going to go try to wrap my head around you and Bradley Walking-Sex as a couple.”

  “Good luck. I’m not sure I’ve wrapped my head around it yet.” In fact, I know I haven’t.

  But as the four of us get everything ready for the party, it feels normal to have Bradley here after the first twenty minutes or so. I’m not going to lie, the first twenty minutes are awkward as hell, but once we all have a beer in hand, it’s a lot better. It doesn’t hurt that Bradley jumps in and starts helping with the food.

  Even Tara forgets her self-consciousness. “You know, you could be a lot more relaxed in the office and people would be okay with it.”

  Bradley raises an eyebrow, but shakes his head. “I don’t think I could. My dad was career military and I was taught from birth that you carry yourself a certain way in public.”

  “You do realize your company isn’t the military?” I ask from the other side of the kitchen, where I’m chopping tomatoes for salsa. Tara and I agreed that even though the theme of the party is Greeks and Romans, chips and homemade salsa are a must.

  “I do, but there are a lot of people who depend on me, and I feel like I need to live up to their expectations. Besides, I’m not one of those people who’s good at organizing company football tournaments or thinks it’s fun to play air hockey in the break room.” Bradley shakes his head. “That’s better left to someone like Tom. He enjoys that kind of interaction and people can tell.”

  To be fair, Tom is pretty ace at that sort of thing and when he gets a company air hockey tournament together, people clamor to participate. Tom says, “You’ve got to know your strengths. Everyone’s good at different things.”