by Hart, Emma
I spun.
And froze.
Open-mouthed, mid-chorus, I stopped on the balls of my feet, staring at Brantley in the doorway.
Oh, shit.
The grin that stretched across his handsome face was disarming, and it was clear to see that he’d been quietly laughing his ass off as he watched me.
I took a step to the side, my bare foot kicking the paint tray. “Ouch!” I grabbed my ankle and hopped to the side, leaning against the dry wall. “Um…Hi. I didn’t see you there.”
He just grinned at me.
“How long have you, um, been there?”
“Long enough.” His eyes sparkled.
Oh god.
“Oh goddddd,” I moaned.
“If this building thing doesn’t work out for you, can I suggest the X-Factor?” He rubbed his hand over his mouth.
I blushed furiously, my cheeks burning right red.
“I have to be honest. If I knew I’d be getting a show, I’d have come home half an hour ago.”
“I was just taking a break. Stretching, you know.” I let go of my ankle and gingerly put my foot down. “Getting rid of some cramp.”
“Is dancing to Demi Lovato conductive to getting rid of cramp, then?”
“How do you know it’s Demi Lovato?”
“I listen to the radio in the car, you know.”
“Right. ‘Course.” I turned and paused the music, taking a second to realize why I didn’t know he was coming: I’d turned the volume right up. “I’ll just…” I waved my brush. “Get back to work.”
“Are you sure you don’t have the Macarena on that list?”
“One song!” I threw my arms out. “One song. God. Everyone does it.”
“Generally, not with paintbrushes.”
“I improvised. Sue me.”
He laughed, pressing his hand against his stomach. “Come on. It’s lunchtime. I stopped in to the Coastal. I got lunch and an interrogation.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you accidentally buy too much, or…?”
“No, I deliberately bought you a sandwich. Marcie told me your favorite, then proceeded to interrogate me about dinner last night.”
“Oh no.” That meant my mother knew and I could expect a visit tonight. “What, um…What did you say?”
“I told her I couldn’t tell her anything because a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but that you left later than she’d been told.” He winked and ran out of the room.
My eyes widened. “No, no, no! You did not say that!” I ran after him. “Brantley! Brant! No! Tell me you didn’t say it!”
He had his hands flattened on the kitchen table. He leaned forward, laughing.
I pointed my paintbrush at him. “Tell me you’re messing with me!”
“Nope. Sorry. That’s what I told her.”
“No! Oh my god! My mom is going to kill me!”
He laughed even harder.
I darted around the side of the table.
“Oh, shit!” escaped his lips as he ran around it.
I stopped where he’d just been. “I swear, I will paint you with this brush if you don’t tell me you’re messing with me. I cannot cope with this.”
“I gave them something to gossip about!” He held his hands up.
My heart skipped a beat. Oh no, no, no. “You have no idea what you’ve just done!” I ran back to my side of the table, and he went back to his. I was still waving the paintbrush menacingly in his direction. “I’m going to kill you!”
He waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
I glared at him.
Clearly, he had no idea how determined I could be.
Three times. I chased him around the table three damn times to the sound of his laughter and my frustrated shouts.
“Stop it! Come here so I can paint you!”
“That,” he wheezed, gripping a chair to catch his breath, “would be so much sexier if you weren’t chasing me around my kitchen table.”
“Urrrrr!” I half-growled, half-groaned.
I feinted to the right—but went left. The exact same direction Brantley went in.
“Ha!” I grabbed his arm and slapped it with the paint-coated brush bristles.
“Damn it, Kali!” He reached for the brush, and before I knew it, he was chasing me around the table.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to give him the brush. Who knew what mess he’d make in an effort to get me back for that measly mark on his arm?
Judging by the mess the twins were capable of…He’d make me regret ever pointing my paintbrush at him.
“Give me the brush. Now.” He dad-voiced me, holding his hand out expectantly.
I folded my arms, carefully keeping the brush close to my body without getting paint on myself. “No. That voice won’t work of me. I have twenty-six-years of practice of resistance against the Dad-Voice.”
“Worth a try. But, still… Give me the brush.”
I shook my head. “I’m not giving you the brush, because I know exactly why you want it.”
“All right. I gave you a chance.” He darted forward.
A scream left my mouth. I ran around the table once, before making a grave error—I ran out of the kitchen. Into the living room and around the coffee table before running into the hallway.
And running smack into Brantley, who’d apparently been waiting for me.
“No! Nooo!” I wrestled to keep control of the brush, but he had me. One strong arm clamped around my back, and his other hand fought for the brush. I wriggled and tugged with all my might, both hands on the brush handle while I laughed.
I wasn’t giving up, but neither was he.
A fact I realized as he angled the brush and swiped it down my face.
“Oh my god!” I released the brush with one hand and wiped it over the paint.
He laughed harder than I’d ever heard him laugh, and my whole body vibrated with the sound. Even through the annoyance that I was, once again, covered in paint, I couldn’t deny the attraction that pooled deep in my tummy.
“I told you to give me the brush!”
“Never!” I fought back, just missing getting a mouthful of paint. I managed to get the brush across his jaw, turning his stubble pink before he regained control and wiped it over my cheek.
Honestly, I had to wonder what someone would think if they could see us. Two grown-ass adults fighting over a paintbrush, both covered in pink paint.
“Oh my god, stop!” I giggled as he tickled the brush down my neck. Wriggling away, he clamped his arm tighter around me and held me against him. I managed to turn away from him, almost twisting my wrist as I kept my iron-clad grip on the brush. “Let me go!”
“No. I warned you, and you didn’t listen to me. This is your punishment.”
“Being covered in paint isn’t a punishment. It’s a daily occurrence.”
“You’re right. This is backfiring. Can you stop wriggling?”
My mouth formed a tiny ‘o’ as realization struck. My ass was snuggled carefully against his crotch, and I wasn’t the only person strangely turned on by this paint fight. Then… “Let me go.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“You’re right. It’s not.” I deliberately wriggled my ass against him. “Now, let me go.”
He gritted his teeth and slid the brush down my cheek.
“Ahhh!”
“Stop moving!”
“Let me go!”
He sighed. “We’re at a stalemate, aren’t we?”
“No.” I wriggled again, poking my ass out a little further.
“Stop it.” He painted my cheek again.
I wiped my hand on my shirt and covered my eyes. I would keep this up as long as he kept up his painting. It was already going to end badly, and there was no way I’d be able to look him in the eye after having his cock rub against my ass, so what did it matter?
“Kali…” His voice was lower, almost dangerous in its roughnes
s. “If you don’t stop moving, I’m not going to be responsible for how hard I shove you against the wall and kiss you.”
That almost sounded like a challenge.
“Against the rules. I’m working,” I breathed.
“Given that my cock is twitching against your ass, and it’s your fault, I don’t think you can use that as an excuse.”
“If you’d just let me go…” I dropped my hand from my eyes since he seemed to have given up painting my face for now.
“You wouldn’t be covered in paint.”
“You wouldn’t have a raging hard-on.”
“A raging hard-on, eh?”
“I should stop talking right now.”
He released the paintbrush, finally, and walked around. His hand slid across my stomach as he moved so he was standing in front of me.
“I agree,” he murmured, brushing two fingertips across my temple.
My scalp tingled when he softly pushed hair behind my ear, his eyes following the movement of his hand. I shivered as the pads of his fingers brushed my earlobe, and that movement brought his gaze back to mine.
Indecision. It warred in his eyes, as I was sure it did in mine.
I wanted him to kiss me again. I wanted to feel that bliss, that escape from reality for just a few seconds.
At the very same time, I wanted him to let me go. To stop making it hard for me to resist him. To be the aloof guy he was the first couple times we met.
He leaned in.
I did the only thing I could think of doing.
I swiped my paintbrush down his cheek.
“Fuck it!”
I laughed and ducked under his arm as he raised it to wipe the paint. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the brown paper bag with the Coastal’s logo on it.
“No.” He pointed at me. “You don’t hold food hostage.”
“I do hold food hostage.” I carefully considered my next words. “You can have it back if you promise not to kiss me again.”
He blinked at me. Looked at the bag. Met my eyes. Shrugged. “I guess I’m skipping lunch.”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
“What? You want me to make a promise I can’t keep?” He raised an eyebrow. “The only reason you just got away with the shit you just pulled is because it’s during work hours.”
“Chasing me around your kitchen table doesn’t exactly equal work hours, now, does it?”
“Careful, Kali. You might talk yourself into something you can’t get out of.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I already did that,” I muttered to myself. “Fine. Here you go. But, I can’t promise I won’t kick you in the balls if you try again.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Try me.”
He smirked, taking the bag from me.
Crap. There was me talking myself into something I couldn’t get out of…
Chapter Nineteen
“I heard you stayed late at Brantley’s house,” Mom said, turning on my coffee machine.
She had, very helpfully, let herself in before I’d gotten home from work. After way too many questions about the state of me, still covered in paint, I’d convinced her to let me shower before she went down her line of questioning.
I really needed that spare key back.
I chewed on the end of a Twizzler. “I can’t imagine who told you that.”
She peered at me over her shoulder. “Marcie. I stopped in to get some pastries.”
“Why didn’t you go the bakery?”
“I did. She was there.”
Well, that was clear. “Right. Well, it’s not true. Sorry to disappoint you.”
She pulled her mug from the machine with a roll of her eyes. “Why does she think that if it isn’t true?”
“Because he’s a little shit who’s about to learn that small town rumors will come back to bite him on his very fine ass,” I huffed, still chewing down the Twizzler.
“So, is there truth to it or not? And how does Marcie know?”
I sighed heavily, putting the candy down. “I had dinner with him last night—as a friend,” I added pointedly. “And I guess the Bay-vine got hold of that information. He got us lunch from the Coastal, Marcie asked, and he elaborated to give everyone something to talk about.”
Mom’s lips twisted to the side. “Is that how you ended up covered in pink paint?”
“Long story short, yes. I wasn’t happy with him.”
“No kidding. You looked like you got in a fight with the paint aisle in the home store. Or Barbie.”
“Definitely Barbie.” I went back to chewing on my Twizzler.
“It was just dinner, then?”
She was fishing. Honestly, she may as well have pulled out a damn fishing rod, attached a Twizzler to the end, and baited me into telling her.
Well, she was the moron who gave me the Twizzlers first. So, ha.
“Just dinner,” I said breezily.
“Kali.” She met my eyes with a look that make me bristle. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“It was just dinner!” I insisted, finishing the candy. I was an animal, eating with my mouth full, but I didn’t care.
“You’re being defensive, and you’re a godawful liar.”
“I’ve heard that a lot this week.”
“Start telling the truth.”
“Can’t.” I paused. “The truth is against company policy.”
Her eyes widened, and she grinned like she’d hit the jackpot. “I promise not to tell your dad.”
Sighing, I took the Twizzler packet and went into the living room. Mom was hot on my heels like a puppy begging for scraps. I threw myself onto the sofa, tugged up my shirt, and yanked another bit of candy from the packet.
“Talk. Now.” She wiggled her fingers at me.
“I don’t wanna,” I mumbled.
“Kali.”
“We kissed. Twice,” I admitted, looking down. “Almost three times, but I attacked him with my paintbrush.”
Mom snorted. “There’s something you don’t hear every day.”
I peered up at her through my lashes. “It doesn’t matter. I told him it can’t happen again.”
“Because it’s against company policy?”
“Exactly. I was part of making that rule with Dad. I mean, I know you guys met when you hired him, but still. He told me nothing happened until after, and him meeting you made him realize how important that rule was.”
She blinked at me. “He told you nothing happened until after he was done working for me?”
“Yes,” I said slowly. “That was the reason we made the rule.”
“Oh boy.” She exhaled slowly and put her mug on the coffee table. “Honey, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but your father and I were fucking like rabbits before he was ever done working for me.”
I froze. I didn’t even fucking breathe. That was way more information than I’d ever wanted to know about them.
I smacked my lips together. “And now I’m going to be sick.”
Mom laughed, tapping her fingers against my knee. “That was a little blunt. My point is, he only added that rule because he realized that one day, you’d run the company, and he didn’t want you mixing business and pleasure.”
I frowned. That changed everything I knew. “But…isn’t that my choice?”
“I think he wanted you to stay on schedule. He…lost some time when we met.”
Holding up my hands, I shook my head. “Nope. Enough on that, thank you.”
Her laughter filled the room. “Point taken, honey. So…Can I ask about Brantley?”
“You’re going to whether I want you to or not.”
“True.” She grinned, picking up her coffee again. “Do you like him?”
“That’s a very high school question. I mean, I’m not scribbling “Mrs. Kali Cooper” in a notebook or anything.”
“Kali Cooper sounds good.”
“So does Kali Hancock,” I retorted. “Stop taking this places it isn’t mea
nt to go, Mom. I’m attracted to him, but I’m also attracted to Tom Hardy. That doesn’t mean I’m going to marry him and have his babies.”
“You and every other woman in the country.” She sipped. “You know what I mean when I ask if you like him.”
“Mom.” I held my hands up. “It’s not…easy. You know exactly how it is to have feelings for someone who already has a family. I’m in the exact same position you were, except my mom’s death wasn’t as raw for me and dad as the twins’ is for Brantley. Two and a half years isn’t that long. Even if I did have strong feelings for him, I couldn’t waltz in there like he belonged to me. His heart belonged to someone else. Enough that they had a family.” I sank back into the sofa. “That isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be second best to a memory.”
“Do you think I’m second best to a memory?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. I’m asking you a real question, Kali. Is that how you think I feel?”
I met her eyes. They were soft and gentle. They were honest. She really was asking.
“You’re not to me,” I answered after a moment. “Do you feel like you are?”
“I never have, no. She’s your mom, but I am, too. We’re just your moms at different times in your life. Your dad still loves her, but it’s a different love. I accepted that a long time ago. You can’t erase the memory of someone, but that doesn’t mean you have to be second best to them. And anyone who makes you feel that way doesn’t deserve you in the first place.”
I smiled sadly. “Thanks. That makes me feel better. But, still, you’re a stronger person than I am. Does it make me a bad person if I say I don’t know if I want the baggage of someone else’s kids?”
“Not at all. That makes you human.” She finished her coffee and put the mug down. “For the record, I felt the same. Sometimes you don’t get a choice.” She stood and kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you for dinner, honey.”
I smiled, and just before she left, turned around and said, “Hey, Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad you didn’t get a choice.”
She winked. “Me, too, Kali.”
***