by Lynda Aicher
He snagged a folder from his desk and opened it with a brisk efficiency that should’ve triggered her to do the same, but her eyes remained fixed on his movements. Long fingers graced otherwise normal hands and flipped through the papers with precision. Would his touch be gentle or firm?
Her gaze tracked to his wrists, first one, then the other, in a hunt that held no logic. His shirt cuffs were cinched tight where they peeked out from beneath his black suit jacket. Disappointment whipped in to jerk her back to the moment.
This moment. Not one two weeks ago.
She dropped her head and opened the briefing, pulse pounding in her ears. Her throat ached for liquid she didn’t have.
“Can you clarify the information on page two, item six B one, please?”
Could she? “Certainly.” She had this.
She flipped through the pages and proceeded to answer his question, along with the rest that he fired off as he dug through the document. His concentration forced her own and brought the roaring lust down to a dull simmer.
But it shouldn’t be there at all.
She flicked her gaze up, caught him staring at her. The deep brown of his eyes hypnotized her with their quiet assessment. Her chest contracted around the want raging unchecked.
This was so wrong—on every front.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Wakeford?”
She snapped back, gaze dropping. “No, sir.” Her heart attempted to pound its way out of her chest. Could he see that? Did it show through her shirt? It felt like it should. “Could you clarify your confusion on that last paragraph?” she asked, voice remarkably steady. She owed that to years of dealing with her mother’s expectations.
Emotions aren’t for display.
A long pause forced her to look up, her smile that simple pleasant one she’d worn through most of her life. Be nice. Be good. Don’t rock the boat or lower yourself to someone else’s standards.
She could handle this and any situation thrown at her—as long as her libido didn’t suffer a catastrophic meltdown.
And that was something she’d have to tackle. Soon.
“Is there anything else?” she asked when they reached the last page of the document. Her blouse clung to the sweat that’d accumulated on her back for no obvious reason. The air-conditioning kept the office in an over-chilled state that would’ve been a blessing now, only it didn’t seem to be on.
He flipped the folder closed, clasping his hands on top. Was that a watch poking out beneath his shirt? One with a dark leather band?
“That’s all for now,” he said, jolting her from her illogical thoughts. “But I may have more later.”
“Not a problem,” she answered, standing. “Let me know if I can assist you further.” Did that sound suggestive?
“I will. Thank you.”
She made her exit as smoothly and quickly as possible. Her breath flew from her lungs the second she was down the hall, around the corner and so far from his office there was no chance he’d see her.
Her pulse still raced, and heat radiated from her skin. There was no way she could continue like this. Her mind scattered, her thoughts consumed by lust, desire flaring at totally inappropriate times.
But how did she shake it? Did she really want to?
She dropped the files on her desk and plopped into her chair. The office had emptied out, leaving her free to show every damn emotion blazing within her. She rubbed her hands over her face and tried to collect herself. But how?
She grabbed her phone and dialed up the friend who’d gotten her into this mess.
Lori answered on a cheery “Hey, Brie! What’s up?”
“We need to talk.” There was no preamble or humor in her voice. She could only think of one solution to her problem, and now that she’d locked on to it, her mind was set.
“Okaaay.” The drawn-out word communicated Lori’s caution. “About what?”
She waited a beat, pulse skipping before it sped off again. She’d been denying it to herself since she’d left that room weeks ago, but the truth rang true and clear once she’d set it free.
“I want to go back.”
No. She had to go back.
Chapter Nine
The sun baked down on Brie the second she exited the car. She squinted up at the cloudless sky, appreciating the warmth and clear blue expanse before turning back to thank the driver. She watched the little compact whiz out of the circular drop-off area in front of the country club, smirking at how out of place it looked next to the luxury vehicles.
Hiring a car from the Walnut Creek BART station was easier than trying to arrange a ride with her parents. One missed departure time had taught her that valuable lesson. Standing contritely beside her mother as she repeatedly apologized for being late was enough to ensure Brie never did it again.
She braced a hand on her abdomen and sucked in a deep breath. This was just brunch. She did it every damn week. Yet each time was getting harder and harder to survive. The facade she’d erected so long ago had suffered severe cracks since her night of wild sex.
And she was going to be blindfolded in a room full of men, again. Soon.
An excited thrill fluttered in her stomach. She just had to make it through the coming week. Six days and she’d be back in the room acting out the naughty thoughts that’d plagued her since she’d blasted a hole through her lust dam. Or was it a kink dam? Maybe it was just a freaky wild freedom dam?
But first she had to get through brunch.
She tucked her sweater into her bag and ducked into the bathroom to check her hair and makeup. The commute from the city wasn’t long, but her mother would find every flaw—and comment on it.
Hair brushed, lipstick reapplied, she took another long breath and settled into Brighton mode. She found the calm patience needed for her mother and added the sniper shield required to fend off any unsuspecting attacks.
She greeted the hostess with a smile. “Hi, Kayla. How’s it going today?”
The young woman gave her a pleasant grin filled with a bit of wincing truth. “Good.” She leaned in. “Mrs. Kaminski had a run-in with Mrs. Adams about twenty minutes ago,” she said softly, shooting a darting glance around them.
“Oh, no,” Brie sympathized. The feud between the two women had been going on for years. From what she understood, it’d all started over a parking spot, which had morphed into an ongoing battle of one-upmanship on everything from seating spots to golf carts. “What was it about this time?”
“The flowers on the table.” Kayla rolled her eyes. “Apparently Mrs. Adams thought her arrangement was smaller.”
Brie stifled a snicker. “Of course she did.”
She waved her goodbye, her smile still locked into place as she wove through the tables set up on the patio. The unfortunate truth was just about everyone at the club had some kind of rivalry going on with someone else.
And she was failing her mother in the “my daughter snagged her MRS degree with the eligible doctor, lawyer, tech guru—fill in the blank as seen fit—and is popping out adorable grandbabies” race. Like that was the only goal Brie had in life.
“Brighton,” her mother chimed when she was still two tables away. “You look lovely.”
Brie kept her smile in place despite the sharp pang in her stomach when every person in the surrounding area turned to look at her. She kept her focus on her parents and ignored the urge to glance around to see exactly how close Rose Jacobson was seated with her “eligible” son.
“Morning, Mother.” Brie dipped to brush a kiss on her cheek. “You look nice, like always.” Joanne Wakeford never looked anything but nice.
“Thank you,” her mother preened. The precise cut of her hair framed her face with its pale blond ends. The gray had long been tastefully blended to create natural highlights instead of bold statements of age. Just like the small creases
at the corners of her eyes that mimicked laugh lines, and the soft shades of makeup that brightened her eyes and added a glow to her cheeks. “Is that dress new?”
Her mother pointedly scanned Brie’s navy cap-sleeve dress. The scoop neck landed broad on her shoulders but sat high on her chest. No cleavage. Not for brunch. The dress hugged her curves to end a respectable two inches above her knee.
Brie glanced down, resentment flicking to life to twist in her chest. Years of interpreting her mother’s questions—which were actually comments—left little doubt to her disapproval. She didn’t even try to guess why.
She forced a breezy smile. “Not really.” She fisted her hand to keep from smoothing it down her side. Any hint of discomfort would be a win for her mother. Yet the expected compliment for her mother’s designer yellow dress dried up on her tongue when it would’ve been easier just to spit the platitude out.
Her dad rose from his seat as her mother opened her mouth. “You look beautiful, honey,” he said, successfully cutting off whatever comment her mother had been about to make. He wrapped her in a hug. “Like always,” he added near her ear.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he pulled out her chair. Her stomach settled a little at the reminder that the harsh judgments didn’t run through her entire family.
Her father managed to pull off that older GQ model vibe that meshed with her mother’s sophisticated appearance. His gray hair went perfectly with the age lines that creased his high forehead and spread in tiny cracks around his eyes behind the silver frames of his glasses.
“Are you golfing after this?” she asked him. His polo shirt and khaki slacks were the standard dress code for men in the club, especially on the weekends.
He glanced at his watch. “Tee time is at noon.” His grin was quick, his wink even faster.
Brie’s laugh released an honest burst of affection. She reached over to squeeze his arm. “Good luck.”
His scoff was full of bluster. “I don’t need luck.”
“He’s playing with Stephano,” her mother said, her gaze pointed above her smile. “He knows how to handle that.” Meaning, her dad would let the other man win because Stephano was a notoriously poor loser who held a lot of clout.
“Anyway,” Brie said, pitching her tone into a lighter octave. “How are you doing, Mother? What happened with your charity event? Did everything go well?”
The divergent topic worked exactly as planned. Her mother dove into a long-winded story of the event that included every detail of failures by others and what went wrong instead of right. But the appropriate sympathetic notes and affirmations from Brie got them through most of the meal.
“I can’t believe she did that,” Brie said after wiping her mouth with the napkin, when she actually sympathized with the woman her mother was complaining about.
“Neither can I,” her mother huffed, her chin lifting in a show of indignation. “I’ll think twice before volunteering with her again.”
“I understand,” Brie agreed, knowing her mother was most likely already on another committee with every woman she’d just complained about.
Her mother had spent countless hours dedicating her time and efforts to charitable causes. Her generosity may have been induced by the desire to appear giving, but that didn’t diminish the good work she’d done and continued to do.
Her mother wasn’t evil, not by any definition of the term.
A faint breeze drifted over the patio to bring the scent of fresh-cut lawn. It blended with the more tempting aromas from the excellent food being served, triggering memories that dated back to her childhood. Of family meals here and the activities and social groups they’d been a part of because of the club.
A membership that’d stretched the family budget, but one her mother had insisted was necessary.
“How’s work been?” her father asked.
“Good.” She took a drink of her coffee. “Charles keeps me busy.”
Her dad’s low chuckle swept her up in its warmth. His eyes sparkled just a bit when he said, “I bet he does. I hope he’s not working you too hard.”
“No.” She loved every second of it. “He’s good.” Her father’s loose connection with Charles Cummings had helped her land the job at the law firm. But she’d ensured that everything she’d achieved since then had been based on her own merit. “And yours?”
“The same,” her father brushed off. He never talked about his job or the specifics of what he did at the tech company. He was a company man whose own dedication and hard work had risen him through the ranks to his current VP position.
“Have you met any nice men at work?” her mother asked Brie, bringing the conversation back to one of her mother’s favorite topics. Her smile held a fake innocence that Brie had stopped falling for before she’d hit middle school.
“There are a lot of nice men there.” She waited a beat. “And women too.”
“Maybe, but you’re not going to marry one of the women.”
A sharp laugh burst free before she could hold it back. She quickly morphed it into an agreeing note before her mother caught the bitterness in the tone.
“You never know...” she teased, to cover her slip. A part of her wanted to do exactly that if only to spite her mother, but she really didn’t swing that way.
“That’s not funny, Brighton.” Her mother sat forward, glancing around. “You’re thirty years old. I know women are having children later, but the risks increase too. Don’t you want a husband and family to take care of?”
The earnest honesty in the question was a firm reminder of her mother’s priorities, ones that were so different from Brie’s. Yes, she wanted a husband and family, but not so she could take care of them.
“What about all those lawyers you interact with every day?” her mother went on. “You could’ve snatched one of them up years ago. The good ones will all be attached soon if you wait much longer.”
“Joanne,” her father warned, his tone one of patience.
“What?” Her mother let out a huff, sitting back. “It’s true.”
The topic wound its way into their conversation on a regular basis, but it didn’t stop the irritation from prickling down Brie’s neck and digging into her stomach. Pleasing her mother had once been the sole goal of her young life—until she’d figured out there was no pleasing her. There would always be something wrong, some negative that’d override every positive.
“So you want me to sleep my way to the top?” Brie asked, the snark slipping into her tone when she was usually so careful to hold it back.
Her mother bristled, her scowl pulling deep. “Don’t be crass.”
“What?” Brie shoved the fake innocence back at her. “That’s exactly what a workplace romance would insinuate.” Especially when she wasn’t a lawyer herself.
The slight narrowing of her mother’s eyes was yet another clue to her rising irritation. “You interact with plenty of lawyers who don’t work at your firm.”
The circular discussion always came back to Brie’s lack of effort. Was it true? Maybe. Bringing a man to meet her mother was one of her worst nightmares. Especially one who fit the idealized mold her mother had formed for Brie’s perfect husband.
Rich. Connected. Handsome. Respected.
Her thoughts raced to Ryan Burns, the epitome of that very list. The ding, ding, ding of the checklist rang in her head and soured her stomach. Bringing a man like Ryan home would only prove her mother right and have Brie once again falling into line just like expected.
How pathetic was it that that was the last thing she wanted to do, when meeting her mother’s expectations had been the foundation of her life? Thankfully, she wasn’t embittered enough to bring home the antithesis of that “perfect” man just to piss her mother off.
“Rose,” her mother boomed, the higher note in her voice ringing like a warning bell to Brie. �
�How lovely to see you.” Her mother stood to airbrush kisses over the woman’s cheeks in the European fashion many within her mother’s circle had adopted. “How’s Michael’s visit going?”
The mystery man had a name. Great. The burn returned, her chest tightening against the resentment rising in her throat. But she kept her smile pleasant even as her hand fisted in her lap.
“Brighton, honey,” her mother said, touching her shoulder in a subtle indication that Brie should stand, which she did on cue. “You remember Mrs. Jacobson, right?”
“Of course,” Brie answered, leaning down to give the smaller woman the expected air-kiss greeting. “How are you doing?” She had the pleasantries down. It didn’t matter that she had only vague memories of the dark-haired woman with the perfect bob and pale pink summer suit.
“I’m good, thank you.” Rose glanced at Brie’s mother, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. “Your mother’s been telling me all about you,” she went on. “You’re working in the city now? At a law firm?”
Brie let out a light laugh to cover her annoyance. “Yes. I’m a paralegal.” And it wasn’t a new event.
Rose’s eyes grew wide in a show of impressed speculation that could’ve been faked or real. “That sounds so exciting.”
“I like it.” It was best to keep it simple sweet.
“I was really hoping to introduce you to my son, but he had to leave.” Her frown came close to a pout. “He had an urgent call he had to take from the hospital. He’s a doctor. An orthopedic surgeon.” She added the last bit with a note of pride.
“Oh, darn,” Brie’s mother said, her lips twisting down. “I hope everything’s okay,” she added, her manners kicking in.
“I’m sure it is. He’s supposed to be back this afternoon,” Rose said, speculation displayed in her raised brows. “He has a three o’clock tee time if you’re around.”
Relief flooded in at the ready excuse. “Unfortunately I have a commitment this afternoon.” Specifics weren’t required when both women would be too polite to dig for details.