by Lee, Nadia
Gavin stopped outside and stuck his head in. “What’s so funny?”
“Just made half a million bucks.”
“Not bad.” He leaned against the door sill. His three-piece suit, unlike Pete’s, was hand-tailored in Europe—probably Italy. Pete had never seen Gavin in anything more casual at work, and everyone dressed to emulate him. “Which trade?”
“That currency short I told you about.”
“Nice.”
“Thanks.” Pete beamed. “A good day’s work before my date this evening.”
“Ah, that’s right. At La Mer.”
“Yup. I owe you one.” Without Gavin’s help, Pete would’ve never been able to get a dinner reservation at one of the most exclusive restaurants in L.A. on such short notice.
“No problem. So who’s the lucky girl?”
“Brooke.”
Gavin blinked. “Brooke. As in, Amandine’s best friend Brooke?”
“The one and only.”
“Huh. I never knew she was your type.”
Pete’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “What do you know about my type?”
“Tall? Blonde? Tits out to here?”
Yeah. Leggy Nordic types. Pete had dated them so he wouldn’t think of Brooke every time he looked across a dinner table. He checked a few things and shut down his laptop. “I’ve waited eight years to make my move.”
Gavin looked suitably impressed. “Sounds pretty serious. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
* * *
Brooke tossed another dress down on her bed. Good god, why was it so hard to pick out a decent outfit for a date? None of her clothes looked good enough for what she needed.
Not that she wanted to impress Pete. That was soooo not it; she just wanted to look good at La Mer. Everyone who mattered ate there. She might not have any Chanel or Dior in her closet, but she still wanted to make at least a bit of a splash.
She finally settled on a sleeveless magenta silk dress that reached about an inch below mid-thigh. A slim gold belt looped around her waist, emphasizing its smallness. Golden high-heeled sandals in the Greco-Roman style elongated her legs. She winced as the straps pinched a little, but took a breath and ignored the pain. Short girls needed every inch they could get. She dumped her driver’s license, credit cards and some small bills into a matching clutch. Two huge golden hoops dangled from her ears, and she put on a golden chain—her mother’s old jewelry. When her mother had passed away, Sandy and Brooke split everything fifty-fifty, and their father kept the wedding band. He’d aged a decade and never looked at another woman. Margaret Andersen-Kim de Lorenzo had been the only one for him.
At six thirty sharp, the intercom buzzed. It was Pete.
Very punctual, she noted with approval and a bit of curiosity. Just what had he done to get away from work this early? Give Gavin a kidney?
He stood outside his Mercedes, the door to the passenger side open. A charcoal Armani suit was wrapped around his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders, trim waist and long legs. If he hadn’t been smart enough to get the kind of job he had, he could’ve been a model, capitalizing on youthful good looks while he could. L.A. was full of handsome men, but Pete had something extra that went beyond a pretty face.
Now, now, don’t go looking too deeply into this. Keep it light.
His gaze skimmed her from top to bottom then rose back to her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks.”
“Shall we?”
She nodded and climbed inside the car, and he started them off to La Mer. Something soft and soothing was playing on the radio. “What is that?”
“Gershwin’s concerto in F.”
“I didn’t know you liked it.”
“I don’t like it the way most people like music.”
“What do you mean?”
“I listen to it only when I drive and don’t want to answer any calls.”
Brooke frowned. “Don’t you have to answer them?”
“Not tonight. I have someone more important to talk to.”
Her face warmed in the dark car. She wasn’t at all flattered—of course not—even as her heart fluttered. His resolve wouldn’t last long. People in his line of work simply did not ignore calls or alerts and pings. Gavin, for example, checked his various mobile devices to the point that it seemed like a nervous tic. It’d gotten better after he’d cut back, but as an associate still climbing the corporate ladder Pete didn’t have that luxury. On the contrary, he’d actually have more on his plate now that the Big Boss was taking it easy.
As the Mercedes pulled into the driveway in front of La Mer, a uniformed valet stepped up to open the door for Brooke and take the keys from Pete. The restaurant glowed a deep blue like the Pacific. Plants in the miniature garden leading to the entrance resembled coral, orange and yellow lights turning them colorful.
The maître d’ took them to one of the best tables in the restaurant, situated along the famous aquarium wall. Fish of various vivid colors swam in the floor-to-ceiling water, staring goggle-eyed as they glided by.
The diners were speaking in low voices while keeping an eye on who came in the door. Most were dressed to be seen—expensive silk, designer brands, pricey jewelry and diamond watches that sparkled even in the dim lighting. Pete and Brooke took their seats and immediately a tuxedoed waiter appeared, handing them menus. He recited the specials for the day, including some French and Spanish wines that had been imported for that month. Brooke went ahead and told the waiter what she wanted. Pete did the same, not even glancing at his menu, then choose a Chablis to go with their meal.
After the waiter left, Brooke said, “That didn’t take long. You come here often?”
“Nope. I just know what I want. Always have.”
Her insides quivered at the quiet intensity of his gaze. She felt like it was her, not the fish, being prepped to be consumed.
Yes, yes, take me, eat me, her eager mind whispered as she swallowed, throat dry and nipples erect. With an effort she dragged her focus back to the food she’d ordered: seared sea bream with a light basil sauce and a hint of garlic. There was nothing better than fresh sea bream.
She sipped her water. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For dinner.” She gestured at their surroundings. “I’ve been wanting to get a table here for months, but I could never get it, and didn’t have the patience to wait.”
He smiled. “You must not have wanted it that badly then.”
“Maybe not. But after tonight I might start to, especially if the food is as good as the decor.”
“Just let me know, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“You gotta get on the list like everyone else.”
Pete grinned. “Not if you know Gavin. You know he’s very close to Mark Pryce, the guy who owns this place, right?”
“Yeah, but still. I don’t want to be presumptuous.”
“Let me be the presumptuous one then. I don’t mind.”
The waiter returned with their wine. He made a big production of uncorking it, and once Pete approved it, poured for both of them and left.
Pete and Brooke clinked their glasses. “To us,” he said.
Was there an “us” for them? Sex was definitely becoming more of a possibility, especially if she drank enough of the Chablis.
Okay, that was a lie. She didn’t need alcohol to sleep with Pete. He was too gorgeous for her own good, and she’d been wondering what it would be like if she just forgot about her relationship with Amandine and went for it.
The wine was slightly sweet and fruity, with an undertone of oak, and would go well with the sea bream she’d ordered. So this was what rich people drank. It was nothing like the cheap supermarket vintages she usually kept in her apartment. She sighed with appreciation as the alcohol loosened the tension in her gut. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk about what you said at Wong Lotus.”
“By all means.”
“If we were to date, can
we keep it…you know, quiet?”
“Quiet? You mean secret?”
“Well…yes. It’ll be awkward if, you know, things don’t work out.” If I break it off. Or you decide to get out.
“I’m still friendly with most of my exes.”
“Not me. I don’t do well with exes.” They usually end up being annoying, and I have to get rid of them by becoming a bitch nobody could live with.
He shrugged. “I’m not any of your exes. We’ve known each other for a long time, and we have a lot of mutual friends and history.”
“That’s precisely what I’m worried about.”
“Brooke, this isn’t high school. We’re too old to sneak around.”
She flushed. He was making her sound like the immature one.
“Besides,” he continued, “even if I agreed with you—which I don’t—it wouldn’t be possible. I already told Gavin.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?”
He shrugged again. “It came up.”
“I work for his wife.”
“So? It’s a free country. You can date whoever you want.” He paused and leaned forward in a confidential manner. “Unless, of course…”
“What?”
“…there’s a clause in your employment contract that says you can’t date your boss’s brother.”
Brooke gave an exasperated sigh. “For your information, I don’t have an employment contract at all. Amandine and I trust each other, see? Which is what makes this worse.”
“You think Amandine really cares if you’re dating me?”
“She might.” Amandine knew Brooke didn’t date long-term. She also knew Brooke wasn’t the type who dreamed about settling down, buying a big house with a white picket fence and having kids. And she’d totally want those things for her baby brother.
“Brooke. She’s my sister, not my mother.”
“She’ll worry about you.” Amandine believed in love and commitment, not casual affairs.
He laughed. “I think you’re confusing my present adult life with high school. The fact is, she’s more likely to be worried about you once she knows we’re dating.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Pete leaned forward again, but this time his dark eyes were intent and completely devoid of levity. “I want you in the most carnal way possible.”
Wow. Brooke’s breath caught, and her chest and neck grew hot. The interior of the restaurant was fairly dark, but could Pete notice anyway?
She wanted him in exactly the same way. That was the biggest reason she’d avoided him. He was Amandine’s baby brother, for heaven’s sake! Did she want to make things awkward and complicated, even jeopardize her relationship with Amandine and Gavin?
On the other hand, maybe she and Pete hadn’t been able to let go because they hadn’t finished what they’d started eight years ago. There was a need for closure, and it was more or less universal. That was why cliffhangers were always resolved, why people gritted their teeth and slogged all the way to the last page of books they weren’t enjoying, why quitters were reviled by society.
So of course she and Pete felt the need to finish what they’d started, even at the most basic level. But once they had their orgasms, they’d be able to tie a little bow around the incident and move on.
So, a one-night stand with your best friend’s younger brother?
Sure. Why not? He wasn’t a minor anymore. It wouldn’t be a statutory orgasm. And the chances of Amandine finding out about a single night were slim.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
“What’s that look?” he asked, semi-wary.
She met his gaze and held it. “It’s my ‘I like what you said’ look.”
Pete’s mouth opened and then closed again. The restaurant was somewhat noisy, but Brooke was pretty sure no sound had come out.
Their waiter brought out their entrées and left after making sure everything was all right.
“Like you said,” Brooke continued, “we’re adults, right? Things are different now, and you and I both know what we want. So why play games?” She smiled and put a bite of her sea bream slowly…very slowly…into her mouth.
Chapter Four
LATER, IF ANYBODY HAD ASKED Pete how he’d liked La Mer he wouldn’t have been able to say. He, who was always precise, who never forgot a number, couldn’t even recall how much he’d paid for the dinner. He’d handed his credit card to the waiter, and that was that.
Brooke was stunning in that colorful dress. It molded to her body, bringing out her dark eyes and showing off her well-shaped legs. She sat on the passenger seat like a queen on a throne. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks glowed with the wine they’d shared.
She’d enjoyed her dinner; every time a bite disappeared into her gorgeous mouth it made him think of kissing her lips and a few other dirty things. His blood roared in his head as his mind conjured up images of—
Whoa. Get ahold of yourself.
Yeah, like telling himself that would help. He’d wanted her since forever. In high school, she’d been out of his league. How many college girls looked at a high school boy twice?
He was different now. He’d made sure she wouldn’t look at him and see her best friend’s little brother, but a man, successful, self-possessed and confident.
He parked his car on a street a block away from her building and helped her out. She glanced up at him. “Wanna come up for tea or coffee?”
“Coffee would be great.”
She smiled, a little dimple appearing in her cheek, and started to put a hand into the crook of the arm he offered.
“You little bitch! You think you can hide?”
Startled, Pete looked up to see a guy the size of an SUV walking toward them. His short military haircut emphasized a small forehead. An over-sized nose that looked like a parrot’s beak drooped over a blunt chin. Sweat stained a dingy white wife-beater. The pockets of his threadbare jeans were ripped.
Brooke tensed. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you find out where I live?”
“I followed you after the workshop.” He moved aggressively toward her, clearly intending to invade her personal space.
Pete stepped in between them and faced the man squarely.
“Out of the way, asshole,” the other guy said. This close, he reeked of old sweat, coffee and alcohol. “This doesn’t involve you.”
“It’s about to. I’m her date.”
The other guy’s eyes flickered. “You are?”
“Yep.” Pete towered over him. “Is there a problem here?”
The other man stood indecisively for a moment, then said, “You can’t say shit about a man’s words and think it’s okay.”
Brooke put her hands on her hips. “Then don’t submit your writing for critique. You want me to lie to you that I love it?”
“Of course not!” He ran his hands over his scalp. “But you could’ve been nicer or somethin’, know what I’m sayin’?” He took half a step toward Brooke.
Pete blocked him. “Look, pal, that’s enough. This is stalking and harassment.”
“You a lawyer?”
Pete merely stared him down, which was no easy feat since the other man was fairly tall.
“Fuck. I hate bitches. And lawyers.” He then pointed at Brooke. “Just cuz I’m a bouncer, don’t mean I can’t write sensitive soul-baring shit. If the world is deprived of another Shakespeare, it’s on you!” He stalked off.
Pete cut a glance at Brooke. “Well, that was different. Who the hell…?”
“I don’t even remember his name. He’s from a creative writing workshop I’m taking on Thursday nights.”
“You write?”
“Not very well.” She gave a short laugh. “You still wanna come up?”
“Oh, definitely.” If the guy came back, Pete was calling the cops…after he beat the crap out of him.
She took him through a humble lobby that d
idn’t have a single plant or other adornment. One of the ceiling light bulbs was out, and the place really needed a fresh coat of paint. Dark scuff-marks marred the bottom half of the walls so completely they almost looked like part of the original design.
And the apartment complex definitely needed better security. Amandine had once lived there, and Pete knew the management didn’t put much priority on anything beyond providing the bare minimum. A lone red light on the security camera blinked steadily. Pete would have bet a hundred bucks that it wasn’t really hooked up to anything.
They reached the ninth floor and walked through a hall that was as underlit and dingy as the lobby. Brooke unlocked her door…and let him in to an entirely different world.
He blinked at the profusion of colors. Bright rugs completely covered the floor, and interesting posters and prints hung on the walls, each lit with a small spotlight mounted on ceiling tracks. Somehow, none of it clashed. The whole effect was to make the humble apartment vibrant and welcoming…and seem to be worth a lot more than the rent advertised outside on the vacancy sign.
“You have to take off your shoes,” she said, unwrapping the sandal straps from around her calves.
“I do?”
“House rule. My grandma on my Mom’s side made us do it when we were growing up, and it’s kind of a tradition now.”
Pete slipped off his wingtips and followed her inside, the rugs thick and springy under his toes. Brooke was already in the kitchen.
He rested his arms on a small, two-person counter that separated the kitchen and the dining room. “I would never have pegged you as the writerly type. You don’t have a single book in here.” There were, however, tons of magazines with colorful photos.
“Well.” She shrugged and ground some coffee beans. When the grinder stopped, she said, “I got a degree in English, and I thought maybe it was something I could try. If I get lucky, maybe I’ll end up writing the next Harry Potter or Fifty Shades.”
Pete hadn’t read the latter book, but knew it by reputation. Things were starting to look interesting. “Is that what you want to do? Become a writer?”
“It’s something to do with my free time. And it doesn’t cost a lot to become one,” Brooke said. “It’s not like I have any talent for music or art.”