A Brit Complicated (Castle Calder Book 3)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “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.”

  I laugh, too. “Is that what you called him?”

  “Of course not. I’m the utmost professional, Ms. St Julien. You should know that.” Bradley lowers his voice to a murmur. “Except perhaps…”

  I know what he’s going to say. He’s going to say except for yesterday when we were alone upstairs at the new office. The guys were milling about downstairs, but we had the whole upstairs work space to ourselves. I was wearing a short flirty dress and Bradley had on that yellow tie and, well, one thing led to another. Very fast and hard against the wall where the copy machine is going to go.

  I clench my thighs. I can’t let him go there. Not with Tara within earshot. She’s stopped typing and I know she’s at least half-listening. “I’m just planning a party with Tara for her boyfriend.”

  Bradley’s tone changes in an instant. “Oh. I should let you go. I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s fine. We’ve decided everything.”

  “This is for Tom, right?” I make a noise of assent and Bradley continues. “Am I invited?”

  If Tara weren’t sitting there – blatantly listening now – I’d ask if he wants to be. But instead I say, “I think so.”

  “If it’s going to be awkward for you to have me there, please don’t give it a second thought. I won’t come. You’ll be with your friends and at the end of the day, I’ll still be the boss. It will be easier for me not to be there.”

  Oh. Okay, then. “Right. You said that already. Um, let’s just see.”

  “I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you at your own party or for you to feel like you’d have to pay any undue attention to me in some way because of our arrangement.”

  Our arrangement?

  If he hadn’t said that word – that one fucking word – I’d write it off as Bradley being Bradley. But that word. Right or wrong, it crawls over my skin like an army of fire ants. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Scarlett, I–”

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll figure it out and let you know. Have a good rest of the night.”

  I press end on the call and silence my phone, placing it face down on the sofa. When I glance up at Tara, her eyes are full of concern. “You seem pissed. Who was that?”

  If I say no one, she’ll hound me until I end up telling her the truth. So I sigh and say, “Jasper. He’s being a dick.”

  Tara sticks her bottom lip out. “Do I need to send Tariq to beat him up for you?”

  “Bea would never forgive me.” I push myself off the sofa. “I’ll feel better in the morning. I’m going to bed.”

  “I’m leaving early to meet Tom for breakfast tomorrow. Do you want to join us?” Tara asks.

  I make a face. “No, thanks. But if you bring me a coffee at work, I’ll love you forever.”

  “Done. Should I put a shot in it so you have the balls to ask Mr. Walking-Sex to Tom’s party?”

  I shake my head, my tone flat. “No. I can handle Mr. Walking-Sex, and if he doesn’t want to come, it’s his loss.”

  “You tell him,” says Tara.

  I just nod. But don’t worry, Tara. I intend to do just that.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I manage to avoid Bradley during normal working hours. Aside from an hour at my desk from eight to nine – during which Mr. Wanker-Seriously was on the phone the entire time – I’m out of the office meeting with Nicola, the photographer, getting caught in every single downpour in London. By the time I drop my things on the floor next to my desk at 6:17 p.m., my hair is a frizzy mess, my legs are splattered with London grime, and I have a blister on my left heel from traipsing around in wet shoes all day.

  I should have gone home after my last appointment, but besides almost ruining my shoes, the other I’ve done today is think. And think. And think. If he hadn’t used that word… Arrangement. It makes me feel cheap and used, which are two things I’ve gone to great lengths in my life to avoid. Feeling or being.

  Not that he used the wrong word. That’s what we agreed to. An arrangement. The fact that I thought it had morphed into something else is a problem. For me. And I intend to solve it.

  Bradley’s in his glass castle and all his attention is focused on the screen in front of him. I doubt he’s even seen me come in and it gives me a minute to study him. He’s wearing a tan suit today, which on anyone else would look dumb, but with his crisp white shirt and muted pink tie, he looks like a hot guest at a summer wedding.

  A hot guest who’s shagged the bride and brags about it at the bar.

  I flop down in my chair. That’s not fair. I don’t know much about Bradley’s past, so, clearly, he’s not one to brag about his conquests. But let’s face it. The man learned those moves with practice.

  I shove my hair back from my face, scraping it into a ponytail, and slip on the black heels I keep under my desk. I have a feeling I’m going to feel plenty uncomfortable without wet leather pinching my toes, too.

  If I had some armor I could put on, I’d be all set. Especially as Bradley looks up and smiles when he sees me rise from my chair. He even shoves his own chair back and pulls the door to the glass castle open for me before I can open it myself.

  “Hey. How did it go today? I was thinking of you.” He glances out the window at the gray skies. “It’s not the best day for photographing London.”

  I shrug. “It’s pretty standard. I think Nicola got some great shots. I’m meeting with her on Wednesday afternoon to go over them.”

  “That’s great. I look forward to seeing what you end up with.” He glances back at his computer as it dings with a reminder. “I have a call in ten minutes, but if you’re staying for a while, maybe we could get a bite to eat afterwards?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Bradley’s shoulders straighten. “Is everything okay?”

  I shake my head again in slow motion and take a deep breath. Here we go. “Our arrangement isn’t working for me anymore.”

  “It’s not.” Bradley stares at me. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  Every instinct I have urges me to cross my arms over my chest, but I don’t, even though I suspect it would go a long way towards holding my heart inside my chest. Because God knows it’s clamoring to get out as I say, “It’s getting complicated.”

  “Complicated?” Bradley looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.

  “We agreed
we were having fun, and I’m not having fun anymore.” Not a hundred percent true, but close enough.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Bradley’s still looking at me like I’m speaking Chinese.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure you’d see it that way.” I cross my arms over my chest. Fuck it. It helps. “When we spoke last night and you mentioned our arrangement, I realized I don’t want that.”

  “You don’t want–”

  “An arrangement.” I grimace as I say the word. Both for the word itself and for the inevitable question that will follow.

  Except Bradley doesn’t phrase it as a question. His face goes blank as he says, “You want a relationship.”

  “I’ve never wanted a relationship before and I doubt I want one now. But I do want a guy I can invite to a party and possibly tell my roommate about.” I let my arms hang at my sides. “And I really want a guy who doesn’t make me feel cheap when he can’t do or be either of those things.”

  “Scarlett, I was giving you an out because I don’t want you to feel obligated.” Bradley’s computer dings again and, two points for him (if I was a keeping score kind of girl – which I totally am), he doesn’t look at it.

  “I don’t feel obligated. I want you to come. Tom and Tara want you to come. “

  “So, fine. I’ll be there.” Bradley does turn towards his computer this time when it dings and his mouth tightens.

  Which is my cue. “Great. But come for Tom, not me.” I turn towards the door. “I’ll make sure to have the comps for the photos on your desk on Wednesday afternoon. Also, I’ll need to go over to the site with Nicola this week so we can get exact measurements for the canvases. I was hoping for Friday morning, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure. That would be fine. I can arrange to be there, as well.”

  Bradley and I have been going to the new office site together for weeks and it feels weird to say no, but I shake my head again and make my voice light. “We’ll be good on our own, but thanks.”

  Bradley’s desk phone rings and he glances at the number. “I’m sorry, but I have to take this.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.” I turn my back before he can respond and let the door to the glass castle close behind me.

  I feel Bradley’s eyes follow me across the floor to my desk, but I don’t let myself turn around. Instead, I lean against my desk and pick up my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I need a cheap curry and a beer. Not necessarily in that order.

  I find Claire’s number and text: Hey. Fancy Brick Lane with me? I’m buying. xx

  Claire responds in less than a minute: Have you looked outside? Come over and we’ll order in. G is filming. xx

  Fab. Will be there as soon as I can get a cab. Xx

  Claire responds with a kissy face and I bend to pick my bag up from the floor. I turn just enough so I catch sight of Bradley out of the corner of my eye. He’s still watching me. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I can tell by the look on his face that whoever’s on the other end of that phone is getting an earful. I hope it’s not the French guy.

  Yesterday, I would have grinned and mouthed ‘be nice’ to him. But today I just sling my bag over my shoulder and turn away. I don’t look back and Bradley doesn’t call after me, and when I step out of the office and the door clicks shut behind me, I can’t help thinking, He didn’t apologize. He didn’t even try.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Greyson’s flat in Mayfair is a serviced apartment, but little by little Claire’s brought touches of home to it. Like the colorful pillows on the L-shaped sofa and the candles burning on the low coffee table. The empty takeaway containers are my contribution, but both Claire and I are too lazy and full to take them to the kitchen. I’m sunk back into the cushions, hugging a pillow, and it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in two days.

  “Can I stay here? I think your sofa has claimed me as one of its own and isn’t going to let me go.”

  Claire laughs. “Greyson’s so noisy when he comes in you’ll get off the couch just so you can kill him. Trust me.”

  “I hate being woken up.” I make a face. “Plus, if he wakes you up to have sex, then I’d have to hear that, too, and I’d never be able to look him in the eye again.”

  “There’s a lot be said for sex with a guy who’s hyped up on adrenaline, even if it is the middle of the night. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it,” Claire says.

  “Who says I haven’t?”

  Claire laughs. “Of course you have. Who’s the latest, anyway? I usually get an occasional update, but lately I’ve got nothing. And I know you better than to think you’ve got nothing going on.”

  I could tell Claire. Telling her would be better than telling Tara, but I end up saying, “I was sort of seeing someone, but I ended it.”

  Claire studies my face. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Probably.”

  “Probably? What does that mean?”

  “I liked him, but I didn’t like how he made me feel.” Articulating what went wrong in so few words feels inadequate, but it’s the truth.

  “Was it how he made you feel in a particular instance or in general?” Claire asks.

  “A particular instance, but it was just a matter of time before it bled into the rest like a red T-shirt in a load of white washing.” I grin and Claire sticks her tongue out at me. The first summer Claire worked at Castle Calder she accidentally threw one of Jasper’s T-shirts in with a load of white bedding. Pink sheets weren’t the look we were going for, but it could have been worse.

  “That was an accident. And your mum was very forgiving. A lot more than you were.” Claire purses her lips, then says, “Maybe this guy’s cock up was his red T-shirt moment? Did you ever think of that?”

  No, but it wouldn’t matter if it was. I shrug. “Maybe, but even if it was, the underlying problem is still there.”

  “Okay, if you say so.” Claire shrugs. “I just don’t hear you saying you like someone all that often, that’s all.”

  “You make me sound like a sociopath.” I throw a pillow at Claire.

  She tosses it right back at me. “I’m just saying, you hook up and move on. You don’t end things. The fact that you’re talking about it in those terms means it was something special.”

  Moments with Bradley flit through my head like they’re on a film reel. Lazy Sunday mornings at his flat. Talking to Bess at Borough Market. Riding the night bus because he’d never done it before. Taking his car out to Leeds Castle for the day and driving home with the top down.

  “It was. But a shag is just a shag at the end of the day, right?”

  Claire rolls her eyes. “If you say so.”

  I do, but I also know that while shagging Bradley was spectacular, it wasn’t what I’ll miss. I mean, sure, I’ll miss that tongue and those very talented moves of his between the sheets, but it’s the man himself I’ll really miss.

  It’s a weird realization and when my phone buzzes as I’m walking through Mayfair after leaving Claire, my heart leaps in anticipation.

  Anticipation that it’s Bradley.

  My heart sinks faster than my bank balance after pay day. I ended it. I can’t have it both ways. Which means I sure as hell can’t be hoping he’s texted me. I pull my phone out of my bag and glance down with trepidation.

  The text is from Tara: Did you ask Mr. Walking-Sex to Tom’s party?

  I reply: Yes. No firm response, but did my best.

  Tara: Fab. I’m sure he’ll be here then. I’m home. See you later?

  Me: On my way now.

  I see the bus pull up to the stop a few feet ahead and break into a jog. I make the bus easily and it’s only when I’m sat crammed against the window I turn on my phone again. The screen is empty. No texts, no emails, nothing. Any other night, I’d have at least a text or two from Bradley, but he’s taken my words to heart, it seems. I should be happy. He isn’t going to drag this out and make it messy. It’s what I want.

  I need to silence that voice in my head
ASAP. The one saying Claire was right. He was someone special. And he’s going to be harder to forget than I want to admit.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It’s Friday afternoon and I haven’t seen Bradley all week. Which is a blessing, except I hear plenty of complaining about him. In the staff kitchen, in the lift, by the copier. Even from Tom. He’s sitting at his desk jabbing himself in the forehead with the end of a pen and, even though it’s the dull end, I’m worried he’s going to injure himself.

  “Can I help somehow? I know I’m not up to speed on all of the accounts, but I’ve got time.” I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen. “It’s four o’clock. We can divide and conquer and be at the pub by six.”

  “The thing is, I don’t even know where to have you start. Brad says he wants an exec summary of all our accounts. But every client already has one. I pointed that out and he said if he wanted what we already had, that’s what he’d ask for.” Tom jabs his forehead with the pen again. “I know you’re not Brad’s biggest fan and I don’t need to add fuel to your fire, but, Jesus, he’s being difficult, even for him.”

  “Maybe he’s having a bad week?” I have to admit, I take some perverse pleasure in that thought.

  “Maybe he needs to get laid.” Tom’s usually not so crass.

  I think he’s on to something – going from all to nothing isn’t easy (I should know) – but I hold up a hand and say, “Maybe, but you definitely do, which is why you need to let me help you. Why don’t you hand me a few of those folders and let me read through them? Maybe you need a fresh pair of eyes to see what’s missing?”

  Tom tosses a few files across the desk. “Here you go. Read to your heart’s content.”

  I open a file in reply and start scanning the sheaf of papers inside. Tom’s account management system is super organized and uniform. Every client folder has the same components, including an executive summary. I read one for an accounting firm, and while it’s not the most exciting thing I’ve ever read, it’s fine. So is that the problem? Bradley isn’t the type of boss who’s okay with ‘fine.’ But for an internal document, who cares?