The Hot Brother (Romance Love Story) (Hargrave Brothers - Book #5)

by Alexa Davis

  * * *

  I’m standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom, grabbing the tube of antibiotic cream and squeezing a dab onto my index finger.

  “When you’re done with that,” Naomi mutters, “I think I’m going to need some, too.”

  It’s not that I’m any less mad at her. Every time she leans a bit too far in my direction, all I want to do is give her an elbow to the face.

  This is just how it goes when you have a sister.

  I take what I need and pass it over to her. “How could you do that to me?” I ask. “I’ve always been in your corner, even when you didn’t get into the college you wanted, and you said you needed to stay with me for a couple of weeks.”

  “Why would you bring that up now?” she asks.

  “That was nine years ago, Naomi,” I tell her.

  She makes a sound at me, but with her fat lip, I can’t tell if it’s a stifled laugh or a stifled sob. “It’s taken me awhile to find myself,” she says.

  “Honestly,” I say, “why’d you do it?”

  “Do you know what it’s like to be the most popular girl in school and then graduate?” she asks. “People remember you, but that popularity turns into something else pretty quick if you’re not careful.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

  She sighs and dabs under her black left eye with some foundation. “You think I live such a comfortable life, but it’s hell being me sometimes,” she says. “Do you know what it’s like to get stuff all the time and know you didn’t earn any of it?”

  A certain Fifth Avenue shopping trip comes to mind, but I keep that to myself. I wonder what he’s going to do with all that stuff I left behind.

  “I’m familiar with the feeling,” I say.

  “Well, that’s been my whole life,” she says. “When I was a kid, everyone thought I was so cool because I knew all sorts of games they didn’t and I was willing to teach everyone.”

  “I remember that,” I say. I might smile, but when I open my mouth too wide, my lip splits open again.

  “Do you remember you taught me all of them?” she asks.

  “I still don’t see how this has anything to do with you torpedoing my reputation with nearly everyone I know,” I tell her.

  She lifts the front of her shirt to check her abdomen for bruises, but I focused most of my aggression on that stupid, perfect face of hers. I bet she regrets ever getting those piercings. They, or more accurately, the skin which held them didn’t fare so well. “I was tired of being that person,” she says. “Every time I’d come home after school upset, you’d comfort me and tell me what I needed to do to fix whatever the problem was.”

  “I didn’t see it before, but you’re right. Man, I had it coming for being there for you all the time,” I snipe.

  “We are the exact opposite, you and me,” she says. “When I have an opportunity, I latch onto it, usually tight enough that I kill it. At the end of the day, I come back here to my sister’s place that I can’t move out of because I’m a woman in her late twenties that can’t pay her bills. Do you know how humiliating that is?”

  “Then move out,” I tell her. “I’ve never forced you to accept anything.”

  “That’s just it, though,” she says. “You’re always the one with her head on straight. You’re always the reasonable one. Yeah, I’m the chick guys I went to school with still get all nervous around, but everything always works out for you. The problem is you never grab onto something until you can’t have it anymore.”

  “So you spread all that about me because you thought I was squandering an opportunity?” I ask.

  “It sounds pretty stupid when you say it out loud,” Naomi mutters. Now she’s holding her top lip up and pressing one finger of her other hand against one of her incisors, saying, “I think my tooth is loose.”

  “Yeah, it sounds pretty stupid,” I echo.

  Naomi closes her mouth and washes her hands. She looks at herself in the mirror and attempts a smile, though it quickly turns into a wince. “Well, after the cotton balls and the cream and the makeup, I’d say I look positively awful,” she says.

  “You’re welcome,” I answer.

  “You don’t look too hot yourself,” she says. “In fact, I think you got the worst of it.”

  Looking at us both in the mirror, I tend to disagree. She landed a few good head shots, but her body game is pathetic the way it always was. I don’t have to check my chest or stomach to know I don’t have any bruises there.

  “So you wanted to cause me to break up with Nick because I wasn’t doing a good enough job ‘accepting the opportunity’ to be with him?” I ask.

  “How many times did you say you didn’t think it was going to work out?” she asks. “Even when I was staying with you two at the beach house, you were still holding back and looking for an excuse to call it quits.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “When I first went to New York, yeah, I thought it was just going to be a two-week thing that I’d tell my grandkids about—minus the naughty bits. After that first night in the beach house, though, I was all in for the long term. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I was willing to find out.”

  “Uh huh,” she says. “When you got back here the last time, was there any part of you that thought you’d see Nick again?”

  “It’s different,” I tell her. “I even went out to dinner with him after he got here to hear him out.”

  “You didn’t, though, did you?” she asks. “Come on, El. It’s not like you don’t tell me this crap.”

  “You weren’t there,” I tell her. “He started going off about—”

  “—stuff he couldn’t have known unless he’d hired a private investigator or bribed someone or something,” she says, completing the thought. “I get it. The problem with that is he was about to tell you how he knew all that, and rather than trust him or even listen to what he had to say, you just left. You were never really in this relationship. At first, yeah, I maybe told a few people a few things because I just didn’t want you to have him.”

  “How sweet,” I mock as I grab the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and unscrew the lid. Holding the bottle over my right hand, I pour slowly, the clear liquid foaming as it comes in contact with the tiny, bloodless cuts on my knuckles.

  “After a while, though, you’ve got to admit I was doing you a favor,” she says. “You wanted a way out, and I gave you one.”

  I protest, “I didn’t—”

  “The first thing you said when we got home was you didn’t know how long you could stand being back home if you were still going to have to deal with the fallout of dating Nick,” she says.

  “Yeah, that you caused,” I fire back.

  “Maybe so,” she says, “but if you were all head-over-whatever for this guy, it wouldn’t matter. I mean, come on, sis,” she says. “The guy’s a billionaire. It’s not like you couldn’t just move somewhere else and never have to deal with it ever.”

  “I’ve never asked him for money,” she says.

  “Yeah,” she says, “I know. My sister the martyr. Even when you didn’t know I had anything to do with it, you were still blaming Nick. You even told me you knew it wasn’t his fault, the way people were acting, but that never seemed to matter.”

  “It’s not Nick that’s the problem,” I tell her. “The problem is everyone who catches a glimpse of him in the distance. You started the whole thing here in town, but if you remember, you’re not the one that got me in the tabloids.”

  “Again,” she says, “if you were invested in the relationship, why would that matter?”

  “Because it does!” I shout but immediately wince. I’ve split my lip open again and over the next few minutes, I don’t say anything. I just hold a cotton ball against the cracked skin to stop the bleeding.

  Naomi doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. I don’t know how Nick found out all that stuff about me, but I can no longer ignore the fact that the relati
onship’s dead because I killed it.

  The problem I have with relationships—the problem I’ve always had—is that even when I was dating guys in high school, I just assumed it was never going to last. I don’t know if it’s a problem of self-worth or if I’m used to being overshadowed, but Naomi’s right about that much.

  Naomi leaves the bathroom before I do, even though my lip stopped bleeding a while ago and there’s nothing left for me to cover.

  The night I walked out of the restaurant on Nick, I deleted his cell phone number. I’m still skeeved out by how much he knew about me, but maybe Naomi’s right. It’s possible he’s a sleazebag, but it’s also possible I overreacted because I was scared.

  Okay, it’s more than a possibility.

  I sidle over to the bathroom door and twist the lock. It takes a minute to wash everything off of my hands, but I still have Nick’s office number in New York. Pulling out my phone, I find the digits.

  The phone rings.

  “You’ve reached the office of Nikolai Scipio of Stingray Next-Gen Technologies,” a man’s voice answers.

  “Hi,” I say and then follow it with a long pause.

  “… hi,” the man says. “Is there something I can help you with, miss?”

  “Michaels,” I say. “And now I just realized you probably weren’t asking for my name.”

  The man sighs. “Ma’am, if this is a prank call—”

  “No,” I say, “it’s not. I’m Ellie Michaels.” I say, “I was hoping I could speak with Nick, or at least leave a message.”

  “Yeah, Mr. Scipio isn’t taking phone calls right now,” the man says.

  “Okay,” I say. “I can leave a message for him. Just tell him that I—”

  The line clicks. I look at my phone. That little punk hung up on me.

  I call the number back and the same voice answers, “You’ve reached the office of Nikolai Scipio of Stingray Next-Gen Technologies.”

  I say, “Yeah, I think we got disconnected. It’s Ellie—”

  The line clicks again.

  My first reaction is just to assume Nick told his assistant he didn’t want to speak with me, but even if that is the case, I can’t be too mad about it. Excuses aside, I know I ran out on him.

  I still don’t know that I want to find out how Nick learned all that stuff about me, but the shock is gone. All that’s left is the space where our relationship should be.

  It’s impulsive, and maybe even a little silly, but I take a quick look at my bank balance on my phone. I have about five hundred bucks left.

  That should be more than enough for a plane ticket.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Seduction of Power

  Nick

  I’m just getting home to the penthouse when there’s a knock on my door. Whoever it is, I’m not in the mood.

  After spending all day on the phone with investors who swore they’d have my back through anything, only to find out they’re already preparing for when I’m gone, I don’t want to speak to anyone. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to be in the same room with anybody.

  What’s worse, Jacque won’t answer my calls, and even when I went out to his house, he wouldn’t come to the door. Objectively, Stingray’s just moving in the same direction every other company that doesn’t give a crap about anyone or anything has been for ages.

  Is the world going to be that much different if they get their way? Probably not, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to lie back and let it happen without doing something.

  That’s what’s going through my head as I open the door.

  “Before you say anything,” Ellie speaks before the door’s all the way open, “I’ve done some thinking, and I don’t know if this is going to change or not, but for now at least, I don’t want to know how you knew all that stuff. Perhaps you had a good reason, maybe you didn’t, but if there’s any chance for anything happening with us right now, I need some time before we come back to that.”

  “Hey, you’re at my door for half a second and already back to making demands,” I say. “Looks like we picked up right where we left off, didn’t we? Did you want to come in?”

  “I guess I deserved that,” she says. “If I’m wasting my time here, I’ll just go.”

  As I’m looking at her, I notice swelling over parts of her face. Her bottom lip is split, too, right in the middle.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “It was a whole thing with Naomi,” she says. “Can we talk?”

  I move out of the way, and Ellie comes in.

  “To be honest,” I tell her, “I’m a bit surprised you found this place. If I’m not mistaken, this is the first time you’ve been here.”

  “You told me what building you were in when I first came here to New York,” she says. “I figured finding your place from there couldn’t be too difficult. Thanks to the tabloids, everyone knows who I am and assumes we’re still very much together, so making it past the lobby was relatively easy.”

  I close the door.

  I don’t know what I’m meant to be feeling right now, but my emotions are too raw to feel much of anything but overwhelmed. If I had to take a guess, I’d call what I’m feeling right now anger with a hint of surprise and just a sliver of hope. That emotional structure changes from moment to moment, though.

  Walking Ellie into the living room, I say, “Here’s the obvious first question: why are you here?”

  “I’m here to tell you I’m sorry for the way I acted,” she says. “Not just for the way I left that night in the restaurant, but for all of it. I was blaming you for things. After Naomi and I had our slugfest, she helped me see how I’ve been running away from this, from us, from you, from whatever from the get go and if nothing else, I wanted to apologize for that.”

  “You could have called,” I tell her, looking out the window.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I may have deleted your number after that night.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie,” I say, “but it’s been a long few months and today’s felt just as long as the rest of it put together, so if you don’t mind …”

  “What I came to realize was that I’ve been running away, not because I thought it would never work out with you, but because it was starting to look like it could,” she says.

  “I don’t get you,” I tell her. “I deal with a lot of people, but I have never met anyone whose motives are more a mystery than you.”

  “I get that a lot,” she answers. It looks like she’s trying to smile, but her lips hardly move. “I guess what it comes down to is I want to see if you’re willing, maybe, to give things another shot.”

  Yes, of course. Nothing would make me happier in the world.

  “Why would I do that?” I ask. My brain and my mouth aren’t communicating very well right now.

  It takes a few seconds for her to answer.

  “Because at the end of the day, I realized that the feelings I have for you are real, not just some fantasy. I’m ready to stop running,” I tell him.

  I look away from the window and back at Ellie. “It feels like you’ve said something like that before,” I tell her.

  “Did I?” she asks. “If I did, I’m sure I wanted to mean it. But I was still so—should I just go? It seems like you have a lot on your mind and it looks like I’m not helping.”

  “No,” I tell her. “Stay.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “Your face is all red, and there’s a vein above your brow that’s popping out to the point it’s starting to worry me.”

  What I feel right now is played with and discarded. Any lingering guilt about not telling Ellie everything from the outset is located in a part of my mind I can’t access right now. I’m considering keeping it that way.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you sleep in the guest room, at least for tonight.”

  “Okay,” she murmurs. “There’s still a lot I’d like to talk about, but with the fight and t
he flight—huh. Usually, it’s one or the other—I’m dragging right now.” She says, “Do you mind if we pick it up in the morning?”

  I know what she’s doing. She stays here tonight, and it’s going to be that much harder saying no to her tomorrow. Only, even as upset as I am, as frustrated as I am with work, and how angry and hurt I am toward Ellie, I don’t think I could bring myself to tell her no now.

  “That’s fine,” I tell her. “Get some sleep. If we’re going to talk in the morning, though, it’ll have to be pretty early. There are a lot of ducks I’ve got to get in a row, and it looks like every one of them is afraid of getting shot.” I chuckle. “Maybe I overextended the metaphor there, but you get the idea.”

  “Yeah,” she says. “If I’m not up when you get up, wake me. I want to get it right this time.”

  “And you have no interest at all in hearing what I was going to tell you in the restaurant?” I ask.

  She winces and I’m not sure if it’s because I brought up the forbidden topic or if she moved wrong and aggravated one of the minor injuries all that makeup isn’t hiding.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “It’s still a bit much for me.”

  “Even if it would put your mind at ease, you don’t want to hear it?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Maybe it sounds stupid, but I’d like to get my head totally straight about everything before we add too much more information to the mix,” she says.

  “So, if it was that I was going to tell you I’m a serial killer, and I got all this money because I murdered the guy who was supposed to have this life?” I ask.

  “I wouldn’t believe that,” she says.

  Smirking, I say, “It’s good to know you have at least that much trust in me.”

  “You know,” she snaps, “if you don’t want me here, you could just tell me.”

  I hold my hands up, palms out, saying, “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Things at Stingray aren’t going so well, and I honestly didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” she asks. “If you need me to go, I’ll go. If you’d like me to stay, I’ll stay, but if it’s just so you can keep making those comments and make me feel even worse than I already do, I’d rather just hear it from my sister.”