SWEAT

by Deborah Bladon

  She scratches her brow. "That does make sense."

  "Keep it. I want you to."

  As I watch her tuck the chain back into her purse, a silver ring with a small diamond setting falls out. It bounces once on the table before it lands on the floor. I'm on my knees in an instant, chasing after it as it rolls under our table.

  "Oh no, no," Brynn mutters as she drops to her knees next to me. "I can't lose that. Please, Smith. Don't let me lose it."

  I won't. I have no idea why it means so much to her, but I'm not about to let it slip away. I crawl another foot forward until I slap my hand down on it, blocking the path of a couple ready to leave the café.

  "Hey, you're Smith Booth, aren't you?" The woman crouches, her skirt shifting so I can literally see right up her dress.

  I scramble to my feet, brushing the knees of my pants to get rid of the dirt that's settled there. I'm still wearing the suit I was earlier when I was on air. It's just past noon now, and normally I'd be in meetings discussing tomorrow's show. I ducked out to see Brynn.

  "Can I get your autograph?" She's on her feet now too; her hand fishing inside her bag for what I assume is a pen.

  I look down at the ring in my hand before I turn back to find Brynn standing behind me, a broad smile on her face. "He'd be more than happy to give you an autograph."

  The woman taps me on the shoulder before she shoves a pen and what looks like a take-out menu from a pizza restaurant at me. "Make it out to Bonnie, with a B."

  Is there another way to spell Bonnie that doesn't begin with a B?

  "Are you his wife?" Bonnie, with a capital B, asks Brynn.

  Brynn stammers through a series of "I…no…we used to be friends…not really, but then last night everything changed."

  "She will be," I interrupt. "I'm going to marry this woman one day."

  "Smith," Brynn says breathlessly as her hand lands on my shoulder. "You don't know that."

  I hand Bonnie back her pen and the menu that now has my signature scribbled across it. Then I turn to my love. "Is this your grandmother's ring, Brynn?"

  Her eyes drop to my open palm at the ring that I'm still holding. "It was originally my great-grandma's wedding ring. She left it to my grandma and she left it to me. My grandma told me her parents had a very special love."

  "On the day you tell me you want to marry me, I'll slip it on your finger."

  She leans forward, her eyes wide and open. "You're saying these things because we had great sex last night."

  "I'm saying these things because I'm in love with you," I whisper against the shell of her ear.

  "You can't be serious?" She steps back and scans my face. "How can you be in love with me?"

  "Ask my heart." I tap my fingers against the center of my chest. "I've never been in love before and my Gramps told me that when it happened, I'd know, so I know."

  Tears glisten in the corner of those brilliant blue eyes. "You know I loved you when I was seventeen, right?"

  "And every day since," I add with a soft kiss to her mouth.

  "I hated you yesterday when I woke up. I can't love you now." She shrugs through a half-grin. "I don't think that's how love works."

  "I know it works that way." I open my palm again. "I'm going to give this back to you now, Brynn, because I know you won't let me keep it. One day I'll put it on your finger forever."

  I place the ring in her hand, fist mine around it and hold it to my chest.

  "You're as confusing now as you were when I was seventeen." She leans into me. "Kiss me, Smith. Just kiss me."

  I do.

  Chapter 21

  Brynn

  I can't be in love with Smith Booth, can I? We had mind-blowing, toe-curling sex and then he told me he loves me.

  He looks at me in a way that Joel never did. He makes me feel things that I didn't know were possible. I can't just blurt out those three words to a man I've spent most of my adult life hating-from-afar.

  I try and shake off the conversation I just had with Smith at the café and focus on the task at hand.

  I'm in a meeting with Sonya Lannen, her assistant and the contractor who I'll be working side-by-side with to complete the show suite at The Beryl.

  "I'm just going to say this, Brynn because I feel it's important to get it out there."

  I wouldn't be able to read this woman's face if my life depended on it. She's as reserved as they come which isn't surprising. She's a part of Manhattan's elite. Technically, I am too, since I'm a Bishop, but I don't celebrate that the way the Lennans do even though my net worth is likely double theirs.

  I was gifted with two trust funds in the first twenty-four years of my life. One that my parents had set up for me when I was a baby, the other comprised completely of my grandmother's estate. She may have started in life on meager means, but she inherited her wealth from my late grandfather.

  My mother was her only child and when they argued because my grandma didn't want to move in with my parents, my grandma turned to me for comfort.

  She treated me like I was the center of her universe. She believed in me and when she started to slip into the hands of her Alzheimer's my face morphed into my mother's in her mind, and my grandma said all the things she wished she would have when my mom was young.

  I was the tie that reconnected the two of them the last year of my grandma's life.

  "Are you listening, Brynn?" Sonya brushes her hand over my bare forearm. I dressed up for this meeting, even though it's the middle of August. I'm wearing a black sleeveless dress, my hair is down and straight and my make-up is on point.

  "I am," I answer quickly. "I was just thinking about the wood for the master closet. We're having that imported from Borneo. I'll have a sample to show you tomorrow."

  It's a great save if I do say so myself.

  "Good. I'm anxious to see it." She leans back in her leather chair. We're in a conference room at the main offices of The Lennan Group NYC. "I didn't know what to expect when I found out it was you who landed this job. This is the exact point I wanted to touch on."

  I don't follow and my raised brows say as much.

  "I'd appreciate if you didn't talk shop with your father."

  I skim my tongue over my top teeth. It shouldn't bother me as much as it does when someone brings up my dad. I get it. He's a big deal in Manhattan real estate and when a developer is working on something of this magnitude they want to keep it under wraps until they're ready to choose the broker they want to work with.

  "I make it a point to never discuss business with him," I answer politely.

  "Even this project?" She leans forward until her elbows are on the conference table. She's dressed all in white like an angel but this woman is far from that. She's ruthless. I've seen it myself these past few weeks as I've listened to her berate employees over the phone and push contractors into the corner over the smallest details.

  "Any project I work on."

  "Your father isn't the broker on any of your other projects, is he?"

  I don't drop my mask. I keep it in place even though my lower jaw is about to fall into my lap.

  "You did know that you were hired as part of his deal with us, right?" She practically sings the words out. Her voice raises an octave or two.

  I nod, because I can't form even a single word in response.

  "He wanted a say in the design elements, we didn’t agree with those terms so he suggested we hire you. I fought against it Brynn, but when my father saw what you'd done to your apartment, he was on board with the idea."

  Cooper made it seem as if I landed this job strictly on my own merit.

  "I'm not an idiot. I know that Fulton will try and influence the project using you as his mule, but I can't let that happen."

  His mule? Seriously? My father rarely even talks to me.

  "He thinks he knows the needs and tastes of our future clients better than we do. If it was up to me, I'd hire a younger broker, but Cooper insisted on Fulton. He's locked into this and so are y
ou now, so let me be crystal clear."

  I don't even blink an eye as I listen.

  "Do not show your father any samples. Don't bring his ridiculous old-school ideas to me and try to sell them. I'll know it's coming from him and if it happens, I'll make damn sure that every other developer in this city is aware that hiring you is a big mistake."

  "Understood." I snap open the leather portfolio in front of me. "I have a list of finishes I want to go over for the main bathroom. I'm ready if you are."

  ***

  I watch him as he crosses Madison Avenue. He moves fluidly, like a shark in the ocean. That’s who he is in this city. His black hair is now a peppered shade of gray, his blue eyes have always been darker than mine, but his smile is the same as it was when I was a little girl begging for his attention.

  "Daddy," I call out to him with a wave of my hand.

  He spots me immediately, a genuine smile taking over his handsome face. "Bernie, it's you."

  Bernie.

  The nickname he gave me in middle school when I burned a slice of bread every day for an entire week before I realized that there was a setting on the toaster that controlled the time.

  "I need to talk to you," I say as I feel his arms circle me. He pulls me into a tight hug. I breathe in the scent of his cologne. It's the same cologne he's worn every day for my entire life.

  His lips brush over my forehead. "You're more beautiful every time I see you. How is that possible?"

  I think I'm in love, Daddy. He makes me feel more beautiful than I ever have felt before.

  That's what I want to say but I don't. We've never discussed any of my relationships before. The only time he voiced an opinion on my personal life is when he told me he thought I'd regret ending things with Joel. He was wrong.

  "Come up to my office." He gestures to the large building we're in front of. I arrived just moments before he did and when I looked back to the street, I saw him. Tall, debonair and drawing the attention of people in every direction.

  At one time he was my hero. That's not the case anymore.

  I follow his lead and let him guide me through the lobby and into the elevator of the skyscraper. He doesn't say a word as his eyes scan his phone and his fingers tap out messages to people who will undoubtedly pad his bank account.

  His firm employs more than three hundred brokers who work in all five boroughs. His business is his life. It always has been and I suspect it always will be.

  We pass his assistant, a handsome man with a beard, who calls out my name as if we've met. We haven't. He recognizes me from the picture that was taken at my graduation of me and my parents. One almost identical, but with my brother's smiling face while he's wearing his cap and gown, hangs next to it in my dad's private office.

  "Do you want anything?" My dad shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it on a coat rack near the door before he closes it behind us. "I remember you liked tea. I can get you an iced tea, Bern. Would you like that?"

  He's trying and that's more than he usually does. He may have attempted to call me twice in the past two weeks but that pales in comparison to the two calls a day I was making to him after my grandma died. He rarely picked up. He was always in a meeting or out at a showing. I was never at the top of his priority list, the way he was on mine.

  "I'm fine," I say as I sit on a leather couch next to a bank of windows. "I'm sorry I missed your calls. I tried calling you back but you must have been busy."

  He sits next to me, crossing his legs at the knees. "Business is good. I'm taking on new listings every day."

  Of course, he is. He's in an ongoing competition with himself to prove that he still has it.

  He looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist. "I have a showing in an hour but I'm glad you stopped by. I know what it's about."

  I scan the pictures hung on the wall next to those of my brother and me. Many of them are famous faces; clients that he helped to either buy or sell their property. There's one of him and the mayor and another of him with my mother in Hawaii. It must have been taken more than twenty years ago. I can't remember the last time he ventured out of New York.

  "You're here about The Beryl aren't you?" His voice softens as my gaze travels over another photograph. "I didn't push for you to come on board for any reason other than I believe strongly that you're the most qualified person for the job."

  I stand and walk over to the wall of pictures. I walk past them all as he talks about Cooper and friendship and commitment to a bigger picture.

  My ears start to ring as I stand in front of the image of my father, dressed in a tuxedo, my mother standing next to him and three other people, all smiling brightly for the camera.

  I hear him behind me and his footsteps on the hardwood as he nears where I am.

  I raise my finger to the frame and tap the edge. "Is this from the Met Gala?"

  "It is." He wraps his arm around my shoulder. "Wasn't your mom a vision in that dress? I had it tailored made for her."

  "That's Smith Booth." I touch my finger to the glass.

  He nods. "That's right, and that's Sigrid Hull, one of the most beautiful women I've ever met."

  "Who is that next to her?" I turn to look at my dad, waiting for the answer I already know.

  "Otto Schmidt. He's one of my top agents."

  I study his face, waiting for the smile to break, but it doesn't. "How long has he worked for you?"

  I see the moment it happens. His expression shifts. Panic washes over his face as realization hits him like a ton of bricks. "I hired him the night of the Gala."

  "What did you do?" I grab hold of his forearm and shake. "It was you, wasn't it? Tell me what you did."

  "Bernie." His voice cracks as he turns to look at me. "That brownstone was a money pit. You would have regretted that decision for the rest of your life."

  "What did you do?" I repeat my question, desperate for an answer.

  "He wanted a job. Otto wanted a job with the firm." He rakes both hands through his hair. "He came to me with your offer because he felt it wasn't prudent. He thought you were making a mistake going in so aggressively. I told him I'd take care of it."

  "He was legally obligated to present that offer." I firm my stance, crossing my arms over my chest. "He had to present my offer."

  "It wasn't in your best interest to go in with that offer."

  "Sigrid never saw my offer?" I scrub my hand over my forehead. "Are you saying she never saw it?"

  He stands in silence. His eyes are focused clearly on mine.

  "Answer me," I snap. "Are you the reason I never got to buy that place for grandma?"

  "Yes," he whispers. "I'm the reason."

  I shake my head. "That and now The Beryl. Why, daddy? Why control my life like this?"

  His knuckles pop as he fists his right hand. "You stopped needing me. Somewhere along the way you just stopped needing me."

  Tears well in the corners of my eyes. "I've never stopped needing you. You stopped needing me, Daddy. You shut me out. I've been nothing to you for a long time."

  "No," he shouts the word out, his voice cracking. "You are everything to me. You and Julian."

  "When is my birthday?"

  His brow furrows as he thinks.

  "You don't know, do you?" I bite back. "Why did I break up with Joel?"

  "Bernie, please," he pleads. "I've tried my best. I wanted to make a good life for you and your brother. You wouldn't have the apartment you do now if it wasn’t for me."

  "None of that matters to me." I swipe my hand over my face. "Family matters to me. It has always mattered to me and I feel like I don't have one."

  "You have a family," he huffs out the words in a laugh. "We are your family."

  "Start acting like it." I brush past him. "When you can act like the father I need, call me."

  Chapter 22

  Smith

  "Fulton is a crafty bastard," I say as I wrap my arms around Brynn. "Can't he get in deep shit for manipulating the sale of the bro
wnstone?"

  She nods as she looks up at my face. "Very deep shit but it would mean contacting Sigrid to tell her that she lost out on a better sale."

  "You know my offer was like twenty-five grand less than your offer, right?"

  "Only twenty-five thousand?" Her eyes widen. "I thought it was a lot lower than that."

  "The intel your spy was feeding you was off base then." I chuckle. "I wanted that place for Gramps, so I went in with a solid offer."

  "I'm glad he's there and your brother and sister-in-law too."

  "I'm glad you're here." I move my hand along her bare leg. We're naked, as expected. We ate dinner in the nude in the dining room and then I brought her to bed. I haven't touched her yet. I could tell she wanted to talk.

  "I hated you for no reason for a long time." Her smile fades. "Jesus, Smith. I literally couldn’t stand to think about you and it was all over a piece of property. How fucked up is that?"

  "First let me say," I begin, as I move my hand between her legs. "It's going to take me some time to get used to the fact that you say the word fuck. It makes my cock hard-as-steel when you do it."

  She glides her hand down my stomach until it brushes the tip of my dick. "I see what you mean and fuck, fuckery, fuck fuck a dee."

  I moan. "Your mouth is going to kill me."

  "My mouth will take care of your hard-as-steel cock in a minute."

  "Another word I've never heard you say."

  "Minute?" She kisses my cheek. "Is that it?"

  "Try again," I slide my finger over her clit.

  She whimpers as her legs part further. "Mouth?"

  I twirl the tip of my thumb over her entrance. "If you miss it a third time, I'll make you come using your own hand."

  She presses her fingers over mine. "Cock, I said cock. Cock a doodle… Oh, fuck, Smith. Right there."

  I want more. I'm always going to want more of this. "Keep talking, baby."

  "I can't talk when you touch me like this," she whispers. "I can't think when I feel your hands on me."