2. Handmade Regrets
2
HANDMADE REGRETS
brOOKS BELLAMY
The cold air bit at my cheek as I opened the door of my loft to leave. Spring hadn’t quite hit New York, and I was running late—typical—but something made me pause and find my scarf to bundle in. The morning news reported a chilly outlook for the day, a little back and forth with Mother Nature.
A quick search and my usual wool plaid wasn’t around, but… hanging there between my peacoat and a ball cap I hadn’t worn in months was a knitted scarf. Handmade in stormy blues to soft grays, it hung slightly uneven at the ends; the yarn puckering where someone had fumbled while knitting it.
Maisy’s scarf. She had made it and given it to me our first Christmas a few years ago. She’d been so proud of her first knitting attempt, she snapped a photo of me wearing it and then we laughed at how ugly it truly was.
I stared at it for a second too long. I hadn’t worn it in a long time. Hadn’t planned to today either. But my fingers closed around it before I could second guess myself.
It was cold. That’s all. Just cold. Not a commentary on how much she’d been on my mind lately thanks to the Bellamy’s latest project at Orion Mind Institute where they studied the brain, the nervous system, science stuff like that. Maisy was a scientist—a young, beautiful, sexy, bright scientist.
Dammit, what a way to start my day thinking about her.
I looped it once around my neck and pulled my trench collar up. I grabbed the keys to my Mercedes-Maybach SL 680 and headed out the door.
The seat in white Nappa leather hugged me like a glove as I settled in for the drive across Manhattan. I would normally call my driver, but the Maybach had recently been delivered. She needed road time, and I needed to be seen in it. Not that I was egotistical. But I’d worked damn hard building a top architectural firm with my twin, and it was time to enjoy what I’d earned.
After taking a year off to lecture at Cambridge on a teaching fellowship, my recent passions turned toward educating the next generation in the art of architecture. I wouldn’t mind spending more of my time doing that, but I’d yet to work out how to tell Archer I wanted to bow out of our business.
By the time I arrived at Orion Mind Institute, after valet parking at a hotel down the block, Archer and Lacey were there. Seated in the reception area, he impatiently twiddled his thumbs while she tapped away on her phone.
She glanced up, her lips parting in that polished, perfect assistant way of hers. “Good morning, Mr. Bellamy.”
“Lacey,” I nodded, noting she must have had her hair recently highlighted. She wasn’t unattractive to look at, and made a proficient impression with our clients.
Archer started with a low whistle. “You joining a knitting circle after this or just channeling your inner Mr. Rogers? Bold fashion choice, little brother.”
As twins, we were only a minute apart. I rolled my eyes and tugged the scarf loose. “Frosty morning. Don’t be a dick.”
“Handmade,” he added, grinning. “And by the looks of that uneven stitch—handmade with feeling. ” He knew very well who gave this scarf to me a few years back, and was definitely being a dick about it.
The receptionist ushered us into the boardroom, and we got settled. I stuffed the scarf into my coat pocket like the nubby feel of the yarn hadn’t just punched me in the chest at the memories of her.
Before I could get too possessed by the past, the boardroom doors opened and the Orion people marched in. Dr. Patterson, the CEO, greeted us with a brisk handshake and the same intense energy he always gave off—like he was perpetually a few seconds away from a major advancement in world health.
“Brooks. Archer. Glad you’re here. I’m pleased with the progress of the build. Looking forward to your updates today,” he said.
The meeting began, and Archer and I launched into our presentation. We had our twin act down to a science—him, the focused, no-nonsense type, and me with a knack for charming, despite my current mood.
Lacey sat beside me, flipping through the project binder, cool and capable, jumping in when she needed to. We were a team and performed well together.
Halfway through a tense exchange about construction timelines for the remainder of the build, she made a comment about optimizing the material delivery schedule to facilitate a speedier completion time that had both Archer and me glancing her way.
Smart. Sharp. I made a mental note to bump up her performance bonus.
“In short, about eight weeks from now, the first phase of the three-part Horizon expansion to this building will be complete,” I finished the presentation.
After answering more questions, the meeting wrapped up, and Patterson stood and shook our hands again. “Excellent progress, gentlemen. We’re counting on things being done soon.” He nodded toward Lacey. “And Ms. Andrews. Impressive insight.”
“Thank you,” Lacey said, professional smile firmly in place.
As we exited the room, I turned to her. “You were great in there. Thanks for keeping us on track.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine with a touch of something more—warm and lingering. “That’s my job. But I’m glad I could impress you.”
Archer caught it too. I could tell from the way he smirked and elbowed me the moment her heels clicked down the hall in front of us as we walked out.
“She’s got it bad,” he whispered.
I glared at him. “Stop.”
“She’s competent. Cute. And clearly fantasizing about what it’d be like to be all yours for lunch.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. Archer would keep going whether or not I fed him the opportunity.
As we stepped outside, Archer cast me a sideways glance. “You good?”
“Fine,” I clipped.
“You always say that when you’re not.”
“Still fine.”
He smirked. “All right, fine it is. Lunch?”
We called a car service to take Lacey back to the office with promises to catch up later. Her polite smile barely concealed her disappointment at not joining us.
Archer was only mildly impressed by my new car. He didn’t drive and hated to spend money on possessions. He invested wisely and built wealth, never stopping. We may be twins, but that’s where we differed.
His ambition drove him to build our company bigger than I thought possible—my year away at Cambridge afforded him the opportunity to take charge and move things in new directions. He had a nice loft in the same building as me and kept his life simple. I had the best loft in the building and drove my luxury car now and then.
Archer wanted more; I had enough, plenty, and wanted to enjoy what I had.
Over lunch at our favorite bistro, he wasted no time. When our drinks arrived, he raised his glass of bourbon for a toast.
“To the Bellamy brothers,” he said. “Rich as shit…”
“And heartbreakers…” I added to the terrible toast we once made up with our brother, Tucker, when we were younger. Given our love lives to date, we were both more like the heart broken. Only Tucker made out so far, with a beautiful wife and children, and playing professional hockey for a team in South Carolina.
Archer ordered us both the usual—roasted chicken club for him, a medium-rare steak sandwich for me. The waitress winked at him, and he missed it.
“So,” he said, pick up his sandwich with a sigh. “Think Patterson suspects we’re sort of making up the construction timeline as we go?”
“He probably knows. But we’ll hit our deadlines. We have to. You wanted to expand beyond architectural services into managing entire builds. This is our first attempt, and it has to work. You know that.”
“Yeah. I’ll apply pressure down the line to our foreman and construction teams. And you should lean into Lacey’s ideas. Whatever helps the situation, right?” With a certain emphasis on the word lean, he insinuated so much more, sipping his drink with a level of teasing. “She’s a total catch. Organized. Loyal. Bit of a sassy strut when she walks away. What’s not to like?”
“She’s our assistant,” I replied, staring down at my drink, ice melting. “She’s good at her job. That’s it.”
“Brooks, you need to get back out there. I thought when you returned from Cambridge you’d be ready to go, past behind you, all guns firing, locked and loaded to kick some ass and build our business to the next level. Maybe even a little fun again. But no, that monkey called Maisy is still on your back.”
He should talk, considering he had spent a few years pining away for his ex girlfriend.
“What do you want from me, man?” My tone of voice marked my agitation.
“Stop acting like she doesn’t haunt you every time someone brings up handmade scarves.” He finished his drink as our food arrived. “By the way, Dax is swinging by in five. Prepare yourself,” he said.
I groaned. “Fantastic.”
Dax Donovan was an old buddy from college, too intelligent for his own good, while also possessing people skills. A rare combination indeed. Our age, early thirties, he amassed a fortune selling off his first internet business, turned playboy, and every now and then he reached out to us with news of his latest venture.
Five minutes later, he slid into our booth confidently, like he was about to negotiate a million-dollar merger.
“Gentlemen. Great news,” he grinned. “Behold. The future of your love lives.”
Archer lit up. “Perfect timing. Brooks was just defending his bachelor monk lifestyle.”
Dax snickered and dropped two glossy black business cards in front of each of us. The words Minted I’d been in a serious slump and worried it was incapable.
I took one step inside. “Hello?”
She jumped, bonked her head, and cursed. When she stood and faced me…
Those eyes.
That blush on her cheeks.
Those pouty pink lips... and my scarf clutched in her hand.
“Maisy?” I exclaimed. My heart thudded to a full stop.
She stared at me like I was the one who’d appeared out of nowhere.
“Brooks?” She blinked.
And everything else—the Orion project, Dax’s app, Archer teasing me about Lacey, and anything about this day—faded away.
All I saw was the woman who left me behind.