17. Marcus
Chapter seventeen
Marcus
Tugging mine and Brooke’s suitcases from the trunk, I wheel them both forward with one hand, lifting them over the curb outside the hotel where her dad works. Brooke pushes through the front door with far more enthusiasm than I expected, considering how trepid she’s been.
She scans the hotel lobby before landing on an everyday man dressed in tan slacks, a light blue button-up and a striped navy tie. “Dad!” she yells like we are the only ones in here and leaps at him, flinging her arms around his neck.
“There’s my girl.” He squeezes her tight before releasing her just as I catch up. “You must be Marcus. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Have you now?” I smirk, adjusting my laptop bag on my shoulder with one hand and reaching out the other to shake his. “Only good things I hope.”
“The man who doesn’t try to clip my baby birds’ wings,” he says. “I can’t wait to hear more about this job.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fields. Thank you for having us.”
“Please call me Joseph. And thank you for coming. I know this trip isn’t exactly on any bucket lists.” He turns away and leads us to the tan marble lobby counter.
“We’re happy to be here,” I reply. Brooke seems to be out of words, the spark of joy she had for her dad instantly diminishing at the reminder that we are here to spend time with her mom too.
“Alright, well I’ve got the keys to your room right here.”
Room. Singular.
Why did it not occur to me that we’d be sharing a room–sharing a space?
It must not have occurred to Brooke either based on the way her eyes widen. “You know, Dad,” she starts. “We can stay in separate rooms. I know you’re old-fashioned.”
“Nonsense, Brooke.” He waves his hand before holding out the white paper packet containing the keycards. “You’re an adult. I want you to feel as comfortable as possible during your stay so you come back to see me. If that means having your boyfriend with you to make you feel safe after a day with that wretched woman, then so be it.”
Brooke winces at the mention of her mother, and I feel the urge to redirect the moment. “Thank you, Joseph,” I say, taking the keys from him and reminding myself of my role. With my free hand, I graze Brooke’s lower back, only enough to encourage her toward the elevators. She tenses at my touch but not enough that anyone else would have noticed. Her body relaxes under my hand with her first steps, and she glances over her shoulder.
“See you for dinner, Dad?”
“Sure thing, sweetie. Go get settled in. Meet me in the lobby at 8?”
“Okay. ”
With that, even though my hand is still connected to the thin fabric of her tank top, she guides me toward the elevator. She taps on the “4” and once I’m inside with the bags, she stares at the stainless steel doors as they close us in.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“About?” I shift my gaze to catch hers but she’s picking at her light pink fingernail. Weird. I don’t think I’ve seen her nails painted since I’ve met her. Maybe I didn’t notice.
“I didn’t think about the bed situation.”
I chuckle. “I think we can manage.”
“About that.”
“What?”
“Well, I didn’t even pack pajamas. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it. I’m not a very good planner.”
“You planned an entire successful book event.”
“That was important to me.”
“I take it pajamas aren’t?”
“Not so much.”
Fucking hell. Does that mean she’s been sleeping naked in my bed every night–not even a scrap of fabric dividing us on the other side of the wall? “Lucky for you, I am a planner. I’m sure I have an extra shirt you can borrow.”
“Thanks, Marcus. For all of this.”
“You’re welcome.” I hold her gaze longer than my dick wishes I would, thankfully broken by the elevator jolting to a stop. The doors open with a whoosh to a hallway covered with tan chevron carpet. Our room happens to be the one directly in front of us. I pull the key from its pocket, tapping it against the black box next to the door before pushing through it.
I pull the suitcases into the space in time to watch Brooke toss herself dramatically onto the white comforter, her feet hanging off the edge as she stares at the ceiling. A fresh smile lights her face as her eyelids flutter closed.
“That good, huh?”
“Just a glimmer. Nothing like a freshly made hotel bed, you know?”
“Not really. I’ve spent a lot of time in hotels in the past few years. My bed is what I look forward to.”
“Sorry.” Her smile fades. “I’ve been holding it hostage from you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, maybe after this trip, we will be pros at sharing a bed and you can move off the couch.” Her words flow with innocence when I wish they were anything but. I debate making a joke, but not knowing how she’d react keeps me from it. “I guess it depends if you snore.”
“No snoring here. Hope you don’t mind my mid-night kicking, though,” I tease, feeling weird about being somewhat relaxed in this situation.
“Not at all,” she plays. “A perfect way to test my self-defense skills. If I can’t protect myself in my sleep, what even was the point in all those Muay Thai classes?”
Taking off my jacket and draping it over the back of a chair, I sit on the edge of the bed and twist back to look at the beautiful girl sprawled out behind me. “Impressive. Seems Thailand was good for you.”
“Yeah.” She sighs, sitting and kicking off her Nikes to sit criss-cross on the mattress. “ Thai Brooke is the best Brooke.”
“ Thai Brooke can’t exist anywhere else?”
“Not in a place where my mother also exists.”
Goddamn, maybe this woman actually is Satan. There’s no avoiding finding out first-hand now.
“Your dad is cool,” I tell Brooke as we make it back to the room after a two-hour dinner in the hotel restaurant.
“He’s the best.” She digs through her suitcase for a toiletry bag before walking to the bathroom. “I would have lost my mind growing up if it wasn’t for him.”
“When did your parents get divorced?” I ask through the door she’s left barely cracked.
“Not until right before I left for Thailand, unfortunately.” She turns on the faucet, and I lean against the wall outside the bathroom. “It should have been way sooner than that, but it’s hard to leave sometimes, ya know? There can still be comfort in things that are wrong.”
“It’s safe and not as scary as putting yourself out there.” I surprise myself with the admission.
Brooke opens the door enough to stick her head out, purple toothbrush pulled to her lips. “Yeah, that.” She gives me a sad smile before stepping back in front of the sink, the cracked door still between us. “I’m proud of my dad for leaving. Better late than never. And it’s what gave me the confidence to leave Beau.”
“Are you worried about seeing him this week?” I instantly regret the curiosity when she doesn’t reply, standing outside the door awkwardly.
I’m about to take it back and admit to it being none of my business when her toothpaste spit hits the ceramic sink. A moment later, a soft, “Not as much as I am about seeing my mom, but yeah,” comes from the other side of the door. “He wasn’t all bad.” Her words are so quiet that I barely hear them–like maybe she’s trying to convince herself more than me.
Still leaning against the wall outside the bathroom, I resist the urge to both walk away from this conversation and from joining her in the bathroom. “Oh yeah?”
She sighs. “When we were in college, he was different. Fun. Into me. Like I meant something to him.”
I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would be in a relationship with someone who didn’t mean everything to them. Her silence brings me back to the present. “You don’t think you did?”
It’s a moment before she answers, like she was lost in thought. “I think that once he became a lawyer, his need to succeed and be the best took priority over loving me. When you ignore someone long enough, anything good just fades away, you know?”
I have an idea–it’s why I refuse to waste anyone’s time if I’m not interested enough to make them a priority.
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?” she asks.
Now I’m really ready to exit this conversation. “I dated some in college. It didn’t stick.” The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. She probably thinks it didn’t work out because work is my priority too. I guess you could argue that, but it was always them , not me. They weren’t the right fit.
“Well, at least then you can avoid situations like this.”
I have no idea how to respond, and she takes the hint, pushing the door closed and cutting off our conversation.
Fucking hell. This girl is making me nervous about tomorrow. As I dig through my bag for athletic shorts for me and a T-shirt for Brooke, it hits me that I have to sleep in bed with her first. I debate seeing if there’s bourbon in the mini-fridge even though there’s likely not. I know I can handle whatever comes my way tomorrow if it means helping Brooke. It should be easy enough. I know how to mold myself to any situation as needed. But it’s been a long ass time since I’ve been in bed with a girl I’m sexually attracted to and can’t touch. If ever. And she’s made it very clear that touching will not be something that happens.
I’m tugging my shorts over my hips as Brooke exits the bathroom. She glances my way but quickly shifts gears toward the mini-fridge. She pulls out two shooters before turning around. “There’s no bourbon, but whiskey?” Didn’t she just brush her teeth? She must be really stressed. Or maybe not as much of a control freak as I am.
“Sure. Thanks. I left you a T-shirt on the bed.” I nod toward the black fabric as if it doesn’t stand out on its own against the white sheets and leave to take my turn in the bathroom, skipping brushing my teeth for now.
When I return, Brooke is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the king-sized bed in nothing but my shirt. Her blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and the shirt is just long enough to make me wonder what type of underwear is barely out of reach.
She glances up, her hazel eyes glossed over. There’s no drink in her hand, but even if she took it as a shot, it wouldn’t have hit her that fast. “Oh, hey,” she whispers like she already forgot I was here too.
I’m tempted to reach for the whiskey on ice she’s made for me and set on the nightstand, but I’m frozen in place. She’s so goddamn sexy, but she’s also really fucking sad, and I’m really fucking uncomfortable. Just turn on the TV and drink your whiskey and don’t get deeper into her problems than you already are. “What’s wrong? ”
“Nothing.” She brushes me off with a wave of her hand and pulls back the covers, flashing me a view of a strip of purple lace perfectly hugging her ass before she crawls under the sheets and reaches for the TV remote. Fuck me.
I join her on the bed but sit on top of the covers, back against the headboard, and reach for my whiskey. The cold amber liquid hits my tongue and before I can stop myself, I down the entire glass as if it were a shot. “It’s not nothing,” I say, setting the empty glass–aside from melting ice–on the nightstand.
“It’s just . . . What if no one believes we’re together and my mom . . . I don’t know. Forces me alone with Beau or something?”
“They’ll believe it. I’ll make sure of it. And I won’t let you be alone with that douche for even a second.”
“What if you have to pee or something?”
I lick my lips, biting back a grin. “Then I guess we’ll hit that level of friendship that happens when girls get drunk and go to the bathroom together really quickly.”
“Except you’re not a girl.”
I shrug. “And we won’t be drunk.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Despite being one, I typically am not a fan of rich people either. But they always have excellent taste in bourbon. “It’ll be okay.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Do you trust me?” I keep my gaze locked on her even though her eyes are focused on where she scratches at her perfectly pink and glossy fingernail again as if she could chip the professional polish.
She nods. “I think so.” Guilt racks through me, thinking maybe I should mention my net worth. It’s never something I tell people–outside of my parents and Dean, it’s never been a conversation. But knowing how Brooke feels about the category she’ll inevitably place me in, I’m concerned holding back this piece of information will be a nail in a tire.
“Convincing.” I chuckle in an attempt to ease the tension.
“I wish Maci were here,” she mumbles.
I try not to take it personally. “I don’t think she’d be able to sell the boyfriend thing.”
A sad chuckle escapes her lips. “No, I know.”
“But she’d know how to make you feel better?”
She nods again.
“What would she do?”
She glances at me, then looks at the comforter, smoothing her hands over it. “When she was in Thailand and distraught trying to figure out who she should be with, there was this night where she was all talked out. She didn’t know what to say or think or do anymore. We were sitting on my couch listening to the birds chirping outside in the night with a soft breeze coming in through an open window. I pulled her head to my lap and just let her cry and lie there. I could feel the moment her resolve set in. I know it’s not what worked , but it helped.”
My head falls against the headboard with the weight of my options. I’m sure as hell not Maci, and Brooke has made it very clear I’m her boss and where the line is drawn in our situation. Although, it’s contradictory to the way she opens up to me. Fuck if I know what that means. “Maybe you just need a good night’s sleep.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She sighs, rolling away from me, giving up on the idea of TV and replacing the remote on the nightstand before she settles in .
Uncomfortable with the tension, I pull my computer from my laptop case next to my bed, deciding to get some work done as Brooke drifts off to sleep without another word.