25. Marcus
Chapter twenty-five
Marcus
Twenty. I press the last rep with my chest shaking. The steel bar hits the rack above me harder than it should, the 225 pounds of plates clinking when I release it. I swing my body up with the very little remaining strength I have, my feet grounding into the floor as I reach for my sweat towel. Fuck. I drag it over my face and drop the wet cloth on the black leather bench between my legs.
I rip the left AirPod from my ear, David Goggins’ voice narrating his book immediately stopping. It’s not like I was paying attention anyway. Reaching for my Nalgene bottle I stashed under the bench, I unscrew the cap and take a swig. Pumping out the stress didn’t make the impact I hoped for. I dig my phone from the pocket of my joggers and send an uncharacteristic text to Dean.
Marcus: Talk me out of making a move on Brooke.
We’ve been friends coming up on twenty years, but we’re still guys. Emotional shit is not morning coffee talk for us. I move to set my phone back down, determined to get in another set, but it vibrates in my hand.
Dean: No can do. I’m on strict orders to encourage that .
I probably should have just texted Maci. But while that may be a more comfortable conversation, Dean still knows me better.
Marcus: I like her, man.
Dean: No shit. You took a vacation for her.
Marcus: Fuck off
Dean: What’s the problem then?
Marcus: She doesn’t live in the same state, for starters.
Dean: She could.
Marcus: I don’t want her to have to add me to the mix when she doesn’t know what she wants yet. She’s stressed about it enough.
Dean: What if adding you to the equation makes the decision easier?
Marcus: I’m not even sure she’s interested.
Dean: Is she with you right now?
Marcus: No. Why?
Dean: Because I’m reading Maci’s group chat text over her shoulder.
Dean: Pretty confident you should make a move.
I want to know the details, but I picture Maci slapping him away when she catches him spying for me and decide against it. I shake my head, amused as much as I am determined. I lay back on the bench and reach for the bar.
The bathroom knob turns, drawing my attention from where I’m leaning slightly over the hotel room desk doing a quick Google search on my laptop. I fold it shut so Brooke doesn’t catch the magazine feature I have up about helping a woman get past her mental blocks when it comes to orgasming. I’m confident in my ability to make her feel good but smart enough to know helping Brooke feel how she deserves is far more important than keeping my pride. I lock away the possibly helpful bits of information from the article and stand, buttoning my charcoal suit jacket over my crisp white shirt and solid black tie that I had room service press.
Hands still on the button, I freeze. Because fucking hell. Brooke looks up from where she’s smoothing her hands over the sparkles of her black dress. It’s short–short enough to immediately make me recall the memory of having my fingers inside her last night as she was pressed against me. It would probably be inappropriate for a fundraiser event like the one we’re attending, but the sleeves are tight and long and the front doesn’t cut low. She straightened her usual waves and tied her blonde hair into some sort of messy but controlled side bun, strands of hair framing her face. Her neck is exposed, and I wish I could kiss her.
Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong? Do I look okay?” She moves like she’s headed back to the bathroom to check herself out, giving me a view of the back of her dress–an intentional cut-out revealing a good portion of her back.
“Brooke.” She freezes at the sound of her name, turning to look at me through her eyes, dark with black and gold eye makeup in a way that screams “high-end casino night.” “You look incredible.”
“Oh.” She smiles without a single ounce of insecurity, and I fucking love it.
I take advantage of the moment and press my luck, stepping closer to her. “You’re making my job easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t have to fake being attracted to my fake girlfriend. ”
Her cheeks flame, shyness taking over as she scans my suit, my perfectly trimmed beard and neatly pulled back hair. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“We’ll look even better together.” I wink before turning to the door. “You ready?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Our Uber is waiting for us when we walk out of the hotel lobby, and we slide into the backseat of the SUV in silence. As we’re pulling up to the country club, Brooke mutters under her breath, “I don’t want to be here.”
I don’t respond. I have no fucking clue what to say–how to comfort her. I can’t fully wrap my head around why she wanted to make this trip at all and why she is concerned with appeasing her mom to the degree that she has. I also have never experienced the type of relationship with a parent that she has, and I’m inclined to believe that if my mom and dad didn’t support me, I might want their approval too. I can’t wait for them to meet Brooke. They’re going to adore her.
Fucking hell, man. This is all fake. A favor for her. The last thing she’s thinking about is meeting my parents. I replay my text from Dean earlier, wondering if he has insider information from Brooke’s side of it or if his encouragement is simply secondhand from Maci and a wild girl fantasy.
Stepping out of the car, I make quick to the other side, opening the door for Brooke and offering her my hand. She takes it and doesn’t let go once both feet are on the ground, her sigh sounding like an eye roll. We step from the curb to the red carpet leading to the doorway. Then I glance at her, the shimmer of her eye makeup catching in the bright lights from the massive entryway. “Imagine if they donated all the money they spent on this event to the cause. I asked my mom once. She said this event costs over a hundred thousand dollars to host.”
“How much money does it raise?”
She shoots me a look that says, “That’s not the point,” but tells me anyway. “Usually around half a mil.”
“That’s a great ratio.” I regret the fact as soon as I share it, immediately feeling the tension increase. She drops my hand, angling toward me slightly as we continue down the red carpet, ignoring the flashes of photographer lights. “Most major fundraiser goals are a three-to-one return,” I stoke the fire for a reason that’s beyond my knowledge.
“Whose side are you on?”
“Umm, the children with leukemia?”
She huffs, but her gaze freezes on someone I haven’t spotted yet, and she immediately links her arm through mine. “I swear, if he does not get the hint that I’m not available tonight . . .” she mutters under her breath so soft I’m not sure if I was meant to hear.
The object of her bitter attention meets us at the entrance to the club. “Beau.”
“Hey there, gorgeous.” He leans in and kisses her cheek–while she’s attached to my arm. The nerve of this guy. “You definitely picked the right dress.” He rakes his eyes up and down her body, reminding me he magically appeared while she was shopping and that I wasn’t there.
I pull Brooke closer by wrapping my arm around her shoulder, shifting so I’m slightly between the two of them, clearing my throat. I catch Brooke biting into her lip to hold back a grin from the corner of my eye.
Beau smirks like he thinks my possessiveness is just a temporary roadblock. I’m about to put him in his place when Brooke says, “I’d compliment your suit, but it could pay for a whole fucking day of chemo, and I know you don’t give a shit as long as you look like a million bucks.”
“At least you said I look like a million bucks.” He shrugs, unbothered by her anti-rich person hostility. Unlike myself. How the fuck am I going to get past this roadblock? That’s the real issue here. Her opinion is so strong, it seems not even a million dollars would sway it. “You’re more than welcome to join me at my table or play with my stash of chips. You too.” He shifts his glance momentarily toward me. He’s acting charitable, but anyone with eyes can see that’s not his intention. “I bought three thousand of them.” He reaches out to hand a stack of gold poker chips–the name of his law firm on a sticker in the center of each–to Brooke, but she doesn’t accept them.
“I don’t want your money, Beau.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Is it?” She’s so snarky I have to look at her to make sure the same girl I’ve been getting to know is the one next to me. She’s so triggered by something trivial in the grand scheme of things. I mean, if he bought three thousand chips, the man did donate thirty thousand dollars to the cause. It’s more than the ten thousand I gave anonymously.
“Are you ready for a drink, love?” I squeeze her shoulder, ignoring Beau completely as I glance toward the bar with a nudge.
“Yes, please. Bye, Beau,” she adds with a grin and lets me guide her to the white marble bar with gold trim.
The bartender tilts his head toward us. “Hey, man,” I address the man in a tux–equally goofy and sharp, a little like a young Frank Sinatra. “Bourbon neat for me, please.” He reaches for a rocks glass. “And,” I lock eyes with Brooke, “wine?” She nods. “Cab for my girl.”
He pours our drinks quickly, sliding them toward us. I hand him a twenty even though it’s an open bar and guide Brooke toward the massive glass French doors across the room that leads outside to the marble staircase winding down to the wedding grounds from the first day we came here.
We navigate through poker and roulette tables, Brooke steering me through the maze when she sees someone she wants to avoid. The room is dark, lit only by golden spotlights above each table. The rest of the room is cast in a purple glow, creating a sexy ambiance. Nothing as sexy as Brooke right now, though, with the silver sparkles of her dress like stars in a clear night sky. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I want her all to myself, but that’s not why we’re here. I stop us on the other side of the room, at the line between the chaos of the gala and the peace outside. “Do you want to play a game?” When I made the donation, they gave instructions on how to claim my chips and apologized for it being too late to have them customized with my business. I didn’t want that anyway. I haven’t decided how to approach the finance topic with Brooke yet, but I know springing it on her at an event where she already feels trapped is not the place to do it.
She shakes her head. “No. I need to show face with my mom at some point, but,” she nods toward the brass handle of the door, “Do you want to go for a walk outside?”
“Yeah. Do you mind if I use the restroom quickly and meet you out there?” I plan to soak up as much time as I can with her, away from the crowd.
“Of course. I’ll be right out here on the balcony.”
I hand her my drink and push open the gold bar of the glass door, holding it open for her to walk through. I turn toward the hallway behind the main floor. Reaching for the handle of the individual bathroom, a hand cuts me off. What the –
I hardly have time to recognize it’s Beau before he opens the door and kicks my feet–actually kicks my shoe–so I enter the small room. My instinct is to punch him, but I can’t imagine that going over well. So, I oblige the moron.
I step into the bathroom with pristine white tile and an immaculate blue marble counter. Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I slip my hands into my pockets. He stands in front of me looking more like a douchebag than a million dollars if you ask me. “Something on your mind, man?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, his glare tells me he thinks he has the upper hand here. “What’s your game?” he demands.
“What game?”
“Don’t play dumb. I’m well aware you’re not.”
I arch a brow. “Is that so?”
“I don’t know what is going on with you and Brooke, but I will figure it out.”
“Nothing to figure out.”
“So, then tell me, Marcus. Why is it that Brooke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that your wealth far exceeds anyone in this club tonight?”
The blood drains straight from my face and into my hands, where I grip my hot, swollen fists.
He chuckles. “Oh, so she doesn’t know. Interesting. You know, it’s a wonder what you can do with money when you know how to use it. I could teach you if you’d like.”
How the fuck did he find out.
As if he can read my mind, he says, “I have a great PI.” He smirks. “How do you think Brooke would feel if she knew about your donation to this event she’s so strongly opposed to?”
“What's your game here, Beau?”
“I want her back.”
My stomach twists at the thought of her being with him. “Why? No one else is willing to be your doormat?” I feel bad implying Brooke is weaker than I believe she is, but fucking hell this corner is starting to make me claustrophobic.
“I don’t know what she’s told you, but surely you’re missing a lot of details. I’ve loved Brooke since we were seventeen. Everyone here knows it except for you.”
“Yeah, that explains why she fled the country three weeks before your wedding.”
“You don’t think I let her do that? I know her. She just needed to get her free spirit out of her system before she was ready to settle down. The plan was always for her to come back when she was ready.”
There’s no fucking way. I see how she looks at him, the way she tenses whenever he’s in the vicinity. A small part of me is drawn to believe him. I used to have a bad habit of immediately trusting someone whenever I could see any bit of possibility in their statement. It was a beast to wrangle, but I shove doubt into a cage with mostly ease–just like I intend to do now. I trust Brooke. But she has no idea about the secret you’ve kept from her.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. You have one day to tell her. If you don’t, I will. And when she realizes you’re the liar, and that I’ve never lied to her, we’ll see if she remembers where she belongs then.”
This guy is insufferable. “She’s smart enough to see your manipulation.”
“We’ll see.” He unfolds his arms from over his chest to pat my arm. I follow the movement and will my hands to stay in my pockets instead of making contact with his face. “Have a good night. ”
I stay frozen, watching the heavy bathroom door close slowly behind Beau long after he’s gone. When it finally clicks, I turn the lock and pull my phone from the pocket of my slacks. I scroll through my contacts for the man who has been mentoring me since I was twenty.
As the phone rings, my heart thumps in my chest as flashes of what could happen appear in my mind–Brooke realizing I kept this truth from her, and not forgiving me. Would she storm off? Kill me with silence? Quit her job or our relationship on the spot? What if I don’t get a chance to tell her how I feel about her, prove how I feel about her? The phone clicks on the other end when it’s picked up on the second ring. There’s a concerned greeting from him, knowing I rarely call. After explaining the situation briefly, he hangs up and immediately sends me the contact info for a private investigator that he swears by. Two can play this game, Beau . They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, but I refuse to let that be my case and miss out on the girl I’m crazy about. When all is said and done, hopefully the bright side to this bullshit with Beau will be that it made me man the fuck up and push me toward developing a relationship with Brooke. There’s no way the man doesn’t have a single skeleton in his closet–not when he’s a dirty lawyer with enough money to make any problem go away. If he does, I’ll find it, and then I’ll be honest with Brooke on my own terms.
I call the contact, leaving a message when he doesn’t answer. Not knowing how long it’ll be until he returns, I go find Brooke. The longer I’m away, the more chance Beau has to swoop in, and I’d be stupid to trust that he’ll give me the twenty-four hours he promised.