32. Brooke
Chapter thirty-two
Brooke
“I’ll text Emma and Charlotte and let them know we’re on our way over.” I unlock my phone as Marcus pulls the hotel room door closed behind us.
Marcus shoots me an appreciative smile as he guides me into the elevator.
“Have you ever been on TV before?”
He shakes his head. “No. You?”
“One time for the local news station in Phuket.” The milky white “1” button glows red when I push it, and the elevator starts its descent from the seventeenth floor. “And a few times in the background when Beau was getting interviewed for some high-profile case.”
He hums, leaning against the rail. “Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have to cross that off your to-don’t list today. It’s nice you’re supporting Emma and Charlotte, though.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “It’s the type of investor I want to be.”
“Well, I know they appreciate it. I definitely would if I were them. ”
“I’m sure they’ll be just as happy to see you.”
“Us.” I grin, reaching over and linking my arm through his. “Do you think everyone will be excited?”
He chuckles. “You haven’t told them already?”
The elevator comes to a stop and the doors whoosh open. He lets me out first and I glance back at him with a smirk. “There might have been a group chat text.”
“Might have been, huh?”
“There definitely was. But you know how Lexy gets when she wants answers. It’s not my fault.”
“You can tell them anything you want, love.” He jogs ahead a step to open the door from the quiet pristine lobby to the dirty hustle and bustle of Times Square lit by the orange and pink glow of the sunrise.
“I don’t want to tell them everything . Some things I want to save just for us.” I smile up at him as he takes my hand and leads me through the chaos of the crosswalk.
“Whatever you want,” he tells me, but there’s an undertone in his voice that I can’t quite place in his silence as we finish crossing the street.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. We’re here.” He opens the door to the live studio building.
Something feels off, but I can’t quite place it. Maybe nerves. This is a pretty big deal.
Even though we won’t be on screen, we both dressed to impress. Marcus is in the suit he wore to casino night, looking like he belongs in one of these high rises. I’m wearing black skinny jeans with a white flowy shirt, short brown boots and a navy blazer–the same thing I wore the first day I met Emma and Charlotte. I don’t look as fancy as he does, but I still look great. Plus, I curled my hair and did my makeup this morning.
We follow signs to the right room, on the second floor, and down a few hallways. Marcus opens the heavy metal door, letting me walk through first. The lighting is dimmed everywhere except the stage in the distance, but when we scan the room, we both lock on to two pairs of eyes staring back at us. I glance at Marcus, but it's clear by the surprise and grin on his face that he was not expecting to see his best friend or his fiancée. “Hey, man.” He reaches to bro-hug Dean. “What are you doing here?” He takes a turn with Maci who hugs me as soon as she releases him, whispering a ‘hi.’
“Miss your TV debut? Not a chance.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I won’t be on screen.”
Maci interrupts. “Emma and Charlotte said they aren’t letting you get out of it. That they couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“Don’t worry. I also got you something to improve your outfit.” Dean smirks and Marcus’ eyebrow quirks. Dean pulls a rolled up tie from the back pocket of his jeans. As he holds it up, the tie unrolls, revealing the most incredible and hideous fabric I’ve ever seen. It’s a picture of who I’m assuming is Dean and Marcus as kids printed in repeat over the tie. They’re both wearing soccer jerseys. Marcus is standing with a hand on one hip, a foot on top of a soccer ball. His hair is long and blowing in his eyes a bit. Dean holds a soccer ball under one arm and has his other looped around his friend’s neck. They both have goofy grins on their faces. They’re probably not any older than six or seven.
“Fucking hell,” Marcus mutters, shaking his head, but he’s holding back a laugh as he reaches for the tie. “Where did you get this atrocity? ”
“It’s been sitting in my dresser since high school. I told you I believed in you, man.”
It feels like we’re in the middle of a secret Maci and I aren’t in on, but by the way she’s holding back her amusement, it seems she’s a little more clued in than I am.
“I’m not there yet.” The way Marcus’ gaze shifts to mine momentarily after he says it only heightens the unease slowly taking over.
“I don’t think you’ll be able to say that after this quarter.” Dean is confident. What the hell are they talking about? “So, you’re wearing that. A deal is a deal.”
I shift uncomfortably, feeling like a stranger trapped between two friends chatting on a bus.
Marcus chuckles, running the fabric of the tie through his fingers. “I don’t want to take away anything from Emma and Charlotte. I’ll wear it to dinner tonight.”
“Deal.” Dean shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Maci leans in to side hug Marcus again. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks.” He squeezes her shoulder with his hand not holding the tie. “Do we still have some time? Can I talk to Brooke for a few minutes?”
Maci glances up at him and pulls away. “Yes!” She smiles. “Brooke, meet me over there by the cookie table when Marcus has to go. We can watch the show together.”
“Okay.” I force a smile, but I’m nervous all of a sudden. Nervous and very confused. Dean and Maci excuse themselves, and Marcus turns to me.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Oh. Umm. Okay.” I draw out the last word. He takes my hand, glances around, then leads me to the side of the room, out of earshot of any of the people prepping for the show. “Is everything alright?” I’m starting to worry.
He takes a deep breath. Pauses. Loops the tie over the top of the random clothes rack next to us. I follow the movement, then look back to where he grabs my hands again and runs his thumbs over my knuckles. I’ve never seen him like this. I haven’t known him that long, but still.
“Brooke.”
“Yes?” I tip my head slightly.
“I don’t think it’s a secret anymore that I have real feelings for you.”
I shake my head slow and confused. “I’ve been starting to get that impression . . .”
“I . . .” He takes a breath. Damn. What is so serious right now? “After I tell you, please know that even if you feel like I lied to you, nothing else I have said to you is a lie. Especially when it comes to how I feel about you. And the only reason I haven’t told you this yet is because I feel so strongly, and I wanted you to give us a shot before you made up your mind.”
“What is it? You’re scaring me.” Panic squeezes my heart.
His breath is so deep, his chest nearly heaves in front of me. “You know how you hate the people at the club because you think their money makes them entitled snobs?” He says the last two words as if there are air quotes around them.”
“Uh-huh . . .”“Well, I might have as much money as them.” He grimaces. “I’m actually pretty sure I have more.”
“What?”
“I have a lot of money,” he paraphrases.
“Umm.” My thoughts are swirling. This isn’t what I expected. I don’t know what I expected. My thoughts flashed through a dozen possibilities, but this wasn’t one of them. “Like, what kind of rich are we talking about? ”
“I guess it depends on who you ask.”
“How much money?”
“A lot.”
“What’s your net worth?” The question feels completely inappropriate coming out of my mouth, and I feel guilty when he cringes. Yet, I can’t seem to stop myself. “A couple million?”
He stares back, his thumbs freezing against my knuckles. My hands are clammy now. “A little more than that . . .”
“Tell me, please.”
He glances at the tie, then back to me and takes a deep breath. “When I was fifteen, I coded my first app. It wasn’t anything fancy. But I figured it out on my own. And it worked. I showed Dean. He slapped me on the back and said, ‘You’re going to be worth a billion dollars someday. Don’t forget about me when that happens.’”
My eyes widen, my hands tensing in his.
“I brushed him off, but he pushed back a bit. He said, ‘Fine, when you’re rich, I’m making you a tie covered with that picture of us that Sophie always makes fun of. And you have to wear it in public as my I told you so .’ It became an inside joke. When I sold my first app. After I made my first investment. When I bought the bar. At the time it felt like it would only ever be a joke. But the numbers kept going up . . . and if Emma and Charlotte’s company takes off the way most do after airing on national television . . .”
“You’re going to be a billionaire.” I can’t wrap my head around this. How is this even real?
“Yeah.” He looks upset.
“Hey, are you Marcus?” We both turn to find a cameraman with a headset approaching us.
“Yes,” he answers, dropping my hands .
“We’ve got to get you ready. Can you come with me?”
He looks to me, as if for permission. “Yeah, of course. Go. Good luck.”
He hesitates, then brushes his thumb across my cheek. “Please don’t leave,” he pleads, kisses my forehead and walks past me.
I stand there for a few minutes, at least, feeling motion sick. Off balanced. Unsettled. What am I supposed to think? Every single thought I’ve ever had about an entire group of people is being challenged, countered, and attacked right now. I can’t untangle this tug-of-war rope on my own. Turning, I scan the room until my eyes land on Maci. She’s leaning against a table covered in snacks, and I make my way to her.
“Hey, Brooke!” She smiles as I approach, then takes a bite of a Red Vine. “I can’t wait to hear about everything with—" Her eyebrows scrunch. “Are you okay?”
I nod. Then shake my head. I don’t have any clue. “Did you know?”
Her eyebrows scrunch. “Know what?”
“About Marcus’ money.”
“Oh. I mean, not really. It’s always been pretty clear to me he doesn’t have financial struggles, but I didn’t have even a guess at what that really looked like until Dean made us stop by his parents to get that tie before our flight last night.”
“A billion dollars.” I sigh. “That’s more than Beau’s entire family has. More than anyone I know at the country club–to my knowledge anyway. There’s like . . . less than three thousand known billionaires in the world. In the world , Maci.”
“That’s really impressive then. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah, it is . . . but.”
“But you’ve conditioned yourself your entire life to believe that money is bad. ”
My heart feels like it’s actually thrashing against the inside of my chest. “That.”
“In the grand scheme of things, money can make up such a small factor.” Maci’s eyes wander to the corner of the room as she chews on her lip like she’s searching for the right words to help me process this. I reach for a Red Vine, biting off the end of it, having no idea how to work through this on my own. I’m reeling, my ears ringing as I try to work through the logic. It should be simple. It doesn’t matter that he’s rich. He’s a good man. A man that I’ve connected with in the past month. But how can I say that when I didn’t even know about one of the biggest parts of him?
“Remember the first time we hung out?” Maci’s voice breaks through my spiral. “In Thailand, when you invited me over and convinced me to share every detail of my dilemma choosing between Dean and Mack?”
“Yes.” I can’t imagine where she’s going with this. It’s a completely different situation.
“Our excuse is always that we’re protecting our heart, right? I mean that’s how it was with Mack. He was always the secure bet. He would have loved me until the end of time if I let him–no matter what problems we encountered. That was the risk in choosing Dean. He had never proven to me that I could count on him. For the longest time, I thought Mack was the safe choice because I could count on him. And I guess in a way, that is protecting my heart. That’s how it would be leaving Marcus behind, I think. Choosing the route that keeps you safe from a world you’ve had a bad experience with, the way Mack could have kept me safe from heartache. Choosing Dean was scary because it felt contradictory to what I thought I needed .
But sometimes we have to shift the expectations of what we have for our life. When we’re younger, we don’t know better. We don’t see all the options because our view of the world is limited, confined to whatever we’ve happened to experience. What has Marcus done that’s anything like Beau?”
Outside of his net worth, I can’t think of a single way he’s not the complete opposite of my ex. In replace of a response, I take another bite of Red Vine.
“Hasn’t he already proven there are exceptions?”
“Yeah . . . he has.”
“There’s this concept in psychology called mismatching experiences. The idea is that you free yourself from visceral emotional responses tied to prior experiences. You disconfirm your expectations by repeatedly matching them to its opposite. For example, in your relationship, Beau treated you like you were his assistant, or less than him, even outside of the office. What does Marcus do? In similar situations.”
“He gives me control, lets me take the lead.” Except in bed, I add to myself.
“And you’ve been thriving. Loving your work. Right?”
I nod. I noticed that too. My dad even said something about it.
“Your purple hoodie is the only thing from your past. Why’s that?”
I chuckle because it feels like she’s been preparing herself for this with how fast she’s shooting off questions. “Beau replaced everything in my closet one day. He said if I was going to be by his side, I needed to look the part. I tried to fight him, but he went on about the beauty of money and how I should appreciate it for things like that. I’d left that sweatshirt at Cam’s house that day. ”
“Do you think Marcus cares about how you look next to him?”
“I’m pretty sure Marcus bought a bulk pack of black tees and cycles through them. He didn’t seem bothered when I went with him to the grocery store in my elephant pants and oversized T-shirt.”
“Did Beau even go to the grocery store?”
I shake my head with a chuckle. “Definitely not.”
“Didn’t you tell me once about how at a photo op Beau stood in front of you like you were just his assistant?”
“Yeah. He didn’t want people to see anything that could be considered PDA. He said it was unprofessional since I worked for him.”
She hums. “What about Marcus? You work for him. Is he the same?”
I scan through every interaction with Marcus that I can remember like a flip book. Thinking about it in retrospect, in each image, he gets closer to me. “This entire trip . . . he has been touching me. But we were fake dating for most of it. That’s probably why.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen Marcus be touchy with girls past anything cordial. Even Dean said once that he’s not into PDA.”
“That’s hard to believe . . . It feels so comfortable when he’s touching me. Natural. Like it would be weird if it was any other way. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
“Maybe it’s just because you make it easy for him.”
“I love how it feels when he touches me,” I say softly, not necessarily to Maci.
She fights back a smile, twirling her Red Vine. “How did Beau make you feel? ”
“Less-than. A means to an end. Like shit, but also like I didn’t have a better option than him.”
“How does Marcus make you feel?”
I search for the right words, even though I’m not sure they exist. “Sometimes, when I look into the night sky, at the swirls of stars and the planets, I feel so small and insignificant. But other times, I think that if I exist in a place where I get to witness something so extraordinary and powerful, there’s meaning in that. That I'm a part of what makes life spin on its axis. Marcus makes me feel like that.”
“That sounds like something you shouldn’t give up.” She smiles, her hand landing gently on my shoulder. “So, at what point do you abandon this idea in your head for something that makes more sense?”
“He makes everything make more sense.” I tear my Red Vine in half, not bothering to eat it. “I just wish he would have told me.”
She stares in a way that feels like an eye roll. “Can you blame him with how much you outwardly hate rich people?”
I sigh. “No. You’re right.”
“I went through the same thing with Dean, resenting him for not telling me he was leaving. But consider it this way. What if you hating rich people so much made him feel like it was something he needed to be ashamed of or concerned about? What if not telling you was simply his way of protecting himself and what you two have?”
He did look upset when he was confirming he’s nearly a billionaire. Even though I’m new to his life, it doesn’t take more than that to know he worked extremely hard for that. “Shit. I messed this up.”
“Trust me, you didn’t.” She points, and I follow her fingers to the monitor behind me showing Marcus and the girls on a couch on stage. They aren’t live yet, but you can tell Marcus isn’t present. He’s rubbing his hands over his thighs like he’s trying to work out worry. “Marcus doesn’t get stage fright,” Maci adds. There was a sliver of me that thought maybe that was it. “He’s never nervous. Dean and I went to see him speak at a tech conference for thousands of people, and he seemed as comfortable as sitting at our kitchen table.”
“I don’t want him to worry,” I say it more to myself, but Maci nudges me toward where Dean is standing closer to the stage, watching his friend.
I join her future husband a few feet from the stage, glancing up at him. His hands are shoved in his jean pockets, flannel rolled to his elbows as he meets my gaze, looking guilty. “I’m sorry I let the cat out of the bag. With the way he’s been talking about you, I assumed he’d told you.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault,” I assure him.
“Try not to blame Marcus either. This is a big deal for him.”
“I know.”
“I hope Maci talked some sense into you. She’s the better of us at pep talks.” He glances back at Marcus.
I nod, assuming he can see the motion from the corner of his eye without my verbal confirmation.
“There’s no one better to have in your corner.”
“I don’t know how to tell him that’s what I want.” I stare in the same direction he is, watching Marcus continue to rub his hands over his slacks as he listens to something a cameraman tells him and the girls.
“He doesn’t need much. A look should do it. Nothing too intense, though. Slacks are not forgiving pants.”
I laugh. “I’m not sure I could have quite that effect from here. ”
“Oh trust me, if the past week of payback for how many times I brought up Maci when we first met is any indication, he has very little control left.”
I don’t respond, but I listen and wait for Marcus to glance in our direction. He finally does when the cameraman walks off stage, and his eyes lock on mine. His hands freeze. God, he’s handsome. His charcoal suit looks just as good on him as it did the night of the casino fundraiser, his hair perfectly in place. The only thing off is the worry etched into his brows.
I smile and give him a small, nervous wave. My hand drops to my side along with a visible exhale of relief from Marcus. He runs his hands up his face, back down, then leaves one clasped over his mouth like he’s trying to hide a smile. He drops his hand, linking his fingers at his bent knees and shakes his head slightly–like he can’t believe his luck. Then he turns back to Charlotte and Emma, saying something to them I can’t hear.
A shoulder nudges me from the side. “Told ya.”