Chapter 22
Selena
Hours after wrestling around with Brody outside the door for no damn good reason, I was leaving the campus coffee place when a whirlwind of motion banged into me.
“Oh my God! Just the person I was looking for!” It was Aisha. Her big brown eyes danced with excitement. “The list for second auditions is up!”
“Really?”
“Yes! Let’s go and see if we made the cut to get to round two. You did, I’m sure,” she said confidently.
“I’m sure you did. Come on. I can’t stand waiting,” I told her.
She nodded, and we turned in the direction of the drama building.
I could certainly use a distraction. This morning had been playing on repeat in my head.
It was possible I had a problem, and his name was Brody Sinclair.
He had taken up residence in my mind, and I was having trouble getting him out.
The feeling of him under me had been something else.
Something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Maybe ever. The sight of my hand on his bare chest had shocked me to my core.
The most important thing about the whole situation was that it didn’t feel bad or wrong.
It didn’t make me feel guilty or dirty or any of the other things I had feared that I would feel when touching a man. I hadn’t felt scared, either.
Aisha was talking about her classes. She was pre-med and was a certified smart cookie. Just listening to her talk made me feel smarter.
We reached the drama building and went inside. A few people clustered around the bulletin board. Nerves hit me hard. I hadn’t wanted to admit how much I cared about this… but the truth seemed undeniable now. I did care. I really did.
Aisha pushed forward and scanned the list.
“I’m on it,” she said quickly.
I gave her an encouraging smile. “Well done, I knew you would be!”
She turned back and kept looking. My nerves built steadily, along with a sense of disappointment. Of course, I wasn’t good enough to get another audition. Was I really even surprised?
“You’re there! I see your name!” Aisha spun around, grinning widely.
“What, really?” I couldn’t believe it.
The people in front of me left, some of them visibly disappointed not to have made it. I approached the list, and Aisha pointed to my name. She was right. There it was, in black and white.
Second auditions: Selena Carmichael.
My phone ringing interrupted us as we made plans to get together and practice before the audition. Aisha rushed off to class while I answered.
“Selena—”
“Oh my God, you’ll never guess what just happened!” I cut in, excited to share the news with my mom.
“Why aren’t you on your way to the office?” she said immediately, clearly not interested in hearing my good news.
“Wait, what? What office?”
“Sinclair Industries. I told you about the internship.”
“You told me about it generally, not that it’s right now.”
“I’m sure I did,” my mother said in a tone I knew well. It was the one she used when she knew she was in the wrong and was ready to fight to the death about it.
I blew out a slow breath. “Where am I supposed to be, and when?”
“The office down on Elm, and right now.”
“Great. Thanks.” I hung up and swore viciously. God. Not only was I being forced to intern in John Sinclair’s office, but now I was going to be late for my first day. Really professional. Perfect.
I turned in the direction of the road off campus, where I could catch a cab, or a bus if I was really lucky.
I caught sight of myself in the cab window as I got in and gave them the address my mom had messaged me.
Damn it. I wasn’t exactly wearing office-appropriate clothes either.
My mom would be horrified to know I was about to start my first day at her new husband’s workplace in ripped jeans, a holey band T-shirt, and a leather jacket.
Oh well.
That was just too damn bad.
The building was beautiful. An old, perfectly preserved historical site, just off Main Street. I pressed the buzzer at the entrance and waited nervously outside. I’d had no idea that there was a Sinclair Industries office here. It seemed too small a town.
The door buzzed, and I went inside.
A receptionist sat at a long, dark wood desk.
“How can I help you?” he asked and gave me a tight smile.
“I’m here to, um, work. I’m the new intern, I think,” I babbled.
The receptionist’s eyes narrowed to slits as he took in my outfit. The plaque on the corner of the desk read Richard.
“You think?” he repeated.
I simply nodded.
“You don’t look like an intern,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right?” I said and walked up to the desk, feeling awkward standing in the middle of the entryway.
I caught sight of the rest of Richard’s desk.
He had a framed, bedazzled Lady Gaga picture with a signature on it in one corner, a makeup bag, and a multitude of succulents in the other.
“Seriously, are you the new intern? Mr. Sinclair did say something about someone coming in, but I didn’t expect it to be someone so…”
“Please, don’t finish that sentence,” I begged and stuck my hand out to him. “I’m Selena. You’re Richard?”
He shook my hand with the tips of his fingers, like he wasn’t sure whether I was clean enough to touch.
“It’s just Rich,” he said and then waved his hand around. “I’m manifesting.”
“Okay, Rich. Can you, like, ask someone where I should go?”
“Out the door, three doors down, there’s a boutique with plenty of women’s work wear. Business casual, that sort of vibe.” Rich eyed me critically.
I snorted, just about to clap back, when a deep voice spoke from the left.
“You know, Rich, that’s not a bad idea at all.”
I knew that damn voice.
Slowly, I turned toward it, scowl already in place.
Brody leaned on the wall of the corridor leading to the rest of the office.
He had his hands in his pockets, navy chinos, complemented by a black dress shirt rolled at the sleeves and pulled tight against his impressive chest. I’d never seen him in anything other than jeans, T-shirts, and workout wear. The sight broke my brain for a second.
“What are you doing here?” I burst out without thinking how rude it sounded.
“Working, and speaking of which,” he glanced at his watch, “you’re late.”
“Girl, apologize,” Rich hissed at me under his breath. He turned his chair away from Brody to flash me a warning look.
“Late and horrendously dressed,” Brody continued.
“I appreciate that this isn’t work-appropriate attire—” I started.
“I wasn’t talking about hideous for work. Just hideous in general,” Brody continued.
Rich winced. “Ouch, woman down.”
I glared at Brody as he sauntered toward me.
“Did you cool down from this morning?” he asked, deliberately making me squirm.
My cheeks grew hot, and I raised my chin. “Did you?” I challenged back. Not my best comeback, but I was on the spot.
He smirked and then cleared his throat. “Rich here had the best idea, I think. Come on. You’re coming with me.”
He turned on his heel and made for the front door.
“Where?” I called, unwilling to move until I knew where he was dragging me off to.
“Shopping,” he called back. He opened the door and held it. “Get your ass out here, or your mum is going to hear about how you came into work looking like that, and late to boot.”
Swallowing my frustration, I followed him to the door.
Rich watched us with unabashed curiosity, seeming a little sympathetic that I’d somehow managed to run afoul of the boss after just walking through the doors. Damn it. That meant that Brody was winning this invisible battle of wills between us, and I couldn’t have that.
Brody held the door open for me, and I paused on the threshold and brought my hand up to his face. He didn’t flinch. I patted his cheek softly.
“Oh, Brody. She’s your mom too now, remember?”
Rich’s ultra-dramatic intake of breath filtered to me, and then I stepped out onto the street, satisfied with a comeback for once.
Half an hour later, I wasn’t feeling quite so smug anymore.
Brody had marched me into a shop just down the street, the same one my mom liked.
Inside, he’d walked around and ordered the assistants trailing us to set up a changing room, and pointed at damn near everything in the store to be put on a rack and brought over.
Now, I stood in my underwear behind the curtain, my limbs aching from trying on clothes.
“Hurry up, we don’t have all day,” Brody said from just beyond the curtain.
I yanked a cashmere dress off a hanger and pulled it on, smoothing it down my legs before ripping the curtain back.
“Yeah, I know. So why don’t you end this torture now? I think we’ve got enough to manage one day a week of intern work. What’s all this other stuff for?”
Brody sat on a velvet-covered sofa, normally reserved for boyfriends and husbands, obviously. He looked away from his phone to give me a critical once-over.
The assistant fluttered just behind me, waiting for the master’s commands.
“Just try things on faster, and then we’ll be done faster. Funny how that works, isn’t it? Good, we’ll take it,” he muttered to the assistant, who nodded.
“Is this a joke? Why are you buying so much? I won’t wear any of this except for at the office, so it’s a waste of money.”
“My father always taught me that spending money on family and beautiful women was never wasted,” Brody said and smirked at his phone. “You’re the former, if you’re wondering.”
I blew out a sigh of frustration and rolled my eyes, backing into the changing room. This whole ordeal almost felt like a punishment of some kind.
“Is this because I ripped your T-shirt this morning? Surely the punishment should fit the crime,” I called as I took the dress off and dragged on a short linen skirt and white button-down shirt. Leaving it unbuttoned, I poked my head around the curtain.
“Please, end this torture now—” I said, and then yelped when Brody appeared right beside me, pushing the curtain back with one big, tatted hand.
“Maybe it was my favorite shirt,” he said and scanned me up and down.