Chapter 8
brIELLE
“You’ll be fine, Bree. It’s only a date.”
“Only a date?” she screeches.
I laugh into the phone, ignoring the way the screen must be rubbing against my cheek and the makeup I’ve already laid down. “You’ve gone out with Finn a million times. Just be yourself and ignore the pressure you’re feeling to make this perfect. He already loves you.”
“Friendship love is not the same as romantic love, Brielle,” she says flippantly.
“I know. That doesn’t change my opinion.”
Aubrey groans. “I’m thinking about this too much.”
“Yep.”
“I just want it to be perfect. If I end up treating Finn like I have all the other guys, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”
“You can’t honestly think you’ll be rude to him.
The guy’s been your best friend since you were young enough to not have to wear a bra.
You need to give yourself some credit here.
And Finn. He’s not like the guys you’ve gone out with in the past, and you’re not going to suddenly turn into a mega-bitch for no reason. ”
Despite her history with men, I mean every word. Aubrey’s the type of woman who can take one look at a person and find their biggest flaw before they’ve managed to introduce themselves. I’ve always chalked that up to her being one of the most cutthroat lawyers in Vancouver.
That’s been her biggest downfall when it comes to dating, which is why she sought Finn’s help. Only apparently, getting dating lessons from your best friend isn’t the smartest idea if you’re not wanting to fall in love with them.
“You’re right. I just . . . want this to go well,” she admits, voice heavy.
“And it will. Plus, you’ll know where to find me if you need anything. Once you’re done, you can give me a full debrief at the concert tonight.”
“Remind me to thank your brother for inviting you.”
“I will. Considering my own best friend didn’t,” I poke.
“Don’t think about putting the blame on me, Elle. You know I would have if Wes hadn’t beat me to it. Not to mention that I heard through the grapevine it was supposed to be a guys-only thing until Wes invited you.”
I crack a smile, feeling my heart warm. That tracks, honestly. Wes and I are close, and more often than not, he’s the one who invites me to team events. Aubrey doesn’t let that stop her from doing the same, but she’s always just a bit too late.
I’m not much of a rock music fan, yet I didn’t turn down the chance to attend the show with everyone tonight. Not only did it sound like a great opportunity to finally get out of the house, but it also gives me the chance to find someone to bang my brains out afterward.
The lobby of my building is quiet today as I stand by the door and eye the street, watching for my brother’s car.
While the place isn’t overly high-end, it’s still safe enough to keep my brother from insisting I move in with him.
I did put my foot down when it came to apartment hunting when he attempted to buy me a place that had its own security guard manning the doors. That seemed a bit extreme.
Instead, we agreed on this place, and with my After Hours side gig, I can afford the rent myself.
Wes may not agree with me continuing to rent when he can “easily buy me a place of my own,” but this is what I wanted to do.
I’m too old to be having my brother paying for my life.
He already did more than enough when he lent me the funds to start Soft Body.
And look what I’ve done with it, I think bitterly. Absolutely nothing.
“I know. I’ll see you after your date, Bree. Go get your man.”
“Alright, alright. See you.”
I lower my phone and swipe to my conversation with my brother. He should be here any minute—
A car honks seven times, and I roll my eyes before shouldering open the door and stepping outside.
A pink and orange sunset paints the horizon as I grip my purse strap and start down the sidewalk.
Wes is parked around the corner from my building, with the front end nearly inside the ass of a much larger SUV.
“One of these days, someone is going to smash your windshield with a baseball bat,” I warn after tugging the passenger door open.
My brother turns to me, his brown eyes already rolling.
With his messy hair hanging floppily across his forehead and curling behind his ears, he looks more like a teenager who just rolled out of bed than a professional baseball player.
His lack of facial hair and constant half-smirked smile keep him looking like the baby in the family instead of the oldest sibling.
“I encourage someone to. I’ve been wanting a new car for a while now.”
“And you can’t just buy one? What’s with the need for violence?”
His eyes tighten at the corners as he takes in my outfit, his easy expression replaced with a firm scowl the longer he looks. “You’re not wearing that.”
“What?”
“Go back upstairs and change.”
Disbelief has me unable to form the proper response, so I repeat the same question. “What?”
“You heard me the first time, Brielle. I’m not taking you to a rock concert wearing that. This is a team thing, and I can’t be getting into a fight on your behalf.”
Eyes open wider than normal, I drop them to where my pink skirt cups the middle of my thighs.
The fabric I searched for weeks for has the softest, subtle shimmer to it that I know will reflect just right off the arena lights.
I cut the skirt and matching top from it just last week and have been counting the days until I could wear it out for the first time.
There was no better debut than the most anticipated concert of the year.
After going weeks without creating anything worth wearing, it was a relief to slip this outfit on and know with full confidence that it’s something I can be proud of.
“I’m not changing, and there’s no reason for me to in the first place. Don’t be an asshole,” I snap.
“Brielle—”
I cut him off before he can say anything else that’s going to piss me off. “Unless you want me to smack you, drop it. You’re not Dad, and I’m not going to have you judge me for what I choose to wear. It’s not like I’m planning on walking around in my fucking underwear. Don’t be a dickbag.”
“I’m just trying to look out for you. I didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh,” he replies, slightly less tense.
“I appreciate that, but I can take care of myself.”
His nod is rigid, and I swear I can see the vein in his throat throbbing. “I’m going to guess you made that outfit yourself?”
“What gave it away?” I scoff.
He waits for me to do up my seat belt before reversing and pulling away from the curb. “You’re always more passionate when it comes to the clothes you design. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t mean to attack you like that, either.”
“Eh, I deserved it. Old habits, I guess.”
“You make it sound like you’ve been beating up guys for me all my life. It was literally one time years ago.”
“I should have done it a thousand other times,” he grunts.
“I’ll have you know that I go out often wearing worse than this and have made it out just fine.”
His head whips in my direction for a long, silent moment before he focuses on the road again. “That does not help.”
“Oops.”
“Christ, Elle.”
“Don’t act like that surprises you. I’ve been designing clothes like this for damn near my entire life. You should be used to it by now.”
“Let’s just change the subject.”
“To what?”
“Why do I have to choose something?”
“You’re the one who brought it up!”
With a sigh, he taps on the centre screen a few times and changes the playlist to something that doesn’t make me want to plug my ears. “Fine. Are you excited for the concert?”
“Because of the music, or the fact we get to watch it from a private suite?”
“Both.”
“Then, yes. I wish it was someone else performing, but I’m still grateful that you invited me.”
“You’re too picky when it comes to music.”
“Am I picky, or do I just have impeccable taste?” I tease, grinning at him.
He arches a brow at me. “Definitely picky. Everyone loves Noah Hutton.”
“Mmm, hard disagree.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re still going to see him tonight. And I’d suggest not talking shit about him in front
of Beck. He’s a die-hard fan.”
“Of course he is.”
Wes’ loud laugh fills the car. “Most of the team is, actually.”
“I still don’t understand why we had to go so early. Aubrey and Finn aren’t going to be there for hours still.”
“That’s because they’re lovebirds now. We’re going because I fully plan on taking advantage of the free booze.”
I cock my head, my expression going deadpan as I stare at him. “I’m guessing I’ll be driving your car later, then?”
“Bingo, sis.”
“We should have just taken mine, then.”
“Absolutely not. That thing needs to find a permanent home in a junkyard.”
“Hey! It’s not that bad. You just don’t understand her.”
“I understand that you’ve had that car since the eleventh grade, and it’s got three hundred thousand kilometres on it. One of these days, it’s going to blow up. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t already.”
“Well, that day hasn’t come yet, has it?”
His right hand releases the steering wheel and pushes over the top of his head. “You’re unbearably stubborn.”
“You’re so sweet this evening, Wes,” I drawl, reaching across the console to yank a piece of his hair.
He hisses before swatting me away and gripping the steering wheel with two hands. I relax into the plump leather seat, smiling smugly.
“I want to ask more about how the company is doing, but I don’t know if I should now,” he admits, changing the subject.
“What do you want to know?”
Please be something that I actually have an answer for.
“Do you have any leads on a studio space? Or are you still okay with running things from the apartment for now?”
“I’m not opposed to a studio space, but unless I want to dump all of my money into rent, I’m going to stay with the apartment. It’s not like I have too many things yet to make it unmanageable.”
“If you need more money—”
“I don’t. I still have more than enough.” I cough to clear the sudden tightness from my throat. “I’m just trying to be a responsible business owner.”
“Got it. I just wanted to check in on things. If you need me for anything, just ask, Elle. I’m here for you.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” I say, lowering my voice.
He’s done too much, even. From lending me the money for a business that doesn’t even have a proper website or social media presence yet, to being a soundboard for my stupid ideas that never saw the light of day, he’s been the one person I’ve trusted not to judge me.
Our parents never understood why I spent so many years of my life in front of a sewing machine or sketching designs that later turned into clothes hidden in a box beneath my bed.
I guess they’ve never thought I’d actually do anything with my love and skill for fashion design, and that’s fine.
Wes has believed in me enough for both of them.
That’s why being so stalled bothers me as much as it does. Not because I’m letting myself down, but because I’m disappointing him.
“You’re talented, Brielle. Don’t start doubting yourself now. You’ve already made it this far,” he says firmly, pride glowing in the words.
“That means a lot to me.”
More than he’ll ever know.