Chapter Three #2
“Here.” Jo handed her a box of pastries. He really was sweet. “Lemon cream should be fun. His favorite. He can lick it off—”
“I get the picture.” Grinning, Brooke started for the door. As she slipped into her raincoat, she scanned the living room, then her gaze settled on Jo, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m— This is—”
“I know.” Jo swallowed the lump in her throat as grief tightened her chest.
Reaching for Brooke, Jo pulled her in for a hug, and they clung to each other for a long moment. Brooke was a part of her, the glue that held her together, and vice versa. But Aaron would be Brooke’s glue now.
Jo’s throat burned as she let go. “Call me when you get there.”
Brooke sniffed and wiped her cheek on her shoulder. “I won’t need to because you’ll be tracking me all the way on Miles to Go.”
Jo smiled and opened the door. “You know me so well.”
“I do.” Shouldering her purse, Brooke lifted a brow. “That’s why I think you should call Avery Preston.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No.” The grin on Brooke’s face corroborated her determination. “Think of it as another of life’s great sacrifices. A date or two with that asshole might cover the cost of your beloved mixer.”
Sacrifice was an understatement. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”
“Good. ’Cause you’re smart as hell and made of steel. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Yeah, yeah, get outta here.”
Brooke tucked her umbrella under her arm. “See you in the morning.”
“See ya.” Jo watched her until the dark stairwell swallowed her up, then closed the door and leaned against it. The hallway looked empty without Brooke’s cardigan on the coat rack.
Jo forced her feet forward into the living room. Everything looked the same as it had a few minutes ago—Brooke had taken nothing with her—but somehow, it felt as empty as the hall. And quiet, except for the rain pelting the windows, which only made the silence seem mournful.
“Come on, Jo, you got this.” She’d pretend Brooke was at work or just out for a while. Until she got used to being alone. And it wasn’t like she’d never see her again. They were meeting at the diner tomorrow for waffles for their usual Saturday morning brunch.
A knock pounded behind her. She hurried to open it, swinging it wide. “What did you forget?”
The sour smell of alcohol enveloped her before she realized it wasn’t Brooke returning and recognized the apartment manager.
She clutched the neck of her hoodie. “Mr. Lambert?”
His bloodshot eyes roamed over her, their whites gone yellow as if his beer gut was proof enough of his liver disease. He stepped forward. “Came to give you this.”
She held her ground and narrowed the opening before she took the papers he thrust in front of her. “What is it?”
Tilting his head, he peeked through the crack. Checking to see if she was alone? He threaded beefy fingers through a three-strand combover. “Now that it’s just you, we have to renew the lease. Sorry to tell you, but rent’s going up.”
She wilted against the door, even as defeat threatened to crush her. “Did you get my request for a one-bedroom?”
He smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. “Nothing available.”
“Okay,” she said, lifting the new lease, “I’ll look at this and get it back to you.”
She started to shut the door, but his booted foot blocked its path. The force sent a vibration through the metal and up her arms. Her heart pounded. Her mace was in her bag. She’d have to start keeping it out, within reach. Better yet, having it in hand every time she answered the door.
“I might be able to help you out”—he leaned in—“if, you know, you’re willing to help me.”
“No, thanks, I’ve got it covered.”
He removed his boot and smiled again as he walked away. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
Jo slammed the door and turned the deadbolt. Lambert’s laughter echoed down the hall as she backed away, the lease shaking in her hand, an overwhelming fear rising up to choke her. Right on its heels came a sudden rush of anger.
What the hell? Alone for five minutes and that motherfucker thinks he can scare me?
Then it hit her. A mere two weeks ago, she’d heard the same damn offer, in nearly those exact words. She and Brooke had laughed about it. Yet never once had she been afraid of Avery.
She fingered the card in her hoodie pocket. He’d been a dick, sure, and if she were honest, a challenge. Deep down, she’d enjoyed their banter as much as he claimed to. And it was true; he was a danger to her in all the ways her grandma had cautioned against.
But this was different, more menacing, more threatening. She’d never felt more vulnerable. Lambert was a predator.
With a fucking key.
With Brooke here, she’d felt a false sense of safety, but alone…and after a break-in… There were worse things than a stolen TV. Aaron was right to want Brooke out. They should have left a long time ago.
As much as she hated to squeeze one more expense into her already tight budget, she had to find somewhere else to live. The problem was, without a job, she’d never make it past the application stage.
Grabbing her phone from the kitchen counter, she sank onto the sofa and pulled the business card from her pocket. Viv thought she should call because he was hot. Brooke was on board for revenge. Jo just wanted to feel in charge of her life again.
And hey, if she was going to prostitute herself, might as well be with the hot guy with all his hair and teeth and lots of money.
****
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Avery glanced from the aerial photos on the big screen behind Nick to his phone lying face down on the conference table.
Somehow, Tits, aka Hilary Brant, had gotten his phone number and kept sending him pics of her…
assets. The last thing he needed was for said assets to pop up on his screen at the wrong time, in the wrong place, in front of the wrong person.
He hadn’t responded to her. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed looking at her tits or added them to his spank bank, but he sure as fuck hoped she held no misconceptions that he wanted anything more from her.
Of course, she knew he’d looked at them.
She’d called him on it, then sent a kissy face emoji and another pic.
He needed to block her. And he would. Soon.
Shifting his phone to his lap just in case, he tapped the screen and—
Mood killer.
Mom: Just a reminder about the benefit at the library tomorrow night.
Like he’d forgotten since the text she’d sent yesterday. And the day before that.
Mom: 7 p.m. Don’t be late.
Okay, this one was on target. He never got anywhere he didn’t want to be on time.
Mom: Love you!
Nick cleared his throat. “Is there something you need to take care of?”
From beside Avery, Marcus leaned over his shoulder. “Mom’s in matchmaker mode again.”
Ping.
Melody: Since Nick is at the head table tomorrow night, we have an extra seat at ours. Do you have a plus one, or should I find someone to fill it.
Fuck. He couldn’t do another Althea Rutherford. Well, he could do her. He just didn’t want to be stuck with her—or another version of her—all night. Or with the expectations that came with that. Not when there would be an all you can eat buffet of beautiful women.
Marcus chuckled. “And Mel.”
Avery elbowed his brother and angled his phone so the nosy fucker couldn’t see.
Spencer’s brow shot up as he leaned back in his chair. “My wife is texting you?”
Ping.
Charlotte: Do you know Haley Young? She’s home for spring break and needs a date to the gala tomorrow night.
“Yeah, Charlotte, too,” Avery scoffed as he threaded his fingers through his hair. “What’s wrong with all the women in this family?”
Nick tapped the stack of reports in front of him. “How do the numbers look for Whitaker?”
Ping.
At the plunge of Nick’s disapproving brows, Avery set his phone to vibrate and stuffed it in his pocket.
“Everything looks good. You should have a copy in your inbox.” He woke his tablet and pulled up the financials for Whitaker Packaging.
As he waited for his brothers to access the file on their laptops, another text buzzed against his thigh. It was going to be a long meeting.
An hour later, Avery fell into the chair behind his desk. The meeting had dragged on, productive, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate with his phone blowing up in his pocket like a vibrator on crack.
Right on cue, it buzzed again. “I swear to fuck…”
He yanked his phone out and flung it across his desk.
“Everything okay?” His admin, Zach, stood just inside his office door. “How’d the meeting go?”
Avery scrubbed both hands over his face and exhaled a long breath. “Spencer’s sending over the contracts this afternoon, and if everything goes well, it’ll be all hands on deck for the next few weeks.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll let the team know.”
Buzz.
He couldn’t dodge their questions forever. Not when they were determined to fuck with his life.
Buzz.
He drummed his fingers on the desk. Maybe if he answered them, they’d leave him the fuck alone. But what the hell was he going to say? Work was the excuse he used for women like Tits, but that didn’t cut it with family.
Hmm, there was the strong possibility he might be coming down with something—strep, the flu, malaria…whatever it took to stop them from riding his ass.
Buzz.
Avery grabbed his phone before it vibrated off the edge of his desk. His mother hadn’t sent any more. Why would she, when she’d enlisted her minions to do her dirty work? There were four more from Melody and two from Charlotte. He skipped over them to read a group text from the Sigmas.
Blaze: On tonight? Where?
Dane: My place at 9 for anyone who wants to come. Pulse at 11
Linc: VIP
Bryce: Busy
Blaze: Won’t Kate let you off the leash for one night?
Kade: I’m down
Bryce: Fuck you, Blaze