21. One Step Forward
Chapter twenty-one
One Step Forward
Chloe
“We were just talking.”
The words come out way too fast, way too panicked. It’s not close to believable.
Chase’s grin says he knows exactly how much of a lie that is.
His eyes flick between Brody and me, and whatever’s running through his mind, he keeps to himself, which is way worse.
He rocks forward on the balls of his feet, hands stuffed into the pockets of his basketball shorts, and pins Brody with that brother-knows look that makes me want to evaporate.
“How’d it go with Mason?”
Brody clears his throat and circles his desk, heading straight for the drink cart. He pours two glasses of whiskey without a word.
“A little early in the day, don’t you think?” Chase raises an eyebrow, then shoots me another look. “Or is this what we do after… you know…”
He doesn’t say it, but his look says it.
I nearly combust. “I–uh–I was—”
“You said you wanted to talk business,” Brody saves me from descending further into my nightmare, his voice smooth as he hands Chase a glass. “I like to kick off my meetings with a little palate cleanser.”
Business ?
Cool. Another surprise on today’s bingo card. Five minutes ago, I had no idea Brody had any siblings. Let alone a brother who’s involved in the company action. My ears burn, part curiosity, part humiliation.
Chase looks like Brody, but that’s about where it ends.
Taller, definitely more built, with the tan of someone who lives outside and not in a boardroom.
And if I had to guess, he’d sooner bungee jump off a bridge than wear a suit.
Brody’s effortless corporate. Chase is… whatever the opposite of that is.
They clink glasses. Chase takes a sip, and immediately winces. The look on his face says pure gasoline. Same, dude. It’s awful.
“Remember when I used to sneak my girlfriends into my room before church on Sundays?”
He grins wide.
Brody’s face turns to stone, and I swear I hear his soul leave his body. Mine already has.And now I’m doing a full mental inventory of whether this office smells like sex. It does. It absolutely does.
“I always made sure to crack a window so Mom didn’t catch a whiff of what we were up to when she came to wake me for service.”
Thanks for that visual, Chase. Not what I need after the most awkward situation of my life. A sex-scented family flashback.
Brody gets the message. I can tell in the way his expression grows stern.
Me? Whatever dignity I had left drops through the bottom of my belly and soaks away through the floor at my feet. It does smell a lot like sex in here.
Taking a slow sip of his drink, like maybe the whiskey can burn away this entire moment, Brody’s voice comes out flat. “I remember,” he says. “I also remember when you were five, which you’re not anymore. So maybe stop acting like it.”
I can’t help it. I snort. Brody’s trying to play it cool. Chase is out here instigating for sport. I’m standing here flushed and vibrating, still riding the tail end of orgasm brain and trying not to humiliate myself further.
Chase flashes me a smile as he drops into a chair. “You’ll get to know me. I like pushing buttons.”
“I have copious amounts of experience dealing with button-pushers,” I shoot back.
Brody’s lips twitch, that flicker of pride, like he’s thinking Atta girl. And okay, maybe I’m clinging to that moment a little too hard.
“Touché, Chloe, touché,” Chase says, raising his glass. I give him credit, he's charming, even when he’s being an ass.
Then he glances at Brody. “Does the community ringleader get to sit in on these meetings?”
Ringleader? Oh, come on. But I’ll take any excuse to find out what this mysterious ‘business’ I keep hearing about is. So, call me whatever the hell you want.
“I was kidding when I said that,” Brody cuts in, killing the vibe in one line. “I’m sure she has enough on her plate without getting bogged down in whatever sleep-deprived plane brainstorms you’re about to unload.”
My heart dips, but I slap on a smile and grab my purse. Got it. Brody’s given the signal, and I’m not about to overstay my welcome .
“I actually do have some things to take care of at the lodge after lunch.”
It’s forced, it sounds forced, and I hate that, but they don’t call me on it.
“You should try the baked quiches in the cafeteria. I was eyeing them on my way over…
Hey, would you mind bringing us up a few?” Chase asks, settling deeper into the chair, making himself comfortable. His drink is nearly halfway finished, and it shows in the glassy sparkle of his eyes.
It’s crazy how similar they look. But where Brody is brooding and handsome, Chase carries a more charmingly youthful demeanor. His cheeky playfulness helps to soften the edges, too.
Brody jumps in, “She said she has work…”
“I don’t mind.” I cut him off before he can shut it down, grateful for the proverbial bone Chase tossed my way. “Baked quiche sounds good. It’ll be good to try something other than the usual lodge food. But don’t tell Vince I said that.”
“Are you sure?” Brody asks.
His voice is clipped. Polite. Too polite. He was just inside me, and now we’re back to stranger-level small talk. I get that it’s for Chase’s benefit. But it irks me a little given it’s his brother, who knows exactly what we were doing and is cool with it.
“I’m sure,” I reply stiffly. “Is there anything else you want me to grab while I’m down there?”
Brody gives a quick shake of his head.
Subtlety, it seems, is lost on Chase. “Get two of the bacon and cheese ones. Then a couple others. And those sticky bread things with the garlic—what are they called? ”
“Chase.” Brody glares at him.
“What? She asked.”
“I did ask.” I chuckle, turning to leave. “Bacon and cheese, couple of others, garlic bread sticks. Got it.”
Brody exhales, and that’s the last I see of him as I step out.
My shoes pat along the cool tile as I make my way to the elevator, still trying to wrap my head around what happened. His cum is still dripping out of me, and now I’m heading out to fulfill his brother’s lunch order.
The elevator dings.
When the doors slide open, I step in to find Mason already inside, leaning casually against the back wall.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were here,” he says, straightening up.
“Hi, Mason.” I press the button for the ground floor.
I remember from the tour that the cafeteria takes up the whole west wing. It gave fancy food court vibes.
“He’s not in a mood, is he?” Mason asks. “I know his brother dropped in unannounced, and Brody doesn’t do well with surprises. Tried to dump him on me with some bullshit tour.”
I think back to Brody’s face when I left. “They’re in some clandestine business meeting.”
He raises a brow. “That right?”
“Didn’t say what it’s about. Just… subtly told me to leave.”
I hesitate, still unsure how much I should be asking. “Do you know Chase? What he does, why he’s here…?”
“Please. Let me tell you about golden boy.” He leans in, clearly ready to drop some top-shelf gossip. Now I’m invested.
“Chase is the whizz kid of the family,” he starts, shaking his head. “Too big of brains and brawn for one person. It’s infuriating. I mean, I can handle a guy who’s smarter than me. That happens. But smarter and hotter?” He flashes me a quick wink, and it’s all I can do to keep from laughing.
This guy is gold. He’s quite entertaining.
“A man who ticks all the boxes and has it all… runs in the family, then?” I tease, half-smiling.
“Tell me about it. Brody had their dad open doors for him. Chase did it solo, smiled his way through the front fucking entrance. Those eyes, that face, the charm. It does half the work before he starts talking.”
“Not hard to see how that helps.” I shrug.
Is it wrong to acknowledge Chase’s attractiveness in front of Mason? Probably. But, whatever. It’s not like he can’t see it.
He laughs, and I join in, feeling a slight flush creep up the back of my neck. Yup, we’re just two people sharing a moment, admiring the genetic lottery. Completely normal.
The doors slide open, and Mason falls into step beside me. The air changes the second we step out, warm and buttery, thick with garlic and melted cheese. If I weren’t drowning in Stirling drama, I'd already be face-first in a quiche.
To my surprise, “Wicked Game” is playing over the speakers. Chris Isaak. Brody would be into that kind of raw, slow-burn, ache-in-the-back-of-your-throat music. It fits. Moody, careful, aching under the surface. A man trying to keep it all together while pretending he doesn’t care. Figures .
And yeah, maybe I’m reading too much into the song.
But it hits me anyway. Like one of those details that sneaks up and sticks, soft and personal, reminding me that Brody isn’t only the unreadable, buttoned-up CEO.
He’s human. A little complicated. And maybe, underneath all the strategy and silence, he’s the kind of guy who feels things a little too hard.
I don’t know why that matters to me. But it does.
It makes me think about the bookstore I want someday. The kind that’s mine. With floors that creak in the right places and shelves I fill on purpose. Music that fits the mood, not just the moment. The kind that makes people feel like they’ve been there before. Even if they haven’t.
That’s what I want. Something that feels like me and actually matters.
“Hey,” Mason says, dragging me back to reality. “You run things at the lodge, right?”
“I do.”
“Can you put in a word with the chef?” he asks, a little shy. “I’m taking a… a lady friend there tonight, and I kinda want to make it special, you know? Show her I’ve earned my place with the big fish.”
I pause. “Lady friend? What is this, 1912?”
He grins. “Yeah, yeah. Help me or mock me. Your choice,” he says playfully. It feels nice, maybe I’m becoming part of the gang. Not just the girl who’s sleeping with Brody, but someone they accept, it makes me feel so warm and fuzzy.
That flippy feeling in my stomach comes back. Am I actually starting to care what Brody’s people think of me?
“So, does the chef take special requests or not?” he presses, pulling me out of my thoughts.
We pass a row of golden, flaky pastries, the scent of garlic and cheese curling straight to my gut. My stomach growls in response. Then I see them. Quiches. Jackpot.
“Vince likes to stick to the menu,” I say, thinking about the chef back at the lodge. “But I’ll make it happen.”
His eyes light up.
“What did you have in mind?” Curious what fancy dish he’s about to throw out.
“Lobster truffle risotto,” he says. “She mentioned it used to be on the menu.”
Ding. Ding. Ding. It clicks. Harper hasn’t shut up about that since we pulled it.
“Do you have a date with Harper?”
Brody, Chase, the lunch order— gone . My brain thinking of only this.
His face goes blank. “You know her?”
Do I know her? “She’s my best friend!” I’m buzzing with excitement.
It could have been anyone, of course. But the risotto is her favorite.
She’s complained non-stop about it since we pulled it from the menu.
I had to make the call since it’s so damn expensive and the tourism demographic isn’t what it used to be.
I’m happy because Harper’s been down on her luck in the love department, with a string of failed first dates that’s pretty much led to her swearing off men and throwing herself into her work.
And other people’s business, given her recent interest in my love life .
How the hell has she not told me about this?
I wince. I’ve been so wrapped up in Brody, I’ve completely ignored the people who actually matter. Wow, I suck.
“You’re not going to give me the third degree, are you?” He narrows his eyes. “I swear I’m a stand-up guy, and it’s only a date. Getting to know each other. Which, as fate would have it, is a department you could help me with?”
I shake my head. “Uh-uh, I’m not spilling tea on my bestie, if that’s what you’re after. Besides, there’s nothing to spill. She’s perfectly lovely.”
“She’s a high school teacher,” he says, like it’s a flex for him. “Who loves jazz and has expensive taste. Lovely, is the right word. I respect it.”
I’m surprised. I pegged him as a model-type guy, not someone into women with paychecks and strong opinions. But I check myself quick—Brody’s scent is still on my skin, and I run a lodge. Glass houses.
A guy behind the counter appears. “You two ready?” He’s a lanky man wearing three-day old stubble. His hands are clean, and his eyes friendly, despite the tired lines at the corners.
Right. Food, the reason I’m down here. Harper developments will have to wait.
“I’d like–uh…” Chase’s order has completely left my mind. I’ve blanked. Between everything with Brody and Mason’s bombshell, it’s understandable.
“Yes?” The guy encourages me.
“You don’t have any lobster truffle risotto hiding back there, do you?” Mason asks with a laugh. “I suddenly have a craving.”
The guy’s face screws up with confusion, and I nudge Mason with my elbow. His sarcasm settles me, and the lunch order comes back.
“I’ll have two bacon and cheese quiches, make it one mushroom and one sausage, please.” The fact that I skipped breakfast calls out with a loud rumble in my stomach, and I add, “Make it two sausage and peppers. Oh, and a few garlic breadsticks too.”
“Put it on the boss’s account,” Mason adds.
I shoot him a look.
“What? It’s not like he’s hurting for cash.”
My revelatory exchange with Mason is still playing in my head when I get off on the top floor, loaded with lunch, and two coffees I thought of at the last minute.
The food’s still warm in my hands as I near his office.
They might need it after dipping into Brody’s drink cart.
I’ll drop this off and call Harper for a catch-up that’s long overdue.
As I near Brody’s office, I hear voices. The door’s cracked.
“See? Easy as that,” Chase is saying. “You’re not going to sit there and tell me I don’t know what I’m doing. Bluepeak will be left in good hands, and you’ll get to do something that actually excites you.”
I freeze.
Brody replies, calm and certain. “You’re right. I’ll go to Italy. It’s not like there’s anything keeping me here, anyway.”
I’m right at the door when he says it, so there’s no mistaking what I hear. My chest locks tight. Nothing keeping him here. Nothing. No-one.
So much for something real.
Why am I sweating? I try to swallow, but my throat is like chalk .
I only realize my hands are balled into fists when the cardboard drink tray gives way. Both coffees tumble to the floor.
The door swings open.
Brody sees me, confused, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you got lost.”
The next few seconds blur.
I burst into tears, shove the tray into his chest, and slap him hard. The shock of it reverberates all the way up my arm.
My palm stings. My eyes won’t stop leaking. My heart hurts like hell.
I choke on a humiliated sob and jab the elevator button so hard my thumb throbs, but I don’t turn around. I won’t.