Chapter 4
brOOKS
Fuck, I want her.
It’s annoying as fuck.
I still don’t trust her, but in the same breath, I want her like crazy. Those pouty lips. That killer body that curves in all the right places. That sassy little mouth. The attitude. Ugh. I don’t know what this is, but I know I want more time with her.
And after that, I’m pretty sure she could actually get this job.
She looks down at her watch.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “but I actually need to get going.”
“So soon?” I ask, trying not to sound as desperate as I apparently am.
She doesn’t offer an explanation, just a curt nod as she pushes her chair out from the table.
“No problem,” Julian says. “I’ll get you a car.”
She holds her hand up and shakes her head.
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I can get an Uber,” she says. But my brother gives her a look, and so do I. When she realizes that we aren’t set on that idea, she adds, “I’m going out to Jersey. So it’s really fine.”
I want to ask her why, but there is something about the look on her face that tells me she
really doesn’t want me to. So instead, I stand too.
“I’ve got time,” I say. “We can make a pitstop in Jersey.”
She looks at me then nods when she sees that there is no use in arguing it further. We say our goodbyes, and my brothers both thank her again. I can feel them eyeing me as I lead her toward the elevator, and as the elevator doors open and she steps on, I feel Julian’s hand on my arm.
“Do not fuck this up, Brooks,” he warns. “Don’t mess with her.”
I look down at his hands on me then back up to him.
“Never,” I say, despite the fact that messing with women has sort of been my M.O.—at least up until now. I follow her onto the elevator, and the doors close behind me.
“So,” I say, leaning back up against the wall, “what’s in Jersey?” I don’t waste any time asking. I want her to stay distracted. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a Jerome Parker jersey, and I feel my knees go weak. She likes football?
“The biggest Empire fan in the world,” she says, pulling up a picture of a young boy wearing a New York Empire jersey. I smile.
“Cute kid,” I say.
“My brother,” she says, looking down at her phone with a loving smile. “He was a bit of a surprise to my parents. We’re fifteen years apart.”
“Wow,” I say. “I know a thing or two about being a surprise.” I offer her a playful smile, but the smile she gives me in return has some sadness to it, like she’s not sure if she should join in on the joke.
“Does your mom live in the city?” she asks me, and I feel myself tightening up. I clear my throat.
“Nah,” I tell her. “She has a place a few hours away, upstate.”
She nods. I hold my breath while I wait for her to ask more, but she doesn’t.
It’s almost like she’s afraid to push me.
We finally reach the garage level, and I feel her loosen up a bit as she steps out of the elevator.
Our driver is already waiting for us, and I open her door for her as she climbs inside.
I climb in next to her, then I look at her.
“Wanna send me an address to plug in?” I ask. She gives me a look then nods. I tell her my number, and she sends off a text with an address that I plug into the GPS connected to my phone.
And I make a mental note to save her contact.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, and a million thoughts swirl through my mind. I could bring up the interview, but honestly, I don’t feel like talking about it. I don’t feel like talking about the total fuck-up that is my family. And I don’t feel like talking about what she’s about to do.
I want to talk about her. I want to know more.
“Did you grow up in Jersey?” I ask her.
She shakes her head.
“We lived in the city my whole life,” she says. “But, uh…my parents fell on some hard times and moved out here when my brother was first born.”
I nod slowly, taking in whatever she will give me.
“So you’re an Empire fan too?” I ask her after a few beats of silence.
“Oh yeah,” she says with a smile that makes my whole body zap. “Not as big as Cole. But pretty close.”
I smile. There’s a sweet little glint in her eye when she talks about him.
“Is it just the two of you?” I ask. She nods.
“What about you? Does your mom have any other kids?” she asks. I look at her. Ah, she’s getting a little braver now. My little journalist.
I shake my head.
“Nah. One narcissistic billionaire baby daddy was enough for her to have to deal with,” I say as a joke. But she doesn’t smile. She just stares at me.
“From what I read, it sounds like he put her through the wringer,” she says. The smile walks off my face as our eyes meet again.
“You could say that,” I say, my eyes darting toward my window.
The rest of the ride is quiet until the driver pulls into a neighborhood.
It’s bordered in sidewalks, and families are walking their dogs, and riding their bikes, and pushing kids in strollers.
A group of teenagers is laughing, their headphones around their necks as they shovel candy into their mouths.
The houses all look the same but are different colors. Minivans and small SUVs line the driveways, and I feel my chest loosen a little bit at the sight of it all.
Normal.
It all just feels so normal. Not Everett normal. Real-people normal.
He finally stops on the curb in front of a light-blue house. There’s a little yellow yard flag with flowers on it, waving in the wind, and a basketball hoop in the driveway.
“Well,” she says, reaching for her bag, but to her surprise, I pull on the handle and get out of the car, jogging around to open her door again. “You don’t have to keep doing that.”
I smile as I help her out.
“I know,” I say, and as her feet plant on the ground in front of us and we are standing just centimeters apart, I lean down, “but I want to.” She swallows just as the front screen door bursts open. We both turn around to the tornado of a kid who is making a beeline for us.
“Wrenny!” he says as he jumps on her. She laughs and squeezes him, although he’s almost as tall as her. She sets him down and ruffles his shaggy raven hair.
“Hey, dude,” she says with a smile. He turns to me, and I stick out my hand.
“So this must be the biggest Empire fan in the world?” I ask him. He nods and shakes my hand with a smile.
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I’m Cole.”
“Hey, Cole,” I say. “I’m Brooks. Nice to meet you.”
He looks at me, then to his sister, then back to me.
“Are you her driver?” he asks. I bust out laughing, and so does she as she slides a hand down her face.
“No, no, Cole,” she says. “Brooks is just my friend. He was, uh…coming out to Jersey anyway, so he offered to give me a ride.”
Our eyes meet for a brief second.
Friend, huh?
I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Who’s your favorite player?” I ask, knowing that there is a 98% chance I already know the answer. Jerome Parker was the Super Bowl MVP last year and has his own line of shoes, among about a thousand other brand deals. He also happens to be one of my best friends.
“Jerome Parker,” he says, pulling up his sweatshirt to show me his jersey. I smile and nod, then scroll through my phone.
“Does this guy look familiar?” I ask, showing him a photo of Jerome and me last year on my yacht. His little jaw drops as he stares at it.
“Whoa! You know Jerome?” he asks. I smile as I flick through some other photos of us.
“I do,” I say. “He’s a good friend of mine.”
“Do you see this, Wren? He knows Jerome!” he says. She smiles and nods, seemingly not as impressed as her kid brother.
“I see,” she says. “That’s pretty cool, huh?”
“I’ll tell him you said hi next time we talk, how about that?” I say. He nods enthusiastically, and I reach out to shake his hand again. “Alright, guys. I’m gonna head back to the city, but have a great time at the game.”
They smile and nod, and I notice that, as I smile at her, her eyes linger on me a little longer as I get back in the car.