Chapter 2
TWO
brANDON
I step out of the car, tugging at the tie. It’s too tight, like a noose around my neck. Naomi emerges, looking like a million bucks in a sleek black dress that hugs every curve. She’s wearing those killer heels that make her legs go on forever, though she still barely reaches my shoulder.
No.
This goddamn beautiful and infuriating woman is priceless, like the perfect dish you can only create once.
She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.
I shrug. “Let’s get this over with.”
We walk up the steps to the museum, where a banner proclaims ‘In Loving Memory of Charles Milton.’ I want to tear it down.
Loving memory? More like a goddam joke. The old man was a tyrant, and now I’m supposed to grieve to honor him?
The whole place is dripping in ostentatious marble and gaudy chandeliers, like a fucking wedding cake that’s been decorated by a pastry chef with a heavy melodramatic hand. The exhibits are swathed in black velvet, draped like burnt meringue.
Tall vases filled with white lilies stand at every corner, their scent so thick I can taste it, cloying and artificial, like cheap vanilla extract trying to pass as the real thing. Waiters weave through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. I snag a glass and down it in one go, the bubbles prickling my throat.
Better than getting through this sober.
“Pace yourself.” Naomi shoots me a look. “We’ve still got a long night ahead of us.”
“Don’t remind me.” I scan the room, taking in the dark-clad vultures circling, ready to pick over the remnants of my father’s legacy.
“I’ll be right back.” Naomi waves to Serena, a good friend of hers. “Try not to mess up while I’m gone.”
“Already miss you.”
“Fuck you.”
“You wish.” I wink at her, and she pivots, stomping off while mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like ‘asshole.’
Still got it. Getting on her nerves or making her blush are my two favorite things in this world. There could be a third one, but?—
“Brandon!” Allistar fucking Green, one of Dad’s oldest friends and biggest ass-kissers, barrels down on me, grin plastered on his Botox face. The old bastard crushes my hand in his meaty paw. “Your father was a titan. He would be so proud. Tell me, how’s the transition going?”
“Smooth.” I force a grin, the kind that makes my cheeks ache like I’ve been punched. “Elijah and I are a good team.” My brother does most of the heavy lifting, but I’m doing my part. Sort of.
“I know these last few months have been hard, but you’re doing the right thing, son. Carrying on the Milton legacy. Your dad always said you had it in you.”
Son? “Thanks.”
His eyes dart past me. “Good, good. We’ll talk soon.”
Yeah, right. I watch him waddle off, likely to suck up to Elijah next. My eyes drift to the bar, and I calculate the steps it would take to get there, down a whisky, and be back before anyone notices.
Too many.
Suddenly, several people come up to me, clap me on the shoulder, and offer their hollow condolences. Allistar leaving me seems to have triggered something.
“Brandon, so sorry for your loss.”
“Your father was a great man.”
“Hang in there, kid.”
I want to tell them all to fuck off, but I just nod and mumble my thanks.
Everyone looks older, more haggard. Or maybe that’s just me, projecting my future version onto them, being a corporate zombie.
Future version?
Who am I kidding? I’m already one.
Where’s Naomi? She’s supposed to be my buffer for this kind of shit.
Just then, Mary Ellison, Dad’s former secretary, corners me. “Your father was one of a kind.” She dabs at her eyes with an overly fancy handkerchief. “They don’t make them like Charles anymore.”
“They sure don’t,” I say through gritted teeth.
“They don’t,” she insists, and I can almost hear the unvoiced judgments in her words.
“Brandon, my boy!” another voice booms from behind me. I turn, and my gut sinks. It’s Irwin Charlesworth, another rich fossil, from Dad’s past who’s somehow managed to survive this long.
Honestly, my money’s on him being an android, his consciousness uploaded to cheat death and keep haunting events like this.
I plaster on a smile as he bears down on me, ignoring my outstretched hand and pulling me into a half-hug that feels more like a chokehold than a greeting. “Terrible business, this. Your father and I go way back, you know. He was like a brother.”
“We’re all counting on you and Elijah now,” he says. “Milton Global needs strong leadership in these trying times.”
“I’m just trying to keep things steady for now.”
His eyes narrow like he’s already written me off. “Steady won’t cut it, son. You need to be in this. Like Charles. Like Elijah.”
I know exactly what he means. The restaurant. The one I wanted to open months ago, saying goodbye to corporate life. The dream…
“Brandon?” Saved by the fucking bell. Naomi joins us, a glass of champagne in hand, looking like a goddess amidst this sea of mediocrity. “Have you introduced me to your friend?”
Charlesworth’s eyes light up with that lecherous glint only aging billionaires can pull off. “And who is this lovely creature?”
“This is Naomi,” I say. “She’s?—”
“His loving girlfriend.” She extends her hand, flashing him a smile that could kill. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He shakes her hand with a suggestive glance at her legs. “Brandon is a lucky man.”
Hands off, old man. Android or not. I will kick your ass.
“He is,” Naomi says. “And I’m lucky to have him.”
I watch, dumbstruck, as she reels him in, changing the topic. She laughs at all the right moments and says all the right things, wrapping him, and me, around her little finger. It’s like watching a master at play, but it gnaws at me, too.
The perfect girlfriend. It’s all a performance.
Charlesworth mumbles something about catching up later and shuffles off, leaving behind a stale scent of arrogance.
I look at Naomi and raise an eyebrow. “Loving girlfriend?”
She sips her champagne. “Oh, now you complain?”
I snatch her glass and finish it. “I thought you were going to let me drown here.”
“You looked like you were swimming just fine.” There’s a flicker of something in her eyes. Concern, maybe. Or pity. I can’t tell with her. “He’s a creep.”
“He’s a fucking dinosaur,” I say. “But he’s a dinosaur with a lot of stock.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
She rolls her eyes. “About how much you hate this.”
Like that changes anything. “It’s just one night.”
“I don’t get it. You have everything these people want. Money, power, connections. Why do you care what they think?”
“I don’t.”
“Bullshit.”
I exhale slowly. “It’s not about them. It’s about… keeping up appearances.” Being perfect.
“Appearances…”
A firm grip on my shoulder nearly makes me jump out of my skin.
“Look what Naomi managed to drag out of his cave.”
I turn to find Sebastian and Connor in perfectly tailored suits. Bash’s trademark smirk makes me want to punch him. Lovingly, of course. We’re best friends, sadly.
“Bash.” I give him my best grin. “Kindly go fuck yourself. Please.”
“There he is.” Sebastian’s lips twitch. “The Brandon we know and tolerate.”
And there’s the Sebastian I like.
“Naomi worked her magic again?” Connor’s eyes drift to her.
“Had to drag his ass out of bed,” Naomi says.
Sebastian whistles. “Bet that was fun.”
“About as fun as you can imagine.”
I glare at her. “You loved every minute of it.”
“In your dreams, Milton.”
Connor snorts. “You two should take this act on the road.”
“Speaking of acts…” Sebastian’s eyes narrow, scanning the crowd. “Your brother’s been looking for you.”
My stomach clenches. “Let him look.”
“Brandon—” Naomi starts.
“Mr. Milton?” A photographer approaches us, camera raised. “Could we get a photo of you and your girlfriend?”
Naomi stiffens beside me, her smile frozen in place. I can feel her reluctance, her desire to bolt.
“Make it quick,” I growl.
Connor and Sebastian step aside, but not before the latter throws me a knowing wink. Bastard always could see right through me.
The first flash blinds me, and I see spots dancing. What the—I wasn’t even ready.
I slide my arm around Naomi’s waist. She’s warm against me, her scent sweet and homey. It makes me think of quiet Sundays, soft pastries, and everything this cold, unforgiving world is not.
The camera clicks, capturing a moment that feels as fake as everything else tonight. Do we look like a real couple?
“Come on, you two,” he cajoles. “Let’s see some love! Mr. Milton, give her a kiss.”
I lean in slowly, brushing my lips against her ear. Her skin erupts in goosebumps, and I don’t know why, but it fills me with pride that I still have this effect on her. She can pretend all she wants, but her body desires me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. For what I am about to do? For being an asshole? For needing her this much?
I hope this doesn’t count against my one display of public affection.
The skin of her cheek is soft and warm beneath my lips, somehow grounding me in this chaotic moment. The flash goes off again.
Her head turns just slightly, a fraction of movement, and suddenly, her lips are a breath away from mine. The world narrows to this single point of almost contact. What if I close the gap?
Her eyes meet mine, brown and stormy and filled with something that makes my chest tight.
Fuck.
Just one more second. Let me pretend this is real for one more second, that she’s here because she wants to be and not because of the deal.
My hand tightens on her waist. One move. That’s all it would take. Press forward, claim those lips that are already parted, craving…
The camera’s still clicking away, but all I can focus on is how her breath hitches, how her fingers curl into my blazer, how she leans in, barely, but enough that I notice. Because I notice everything about her. Always have.
One public display. Her rules. Her boundaries.
I step back, dropping my arm. “Got what you needed?” My voice comes out rougher than intended, and I clear my throat.
The photographer nods, already on his next mission.
Naomi’s frozen in place, her lipstick perfect and untouched. Unlike the tremor in her hand as she reaches for another glass of champagne.
I want to say something, anything, but what comes out is… nothing. For the first time in a long time I am speechless.
She downs half her glass in one go.
I raise an eyebrow at her.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” she says. “Stop it.”
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Sebastian walks back over to us.
“Shut up.”
“Your brother’s coming,” Connor mutters.
My muscles tense, fight-or-flight kicking in.
Elijah cuts through the crowd like a shark through water, all predatory grace in his tailored suit and our father’s sharp features.