Chapter 10
Evie
Brandon. At first, I assume I’m dreaming, and I almost open my covers and invite him into bed with me.
But then the excruciating pain filters back into my consciousness, and I realize at once that I am not, in fact, dreaming, and Brandon really was looming over my sleeping form like a lecherous creep.
Livid now, I spring into a sitting position. The sudden motion startles the muscles in my aching back. I suck in a sharp breath, hissing through clenched teeth when the muscles in my back begin to spasm.
“Evie?” I smell him before I realize he’s practically on top of me, his hands hovering uselessly around my body like frantic butterflies. The titillating scent of his woodsy aftershave assaults my senses like a slap to the face.
When the spasm subsids, I shove him away. “Get away from me!”
Frowning, he pulls back. “You need to see a doctor.”
I huff and smooth a hand down my messy mane, embarrassed about my appearance. I still haven’t showered. “No, what I need is for you to leave me alone.”
As if he hasn’t heard a word I’ve said, Brandon sits down on the edge of my bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and it both excites and irritates me. He is too comfortable in his own skin.
“Go home, Brandon.”
He tilts his head, bending to retrieve something from the floor.
“Maybe I will.” My mood brightens when he produces a container of cookie dough ice cream on his open palm.
He waves it beneath my nose, teasing me.
Lifting a spoon with his other hand, he smiles at the treat like it said something pleasant.
My stomach flutters with anticipation when he turns his cheeky smile onto me.
“But if I go, I’ll have to take this delicious ice cream with me. ” He shrugs. “It’s up to you.”
My only response is a petulant scowl.
His expression turns thoughtful as he undoes the lid and dips the spoon into the ice cream like he hasn’t a care in the world that my mouth is watering and I haven’t eaten since last night.
He extends the bite of melting ice cream out in front of him, gazing at it like he’s pondering the meaning of life as he rolls it this way and that on the utensil.
It almost slides off the spoon at one point, and my stomach lets out a garble in protest of this sick game he’s playing.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“I can’t remember,” he muses. “Isn’t this your favorite flavor, Genevieve?
” His gaze lifts to mine, and he stares directly into my soul as he slides the spoon into his mouth.
His eyes light up, and then his head rocks back as if he’s in ecstasy, his dark, enviable curly lashes fluttering in pure delight.
I almost groan. It has been so long since I’ve had ice cream.
He licks his lips. “Yum.”
“Give it to me, Brandon.” I swipe for the spoon.
He pulls back, grinning deviously as he dips it into the ice cream again.
“Only if you ask nicely.” When I don’t reply, his grin widens.
“Was I right? Is it your favorite flavor, Spitfire?” He peers into the container and shakes his head.
“It’s the perfect temperature, too. Not so warm that it’s melting, but not so cold that it would give you a brain freeze.
It’s just right.” He winks before popping another bite into his mouth.
My cheeks warm at the sight. It’s almost provocative, watching him enjoy it so much. “I seriously hate you.”
He dips the spoon into the container again. “You keep saying that, but we both know it’s not true.”
Sighing, I rub my throbbing temple. I’m tired, sore, and hungry, and the only thing that will make it better is that ice cream, so I swallow my pride and force a tight smile. “May I have some ice cream, Brandon?”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please,” I hiss.
He chuckles. “There. Was that so hard?” Immediately, he leans forward and slides the packed spoon into my mouth.
I avoid looking him in the eye as the flavor melts on my tongue.
Yup. Just as I suspected. Pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
I don’t allow myself to eat sweets very often, simply because I always overdo it and make myself sick. I don’t have any self-control.
Which is why Brandon and I cannot be friends.
I give him a sour look when he takes another bite.
“Brandon, look. Thank you for yesterday and this morning. I appreciate your help with Grandma, but you and I . . .” I shake my head morosely.
“We both know why we can’t be friends.” There’s too much unresolved chemistry buzzing between us.
It was like we cracked open a shaken soda bottle the night we slept together.
Neither of us were prepared for the explosion or the fallout.
His jaw hardens as he lifts another bite of ice cream to my mouth. “What if I don’t want to be just friends?”
The utter gall of this man. What he wants is not something I’m prepared to give him. Friends with benefits. I hate the term. Hate it with every fiber of my being.
“Sorry. Tough luck, kid.” I swipe the spoon and steal the tub of ice cream from his lap. “Now scram.”
He’s quiet for several moments, watching me shovel spoonfuls of ice cream into my mouth with the urgency of a rabid animal. “Come be my assistant, Evie.”
Startled, I drop the tub of ice cream onto the floor. It splatters all over the carpet. “What?”
Brandon springs from the bed and retrieves the tub of ice cream. He sets it on my nightstand before looking around for something to wipe up the mess. I point to a towel on the back of my door, and he scoops up the residue while I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“Your assistant.” I laugh. “What?”
I’m laughing for so many reasons. One, Brandon doesn’t know how to handle rejection. He has never been told no by a woman a day in his life, and it shows. Two, he would try to rope me back into his life by making me his assistant. And three . . .
“I have a job, Brandon.”
“Yes, and it’s slowly killing you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I mutter under my breath.
“What?”
I look away. “Nothing.”
“I mean it, Evie. Come be my assistant. I’ll pay you triple what you make at the agency. You’ll actually have money to put away for that trip you’ve been trying to save up for.”
My mouth falls open. He remembers. I’ve always wanted to backpack my way across Europe, and a few summers ago, I had booked a flight to London as a reward for finding the courage to end my engagement with Adam, despite my father’s wishes.
I was due to leave the week after Grandma’s fall, but I never ended up going, opting to move in with her instead—just to keep Dad off her case about moving into an assisted living facility.
Amidst my shock, I’m also feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Brandon has asked me to be his assistant before. I didn’t want to complicate what I believed to be our romantic situation at the time, so I said no. Because, yes, once upon a time, I thought we were headed toward a relationship.
Turns out he never had any intention of committing to me.
And, suddenly, the dots connect with alarming clarity. Brandon wanted to make me his assistant for one reason and one reason only. My stomach shrivels, the ice cream curdling inside of me. I should have known. No man wants to work with his significant other.
But he might want to bang the help.
I’m so hurt by this revelation that I feel myself shut down. Feel my face drop as my heart glazes with newfound hatred for him. And I thought I hated him before. “Get out.”
He rises quickly, sensing I’ve hit the end of my tether. “Tell me you’ll at least think about it.”
“No.” I point at the door. “Get out.”
His brows furrow. “Evie—”
“Get out, or I will tell Jamie everything.”
I have never threatened to tattle on Brandon before.
Never once did the idea of telling Jamie about our secret “situationship” cross my mind.
If my brother knew Brandon and I had slept together, it would destroy their friendship, and I’m not that selfish or cruel.
But nothing else is working. Brandon won’t leave me alone, and he’s made his intentions crystal clear.
But I refuse to become his plaything again.
Brandon wipes a hand through his hair, frantically zhuzhing it at the back as he props his free hand on his belt.
His gaze falls to the floor, and he stares at nothing for a moment before he meets my eyes again.
“Okay.” He swivels on his heel. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll get out of your hair.”
My heart sinks at the crestfallen look on his face.
Darn him!
“Try and get some rest, Spitfire,” he says as he heads for the door. I should feel relieved when he closes it behind him, but I don’t. His goodbye sounded too defeated, too final. Like he’s lost hope.
I remind myself that that’s a good thing.
He only wants your body, Evie. Not your heart.