Chapter 26 Nobody’s Charity Case
NOBODY’S CHARITY CASE
Simone
Brendan’s driver whisked us away from Brookline, and if I was being honest, he couldn’t go fast enough.
My stomach gave a low rumble, but I ignored it. So much for dinner. Not that it mattered, since any appetite that had managed to survive through my nerves had vanished when I overheard Brendan’s brothers’ vicious remarks.
They echoed like a refrain in my mind as we turned onto Boylston, which would take us back to the Martin. It said something about his father’s estate that now I found the penthouse almost homey in comparison.
When I’d first arrived, I’d been in awe of the colonial mansion, the enormous grounds guarded by a curling wrought-iron entry, the circular drive lit by lanterns, and the brick facade of the mansion that might have played host to some of the nation’s founding fathers.
I was no stranger to New England’s historical buildings, but even that had impressed me.
But the delicate plasterwork and Doric columns were now a shadow compared to my memories of the horrible conversation I’d overheard as the family butler escorted me down the hall.
I’d been so proud too. Thought I’d succeeded, given the missteps of the day.
I’d found this dress at a designer vintage consignment shop in Cambridge—one of those places that specialized more in fashion history than in good deals.
I’d never been able to afford anything in there before, but today they’d welcomed me, my torn jeans, and Brendan’s credit card with open arms.
The owner had helped me find a gorgeous shift dress in black silk with an embroidered chinoiserie pattern. It was even designed by Apollo, one of the flagship designers owned by Savage York (and acquired by Blackguard Holding when it was first starting to grow)—or so Wikipedia had informed me.
I had a blowout and makeup done at a nearby salon while I watched YouTube videos on place settings. I was running only fifteen minutes late and feeling, if not confident, then at least reasonably prepared by the time I’d arrived in Brookline.
Until the voices of Brendan’s brothers had chopped that expectation down to the ground.
Every fear I had was confirmed in less than thirty seconds.
I didn’t fit into Brendan’s world. I couldn’t even make it more than five minutes in his family’s house.
And maybe I never would.
I toyed with the ends of my hair, curled in the ponytail, then pulled them forward to examine them in the streetlights that flashed past the window. “Look at that. I do need a haircut.”
Brendan’s hand closed around mine and pulled it away from my hair, taking my gaze with him. “Stop. You’re perfect.”
I looked at our connected hands, then back up at him. “I am plenty of things, but perfect is definitely not one of them.”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it before he nodded. “Stunning, then. And that includes your hair.”
“It’s not about my hair, though, is it?”
I turned to the window as we passed the Museum of Fine Arts, then a wash of buildings near Northeastern. Tears pricked again, and I hated myself for them. Hated myself for listening. Hated myself for letting them get to me.
“Simone.”
No. I would not cry over these stupid men and their stupid comments.
“Simone.”
I sucked in a breath. Two fingers slipped under my chin as Brendan turned me back to face him. And I couldn’t help the tear that tracked down my cheek.
“Fuck them,” he said quietly. “Fuck every word out of their insolent, ungrateful mouths. They don’t deserve tears from you, baby. Not a one.”
The fingers at my chin drifted up and traced my jaw. After a glance at Anthony, Brendan pressed a button to raise the privacy screen between us. Did he want to prevent the man from hearing his kindness? Or did he want to make sure I knew none of this was fake?
My heart ached for the latter.
He reached down and unfastened my seat belt, then tugged me closer.
“Listen to me when I tell you that it wouldn’t matter if you were perfect; my poisonous family would still find a way to tear you down.
It’s no excuse, but just know that it’s not about you.
It’s about them and their miserable lives. ”
He guided my head to lie on his shoulder and started stroking my hair.
It was unexpected.
It felt so good.
And it made me cry even more.
I swiped at another tear. “Maybe you should be ashamed of me. I certainly don’t belong in your world. You could have picked someone who knows you or who at least knows what they’re doing.”
He sat me back up, dark green eyes meeting my blue.
“We’ve been over this.” Then he frowned.
“This isn’t just about a few shitty comments, is it?
” Something else appeared to dawn on him as he looked me over.
“Why didn’t you buy something new? Not that you don’t look incredible in this dress, but it’s still—”
“Used,” I finished with a hiccup. “You knew?”
He tipped his head ruefully. “Luxury is what we do, angel. Yeah, I knew. Couldn’t care less, but I knew.”
I sighed. “I had a little trouble shopping today. Ruth thought I should go to Neiman’s, but I really wanted to do it alone.
Prove to myself, I guess, that I could at least handle one small dinner without an army behind me.
But when I went to the stores she recommended—some of the ones your company owns—no one would…
” I gulped back a breath as my words grew shaky.
This was harder than I thought. “No one would help me.”
I choked back a sob, full of shame. God, this was embarrassing. It was horrible when it had happened and somehow even worse to admit out loud. That even to some random shopgirls, I wasn’t up to this job.
The car pulled up to Brendan’s building, but neither of us got out. It took a few seconds for me to realize he was vibrating with tension. With barely concealed rage.
“How?” he asked after what seemed like several minutes. “How could that happen?”
I stared at my shoes, truly mortified. “It was pretty simple, actually. I walked into five different stores, and every single time, the clerks took one look at my crappy jeans and sneakers and either snubbed me, ignored me, or insulted me outright. It didn’t matter how nice I was or how much money I said I could spend. They d-didn’t care.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what?” I fairly snapped.
“The fact that your rich brothers saw right through me or the fact that your employees literally turned down my money because they thought I couldn’t handle their wares?
Either way, it shakes out to the same thing: that I’m a terrible fit for this arrangement. ”
“Stop saying that,” he growled. “Jesus, Simone. Stop…I don’t know. Doubting yourself. Putting yourself down. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Why, because it makes you uncomfortable?” I was starting to sob now. Undoubtedly ruining all the hard work I’d put into my appearance.
“Because it’s not fuckin’ true!”
Silence yawned between us, interrupted only by the harsh breaths I took while fighting back more tears.
I failed. Miserably.
What was he talking about? What did he even mean by that?
Brendan took several deep breaths before he spoke again. “Listen to me now. Because I am not a man who enjoys repeating himself.”
I stuck my chin out, ready to tell him exactly what he could do with his orders, but he caught it again, harder this time, and shook his head. His gaze was hot and intense, imploring me to do as he bade me. To listen, yes. And be still.
“I picked you for one reason: because you’re better than my world.
You aren’t the kind of person who lets idiots like these people define you—instead, you do what you know is right, whether that means donating half your time to elderly people at the hospital or saving your family’s farm.
This plan was never going to work with someone like me, Simone.
I needed someone better. Because honestly, how else could a man like me fall in love otherwise? ”
His hand dropped. My mouth fell open. Love?
No.
He was talking about the act. Our little charade. He needed someone good because otherwise people wouldn’t believe he could fall in love.
Because Brendan Black was definitely not falling in love with me any more than I was falling in love with him.
Right?
“So, please don’t cry,” Brendan murmured as he went back to stroking my face and wiping away my tears. “I’m not made for tears, baby. I don’t know what to do with them.”
That only made me cry more. “You don’t have to do anything with them. They’re just feelings, Brendan. They’ll pass.”
I was calming more, though. Enough to fish a tissue out of my clutch and dab at my eyes.
“But it’s painful. You’re obviously in pain, and that’s—I can’t explain it, but it hurts me too.” He shook his head, obviously befuddled. “I’m not used to this.”
That earned him a waterlogged chuckle. I pressed a hand to his chest and sat up to look at him. “I think that means you like me a little bit, Brendan.”
That bashful smile—my absolute favorite smile in the world—made an appearance. “You know, you might be right.”
We stared at each other for another long minute, oblivious to the traffic rushing by, the driver waiting outside for us to exit, or the doormen beyond.
Boston shrank to this single spot, this little universe in the back of a very nice car, where I was sitting with a secretly kind man, who just said he chose me… for me.
This time, I was the one to kiss him. And it wasn’t because someone was watching or because I was playing a game.
It was because I wanted to.
Because I had to.
At first, he stilled as my lips brushed over his. And I froze too, thinking I’d made a colossal mistake.
Then Brendan Black did what he did best.
He took control.