Chapter 29 Might as Well Douse Me in Flour
MIGHT AS WELL DOUSE ME IN FLOUR
Brendan
It took fourteen hours of back-to-back meetings to recover from the first day off I’d taken in years.
Turns out you can’t actually take a spontaneous day to yourself when you’re the very tentative interim CEO of one of the largest companies in the world.
Had it been worth it?
Absolutely.
Had I paid the price for it?
All fuckin’ day.
And then, of course, there were the phone calls from my father nearly every hour interrogating my decisions, second-guessing my instincts, and calling me an idiot with every suggestion I made.
I’d left the office in a storm, realizing that more difficulty lay ahead of me at my apartment.
Having Simone there was turning into a problem.
Last night, I’d stared at the ceiling until approximately 3:00 a.m., forcing myself not to sneak downstairs and steal into her bedroom like a creep.
This morning, I’d only just stopped myself from doing the same thing, and had instead beat off in a cold shower twice before my cock calmed down enough that I could get dressed.
It was the lingerie that did it.
The black lace underthings that I’d probably never get to see, but would never stop imagining on that golden skin until the day I died.
I should have left them in the fucking shop.
It was time to acknowledge the truth. I was drawn to the girl, and in a way that wasn’t purely physical. Had been from the beginning. There was no shame in that.
But for some reason that was completely beyond me, I wasn’t able to control it.
In another life, I would have wanted to know her better.
I would have returned to that shitty lounge and ordered bad scotch and talked to her about life and love and anything else she wanted for weeks until I earned enough trust to ask her out.
I would have taken her on dates—real ones, like to a movie or a baseball game, not the ornate crap people like me did to impress each other.
I would have kissed her on a front porch somewhere, charmed her into sex, maybe even married her one day and pumped out a couple of kids.
Done things like save for retirement, get a dog, coach Little League, and host game nights with our friends.
The fantasy of a normal life right out of a sitcom played through my mind like a highlight reel all day, but only so I could come to the same conclusion again and again.
That was not my life. It never would be.
But bringing a woman like Simone into the world I lived in?
She’d wither on the vine, and I’d be responsible.
Being a Black wasn’t easy. Being the eldest Black was even harder.
Why would I subject an innocent person to that torture?
Distance. We needed distance. No more needless flirting or affection, even in front of others. People saw me as The Black Prince, so they shouldn’t be surprised if I acted that way with my future wife, right? Brendan Black didn’t have a heart. Why was I trying to pretend I had one now?
Unfortunately, said heart continued to beat faster with anticipation as I rode up in the elevator.
The exhaustion of all of it hit me the moment I walked through the door, passing Ruth and Kate on their way out.
I’d barely managed to say hello.
I needed a drink. I needed something.
Then I walked into my kitchen and needed…her.
Simone was covered in flour again, a good amount of it on her cheeks and nose. Laughing as she cleaned the kitchen, her clothes a mess, hair newly trimmed but still deliciously free down her back.
She looked different, but not much. When Ruth had mentioned a makeover was on the schedule, I’d been very clear—and maybe overly intense—when I’d ordered her to keep it to a minimum.
Give her all the clothes she wanted. Jewelry, shoes, shower her with it all.
But I didn’t want them to change her. Not to the point where she wouldn’t be herself.
Whatever they’d done was magic. Dressed only in a thin pink shirt and matching pants, Simone shone like a brighter version of herself, a halo brought to life.
Then she’d turned with eyes twinkling like stars in the sky, and everything else was a blur. My feet had moved of their own accord, and I was kissing her well before I even realized what I was doing.
Home.
The word sounded again, sweet and true as any bell, thrumming through my very soul.
Her taste. Her touch. Her mouth.
For some reason, this girl felt like the only thing that grounded me. The only place I’d ever belonged.
Which was why, as soon as I realized that yet again I’d broken the agreement between us, I’d let her go, shocked and disgusted with myself. For potentially hurting Simone as well as for losing my self-control.
Rosie had said hello, and I had never been so grateful to hear my chef’s voice.
Then Simone had forgiven me for my transgressions, and I was two seconds from asking her to tear up the contract and be mine for real.
And then my fucking brother walked in to ruin it all.
“Owen.” My voice was gruff like I’d been shouting. My grip on Simone’s waist tightened. “What are you doing here?”
My brother walked past me, not waiting for an invitation, to grab some of the appetizers Rosie had finished preparing. “Just wanted to visit my brother and his lovely fiancée. Is that so bad?”
“Not at all,” I lied. Suspicion washed over me like milk gone bad.
“It smells amazing in here.” He moved to where Rosie was pulling something out of an oven. “What’s that, Rosita?”
“It’s Rosie,” I snapped. “And you’ve met her too many times to count.”
“Sure, yeah. What’s for dinner?” He seemed to consider whether or not to steal a bite of the dish but decided not to. At least he was smart enough not to burn himself.
“It’s Beef Wellington,” Simone piped up from where she still sat on the counter with me standing between her legs. Christ, I didn’t want to move. “Brendan’s favorite.”
Owen turned, a snide smile spreading across his face. “Isn’t that sweet? The little wife is learning your favorite things.”
Simone shrank. I wanted to punch him in the face even more than usual. I settled for moving my hands to her thighs and holding her close.
“Rosie made it,” Simone said, a bit more quietly now. “She was just showing me how.”
“And Simone was baking bread. For her business.” I looked down. “Right, baby?”
Her gaze looked a little more hopeful when it met mine. “That’s right. Ruth arranged for a delivery service to come tomorrow to pick it up.”
“Sounds great. Save some for us, though, will you?”
“Mr. Black—I mean, Brendan—” said Rosie. “Would you and Simone like to eat in the kitchen or in the dining room?”
“It’s ‘Brendan’ now?” Owen asked. “Getting familiar with the staff, are we?”
“Shut it,” I snarled. Then, to my thankfully unflappable chef: “Kitchen’s fine, Rosie. Thank you.”
“And make sure you set a plate for me,” Owen added. “I wouldn’t miss ‘Brendan’s favorite’ for the world.”
We waited, somewhat awkwardly, for Rosie to set the table and lay out the dinner.
Simone slid off the counter to change, but when she returned, she kept glancing at me like she was expecting me to touch her or put on the show we’d mutually agreed to in front of my family.
When I didn’t, she eventually gave up and went to help Rosie set the table.
I wanted to touch her, but there was no need. Beyond my own, anyway. And I was done being that selfish. For now, anyway.
“There you have it.” Rosie put the Beef Wellington on the table alongside a salad, a bowl of buttery mashed potatoes, and a bottle of wine.
“Can’t you join us?” Simone gestured to the fourth place she’d set out.
Owen snorted, then made a big show of flipping out his napkin.
“You’re a love,” Rosie told her. “No, I’ll go home to my family now. But I’ll take some at lunch tomorrow if there’s any left. Good night.”
Simone rose to give Rosie a hug, surprising me, and, by the looks of it, my brother. Then Rosie was gone, leaving the three of us plus one empty seat, all watching each other like owls.
Dinner. With my brother.
When was the last time we’d done that, 2005?
“Look at us. All together. Pals,” Owen said.
Owen went for the wine and filled his glass to the brim. Simone and I watched as he piled two large slices of Wellington onto his plate with equal gusto.
“Can I serve you?” I held out a hand for Simone’s plate.
With a curious glance at Owen, she nodded and handed it to me.
“So, I was thinking I could help you guys out,” my brother said through a mouth full of potatoes.
“Jesus, Owen. Leave your manners at home?”
He swallowed and grinned. “We’re all out in the open here, aren’t we? No pretenses. No secrets to hide.”
Something prickled up the back of my neck.
Simone looked at me, confused. “Help us with what?”
“With your little act.” Owen shoved a bite of Wellington into his mouth and swallowed before continuing. “I support what you’re doing here, but you need an alibi, and I need something to do now that my workload had decreased so much.”
I rolled my eyes. “Owen, you’ve just been promoted to the fucking COO. You have more than enough to do, so stop bitching about your little project.”
My brother ignored me. “So it hit me: I need to get to know Simone here better. Make it look like we’ve formed a friendship or something.
Dad thinks I’m making nice with you and overlooks the whole mortgage failure bullshit.
I make it look like your relationship is legit so you can be head honcho.
Simone here gets her cash and maybe a little bonus at the end.
Everyone gets something they want, right? ”
By the time he was finished talking, Simone’s face had turned the same color as the flour dusting her bread loaves.
“I told him,” I said quietly. Then I glared at Owen. “Though I didn’t think he would be such a fucking ass about it.”
“You, brother, have always underestimated every person in this family and their ability to be an ass.”