“Yes, she was in charge of the housekeeping and general management of the house.”
“I’m so sorry to hear she lost her job.”
“Why? It’s not your fault, Caleb. You can’t help it if your family is west-side and mine is south-end.”
Awkward silence stretched out between us and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Brooke took care of it and saved me from having to think of something to say.
“Listen, that was rude of me and I apologize for the rant. I forgot myself for a moment, sorry. I do want to thank you for the beautiful flowers. They really are so lovely, and I don’t think I’ll ever look at a meatball in quite the same way again.”
“You’re very welcome for the flowers, and please feel free to think of me whenever you see a meatball. I am so honored.”
She laughed but it wasn’t the same as the first time. The magic had gone and been replaced by something vaguely unpleasant.
“Good-bye, Caleb.”
“Take care, Brooke.”
I sat on my ass and pondered where that conversation had taken a wrong turn. Because it most certainly had. Was I attracted to her only because she was beautiful and spoke with a sexy accent that turned me on? Had I indulged in preconceived ideas about her because she appeared so confident and intelligent? Had I evaluated her status and assumed she came from money because of where she lived and because she worked in a professional office? And had I believed that would be the only necessary criteria to continue my pursuit?
I didn’t think I’d done any of those things, but maybe subconsciously I had. I couldn’t recall what I’d thought when I discovered she lived on the island, but it never occurred to me she might be—what—poor? I didn’t think about it at all because such an idea wasn’t in the scope of my realm. I dealt in money, and making sure that money grew into even more money. Poor wasn’t part of my vernacular, and it never had been. Never would be.
I was guilty of letting my dick lead me again. A pretty girl had caught my attention because she spoke in an oh-so-sexy English accent. I must be losing my goddamn mind. Wake up, fuckhead, and pull yourself together.
I texted James to see if he wanted to meet for lunch. I still needed to get the recap on Janice and maybe hanging with my bestie would straighten my stupid ass out.
October
“YOUR suit came back from the cleaners with a note. He can’t get the stains out, and since the fabric is gray, they still show. Something in the cocktail sauce makes the stain set permanently he said.” Victoria held my Brioni Colosseo on a hanger underneath a dry-cleaning bag. “What do you want me to do with it?”
“Donate it to charity I guess. Someone must be able to make use of a five-thousand-dollar suit stained with cocktail sauce.” I wondered how long it would be before Brooke’s dipshit catering manager came calling for the cleaning bill for the rest of them. “Anything else?”
“A guy named Martin called and said he needs to talk to you about damages you agreed to pay for an event he catered.”
Bingo. I could predict this shit like clockwork. “Let me guess—several light-colored suits need to be replaced because the stains are permanent.”
“He mentioned seven or eight suits, yes. It was hard to follow his explanation to be honest. Something about the enzyme in the horseradish, blah, blah, blah,” Victoria said with a shrug.
“I don’t want to talk to that asshole. Just tell him to collect the claims with the receipts and send them over, and I’ll see they are paid.”
“I’ll tell him.” She walked out of my office with the dry-cleaning plastic covering my favorite-but-now-ruined suit fluttering behind her.
If all those suits combined came in at a dime under fifty grand, I’d be surprised. Yeah, well, a promise was a promise, and my word was good. I’d said I’d cover damages, and eight ruined designer suits certainly constituted as damages. Fucking waste of good money. It wasn’t the damages being out of my pocket that bothered me really, it was the cause of the whole thing—an arrogant prick taking advantage of a nice girl just because she was pretty and he’d decided he wanted to fuck her.
That was how it went down. I was there. I saw everything happen almost as if it were in slow motion. If Brooke had just taken Aldrich’s abuse, as he assumed she would, then no flying shrimp, no ruined suits, no damages—just another example of SOP in the after-hours corporate world. The number of hits she’d received that night alone were proved in the business cards she’d tossed at the feet of her shithead boss. That must be a horrible thing to have to put up with while you’re trying to do your job. She shouldn’t be in that situation at all. I wished I’d never gone to that fucking reception in the first place.
And I wouldn’t know her name was Brooke, or that she lived on the island with her grandmother, or that she needed a second job because she didn’t make enough money at Harris & Goode as an interior designer to pay the bills. Oh, I’d had plenty of time to think about Brooke over the last few weeks. The things she’d said to me on the phone. How much she resented the people who had fired her grandmother. The regret in her apology when she realized she’d said too much to the wrong person. And maybe even the same disappointment I’d felt when we both realized our little attraction—or whatever the fuck it was—wouldn’t be going anywhere because we came from different sides of the tracks.
I’d gone to the Starbucks twice, hoping I might bump into her accidently.
No sign of her.
I’d come close to calling just so I could hear her voice again, but what would I say? “Your voice is so sexy I get hard like a teenage boy when you speak. Wanna go out with me?” She already suspected me for a stalker, and it would barely put me above Aldrich if you really got down to the brass tacks of what I wanted from her. And what in the mother fuck was that exactly?
I don’t think I’d yet figured out what I wanted from Brooke. Sex? To be her boyfriend? Something even more than that? I’d only cared about the sex in the past. Oh, I’d love to take my time with her in bed, and I’m sure it would be spectacular, but for the first time since I could remember, sex was not my main motivation. Why the fuck was that? What made Brooke unique in that way? Why was Brooke so tantalizing to me I couldn’t get her out of my head?
I remembered something else, too, and I suspected it was a biggie. What she’d said to Aldrich right after she broke his nose. “You put your hands on me. Nobody does that and gets away with it anymore.”
It made me crazy that Brooke had been hurt badly by some guy in the past. Who the fuck would touch her with anything other than respect? Adoration? The fuckwit certainly hadn’t deserved her. Did I? Was it important to me that I deserve her? I’d never had to entertain that thought before and it confused me. I didn’t really have a handle on what I was doing in regards to Brooke . . . at all.