Made for You (The Best Mistake 2)

For the first time since the start of her whole identity crisis, Brynn felt totally at a loss as to what to wear. On one side of the closet she had her massive collection of old-Brynn clothes. Classic cuts, cardigans. Lots of taupe.

On the other side of the closet was her smaller collection of off-the-deep-end attire. The leather pants. A skirt that looked like ripped ribbons. A bustier that could have qualified as another layer of epidermis. She chewed her lip and slowly eyed one option after the next.

Compared to Will’s supermodel houseguest, she’d either look like a teenager going through a “phase,” or Pollyanna.

Worst of all, she wasn’t even sure that it mattered. He’d stopped calling even before the brunette had shown up.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Brynn grabbed a pair of tennis shoes and stormed out of the walk-in closet.

The ratty shorts and T-shirt she was wearing were fine. Will Thatcher didn’t deserve anything better.

Halfway through tying the laces on the second shoe, Brynn’s fingers faltered. What business did she have charging over there? She certainly hadn’t been invited. And she didn’t technically have a reason to go over.

What’s the plan, Brynn?

The smart option was to let him be. He’d moved on to the next piece of ass, exactly as she’d known he would. Exactly as she’d hoped he would. Eventually.

And yet…

Brynn gave a slow smile as a plan began to formulate.

It was time to give Will Thatcher some of his own medicine.

* * *

“What can I get you?” Will asked. “Water? Iced tea? Beer?”

“Water for now,” Jenna said, plopping onto his bar stool and pulling her long dark hair into a messy ponytail. “Planes always dry me out.”

Will poured a glass of water for Jenna before helping himself to a beer. Sure, it was barely past noon on a Sunday, but when dealing with Brynn Dalton—or in his case, not dealing with her—a few vices were allowed.

“Rough day?” Jenna asked, jerking a chin at the beer.

“Rough week,” Will said, taking the stool next to her. “But you didn’t fly across the country to hear about me.”

He gave her what he thought was a winning smile, but Jenna leveled him with a direct gray stare. “It’s like I told you that weekend in New York. Don’t even try to use your charms on me. I have no qualms about crushing your balls if you annoy me.”

“Ah, I’d forgotten. No charm, then,” he agreed. This is what he liked about Jenna. She was reliably bullshit-free. She didn’t dish it out, didn’t accept it.

She was the poster child for what you see is what you get.

And what he was seeing was a whole lot of hotness. It had surprised him not at all when he’d learned that Jenna had spent a few years as a model, followed by a lounge singer, followed by any other assortment of jobs, all of which mostly required her to look good.

She should have been his dream woman.

Except she wasn’t.

“Rumor has it you’ve decided to start using your brain instead of your boobs to make a living?” Will asked, easily adapting to the candid conversation she tended to favor.

She lifted a shoulder. “Had to do a little winking and wiggling to get there, but yeah, I landed an editorial position at GQ. Mostly it’s just a lot of telling other people when their shit sucks.”

“So…your dream job.”

Jenna shot him her slow cat smile. “Precisely. What about you? Still cranking out new business ideas faster than you can crap?”

Will fidgeted with the bottle. “Taking a little break from the creative side for now. Letting the existing projects ride.”

Jenna’s gray eyes narrowed on him. “You don’t seem the type to let anything ride.”