Tool (A Step-Brother Romance #2)

"Or what?"

"I don't know," I say. If I tell Daniel that I think Chelsea has the hots for Gaige, he'll think I'm crushing on Gaige myself. And that's not something I want to discuss, not with anyone. "It's nothing. I'm going to be stuck traveling with them to Japan. I'm babysitting Gaige, basically. Can you imagine?"

"Mmm," he says, closing his eyes. "Wait. I'm imagining it right now. In this scenario, he's shirtless. Uh oh, all of his pants were lost by the baggage handlers. How unfortunate."

I reach across the table and slap Daniel's hand. "Open your eyes. You should be expressing your sympathy for me, not fantasizing about my asshole stepbrother."

"Traveling to Japan to babysit one of the hottest men on the planet?" he asks. "Yeah, let me see if I can muster up some sympathy for you." He pauses for a second. "Nope, I just can't do it. Sorry."

"You're a terrible friend."

"Aw," Daniel pouts and flags down our waitress as she passes, ordering another round of drinks. "Fine. We won't discuss your stepbrother and how sexy he is. We'll talk about the boss instead. She's a bitch, right? Tell me all about what a bitch she is."

"She hates me, and --" I start, but Daniel interrupts.

"Wait. Okay, we can get back to bitchface in a second," he says. "Of course, I already hate her because she's on her way to -- where did you say she was taking my future husband?"

"Vegas."

"Okay, because she's on her way to Vegas with my future husband," he says. "I will say one more thing, and then mum's the word, okay?"

I exhale heavily, downing the rest of my drink. "Go ahead. What?"

"So they call him Tool, right?"

I groan loudly. "No way, I'm not talking about this. No, no, no, no."

"What?" He puts his hands up. "It's what they call him. You're acting as if I made this name up. All I want to know is if it's as legendary as they say it is."

"Holy shit, Daniel." I feel my face flush as I think about the tool Gaige left me in the office. It's not in the office anymore, though; obviously I couldn't keep it there, so the box is carefully hidden behind some clothes in my closet. I'm so tipsy, I almost tell Daniel what Gaige did. Except I can't quite bring myself to do it. I suddenly feel like holding on to this, my little secret. "I'm not telling you about Gaige's tool."

He leans forward and lowers his voice to a conspiratorial level. "So you know about it, then."

"I do not know about it!" I yelp, sounding defensive. "I know nothing about Gaige's dick, thank you very much. I'll leave that to whatever floosy of the hour he's hooking up with."

Daniel raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair, cocktail in hand, surveying me. "Floosy, huh?"

"That's right. Floosy."

"Are you ninety years old?" he asks. "And you're calling me a spinster."

"Floosy is not an old term," I protest. "It's...okay, fine, it's an old term. But it never goes out of style."

"So Gaige is hooking up with floosies," Daniel says. "And maybe your boss, judging by your reaction."

"Can we talk about something else?" I ask. I don't want to think about Gaige anymore. And I definitely don't want to think about whatever he and Chelsea are doing in Vegas. I'm sure the liquor is flowing like water, and Chelsea is doing exactly what she did with him in the office, her hand lingering too long on his arm. Except this time she's probably wearing some skimpy dress and he's all over her. I shake off the feeling of disgust I get when I think about the two of them together.

"You're a little touchy about this," Daniel says, studying my expression. I avoid looking at him, grateful when the waitress interrupts us with our checks.

"What?" I ask, after she leaves.

Daniel shrugs. "I've never seen you so touchy about someone before," he says. "You're not into him, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, forcing a laugh. "That would be insane. Of course I'm not into him. I don't even like him."

"Sure, doll," he says, still looking at me. "Whatever you say."





Thump thump thump thump. The pounding of the bass in the club vaguely matches the throbbing of my head. I should be fucking ecstatic, sitting in the VIP section of one of the hottest clubs in Vegas, getting paid to hit on hot girls and drink only the most expensive liquor. Chelsea isn't even glued to my side like I thought she'd be. As much as I know she'd be all over me in a heartbeat if I gave her the green light, she's also all about business and she knows that it's good for business for me to be picking up chicks. It's all about the motherfucking brand.

The problem is, all of this is for show. I still have my boot on, which gives me a great excuse for sitting here with my leg propped up instead of having to fake being into this whole thing. And I'm drinking club soda instead of liquor. I haven't even banged a single model in the bathroom.