That’s my justification to the internal monologue.
The phone dings with an incoming text. Had to get a clean suit before work. Don’t worry, I’ll bring my clothes as soon as I get time.
Hmm.
“What are you doing?”
I jump a little from Bric’s loud voice. I hadn’t even noticed he opened the bathroom door. “Texting Jordan. Your phone was here and mine is…” I have no idea. “Not here. So I just figured—”
“You figured wrong,” he says, crossing the room in a few long strides. He snatches the phone from my hand and reads the texts. “Don’t look at my fucking phone.”
“Hey,” I say. “You asked me where Jordan went so I got you an answer. Don’t be a dick to me because something just went wrong in your life.”
“My brother is dead, Nadia. That’s more than just something went wrong.” He snarls those words. In fact, this might be the nastiest tone he’s ever taken with me and you know what? I’m fucking done putting up with this shit.
His brother just died, Nadia. Be nice.
“I’m sorry,” I say, sighing out a long breath of air. “What can I do to help?”
“Stay the fuck out of my personal business.”
That’s it. I’m pissed. I throw the sheet off me, swing my legs out of bed, and stand up. He doesn’t back away. In fact, he looks down at me with a challenge in his eyes. I point my finger in his face. One long, well-manicured pink nail. Right up to his face. “Don’t talk to me that way.”
He huffs out some air and whips the towel from around his waist. “Go back to sleep,” he says, opening one of the closets and disappearing inside.
“You know where I’m going the minute you leave?” I ask.
“Enlighten me,” he says, uninterested.
And that pisses me off too. I’m nothing to him. Absolutely nothing to him. “Home,” I say.
“This is home, Nadia.”
“Not anymore it isn’t. Jordan is absent, you treat me like shit”—he peeks his head out of the closet at that remark—“and I’m done. I quit this game. Fuck the both of you. I’m sorry about your brother. Clearly, he meant a lot to you. But I can’t do this anymore.”
“You’re staying here,” he says.
“Am I?” I laugh.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“I’m leaving. I’m packing up my clothes, calling an Uber, and I’m leaving.”
“I have a family emergency, Nadia. You can hold that against me if you want, but—”
“I’m not holding that against you,” I snap. “I’m holding everything but that against you. I don’t even know you, that’s my problem. And Jordan isn’t playing by the rules.”
“There are no rules,” he says, pulling on a pair of dress pants.
“There are rules, Bric.” I use that name on purpose and it gets the desired reaction. Because he opens his mouth to correct me, but I beat him to it. “I don’t know Elias,” I say. “So I’m not calling you that anymore. Elias is the one who goes home for funerals. I only know Bric. And I don’t like Bric very much. I’m quitting because neither of you are taking this seriously. I’m the only one invested in this game. So fuck off.”
I storm off… but I need clothes. So I end up in the other closet—my closet—and start pulling things off hangers.
He peeks his head in, adjusting his white dress shirt. “Just fucking stay and I’ll be back tomorrow night. I’ll talk to Jordan and—”
“No,” I say. “This isn’t my home. It’s just a new house. And it’s not even my new house, it’s your new house. I’m going home. I won’t stay in an empty fucking mansion all alone for the weekend. And yes, I already know I’ll be alone. Because Jordan is too damn busy to pay me any mind at all. The only way I’ll stay here is if…”
And then a delicious idea pops into my head. An evil, scrumptious, five-thousand-calorie idea.
“If?” Bric asks, buttoning his shirt up now. “I’m listening,” he says, irritated.
I smile before I turn around. But then I tuck it away and scowl as I face him. “If you take me with you.”
“Where?” he asks.
God, he’s dumb. “To the funeral.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too,” I say, crossing my arms over my bare breasts. “Either you take me home with you and show me something real, Bric”—I snarl his name this time—“and show me who this Elias man is… or…”
“Or?”
“I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. Game over.”
“You’re not in a very good position to bargain,” he huffs. Laughs, actually.
“I’m in the perfect position. What we had last night was pretty great. You think so. And so does Jordan. ‘We’ve got something good here,’ remember? Well, I hope you find it again. I really do. Because it’s very clear to me that the two of you need this way more than I do. And I’m the only one invested. You guys come and go as you please. Treat me nice when you want something. Well, fuck that. I don’t need this shit. I’m not even submissive, for fuck’s sake. I quit.”
I drag a sweatshirt over my head, pull on a pair of leggings, and then step into a pair of winter boots because they’re the only thing in front of me at the moment.
When I turn, he’s blocking the doorway. Like for real. Physically blocking the doorway with his body. His palms flat against the doorjamb like a stop gate.
“Just stay,” he says, his tone less irritated. More conciliatory. “I just need to take care of this stuff at home and I can’t bring you with me because…”
I wait, but he just stops. Looks at the floor. “Because?”
He looks up and in this moment, he does give me something real. It’s hurt I see in his ink-blue eyes. Pain. Maybe even regret. His brother is dead. I get that. I should not be making this worse for him. But an opportunity is an opportunity. And seeing Elias Bricman in a vulnerable situation can’t come along often. I might never have another chance to get inside that fucked-up mind of his.
“Because?” I ask again.
“Because I don’t share that life with people in this one.”
I shrug. “OK. Your call.” I grab my coat and purse, but when I try to push past him, he doesn’t give in.
“If you stay,” he says—calm, voice low, all irritation gone—“I’ll tell you more about me when I get home.”
“No,” I say, ready to stomp my foot like a child. “No,” I say again. “I want to go with you. Am I a secret? Is that it? I won’t embarrass you. I won’t say anything inappropriate. I just want to know you… Elias.”
I admit, I have to force myself to spit out his real name. But I’m getting to him. He stares down at me with… confusion. Probably grief. And more than a little vulnerability.
“OK,” he whispers behind me. “You can come.”
I’m not sure what I’m expecting after he gives in. Instructions, maybe? Don’t embarrass me. Don’t talk about our arrangement. Keep Jordan out of it. Don’t mention the five-million-dollar house I just bought yesterday. Stuff like that. Stuff everyone wants to hide from their family when they’ve been living a life of debauchery a thousand miles from home.