“Well.” Those fucking hands spread again, and he looks at them as if they hold something, maybe the words that he needs. He looks back at me. “I know that Kate and you are close. Best friends.”
Best friends. It’s a title that should be reserved for teenage girls, not two people who can barely keep their hands off each other. My lip curls but I say nothing. Is this still about a loan? My body tenses at the idea that Kate may somehow be involved, that she might be in some danger as a result of his incapability to manage money. “Get to the point.” I grit out the words, barely able to stop myself from reaching forward and yanking the damn message from his throat.
“Oh.” He collects himself, then looks up. “Ah … I.” He pauses, then starts over. “Tomorrow night, I’m planning to propose. There’s an office party I am hosting—I’m going to do it afterward. Since her father is no longer living, I thought I would ask for your blessing. I mean, I know it’s a bit outdated, but you’re like a brother to her.”
Like a brother to her
The rage ripples out, taking my thoughts and spewing them out, my words terse and deadly, barbs of truth that stab across the space. “I’m not like a brother to her. A brother wouldn’t think about bending her over my desk every time she walks into my office. A brother wouldn’t check out the curves of her ass every time she turns away.”
The smile drops from his face. What an idiot. Does he not know her impact? The weight of her smile, her laugh, her challenge? Doesn’t he understand that it’s impossible to know her and not love her? His hands, those patty-cake-palms, clench into fists, and I hope to God he is about to swing at me.
“What the fuck did you just say?” The man steps forward, and I push off the doorway, coming to my full height and meeting his glare full-on.
“You heard me. Now get the fuck off my property before I embarrass you.”
She will be mad. Hell, she’ll be furious. But I’ll be damned if anyone thinks I’m like a brother to her. A brother. My muscles tighten, and I come off the stoop and toward Stephen, pushing my shirt sleeves up, enjoying the rush of blood in my veins. A fight, that’s what we need, the ability to take this back to caveman days and finish it. I clench my fists, and he steps back, his hands raising, his slick dress shoes moving down one step, then a second. He turns toward his Audi, his eyes warily staying on me. “I’m marrying her,” he promises me, and the headlights of his car flash as he unlocks the doors.
“You’re not marrying her,” I disagree, and I stop, watching him nearly scurry around the hood of the car. “You won’t even be engaged to her.”
The words roll out confidently, but they aren’t mine to give. I watch him peel out of my circular drive, his window coming down, one cowardly middle finger raised in my direction, and panic sweeps through me.
All Sunday, I wait for her call, for her car to screech through my driveway, for her scream to echo through my home. By Sunday night, I’m convinced he hasn’t told her. By Monday afternoon, I’m almost at ease, my mind halfway through a clusterfuck of a marketing plan when my office door slams open, the handle punching a hole in the plaster, the artwork clattering against the wall.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I’ve never seen her so mad, her body literally shaking before me. I set down the folder and meet her eyes.
“Good afternoon, Kate. I was just reviewing—”
“Stop playing games and answer me.”
“Nothing is wrong with me.” I speak in the tone that would put a submissive to their knees. She doesn’t even flinch.
“You told Stephen you wanted to fuck me?!”
“I do want to fuck you. I think we’ve all been clear on that for quite a while now.”
She digs her fingers into her forehead, her eyes pinching shut. “I know you’re not this stupid, Trey. I know you understand simple fucking society and how much what you just did severely fucks my relationship.”
“You didn’t have a relationship,” I interrupt. “You had a guy who wanted a goddamn trophy wife. He came to my home and tried to tell me what our relationship is like. He told me that I am like a brother to you.” I stand, and if this desk wasn’t between us, I’d have her pressed so closely against me that she’d feel my need. “Do you think of me like a brother, Kate?”
She clenches her fists and looks away, as if there is a fucking answer in my potted plant. “I like working for you. I’m not prepared to leave Marks, but I can’t—”
“I removed an idiot from an equation,” I grit out. “Stop thinking about that and focus on my goddamn question. Do you think of me as a brother?” Fuck the desk. I walk around it and spin her to face me, pinning her back against the oak, my feet on either side of hers, my thighs hugging the rigid line of her legs. This close, I can feel her tremble. I pull up her chin and relish the fight in her eyes.