She just makes me feel like one.
I can’t seem to help myself. I mean, I haven’thelped myself. Not in the office, at least. I might’ve come close to it once or twice, especially when I get a whiff of her perfume. At home, though…
I’m surprised I haven’t wanked myself raw to the image of her—
“They’re native to Bordeaux.” I snap back to myself at the sound of Brin’s voice. He’s still banging on about cakes. And the way he says Bordeaux? He’s a beret and a string of onions away from being a caricature like the ones you can find being drawn on the banks of the Seine. “It’s the only place that makes them in London.”
“I highly doubt that,” I mutter, returning my attention to my laptop. For 1.4 seconds.
“Oh, my goodness.” Mimi gives a snorting hoot.
“Mimi!” my brother exclaims playfully. “How many decibels do you reckon that was?”
“Stop! I’m not responsible for the noises my stomach makes when I’m hungry and you’re talking about food.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who eats lettuce leaves for lunch.”
“Does it look like it?”
“You look like—no, forget it.” He shakes his head.
“Forget what? You didn’t say anything.” A pause. “But now you have to.”
“I’m not falling for that.”
“Falling for what?”
Brin places his coffee on her desk, pressing his palms on either side of it. “You’re just fishing for compliments,” he all but purrs.
My jaw tenses as I link my fingers and crack them noisily.
“I am not!”
“You’re sure it’s not because you already know you’re gorgeous?”
“Don’t get fresh, mister.” I’m pretty sure that was the sound of a plastic ruler being rapped across his knuckles. As far as brush-offs go, it’ll do as Brin straightens. But if I know my brother, he’s not giving in. “I just forgot lunch.”
“Who forgets to eat?”
“People who are busy. And… people who leave their lunchbox on the Tube on the way in.”
Or maybe people who see fit to feed two homeless people today.
“I’ll tell you what.” Here it comes.Let me take you to the best coffee shop in London.Brin’s version ofcome up and see my etchings.I love my little brother, so I hate myself—just a little—when I spoil his fun…
“Amelia,” I deliberately call across the space.
Brin’s darkly amused gaze swings my way, then back to Mimi again as he fakes the kind of shiver that might indicate someone just walked across his grave.It can be arranged, Brin.“That brought back a horrible memory.” He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Like being summoned by your dad for a dressing down.”
I don’t resist the evil smile that creeps across my face.If only you knew, Brin. You’d be one jealous fucker.I clear my throat and pull my head out of the gutter.
“I didn’t realize your working contract was part-time, Brin.” My tone drips with derision, even if the only person I should be disgusted with is myself. I’m not.
My brother pulls a face that is one hundred percent fuck you.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Amelia says, her body coming into my line of vision. She touches his arm lightly, and a moment later, she appears at the doorway, unaffected by my sullen expression. “Yes, Mr. Whittington?”
Well, the purr is new.
