“Nah, being Mr. Rich and Successful. Men want to be him.” He sighs. “Women want to be with him.”
“I’m sure you’re no slouch.” My gaze flicks over him. El is one good-looking man. Fair-haired and tan, he’s probably fun to be around.When you’re in the right mood.His suit is well-tailored, and his personality seems pretty uncomplicated.
I bet he wouldn’t leave me in a supply closet, I think to myself. It’s not a very complimentary assessment. For him, at least. Maybe I’m not wired right for casual relationships because a man who steps up to fill his father’s shoes in his siblings’ lives, a man who puts his loved ones first, is the stuff of dreams. If not fantasies. He’s spent the eight years fathering his siblings, which I guess must be a little like herding cats, thanks to the sheer number. No wonder he likes people to do as they’re told.
I’d like to volunteer as tribute, Daddy!
Not wired right for casual, my mind repeats. In truth, I’m not wired right at all.
“Well, you are sitting here with me and not him.” I come back to the conversation, turned off by Brin’s edge of smugness.
“As friends,” I remind him. “I just moved here. I’m not interested in relationships.”
“Not all relationships have to be serious, Mimi. Hooking his ankle to his knee, he spreads his arms along the back of the low sofa. I guess that’s what you’d call a nonverbal invitation. And the look he sends me speaks volumes. But then he jerks forward in his seat, his foot dropping to the floor. “What the fuck?” he mutters quietly. “Speak of the devil, and the fucker will appear.”
“What?” I turn my head over my shoulder, following the direction of his gaze. He can’t mean—
I inhale a tiny, sharp breath. Is that Whit coming out of the crowd? Dark hair gleams under a flash of light as security steps aside to let him pass. My stomach swoops because, oh my God, it is Whit. A form-fitting dark suit and shirt, his jaw covered in equally dark stubble. As he makes his way toward us, everything inside me begins to flutter. He is so, so infinitely gorgeous, like he just stepped from the set of a fancy cologne commercial. Debonair top notes, base notes of something forbidden and sinfully sexy. Hot. So hot. And the way he’s looking at me? Sets those flutters to pulse. But my excitement is short-lived as I realize this commercial is a couples shoot, and the redhead on his arm is so beautiful.
“What are you doing here?” El frowns as the couple wing their way around the table, the gorgeous redhead’s arms stretching out, pre hug. Or maybe not as one of her hands curls around his shoulders, the other a poked finger between his brows.
“I could almost sit on that,” she says with a laugh.
Ohh.Do the brothers, like, share? That was kind of familiar and maybe a little—
“Not the size of your arse,” El swipes her hand away as he steps back. “You’d smother me.
The redhead’s eyes tighten at the corners. “Tempting,” she retorts. “You were obviously wrong, Whit.Of coursehe’s pleased to see us.” She glances back at him, and I find myself doing the same. With a start, I realize he’s looking at me. No, he’s not looking at me. He’s drinking me in, and the whole thing feels like a prelude suddenly.
“I don’t know, Heather.” His lids drop, shuttering the effect as he straightens his cuffs. Dark French cuffs with silver cuff links, the hint of a leather-strapped watch peeking from beneath it. “That looks like a frown to me.”
The redhead’s sleek and straight hair moves like a shampoo commercial as she shakes her head. “Nope, that’s just his Neanderthal brow, the primitive being he is.”
“Piss off, Heath.”
“Nice to see you too, dearest Sorrel.”
El’s frown deepens. He really doesn’t like his name. “What are you two doing here?”
“I wanted to go dancing, and Archer didn’t. Whit offered to come in his place.”
“You don’t dance,” he retorts flatly.
“That’s never stopped me from busting a few moves before.” She makes an adorably uncoordinated krumping move with her arms.
“And you hate clubs.” He points an accusing finger Whit’s way.
“I’m just being a good brother,” Whit answers mildly.
“One out of four aren’t great odds,” the redhead says before turning her attention to me. “Hello!” She holds her hand out over the table. “You must be Mimi.”
“Er, yeah.” As my hand meets hers, she gives it a no-nonsense shake.
“I’m Heather. Another of the Whittington brood.” She slices a look El’s way. “Budge up.” El just stands there. Heather tuts. “El,move.” Without waiting, she pushes between him and the table, sliding in next to me. “I’ve been dying to meet the woman who’s stepped into Jody’s capable clogs.”
“Crocs.” The word is propelled from my mouth as Whit lowers himself into the chair opposite me. His eyes fall over me, making me feel as though my innermost thoughts are exposed. Dirty thoughts. Flashes of last night mixed with those from my imagination.
“Hello, Mimi,” his low voice rumbles. “Fancy seeing you here.”
