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Brooks chuckles. “It’s inane. Most of it’s bullshit, but it is entertaining, and they have lots of followers. Four million, I think? Maybe you’ll see a little bump in business.”
My heart skips a beat. “That’s pretty cool. Did they say nice things?”
“They did. Here, read them.”
Brooks pauses his scrolling when he gets to a series of tweets. I smile when I see Drury Lane in one of them, and the two thousand likes the tweet got.
My heart skips again when I read the tweet’s insinuation that Brooks is into me.
Like. Really into me.
If only any of this were true.
I laugh, delighted and slightly embarrassed and more than a little curious about how this stuff ended up on here. I pull out my phone and promptly follow the account.
“Do we know who Wall Street Bathroom is? Like, the person who’s actually tweeting this stuff?”
“We do not.” Brooks shakes his head. “There are rumors. Lots of them. Some people think it’s a lowly analyst with an ax to grind. Others say it’s someone very high up at one of the top-tier banks.”
“I’m pretty sure someone high up couldn’t care less about me and my muffins.”
Brooks tilts his head back to look at me. “They haven’t tried your muffins.”
My pulse hiccups. Talk about delighted.
Being around this man is dangerous. If he keeps complimenting me—keeps rescuing me like some dark knight in dark jeans and a six-figure SUV—I’m going to do something very, very stupid.
I reach for the door handle. “Thanks again for the ride. See you tomorrow.”
And then, because I can’t help myself, I lean back over and press a kiss to his cheek.
Maybe it’s because I’m still partially turned on from Hayden’s half-assed attempt at foreplay, but the smell of Brooks’s skin sends my pulse skidding. It lands with a loud, insistent beat between my legs.
For a split second our eyes meet. I swear I see his darken with something like lust.
But then he’s pulling away and telling me to stop going home with clowns, telling me the flask isn’t necessary tomorrow night, and I convince myself I must’ve imagined the whole thing.
Brooks may like women, but I’m still a girl to him. A silly, nerdy girl who makes great muffins and questionable decisions.
I’m so far off his radar I might as well be on another planet.
Brooks doesn’t drive away until I’m safely inside and the door is locked behind me. Only then do I realize I’m still wrapped up in his coat, that woodsy scent swarming around me, making my blood run several degrees too hot.
As I take off the coat, something falls out of the pocket. I bend down and pick up the foil packet.
A condom.
My stomach flips when I think about how many of these Brooks must go through.
It flips again when I fantasize about him using one with me.
I don’t know why, but I decide to keep it, tucking the packet into a drawer in my bathroom vanity. I’ll replace it with the fifty he gave me instead.
It’s after one by the time I collapse into bed. I’m so tired I’m almost delirious, but I’m also too turned on to sleep. So I grab my vape pen and my vibrator, and I give myself the orgasm Hayden couldn’t.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about Brooks while I came.
Chapter Four
BROOKS
Porgeous intercepts me before I’ve even closed the car door behind me in our parking garage.
“Coffee?” he asks. “It’s early enough that we should be able to catch Greer at Drury Lane before she takes the cart up to the floor.”
Ignoring the way my heart leaps at the thought of seeing Greer, I glance at my watch. Glance at George, feigning indifference despite the sudden tightness in my throat. “What are you doing here before six? It’s barely five-thirty.”
Porg is notorious for rolling into work late. Not because he’s lazy. But because he’s usually too busy messing around with his latest conquest to be bothered to show up on time. I’m too type-A to ever let a one-night stand fuck with my career. But George? He’s a pleasure first, business second kind of guy.
Today, though, he doesn’t need to answer my question. We both know why he’s here so early. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he gives it a quick squeeze before nodding at the nearby elevator bank. “C’mon, jackass. I know you need caffeine as much as I do.”
He’s not wrong. My eyes burn and my legs ache from lack of sleep. I didn’t get a fucking wink last night.
After I dropped Greer off, I drove around town for a while. Listened to that podcast she recommended. When that stopped working—when the intrusive thoughts began, and the grief hit like a kick to the chest—I went home and got in bed with a book. A thriller by Tarryn Fisher, exactly the kind I like: so twisty and addictive I’m usually able to forget what’s on my mind.
