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7
Brick kept the smile on his face while Jezebelle said good-bye to her mother and Bradley. They had all utilized the same limo when they visited the law firm in the financial district. The view had been spectacular from the office her mother said would be Jezebelle’s. She had a direct line of sight to the Statue of Liberty. The waters had been calm today and looked inviting. Not for swimming, of course, but a leisure boat ride. Hell, he would’ve been up for any kind of escape from her mother and nauseatingly sweet Bradley.
He knew by Jezebelle’s random jabs to her mother that she hadn’t said yes to working at the firm. The place dazzled and shined, for sure, hosting to serious deep-pocket clients. She would make a lot of money if she chose that path.
Bradley, the entire time, acted with comforting comments and polite gestures, as if he wasn’t a bottom-feeding leech looking to steal his woman. Oh, he saw right through Bradley.
Jezebelle didn’t.
That worried Brick. More than he could say.
But at the moment, they were exiting the limo and going on their way. To get pedicures.
The things he did for love.
He didn’t ask—obviously while in Mrs. Edwards and Bradley’s presence—but he wondered how these two appointments magically appeared. He could only assume Jezebelle did some texting as they made their way to the law firm earlier.
As soon as the limo drove away, his smile fell and words nearly escaped.
But Jezebelle beat him to it.
“We can’t leave. I know what you’re thinking.” She had the audacity to give him a sly smirk. “My mother has eyes everywhere. I don’t know how she does it, but if we leave, she’ll know. That means you’re getting your first pedicure.”
“This should be interesting,” he muttered as she dragged him through the doors.
He forced another smile out when they stopped at the front counter. The man behind it greeted Jezebelle as if she were a regular.
“Freddie will be disappointed you don’t have an appointment with him today.”
Jezebelle slid a hand through her hair, chuckling. “I saw him two weeks ago. I don’t need another hair appointment. Rich, I’d like you to meet Brick, my fiancé.”
Then Rich pinned his exuberant eyes on him. “Be still my heart. You are a fine specimen of a man. Your hair so short…it brings out your eyes.”
“Umm…thanks.” He was used to endearing looks from women—sometimes men—but he wasn’t good with compliments so blatantly sprung in his face.
“Come. Your pampering awaits.” Then Rich headed toward the right where he led them to two chairs with water already bubbling in the basin.
They got settled into the chairs after he rolled up his pants as high as he could—instructions given to him by Jezebelle. She hit a few buttons on a controller sitting on the armrest and pounding and rolling started to hit his back. Oh, a massage. It felt nice. Except he didn’t like the pounding that much. After pushing a few buttons of his own, he had a pleasant massage going, touching his upper and lower back in a rolling motion, and a bit on his butt.
“Are we getting a color today?” the woman sitting by his basin asked with a short smirk.
“No. No colors.”
Jezebelle and both women—including the woman about to work on Jezebelle—started to laugh.
“Relax. Enjoy this. When’s the last time you got pampered?”
He cocked a brow as if silently asking if she were being serious. “Like this? Never.”
They held each other’s gazes for a few silent beats. Then her smile fell away.
“I’m so sorry, Brick.”
His gaze glided to the women starting the pedicures, his brows arched, then back to Jezebelle, asking her without words whether it was safe to speak in front of them. She said her mother had eyes everywhere. That had to include ears.
She nodded, offering a weak smile. He took that to mean they could trust these two.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
