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Okay, now I’m really confused. “You’re the one breaking in,” I say, lowering the lamp just a little.
He pushes himself to his feet and says, “I’m here for Ben.”
Panic flares through my chest as I race through interpretations of whathere for Bencould mean. Maybe this guy is trying to throw me off guard by seeming nonthreatening. He takes a big step towards me and without thinking, I throw the lamp at him.
It lands on the wall behind him and explodes, ceramic shrapnel flying through the air in all directions. We both duck and cover our heads, but he isn’t fast enough to completely avoid the splinters. One strikes him in the face and opens a red welt on his cheek. He swears, his hand flying to the cut and looks at me in disbelief. “Dude!” he says. “What the hell?”
“I’ll ask you one more time,” I say, my voice wavering. “Why are you here?”
“I’m a friend of Ben Romero. He told me I could stay here while he was away.”
“So you broke in through the window?” I demand. Ben is the kind of person who would just let someone in needs stay — God knows it’s why I’m here — but I don’t like that this has caught me by surprise.
“Well, he never told me his housekeeper would be in and would have taken the key!”
“Housekeeper?” I screech, my mouth falling open in horror. “How dare you just make that kind of assumption about a woman! Who are you?”
“Sorry!” he says quickly, raising his hands like he thinks I might be about to attack him again. Thin streaks of blood flow down his face and I feel a tiny pang of guilt for hurting him. Only tiny, though; if he hadn’t wanted to be hurt, he shouldn’t have broken in. “Please don’t do that again.”
“You will be sorry,” I mutter. “How do you know my brother?”
Damn! I shouldn’t have let that slip out.
He raises a curious eyebrow, then his face softens into a smug grin, the kind of smile that belongs to someone who thinks the entire world revolves around them. I keep my fists clenched to my sides, my entire body tense, ready to run.
“Brother…” he says, advancing towards me again. I step back and he halts, his eyebrows knitted together as though he’s just figured something out. “You must be Anna, then!”
“What’s he said about me?” I snap. I don’t like that he knows about me. I don’t like him at all.
He turns his palms out to me as he shrugs. “Oh, stuff, you know? He thinks you’re swell,” he drawls and I roll my eyes. That kind of slimy smarm might woo some women, but it won’t work on me. “I’m Joel,” he says, offering his hand for me to shake.
I ignore it, instead looking at him properly for the first time. My first thought is that he needs to do his roots — his beach-blond hair is starting to fade as his natural, dull brown grows back at his scalp. He has the whitened teeth and casual style of a rich boy, and the manicure to match. In fact, everything about him seems to be crafted perfectly — his clean-shaven, square jawline, his piercing deep blue eyes, his expensive brand clothes.
Even his outfit is perfectly matched like he has a stylist who dresses him each morning in shoes that perfectly complement his shirt. Not that I can see his shirt, because he’s wrapped in a thick winter coat that’s zipped all the way up to his chin, stamped with the logo of a brand I couldn’t ever imagine being able to afford.
The only thing that’s incongruous about him is his ruffled hair and panicked look. This is clearly a guy who always gets his own way. It makes the rage bubble inside me a little harder, though I guess I can’t really be surprised that Ben has rich friends. I mean, just look at his apartment.
Then I realize just why this guy seems so familiar to me and everything clicks into place like a bolt being slid open. “Joel… Lockhart?”
He shrugs again, raising his eyebrows in amusement. This is all a game to him, isn’t it? The entire world exists for him and his needs and screw other people who actually have to work for a living. I’m starting to hate him more and more.
“You got me,” he grins. “You may recognize me from the papers.”
“Actually, Ben’s freshman yearbook,” I throw back, even though I’ve seen him in the papers too. Ben and Joel met at college, each studying business and economics, and they’ve been buddies ever since. Typical of Ben to charm his way into the social circle of a billionaire.
The comment visibly catches him off guard, before he chuckles and crosses his arms. “I could’ve guessed Ben’s little sister would be spunky,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s being patronizing or sincere. Somehow, I doubt he knows the difference.
I cross my arms in return, creating a standoff. We’re cowboys at noon, waiting to see who’s going to fire first.
I’m starting to feel like I’ve stared at him for just a little bit too long. There’s something kind of magnetic about him, like you want to put him under a magnifying glass and try and find some imperfections, like he’s a shining ruby and you’re sure there must be some discoloration in there somewhere. There must be some flaw to this great, handsome ego that fell through the window. I think that answers my question. He might have the looks and the money, but a brain is yet to be seen.
My mind is running away with itself.
“So…” he says, the first one to crack. “Can I come in?”
“You should have just knocked,” I say, drawing myself up as tall as I can. I don’t really have the moral high ground, but Joel doesn’t need to know that.
“You should have left a light on,” he replies, lightning fast.
