Brant Page 8

  “Excuse me, Johnson, you’ll have to stop your complaining for a moment while I step out to make a call.”

  Not waiting for his reply, I exit the conference room and keep walking toward the hotel’s lobby, making sure none of them followed me out before dialing Justin’s number. He answers before the phone rings a full ring.

  “About frickin’ time you contacted me, dickmunch.”

  “Aw, I see we’re starting off with the endearments from the get-go. I’ve missed you, too, twat breath.” The laugh greeting me from the other end of the phone shocks me. I didn’t expect him to appreciate the time it took me to come up with this newest one. Since he’s started dating his boyfriend, I’ve had to get more creative with our brand of shit-slinging. Can’t very well call him a dick sucker when he actually is one, right? Maybe I should ask him if I can or not.

  “I’m hoping you’ve been spending your free time infiltrating your father’s business and not coming up with new names to call me. Please give me some excellent news, Brant,” he begs.

  “Actually, I have been busy working. I’m in Cali for now doing exactly what you’ve asked of me. Your text came through while in meetings with our lawyers for the second day in a row. I needed a break from their constant bitching, so I walked out to call you. You’re welcome.”

  Saying the last part brings a smirk to my face. Being a smartass to Justin is one of my favorite pastimes.

  “Thank you?” he responds questioningly.

  “Like I said, you’re welcome.”

  My phone vibrates, and I know this incoming text has to be from Cherry. Her first delivery should’ve reached her by now.

  “Dammit, Brant, you’re not listening, are you?”

  “Sorry, what’d you say? A hotel staffer inquired about something and I had you on mute.” It’s a flat-out lie and he knows it.

  “I said I’ll be there in person later this evening. It’d be helpful if you’d tell me which hotel you’re at so I can book an adjoining room if they have one. If not, we’ll work it out and adjust accordingly.”

  Shit.

  If Justin flies here, Martinelli’s crew will undoubtedly sniff him out.

  “You can’t come here. It isn’t safe,” I say.

  “Trust me to take care of things. Besides, it’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen me. My appearance has changed,” he informs me.

  “Oh, yeah, how? Did you grow a set of tits and a vagina?” I ask half-jokingly.

  “Go suck a dick, asshole.” He truly sounds offended. Maybe I went too far with the insults this time. Clearing his throat, he continues, “No, I’ve grown my hair out a bit and shaved my beard.”

  “Oh. Well, maybe it’ll work.” A quick glance down at my watch tells me it’s been a solid ten minutes since I abruptly left the meeting. “Listen, I’m sorry for the vagina comment, but I have to go before someone gets suspicious. I’m at the Four Points Sheraton. Don’t bother booking a room; I have a suite and there are two bedrooms. We’ll talk more about logistics once you’re here.”

  If he’s changed his appearance, he should be safe to crash in my suite. It wouldn’t be out of character for me to have a friend staying with me, and besides, I plan on spending most of my time with Tessa once these meetings are over.

  “Sure. Sounds excellent. I’ll call once I’ve landed.” With that, he hangs up.

  Before heading back into the conference room, I decide to cover my ass a bit with the guys. Walking over to the concierge, I place an order for a lavish lunch. Have I mentioned ass-kissing was my minor in college?

  Strolling back into the room, I’m met with hushed whispers. They all stop talking to stare as the door slams behind me.

  “Don’t stop the secret-sharing on my account,” I say as I take my seat.

  “Uh…we weren’t telling secrets, per se. I was only informing the others of another business I think would be a beneficial investment, to replace the four seized by the FBI,” Johnson tells me.

  “Well then, share away.” I’m all ears, you corrupt bastards.

  Something about the way Johnson keeps looking at me is rubbing me the wrong way. It’s like he doesn’t trust me and losing his trust in me would be a damaging thing. The rest of these legal eagles scream their comfort with me through the way they’ve loosened their neckties. Johnson, however, still has his knotted up tight, shirt buttons all in place. If we’re going to have a problem in these lawyers like Martinelli assumes, Johnson is the guy. It’s in the way he’s sweating when the thermostat is set at 66 degrees and the AC is blowing full blast. His nerves are giving him away, and it’s about time I do something about it.

  “Hey, Johnson, take a walk with me for a minute, will ya?” I may have technically asked him to tag along, but everyone in this room knows it’s an order.

  “Um—um, yeah, sure,” he nervously rattles off before following me along the path to the elevator.

  The doors ding open and I hold a hand out, motioning for Johnson to get on first. “After you.” After hitting the button for the fifteenth floor, I lean back against the wall and hum along to the song playing from the speaker above us. It’s a fun one, newer, upbeat—Ed Sheeran maybe.

  “I like this song,” I say, hoping to offer a bit of lightness to the moment. “Do you know where I’m taking you? Any guesses?”

  He’s nervously adjusting his tie now; in fact, he’s completely untied it.

  “No, sir.” His voice is shaky. His reaction of nervousness isn’t misplaced, and me telling him to try to calm down would be a moot point. What’s the use trying to comfort a dying man?

  The doors open and I’m met with Corbin and Mick, two of Martinelli’s newest guards.

  “My old man in?” No use not referring to him as such—he respects me more when I call him my father.

  “Yeah, he’s inside waiting on his next appointment. Why he insisted on moving all of his meetings here this week, I have no clue,” one answers—Mick, I think. Guy looks like a real assclown if you ask me.

  For me, you asshole, and reasons like Johnson boy here, but you don’t need to know that, you ignorant fuckwit.

  “This should only take up a couple minutes of his time,” I inform them as I knock on the door. I’m too impatient to have one of his goons knock for me, or for them to radio in to inform him I’m in the hallway. Fuck it—my time is limited. I have more important things to do than sit around waiting for someone else to do what I can easily do myself.

  “Come in,” the raspy smoker’s voice says from the other side of the door.

  Motioning, I wait for Johnson to enter first.

  “Ah, is this our rat, son?” my father asks.

  “What? No. Oh, no, no, no. I’m no rat. Nope, not me. I’m Johnson, one of the lawyers from Panama. I’m not a rat, I promise.” The words are spewing quickly out of his mouth, drops of spittle gathering at the corners.

  Choosing not to say a word, I walk over to the couch and make myself comfortable. All I’m missing is some popcorn—this is definitely a popcorn-worthy moment. Sitting in silence, I watch as the war of words continues. This Johnson guy truly is a rat—I can feel it deep in my bones. He’s done something shady, maybe not the recent drama with the FBI—because let’s face it, we all know it’s yours truly feeding the feds all the information—but Johnson’s hiding something, and Martinelli will sniff it out.

  “Well, he’s acting shady. If he’s not a rat, I don’t know what would be causing him to be as nervous as he’s been all morning. Don’t get me started on how squirrely he was yesterday. I brought him up, thinking maybe you’d get him to sing,” I explain.

  “Hm. Interesting…” he says while turning around to face me. “Maybe it’s time you learned a bit more about enforcing, son. It’s almost time for your promotion. You could take the lead on this, show me you’re still going to remain a part of this family in a few weeks.”

  Son of a bitch. No, I don’t want to enforce your damn rules. I’m not sticking around a minute longer than
the FBI needs me to. Break Johnson’s arms on your own. Better yet, have one of your moron goons do it.

  “Yeah, uh, about that—you know how I feel about the violent parts. No disrespect to you or any of my family, I’m just not in the business of breaking people. I handle the legal side of your businesses, and I’d like to keep it that way as much as possible. Certain things lately have been crossing into the gray areas of my normally black and white world, and I’ve been silent about my unease because I haven’t wanted to let you down, Father.”

  The use of the familial word softens his eyes a tad. I’ve heard stories from Rhys, when he came out here to resign his position, about how understanding, helpful, and supportive Martinelli was. I’ve yet to see a softer side to him with my own eyes.

  We’re talking about a man who had his own son killed.

  He’s a monster, through and through. I don’t give two shits what anyone says about the guy—ice runs through his veins. Right when I was getting used to having a brother in my life, Vinny goes and does something insane enough to warrant dear ol’ Dad here issuing a kill order.

  “It’s a discussion for another time, son, one without a rat to take out,” he says as he turns to pin Johnson with his stare. “Do you value your life—what’s your name, Johnson?”

  “Yes, sir,” Johnson manages to stammer out.

  “Hm. We shall see.” Once again, he turns his gaze to mine. Eyes I once thought might love me stare back at mine, the same cool blue. “You can go now, Brant. Thank you for bringing him up here. Go back down and put the other lawyers at ease. Settle on a couple new businesses and get the cash flowing again. I’ll see you later for dinner.”

  I should feel ruthless for leaving Johnson with Martinelli and his two goons, but I don’t. If I knew more about the guy, maybe I would. My gut is telling me he knows more than he should and is hiding something major.

  Walking out the door, I’m greeted again by Monkey One and Monkey Two. They should know by now not to bother asking me anything whenever I leave from seeing my father, but they don’t. Both of them start asking things I’ll never answer.

  One surprises me though. “Hey, a few of us are going to grab a drink or two later tonight. It’s half-off lap dances at the Busty Bunny, and Mick here is celebrating his birthday. You in?”

  If Cherry wasn’t constantly at the forefront of my mind, I would, but she is, plus Justin is flying in tonight—although, it may work in his favor if he’s truly changed his look. He could get to know a few of the lackeys over a few beers.

  “Maybe. I have a friend coming in later this evening, he may like to go. What time?”

  “Around ten, at the BB over near the airport. Do you know where it is?” asks Monkey One—Corbin, I’m assuming, since I know the other one is Mick.

  “Sure do.” It’s a family business, why wouldn’t I know of it? Idiots.

  “If you decide to come, there’ll be about six of us, maybe seven if Mick’s buddy tags along. See ya later, man,” Corbin says.

  “Sounds perfect, and who knows, it may be exactly what the doctor ordered for my friend tonight. He’s going through a horrific breakup. I told him to bring his sorry ass here for a few days, free hotel room if he mooches off me. All he had to do was hop on a plane. Maybe a lap dance will cheer him up.” If it’s a male doing the dancing.

  “Well, now you have to bring him,” Mick pipes up.

  “Tell you what, if he’s not jetlagged, I’ll drag him out,” I offer.

  “Excellent. His first lap dance will be on me—my gift for losing the ball and chain,” Mick offers.

  “Sounds great.” The elevator door dings its arrival before I have to reply more. Saved by the bell.

  TESSA

  Despite how hard I try, the day slips away from me. With each delivery, I mean to text Brant, but I’m only able to after the first one. I’ve been incapable of sparing a minute to check my phone to see if he’s replied. It’s nearly dinnertime and I’m gearing up to close the store when the bell on the door chimes.

  “Welcome to…” The greeting falls off my tongue. I’m shocked to see the man who’s entered my store. He can’t be here. Can he? “Justin? Is it actually you?” As the question slips past my lips, Brant walks in the door behind a shockingly mute Justin.

  “Hiya, Cherry. Lay some sugar on me—I need it after the horrendous day I’ve had.”

  He doesn’t give me time to answer before he stalks over to me and hauls me into his arms. I fall into his embrace willingly. He doesn’t move to kiss me though, which oddly I find disappointing. I want him to kiss me, but it is endearing that he’s taking my rule halfway to heart. He’s hugging me—tightly, I might add—and has yet to let go. In fact, his face is resting near my neck, and he’s breathing me in deep.

  “Brant?”

  “Yeah, sweetness?”

  “Justin is staring at us with his mouth wide open, so I take it you didn’t inform him that we’re dating. Am I correct?”

  “Yep. He’s getting the memo at this second though.” His words come out slightly muffled, due to his face remaining firmly planted near my neck.

  Sighing, I do what I wanted him to do, though he doesn’t know I’ve basically thrown my first rule out the window. Lifting his head away from my neck, I pull his face in close and proceed to kiss him senseless.

  Today he tastes of chocolate, and…cherries? Why does he taste like cherries? Is he using my lip balm? Or could it be my taste transferring to him and back to me?

  Gently breaking our kiss, I take a step backward, out of his embrace. I quickly make my way over to the door, locking it and sliding the sign from open to closed.

  “Hey, Agent Milks. Don’t you look handsome? I dig the new look, by the way. Now come on and give me a hug, you giant lug.”

  Justin pulls me in for one of his signature teddy bear hugs, and I swear I can see steam rolling off Brant’s shoulders. He’s jealous of our gay friend. Charming.

  “You look incredible yourself, Tessa. Wonderful to see you. It’s been a while,” Justin says as he lets me go and walks toward the back of the store. He’s checking out the displays as he goes. He’s been to Av’s store plenty of times, and I’m surprised he’s never stepped foot in mine. I know for a fact he’s been in the area more than once since we met.

  “I know we don’t have plans until Friday, but with Justin coming to town, I thought we could all grab dinner tonight. Do you have any other plans?” Brant asks me.

  “Nope. The only plans I had for the evening was a date with Netflix and my microwave. I thought you were working late tonight?”

  “I rescheduled dinner with my father for tomorrow. Justin and I actually do have plans later with a few of Martinelli’s hired goons. It’s risky, but Mr. Stud here has changed his appearance enough that I’m not concerned. I doubt any of the guys going tonight have crossed paths with him yet anyway—unless Mikey shows up, but as far as I know he’s still in Chicago.”

  “Mikey? You talking about the huge dude who caught me in your apartment?” Justin asks.

  The look Brant gives him can only be described as a glare. What the hell? It’s like Brant doesn’t want to talk about how Justin supposedly met Mikey. When I met him, it was the most terrible time in Averill’s life, which is saying a lot since she’d already lived through hell.

  “Is there something you don’t want Justin mentioning, Brant dear?”

  “Umm…no comment,” he mutters. Well, this changes things.

  “What in the hell are you two hiding?” I plead. “One of you better start talking, or else.”

  I’m not sure what I mean by ‘or else’, but it sounded a bit threatening, or at least made me sound serious.

  They both speak at the same time.

  “He kissed me.”

  “Nothing. Drop it, Cherry.”

  Sucks to be them since they both said different things and all I heard was Justin declaring that Brant kissed him.

  “Excuse me…what?” I can’t even with thes
e two. My laughter has nothing to do with them kissing, at least I don’t think it does. Oh, who am I kidding—it totally does. Not able to stop myself, I continue giggling, and when Brant attempts to make the situation better, it just gets worse. He’s failing at improving anything. He keeps inserting his foot into his mouth, and he should stop.

  This is too much.

  This is something I’d normally call Averill to laugh about with within minutes.

  This is gossip-worthy, no doubt.

  If only I could tell her Brant’s here in Cali. Having promised him I wouldn’t means I can’t call her to laugh together about their kissing.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said. It seems I’ve caught the giggles.”

  “Oh, well, excuse me, please continue laughing. I’ll be at dinner with my friend. Later, Cherry,” Brant says as he walks out of my store. What the?

  I’ve pissed him off by laughing, but who wouldn’t laugh at learning her boyfriend—for lack of a better word—and her friend kissed? Is there a protocol for such situations? Surely not.

  Justin’s standing near the door, watching Brant continue walking toward his rental truck. He’s shocked as well.

  “I’m sorry, Tessa. I, uh, I didn’t know we weren’t supposed to talk about it. Yes, we kissed. To clarify, he kissed me to throw Mikey off, and to make him not get a good look at my face, since surely he would’ve known who I was within a second’s glance. It was dark, and Brant did what he thought was the best option. He didn’t expect me to kiss him back. If I had been up front with you all from the beginning, I wouldn’t have caught him off guard. I shouldn’t have kissed him back, and I shouldn’t have blurted it out to you just now. I’m truly sorry. Come on, continue locking up. I know where he was taking us for dinner. You can drive us, and maybe he’ll be there waiting.”

  Nodding my head in agreement, I begin to walk toward the back of the store, locking the door once, twice, three times to make sure it’s actually closed before I’m assured it’s truly secure. Stopping by my office, I grab my purse, head out to the register, grab my phone, and meet Justin standing in the same spot I left him in.