Page 11

ELEVEN

Brantley

I’m fucking exhausted. This has been the longest day ever. Between the inept new secretary, the emails piling up, the countless phone calls I had to answer while my brother and Maverick fawned all over said secretary, and this late night meeting. I’m done.

And, of course, it’s raining. Okay, sprinkling, but still as inconvenient as it is annoying.

Usually, I wouldn’t care. Usually, my driver would be taking me home, but because this day is fucking terrible, he’s sick. I’m pretty sure you can drive with the flu, but not everyone works as hard as I do. It’s an inevitable truth I accepted years ago.

Again, annoying.

I turn the corner, run a hand through my damp hair, and come to an abrupt stop as someone steps directly in front of me. Figures. Blowing out a deep breath, I bristle, my frown setting in as another wave of irritation flows through me.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry.”

Speaking of the inept secretary.

For the life of me, I can’t remember her name, which is slightly inconvenient seeing as how she’s standing in front of me wide eyed, blocking my path.

“Mr. Ellis.” My name sounds breathy, like a whisper between…between what? Lovers? That’s as ridiculous as her outfit, a retro looking dress with a black button-up top that flares out to a white skirt with lace butterflies sewn all over it. Ridiculous yet hugs her curves perfectly.

Objectively speaking because otherwise it would be very inappropriate to note.

“Miss…” I let the word hang between us, hoping it sparks something, but nope, still can’t remember who the hell she is, so I quickly pivot. “Do you always walk around alone downtown in the dark?”

“Who says I’m alone?” Her brow quirks, and those plush lips of hers twitch.

I really need to stop noticing these things about an employee. It’s unprofessional and wait, did she say she’s not alone? Is she on a date? On a Tuesday night? Does she know it’s the middle of a work week? Or maybe she’s one of those free spirits and doesn’t care that she has to be up early for work tomorrow. I saw the collection of pens on her desk, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s it. I believe today was Throat Punch Tuesday, something I don’t want to be on the receiving end of.

While I appreciate the humor, the office isn’t the best place to display such things.

Let’s hope she shows up on time tomorrow and is ready to put in a full day. I already have three days worth of work to get done, and I will not tolerate sloppiness because she wants to have a weeknight romp in the hay.

Speaking of, where the hell is this date of hers? If she were out here with me—nope. If she were out here with me, there would be several feet between us to maintain a professional distance, and we’d be leaving a dinner meeting where she’d be taking notes. Nothing else.

What is wrong with me?

It must have been that double shot espresso I had with dessert. I usually don’t indulge in those things so late, and it’s clearly having a negative effect on my brain.

But instead of saying my goodbyes and promptly walking off like I should, I glance around her, and that’s when I notice the kid—no, teenager—standing behind her. There’s a slight resemblance, and my first thought is that this must be her son, but she’s way too young to have a teenager. I know; I looked at her employee file.

Not only is she an employee of mine, making her extremely off limits, but she’s way too young for me. Fifteen years too young.

And yeah, I know, I should feel ashamed for looking at her personal information, but I needed to know who I was going to be working with and had a very limited window to research. But I don’t remember seeing anything about her family.

“This is your brother?” Real smooth, Brantley.

She’s silent for a moment, and I’m pretty sure she’s either going to ignore me or ask me to stay out of her personal life, but then she nods. It’s slight and if I hadn’t been watching her so intently, I’d have missed it.

The kid in question steps forward, his hands moving rapidly in front of him, and my brows draw together in confusion. He’s a teenager, so this could be an elaborate attempt to give me the finger but then she motions back, and it hits me. This is sign language. Her brother is deaf and for the first time in a long time, I feel inept.

I hate feeling out of my element, like I’m missing out on something vital. I’m usually the one leading conversations, yet here, I’m an outsider. I really don’t like it.

“This is my brother, Colin.” She signs, pointing to me before giving me a small smile. “This is one of my bosses, Brantley. Sorry, Mr. Ellis.”

It’s right there on the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her to call me Brantley, but that’s crossing a line I have no business or desire to cross. “Nice to meet you, Colin.”

I hold out my hand which he shakes with a nice firm grip and continues to sign.

She glances between us, murmuring. “He said it’s nice to meet you too. He likes your suit.”

“Thank you; it’s Tom Ford.”

Not sure why I felt the need to tell him that detail. I’m sure I could have told him it was designed by Bigfoot, and he would’ve thought it was just as cool. Maybe more so.

An uncomfortable silence falls between us, and as time ticks by it becomes clear she’s not going to be the one to break it. Not that it matters. I should say my goodbyes and get my ass back to my penthouse apartment, but I don’t.

Instead I clear my throat, rocking back on my heels. “I had a dinner meeting in the area that ran late. My driver is sick.”

Great, now I sound like a pretentious prick. I’m really winning at life today.

“Your driver, huh?” she scoffs, quickly following it up with a cough, no doubt trying to cover up her contempt. “Sounds fancy. We were heading to my car. Which I drive myself.”

Yep. Definitely a pretentious prick. “I know how to drive, but I like to use that time to catch up on phone calls or emails.”

“Yes. I’ve seen your schedule. You’re a very busy man, Mr. Ellis.”

Is that an insult? I don’t get the impression she means it that way, but why does it suddenly seem like a bad thing? Again, ridiculous because work is everything I need.

I shift again, this time shoving my hands in my pocket, and notice the books her brother has clutched between his hands. “Do you like to read?”

Such a stupid question. Of course he does. He has books in his hands for Christ’s sake. It’s not like he takes them home and uses them for kindling. Get it together, Ellis. I can argue circles around the other lawyers in town, I don’t back down from high maintenance, high profile clients, yet in front of my secretary and her brother, my tongue is tied. Communication, which is usually my strong suit, is strongly lacking tonight.

Fortunately for me, Colin doesn’t seem to notice, his face lighting up with a smile as he nods, his hands moving a mile a minute.

“It’s one of his favorite things to do.” His sister pauses for a second, waiting for him to continue. “He likes mysteries and books with a little supernatural in them.” Her eyes meet mine, a hint of sadness swirling in their depths. “He started reading when our parents died.”

Her words are quiet, and they hang between us for several beats.

I don’t know either of them, evidenced by the fact I don’t know this woman’s name, but I feel that grief all the same. It’s the same weight I carry with me, that I’ve had since my sister died nine years ago. I understand what it’s like to lose someone close to you, someone you count on, someone who counted on you. That kind of heartbreak never goes away.

Sure, it lessens with time, but the darkness is always with you.

I open my mouth to respond, to tell the both of them how sorry I am, how I know what they’ve gone through, but she holds up a hand and shakes her head.

“I’m so sorry to keep you, Mr. Ellis, but we should go.” She glances down at the cracked sidewalk beneath us, and I get the distinct feeling that she’s shuttering herself off from the world, from me. She’s protecting herself and her brother; I get that. But I have this strange need to comfort her. Them. “I need to get Colin to bed.”

“Yes, of course.” I take a step back, pulling myself back to reality. One where I’m her boss, her much older boss, who needs to mind his own damn business. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

As they cross the street toward her car, I keep my eyes on them. I lie to myself. I pretend I’m watching them to make sure they get in the car safely, but I think we both know that’s bullshit. In fact, as her car pulls out onto the street and they drive away, I’m still standing here in the goddamn rain staring after them.

This is why I compartmentalize, why I see the world in black and white. She’s an employee which makes her untouchable. I don’t do complicated. I don’t do relationships. And I sure as hell don’t lust after women who work for me.

So, why am I still standing here?

She’s attractive, I can admit that, but she’s my secretary, and apparently the temp agency we’ve been using has blacklisted us. No more replacements. No more options. This has to work. She has to work.

So, I give myself a shake, turn, and continue to walk toward my building. I will not wonder where she lives or if she got home safely. I will not ask about her brother’s condition or about any treatments. I will not ask about her parents or anything else about her personal life. It’s none of my business. She’s not my business.

I have a law firm to run, and I won’t let her be the one gray area in my life.