Page 23 of Duty and Desire

“And to you passing your realtor test.” He touches his cup to mine, and our eyes lock as we take a drink. For me, the bubbly liquid hits my tongue, making me want more. But he obviously does not feel the same, which he makes very clear by the expression of disgust on his handsome face.

“Fuck, how can you drink that shit?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s delicious.” I giggle, taking another sip while he shakes his head and sets his cup down.

“It’s garbage.” He goes to the fridge, grabs a bottle of some dark liquid from the cabinet above it, then looks back at me. “So, what’s your plan now that you’ve got your realtor license?” He pours himself two fingers of whiskey.

“I was going to work under a realtor, but my dad wants me to work for Bender and Sons as a realtor at one of the properties he owns.” I lean against the counter behind me, my body already feeling relaxed from the little bit of champagne I’ve had.

“What doyouwant?” he asks, leaning his hip against the counter opposite me.

I drag in a breath as I think about how to respond to that question. “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I like the idea of working for my family’s business, but I don’t want anyone thinking I haven’t earned whatever job I’m given.” I lift one shoulder.

“Someone made you feel like that?” he asks, once again studying me. For once, I don’t feel uncomfortable, probably thanks to the alcohol filling my empty stomach.

“Everyone in my dad’s office hates me.” I laugh before taking another sip of my drink, and he gives me a doubtful look. “It’s true. I’ve overheard them talking about me more than once. None of them wants me there, and none of them thinks I should be there regardless of the fact that my dad owns the company.”

“What the fuck?”

“I don’t blame them.” I wave a hand out between us. “I have a degree in business that I never used, and until my dad gave me a job, I never worked a day in my life. If I were someone who walked in off the street applying for the position I have, even if it is just secretarial work, they wouldn’t have hired me.”

“That might be so, babe, but them talking shit about you is fucked up.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I turn to pour myself another cupful of champagne, this one much fuller than the last. “My dad wants me to keep working for him. And, honestly, I like the idea.” I turn back toward him. “I don’t know what will happen with Aiden once Dad is back on his feet, but if he leaves and I stop working there, the business will likely be turned over to the board, and I don’t want that. I know how much the company means to my father and what it meant to my grandfather, and none of the people my dad has on the board are emotionally invested in the success or failure of the business.”

“So you want to run the company?”

“No. Absolutely not.” My nose scrunches. “My dad was never around when I was growing up, and someday when I find the right guy, I want to have kids and focus on the whole Mom thing.”

“You wanna be a soccer mom?”

“If my kids are in soccer, sure.” I smile, and he chuckles. “I just want to be available if my children need me, and running a company like my dad’s wouldn’t allow me to do that.” I let out a breath. “Honestly, I just want a simple life. I want to make enough money to support myself so I never have to depend on another man again. I also don’t want my job to be my entire existence.”

“I get that,” he says quietly, then looks at my stomach when it growls loudly. “Hungry?”

“Yes, I didn’t eat today because I was nervous about what would happen when I took the test.”

“Let’s get you some food.” He grabs his cell out of the pocket of his suit. “How does pizza sound for dinner?”

“Good, but I’m buying.”

“Not happening,” he denies instantly, and I narrow my eyes. Since I’ve been staying here, he hasn’t let me give him any money, and the only way I’ve been able to help out is by picking up groceries when I see things are running low—and he made it clear that he doesn’t even want me doing that.

I’ve found cash tucked into my purse that I know I didn’t put there more than once or found money on the counter with a note labeled:Grocery Money. Each and every time, I’ve given it back to him by leaving it somewhere he would eventually find it. But that hasn’t stopped him from continuing to be high-handed when it comes to paying.

“I want to pay.”

“Next time,” he mumbles, focusing his attention on his cell. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

“You know, you’re really annoying.”

“Yep.” He looks up from his phone. “Now, what kind of pizza do you want?”

“Everything.”

“My kind of girl.” He grins, and my belly flips.

As he places the pizza order, I head into the living room, needing a minute to get myself together because him saying that I’m his kind of girl makes me feel things I should not be feeling. He’s my brother’s best friend and the guy who was nice enough to let me stay with him, nothing more.