Page 15 of Mad Rivals (The Bradley Legacy #1)

New Message from Madden Bradley

My bedroom in my parents’ house has a big bench built in under the window, and that’s where Clem and I find ourselves after work on Friday evening.

Dinner’s done, and we grabbed a bottle of vodka to bring up to my room. Now we’re sitting on opposite sides of the bench, feet up and resting on the side of each other’s legs as we sip our drinks and stare out the window.

“How are you liking VBC so far?” I ask.

“Much better than that shit show I worked for before,” she says. “And did I tell you about Lance?”

My eyes dart over to hers, and her cheeks are flushed—not from the vodka since we just started. “Lance?” I raise a suggestive brow.

“He’s in the same department as me, and he’s just, like, so cute . He’s kinda dorky, and he’s tall and skinny, and we’ve been sort of flirting. He gets all awkward, but then he hits me with this totally unexpected deep voice, and I just melt.”

“Someone’s smitten,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah, you.”

I roll my eyes. “You said you were dropping it. ”

“And I would if I really believed there was nothing there. But Kenny, he brought you your Starbucks order.” She raises her brows pointedly. “That means something.”

“It means he knows my order. That’s it.” I shrug.

She shakes her head. “Dudes don’t remember shit like that.”

“We have the same order. He’s just playing a game. He’s pretending to be interested so he can take what he wants and drop me in the end.”

She pulls a face that clearly tells me she doesn’t believe that for a second. “Do you really think that?”

Now that I’ve said it aloud, it’s honestly what makes the most sense. I studied the photos of him online, and when he’s been photographed with a date, it’s almost always a tall, thin woman with long, dark hair.

I’m only five-foot-five, and my hair is decidedly blonde.

What if that is what he’s doing? What if he’s not interested at all in me, but he’s acting like he is so he can steal valuable information from VBC? What if he’s going to try to take on the entire project and steal residential out from under us?

We signed contracts. He can’t do that.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t learn a few trade secrets or figure out where our weaknesses are so he can pounce later.

I finally blow out a breath as I lift a shoulder. “I just don’t trust his intentions.”

“Okay, say he’s untrustworthy and he’s just playing a game to take what he wants from you. Would it really be so bad to play the game with him? To take a few things of your own?” She wiggles her brows slyly.

“Are you suggesting I sleep with him?”

She shrugs without responding.

“How would that help things?” I ask.

She purses her lips. “Have you seen that ass of his? It’s not gonna hurt things, bitch.”

I laugh. “You’re too much.”

“I’m aware. ”

“So are you sleeping with Lance yet?”

“No!” She’s nearly defensive, and that’s my first clue that she already really likes him.

But now sex is on my brain, specifically sex with Madden, and I’m not sure how to get that out of my head. I don’t have to let feelings get involved…but that doesn’t make it a good idea.

I shake my head without any words as I shake that thought right out.

No.

It’s a terrible idea.

Sex will always complicate things, and we have to work together. I can’t.

No matter how much I want it.

Playing his game would be dangerous. I don’t think I could have sex with someone as hot and intriguing as he is and keep my emotions out of it. Especially not when I started smiling just looking at his text messages yesterday.

I feel like I’m so screwed. Everything in me tells me we’re supposed to be enemies. I’m supposed to be keeping him at arm’s length.

And yet…every time I see him, he piques my interest just a little more.

Of course Clem had to bring up the fact that he brought me coffee. My exact order. Of course she recognized that.

Of course she’s reading into it.

Clem narrows her eyes at me. “What are you thinking?”

She knows. She always knows.

My traitorous phone chooses that exact moment to let us all know I have a new message. It’s sitting between us, and she grabs it before I can.

“New message from Madden Bradley,” she reads, and she hands the phone over to me.

I press my lips together, ignoring the butterflies that seem to be gathering in my belly .

I snatch the phone from her hand. “I’m sure it’s something about SCS.”

I open the message, and it’s definitely not related to work.

Madden: Was there something different about your hair today?

I flash the screen at Clem, and she reads it.

“My hair?” I say. “He’s texting me on a Friday night to ask about my hair ? Hell yes, there was something different about it. I put actual effort in. I wanted to look my best so I could feel my best for the meeting with the enemy.”

“He’s not the enemy,” she mutters, but I don’t even acknowledge that she spoke because I’m angry typing out a reply.

Me: Why are you texting me at 8 p.m. on a Friday asking about my hair? Shouldn’t you be out with your superstar buddies?

Madden: I was thinking about you.

I hate that my stomach flips when I read that one.

I hate that the butterflies seem to be flapping up into my chest.

Me: Why?

Madden: Because your hair looked different.

Me: I put a few curls in. Are we good now?

Madden: No.

Me: Why not?

Madden: Because you still haven’t agreed to dinner.

Me: And I won’t.

“What are you rage texting to him?” Clem asks.

I scoot over a little so she can switch sides and sit beside me while I wait for him to reply.

Madden: What about a drink, then?

Me: Why? So you can try to get on the inside with VBC?

“Don’t send that,” Clem sputters.

“Why not? What do I have to lose by letting him know what I really think?”

“Suit yourself,” she huffs, and she slips her own phone out of her pocket and moves back to the other side of the bench .

I’m shocked when my phone starts to ring and it’s Madden Bradley calling me.

Calling me .

“Uh, Clem? We’ve got a nine-one-one situation here.”

Her eyes move to mine as I flash her my screen.

“What are you waiting for? Answer it!” she screeches.

“Hello?” I say tentatively.

“Is that really what you think I’m doing?” he demands, cutting right to the chase.

I blow out a breath. “I don’t really know what to think.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“None of your business.”

He chuckles. “That’s the most Kennedy answer of all time. Come meet me for a drink.”

“How do you know I’m not busy?” I ask, a little sass in my tone.

“Because you’re texting me on a Friday night, and it’s quiet at your house.”

“How do you know I’m at my house?”

“Admittedly, it’s an assumption,” he says. “Would it be creepier if I said it’s because I’m watching you?”

I can’t help but bark out a laugh at that. “Definitely.”

“I’m not, just for the record. So how about that drink?”

“I already have a drink in hand, but thanks.”

“What does Kennedy Van Buren drink on a relaxing Friday night at home?”

“Tito’s and soda with a lime.” I take a sip as if it’s proving a point even though he can’t see me.

“In case you’re wondering, I’m nursing a beer.”

“I wasn’t wondering.”

He laughs. “Goddammit, Kennedy. I really like you.”

“Why?”

He quiets on the other end of the line. “Do you really want me to answer that?” His voice is warm and husky when he poses the question, and it sends a shot directly to my vagina .

This is a terrible idea, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

“I do.”

“I noticed your hair was different. I know your Starbucks order. I know that you click your pen three times when you’re making a point, and I wondered if it was for emphasis or just a nervous habit. I’m noticing things about you I’ve never really cared to look at before.”

“What can I say? I’m fascinating,” I say dryly.

He chuckles. “I can’t argue that. But it’s not just those things. You’re fierce, and you’re funny. You’re blunt as hell and don’t seem to give a fuck. It was your beauty that first caught my interest, but it’s your personality that kept it.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

And even if I did know, I’m not sure I could possibly speak right now since my entire mouth just went completely dry.

“Can you at least tell me what your dad said about my family that made you hate me?” he asks.

“I don’t hate you,” I admit quietly. Especially not after what he just said. “I just don’t trust you, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved beyond what we have to do in the office.”

“I get that,” he says. “But can you let me try to prove you can trust me?”

I glance over at Clem, and I notice for the first time that she’s studying me. She can probably hear every word he’s said to me, and she’s nodding at me. “Go for it,” she mouths.

I sigh. She’s no help. “Fine.”

He pauses for a beat as if he can’t believe I just said that. “Fine? Like…you’ll meet me for a drink in, say…a half hour?”

A half hour? I’m supposed to make myself presentable and arrive at some unknown destination in a half hour ?

Clem is nodding her head nearly violently.

“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Do you know Dot’s Tavern?” It’s just around the corner from my parents’ house, so I can walk home.

“Yep. See you in a half hour,” he says.

“Bye.” I hang up before I change my mind.

Clem squeals. “You have a date with football star Madden Bradley?”

“It’s not a date,” I mutter.

It’s totally a date, though, and I need to figure out what the hell to wear.