Page 22 of Not That Guy

Brenner

“Yes, Christine, I’m fine. I’m going for a checkup in a few days.” I had my phone to my ear as I opened the file of a new case.

My friend Christine, socialite, cosmetic mogul, married to successful restaurateur Tony Gigante, and self-appointed matchmaker had been horrified to hear what had happened to me.

We’d met when my old firm had bought a table at her yearly benefit to support research for blood cancer.

Her mother had passed away from the same disease as Pearl, and we’d bonded over our devastating losses.

“Sweetheart, they’re paying for everything, I hope? It happened on their watch. You could get workers’ comp and stay home to rest.”

Wouldn’t that look great? Only a month into my partnership, and I’d be after them for compensation and how to stay home and not work.

It had been a week, and while my head was back to normal, my ribs and ankle still gave me trouble.

Much as I wanted to dispute Weston’s claim, I begrudgingly admitted it had been a hell of a lot easier staying with him.

“Not my thing. I’m doing better. Honest. How’re you and Tony? And the little one?”

“We’re great. Better than. Tony’s stepping away a little to spend more time with us—we bought a place in Tuscany we’re going to be at for several months a year in the summer. You should think of joining us.” Laughter bubbled in my ear. “Lots of beautiful women to meet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind whenever I get the time. Being a new partner, the last thing I want is to ask for time off.”

“How are you managing at home? Isn’t it painful? Tony once got a broken rib in a football game with his brothers, and he could barely move. You have four bruised ones, plus everything else. Do you need me to get you some help?”

When it came to organization, Christine was a superstar, and I knew she was itching to do something for me.

I shifted in my seat. “It’s hard getting comfortable,” I admitted.

“But I’m, uh, staying with someone, and they’ve been helpful.

” I braced myself for the inquisition because I knew Christine would jump on my words. She did not disappoint.

“Someone? Who? A new girlfriend? Darling, have you kept me out of the loop? Naughty boy. Who is she?”

Even though it hurt to laugh, I chuckled. “No, it’s nothing like that. A work colleague. He and I know each other from law school, and he offered to let me stay with him while I recuperate.”

True to his word, Weston had helped me recuperate. I thought he’d be out most nights, but he’d stayed at home and ordered us dinner. It had been…nice.

“Ah. That’s good. You shouldn’t be alone. I’ll have Tony send some food over tonight. Give me the address.”

Knowing she wouldn’t allow me to say no, I recited it, and she hummed her approval. “Park and Sixty-eighth? Now those are my kind of friends. Who is this person, and why have I never heard you mention him before?”

This was delving into territory the depths of which I wasn’t willing to reveal. “Like I said, he’s a law school fraternity brother and a partner at the firm I just joined. By the way, didn’t you tell me you had some friends who might need my services?”

A sigh resonated. “Yes. My brother-in-law’s cousin. He and his husband were as madly in love as my friend Archer and his husband, Madden, but something happened, and now they’re barely speaking.”

“Tell him to give me a call. And thanks for the offer of food. You know it’s not necessary.”

She laughed. “Of course it is, darling. Ciao .”

I wondered what she meant by that, but I didn’t have much time to spend thinking about her. My interoffice line buzzed.

“Brenner, are you ready?” Dawson, my paralegal, asked. “Mrs. Hobson is here.”

My first client of the day had arrived. A story as old as time, and a pattern that saw little chance of being broken—a wealthy couple, married for thirty-five years, until the husband decided to replace her with a younger version.

He wanted the divorce as quickly as possible to “start his new family” with his twenty-two-year-old fiancée.

It reminded me of the article I’d skimmed about Weston’s father and his new wife.

“I’m coming.”

I gathered up my crutches and hobbled out of the office. Weston and Grady were in Weston’s doorway, and they rushed to my side.

“Let me help.” Weston reached for my pad, sending me off-balance, and I slipped, putting my full weight on my bad leg.

“Ow, stop. I can do it. I just can’t believe it still hurts after a week.”

“Of course it does. Between that and your ribs, it’s going to take time. Why are you being such a stubborn ass?” he complained. “Lean on me.”

“I said I’m okay.” I brushed him off. “My paralegal is coming.” Thank fucking God Dawson appeared. “See? Thanks.” I handed him my pad and pen. “I’m ready to go.”

Weston scowled, but I didn’t respond. I wasn’t about to tell him that I enjoyed my evenings in his apartment.

Contrary to what I’d anticipated, it was nice to have someone to come home to and eat dinner with.

And true to what he’d insisted, Weston wasn’t the sarcastic, showboating asshole he’d been in school.

We shared similar tastes in television, sports teams, and movies.

We were politically compatible and—although I hated to admit it—he was funny as hell.

Every day, that wall of anger I’d built toward him tumbled down, brick by brick.

But the real reason was something I wasn’t willing to think about. Especially moments before walking into a client meeting. Once I was off the damn crutches, I’d be able to go home and put this strange episode behind me.

The day passed fast and furious, at a different pace from my old firm. I found it interesting to see how a big firm handled family-law situations, as these were the cases that so often rested on emotions rather than numbers, charts, and cold facts.

At six thirty, Weston stood at my door. At the beginning of the day he was immaculate—shirt crisp, tie perfectly knotted, hair styled. End-of-day Weston had his tie undone, collar unbuttoned, and golden, sun-streaked hair falling over his brow. Less put together and more approachable. He yawned.

“Are you ready? I’m beat. Can’t wait to go home, get out of this suit, and eat something. I had to skip lunch ’cause my meetings ran into each other, and I’ve only had a protein bar.”

“I’m pretty hungry myself. My friend Christine said she was going to have her husband send some food from his restaurant, so we can have that for dinner. He owns Gigante’s. I hope you like Italian.”

“Oh God, Gigante’s is amazing.” His eyes rolled back in his head, and he licked his lips. Fascinated, I couldn’t take my eyes off his tongue. Thank God I caught myself staring without him noticing. I rubbed my eyes.

“Yeah. The food is good.”

“Good? Use your words, Fleming. It’s way beyond that. Let’s get going. I don’t want anyone to steal it if it’s left downstairs. I wouldn’t put it past these people.”

I hobbled toward him on my crutches. “Steal? Your fancy neighbors? They’d never do anything wrong.” I snickered.

“Don’t you believe it.” Weston’s face turned dark. “They’d be first in line to jump in a lifeboat if the ship was sinking, to hell with babies and children.”

The drive to his place was only several blocks, but with rush-hour traffic it still took twenty minutes. By the time we entered the lobby after dropping the car off with the parking valet, it was after seven. Weston questioned the doorman, who insisted no food had been delivered.

“Let’s go upstairs. We’ll have to order something right away,” Weston grumbled. “I had my heart set on chicken parm.”

Why did I feel like I’d personally disappointed him? “I’m sorry. I assumed it was today. I didn’t think to ask.”

He let us into the apartment and tossed the keys onto the entry table. My energy had begun to flag, and I stood leaning on my crutches.

“No biggie. I’m gonna change first, and then we can decide.” Concern creased his brow. “Here.” He held out his arm. “You look exhausted. Let me help you to the couch.”

With no strength to argue, I let him put his arm around my waist. I leaned on him, and together we moved in sync.

The couch looked a long way off. My ribs hurt, and I needed to stop and catch my breath.

Something I was finding hard to do with Weston so damn close.

His chest rose and fell, and the scent of his cologne and sweat filled my senses.

I met his eyes, shocked by their green-gold fire.

“Has it been so awful being here with me?” Weston murmured, his mouth almost near enough to touch my cheek and tingling lips.

“No. I like it.” At my confession, his grip grew tighter.

He pulled me close, and I didn’t resist. I couldn’t.

I fucking ached to kiss him, but I didn’t know how to make that first move.

Weston, too, seemed caught off guard by this…

this thing growing between us, and we stayed locked in a staring contest, the air alive and vibrating, ready to explode.

“Me too. You’ve been driving me crazy for weeks. I can’t explain it. I don’t understand it.” His mouth hovered near mine, and I could barely hear his words over the thunderous pounding of my heart.

A powerful surge of lust rocketed through me, and like that night in the hotel, I was fast spinning out of control. “What’s happening here?”

West cupped my cheek. “Maybe it’s time to find out?” He leaned in to kiss me, and my eyes fluttered shut.

The buzzer sounded, and we sprang apart. The motion sent daggers of pain through my side.

“Ow, fuck, ow, ow.” I clutched my side, and West, wild-eyed and flushed, raced to the door.

“What?” he snapped.

“Christine Gigante to see you.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, send her up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a second and smoothed down his hair. “Are you all right?” He returned to my side, and with a gentle hand, led me to the sofa and helped me get comfortable.

“Yeah, fine.” I couldn’t look at him.