His to Keep (Beauty and the Brit) (32 page)

Brynn felt as though she were having some strange out-of-body experience—as if she was seeing things come into focus for the first time. Cassandra wasn’t going to change. Her boss was a mess, personally and professionally. She’d gotten herself into this trouble, and along the way, she’d manipulated Brynn into working seventy-hour weeks. Brynn had stupidly allowed herself to be used because she’d been too weak to stand up for herself. Never again. She was tired of being a doormat. It finally clicked. Brynn could still care about Cass—she wasn’t a bad person after all, just flawed—while putting herself first for once. It wasn’t about being selfish. It was about survival. Iain had taught her that as well. “I quit,” she blurted out. With her heart pounding, she wondered if she should take the words back. No. No, they felt right. Brynn was quitting. It was time.

Cass’s mouth dropped open. After a moment, she drew an unsteady breath. “You can’t quit, Brynn. I need you. We have clients. You have a responsibility to this office. I’ll make sure you get a computer.”

“It’s your business, Cassandra. You had a responsibility to this office too. Yet here we are.” Brynn turned to Paige. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I can’t do this anymore.” Brynn didn’t know where this rush of courage was coming from. In ten minutes, she’d probably be shaking like a gambling addict with his last chip, but right then, at that minute, Brynn felt good. Strong.

She walked out of the conference room. The sales team looked up, their faces questioning, worried. They should have been. For that matter, Brynn should have been scared witless. But she wasn’t.

Pausing briefly at her office door, she kept right on walking. There was nothing in the hovel that she needed.

When Brynn heard footsteps behind her, she assumed it was Cass.

“Wait for me.” Brynn turned to see Paige following her. “You’re the real talent in this place. I’m coming with you.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” Brynn whispered.

“I do. You’re starting a new company. And you’re going to need a partner. The clients love you, and I have faith in you.”

Okay, now the terror started to set in. Brynn would be okay if she was only responsible for herself, but if she had Paige’s future in her hands…

“Hey,” Paige said, “we’ll figure it out together. No pressure. I know I’m taking a gamble.”

That alleviated some of Brynn’s worry. But not much. She nodded and moved to the door. She took one last peek over her shoulder. Every eye in the office was riveted on her, even Cassandra’s. Brynn Campbell Chapman was the center of attention, and for once, she didn’t care.

Iain slammed out of the car and quickly walked
to Marc’s front door. When he and Melanie moved in together, Marc had bought this house—a fucking Mediterranean mini-mansion. Five bedrooms, six baths, a gated community. It even had a wine cellar, and Mel was the only one who drank the stuff. Iain couldn’t blame her for getting irritated with Marc’s foot-dragging. Everything about this house, this
neighborhood, screamed marriage and family. Kids.
Commitment. What was the poor woman meant to think?

When Marc didn’t answer, Iain walked to the window and, cupping his eyes, peered inside. Hopefully, his mate was just pissed off his ass and hadn’t done anything stupid. Marc had done many arsed up things in his life, but he wouldn’t off himself. However, he could have got so plastered that he’d taken a tumble down the stairs. Shit.

Iain lifted his leg and kicked above the door handle.
Fuck, that hurt
. The shock of it registered all the way up his leg. He stepped back to take another run at it when Marc opened the door. Starkers. Not a stitch on him.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Marc slurred the words and swayed a bit.

“What am I doing?” Iain asked. “What are you doing, answering the door with your willy hanging out?”

“Fuck off.” Then he turned and shambled back into the house, leaving Iain to follow. Even in the foyer, the place smelled like a bloody brewery. Iain shut the front door and when he turned around, Marc had disappeared. The drunken twat couldn’t climb the stairs that quickly, so Iain wandered down the hall and found Marc in a spare bedroom, spread eagle on the bed, showing his naked bum. The room reeked of beer and stale sweat. Empty bottles covered the bedside table and floor.

Iain paused, his heart in his throat. They’d been through everything together—tough childhoods, losing Davy, starting over here in Vegas—with nothing but their will and the desire for a better life. Iain was the happiest he’d ever been, and Marc was at the end of his tether. Life was a fucking bitch sometimes.

Iain grabbed a bottle, walked into the adjoining bog, and filled it with cold water. He stepped back in the bedroom, where Marc lay snoring. God, what a sight. Iain poured the water down Marc’s crack and onto his bollocks.

Marc rolled over and screamed like a tiny girl. “What the bloody hell?” He leaped up and staggered, holding on to the wall for support. “What the fuck are you doing, Iain?”

“I’ll go put on some coffee. You”—he pointed at Marc’s cock—“put that thing away, before you hurt someone. And take a shower while you’re at it. You’re rank, mate.”

Marc’s red-rimmed eyes moved around the room, then landed on Iain. “Get out.”

“I know Mel left you, and I’m sorry. But I’m not leaving.”

Marc shoved both hands through his hair. “She says I care more about you and the business than I do for her. It’s not true, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” Marc was hurting, broken. Iain couldn’t imagine what the poor bloke was going through. Until Iain met Brynn, he hadn’t been able to imagine what it meant to love another person more than yourself. To care about her welfare above your own. If he ever lost Brynn—no, he couldn’t even fathom it. Not having her in his life—it was unthinkable.

Iain left the room and wandered to the kitchen. After hunting in the cabinets, he found the coffee and brewed a strong pot. When he heard the shower turn on, he felt a bit of relief. At least Marc was up and moving around.

After half an hour, his mate ambled into the kitchen. He was still unshaven and his breath smelled like death, but he was dressed.

Iain poured him a cup of coffee. While Marc slumped onto a stool, Iain grabbed a rubbish bag, went back to the bedroom, and cleaned up all the bottles. When he returned to the kitchen, Marc had finished the cup.

“Tasted like ashes, it did.”

“I made it strong on purpose. Now tell me what happened.”

“You already know. Mel’s gone. Said I didn’t truly love her, and she was tired of playing second fiddle.”

“You offered to marry her, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Marc dragged a hand through his wet hair. “Grudgingly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I love her. I do. I’m gutted that she left. But I couldn’t pull the trigger, could I?” Marc’s life had been falling apart for months, and Iain had barely even noticed. He had been too caught up in his own agenda—the downtown buildings, meeting Trevor Blake, pining over Brynn.

Iain pulled out the stool next to him and placed his hands on the granite island. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Don’t know.” They were quiet for a few. “Do you ever think that we’re living Davy’s life? The life he was meant to have. That it’s all one big cosmic mixup? You and me, mate, we were meant for the nick or worse.”

It was true. If Vegas hadn’t been Davy’s dream, neither Iain nor Marc would have even thought of it. “Not fair, is it?”

“No.” Marc glanced over and noticed Iain’s wedding ring. “Oh my God. You married her, didn’t you?” He sounded shocked, his voice faint as his gaze moved to Iain’s face. “You bloody, arrogant wanker. You married that girl.”

“I love her.” Iain did. With every cell in his body.

“The hell you do. You want everything that comes with her. Trevor Blake, with all of his money and reputation. You don’t give a toss about that girl.”

Iain’s mouth settled into a grim line. “Just because your life has turned to shit, don’t take it out on the rest of us. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making Brynn happy.”

Marc threw his head back and laughed. It sounded strained and bitter. “Oh that’s rich. You, devoting your life to something other than yourself. How long will that last, eh? Until you get tired of fucking her?”

“Shut the hell up.”

“You’re going to hurt her, Iain. You’ll leave her. You and I both know that.”

The fuck he would. Rage, stronger and more powerful than he’d ever known, knifed through him, making his vision blur, his ears ring. Turning, Iain lashed out and punched the wall behind him. Then he punched it again. Dry wall dust coated his knuckles. He’d come damned close to smashing Marc’s stupid face in but managed to rein himself in at the last minute.

Marc barely glanced at the fist-sized hole. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

“Shut your gob, mate. I’m serious. You are not going to talk about me wife that way.”

Marc shifted his jaw from side to side. “Your wife. You’re not worthy of her any more than I was worthy of Mel.”

Iain knocked the stool to the tiled floor. His foot still hurt from trying to kick in the bleeding door, and now his knuckles ached like a bitch. “I know that, right? I’m nothing but a conniving sod, but I love her.”

“You poor bastard.” Marc shook his head. “You still think you’ve got a happy ending coming, don’t you? I’ve fucked it all up, good and proper, Iain, and you will too.”

No, he wouldn’t. Iain had a will of iron, and he was determined not to muck things up with Brynn. His marriage would be a success. He’d settle for nothing less. But he wasn’t going to fight about it with Marc. His mate was hurting. Saying things he didn’t mean. What he needed was a swift kick in the arse, and Iain was the man to give it to him.

“So that’s it, then? Are you telling me that you’re going to roll over like some castrated dog? Mel walked out and you’re just going to drink yourself stupid? That’s your solution?”

In a move that was almost too quick for Iain to follow, Marc stood, picked up his cup, and chucked it at Iain’s head. It clipped the corner of his ear before smashing into the wall behind him.

“Fuck me, that hurt.”

“Good. Now get out before I really do some damage. I feel sorry for Brynn. I really do. She’s going to find out the truth about how you set her up.”

Iain’s hands clenched into fists. “Is that a threat?” Fear grabbed hold of his gut and squeezed hard.

“Nah, mate. I’m not like you, hurting people to get ahead. But she will find out that you manipulated the entire situation. How’s she going to feel about you then, Iain?”

“She’ll never know. I decided I’m not taking a dime from Blake. Don’t worry, we’ll find another way to develop the properties.”

“
You’re
not taking a dime?
You
decided? Fuck you. We were never partners, not really. You make the decisions and expect me to back them. Well, I’m through. I don’t care what you do with that property. Shove it up your ass. Give it away. I just want out.”

Iain felt like he’d been kicked in the teeth. Marc, quitting the business? It was ridiculous. “You’re still drunk, mate. You don’t know what you’re saying. Of course we’re partners. You and me. We’re in it together.”

“No we’re not. Haven’t been for some time. Everyone’s expendable, isn’t that what you always say?”

Iain’s head was starting to pound. What the hell was going on? “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Weren’t you? Brynn will become expendable too. Just you wait. When she’s delivered Trevor Blake, you’ll get bored.”

Even as the anger burned through his veins like acid, he knew Marc was right about one thing—Iain had treated his old mate as if he were a stick of furniture.

“Just get out of here, Iain.” With his back to the refrigerator, Marc slid to the floor. Elbows resting on his knees, he cradled his head in his hands.

Iain had never seen him like this. Despondent. Hopeless. Not even after Davy died. Marc and Iain were alike, fighters the both of them.

“I’m going to forget we ever had this conversation, yeah? It’s not doing either of us any good. I’ll talk to you later.”

“No,” Marc said. “I’m done. It’s over.”

Iain didn’t know how to respond to Marc’s accusations. Because they were all correct. Iain worked his ass off to get what he wanted, and he mowed down anyone who dared get in his way. It had worked for him all these years.

And it’d cost him his best mate.

Shuffling, Iain left the house, feeling weary clear to his bones. How could a day turn to shit so quickly? Iain wanted Brynn right then—her comfort, her kindness. He wanted to smell her hair and hold her, feel her body against his.

She said he was a good man, but Iain had more in common with his father than he ever dared admit. His old man had been a mean bastard who’d never cared what people thought of him. Never had a kind word to say about anyone. Wasn’t Iain exactly the same? Before Brynn came into his life, he hadn’t even known his employees’ names. Iain used people, just as he’d been ready to use Brynn.

God, he was a miserable fuck. What did Brynn see in him? She was a starry-eyed optimist who didn’t believe in lost causes. And for once, instead of pitying her, he was glad for it.

As he climbed into the backseat of the car, his phone alarm reminded him he had a meeting with a building manager in twenty minutes. On the ride through downtown, he stared out the window deep in thought. Iain needed to make things right with Marc, but he didn’t know how.

Brynn will know.
She’d have a manual on how to apologize for being an ass, some words of wisdom. That’s what she did, his Brynn. She helped people in trouble, and Iain was in the middle of a full-blown personal crisis.

* * *

Brynn parted ways with Paige. They made plans to meet up later and start plotting business strategies. Right now, though, Brynn needed a few hours with her husband. He was going to be proud of her for taking a stand. She couldn’t have done it without him. He’d helped her tap into her confidence both in and out of the bedroom.

She parked in the garage across the street and jogged to Iain’s building. Once she hit the office, Brynn noticed the change in atmosphere. People were smiling, chatting with each other. The vibe was open and friendly. A few people waved, a couple called her name.

Brynn smiled and stopped to talk. This was like walking into a completely different office. Iain had done this. With her help, yes, but he’d fostered a respectful, welcoming environment. That man deserved lunch. And maybe, if he was lucky, some oral sex.

Strolling into Iain’s suite, Amelia looked up and gave her a tired smile. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d surprise him.”

Ames shook her head. “He’s away. Back-to-back meetings this afternoon. By the way, this is Katie, my new assistant.”

Katie smiled. “So nice to meet you. Mr. Chapman said you’re welcome anytime.”

“Great. Thank you.” Brynn turned back to Amelia. If she knew Iain, he’d have his phone glued to his ear for the rest of the day. Anyway, she wanted to tell him the news about quitting in person. Maybe she could scribble him a sexy note instead, teasing him with all the things she wanted him to do to her. “Can I go in and leave him a message?”

Amelia waved her toward the door. “Sure. Make yourself at home.”

Brynn walked into Iain’s office, closing the door behind her. It seemed strangely empty without his larger-than-life presence, but it smelled of bergamot mixed with his clean aftershave, leather chairs, and strong coffee. She inhaled deeply.

Brynn crossed to his desk, pulled back his chair, and sat down. The tufted leather was slick but cushy. Easing her hands along the padded armrests, she took in the furniture—the maritime clock, his enormous antique desk. None of this represented the tough but loving man she’d come to know. Too stuffy. His apartment wasn’t a reflection of him, either. Brynn wanted to make a home where they’d both be comfortable, where Iain could relax a little bit. In jeans. As hot as he looked in a suit, dude needed to go cazh every once in a while.