'I'd thought about buying something for the flat, but … ' Braden gave a low whistle as he saw the price tag of the canvas we were standing in front of. 'I make it a rule not to overpay when I'm buying shit.'
Joss snorted and nodded in absolute agreement. Deciding it best to change the subject before one of them encouraged the other to be openly rude, I asked, 'Where's Ellie and Adam?'
Ellie was a sweetheart and could put a positive spin on anything. She also managed to temper the blunt tongues of her best friend and her brother, which was why I'd specifically invited her.
'She and Adam are staying in tonight,' Joss replied with a quiet seriousness that concerned me. 'Today she got the results from the MRI. Everything's all clear, of course, but it brought it all back for her.'
It had been just over a year since Ellie had had brain surgery to remove benign tumours that had been causing physical symptoms and seizures. I didn't really know Ellie at the time, but Joss had crashed at my old place once during Ellie's recovery, and I knew from what she'd told me it had been a pretty hard time for them all. 'I'll try and pop round to see her soon,' I muttered, wondering if I could squeeze in the time to do that. Between my two jobs, looking after my mum and Cole, and accompanying Malcolm whenever he wanted me somewhere, my life was pretty hectic.
Joss nodded, a crease of concern between her brows. She worried about Ellie worse than anyone. Okay, maybe not worse than anyone, I thought, shooting a glance at Braden, whose own brows were knitted together in a troubled expression.
Braden was quite possibly the most overprotective brother I'd ever met, but since I knew all about being overprotective of a younger sibling, I had no room to make fun.
In an attempt to pull them out of their dark thoughts, I joked about the utterly crap day I'd had at work. Tuesday, Thursday and Friday nights, I worked at Club 39. On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday during the day I worked as a personal assistant to Thomas Meikle, an accountant at Meikle & Young's accountancy firm. Mr Meikle was a moody bastard and since 'personal assistant' was really just a posh word for 'gofer', I suffered constant whiplash from his colourful temperament. Some days were fine and we got along well enough; other days, like today, 'I didn't know my arse from my elbow' – direct quote – and was utterly useless. Apparently my uselessness had hit a new record today: there hadn't been enough sugar in his coffee, the girl at the bakery ignored my instructions to take the tomatoes off his sandwich, and I hadn't mailed out a letter Mr Meikle had forgotten to give me. Thankfully, tomorrow was my day off from Meikle and his vitriolic tongue.
Braden once again tried to persuade me to leave Meikle and come to work part-time at his estate agency, but I declined to accept his help, just as I had refused Joss's many offers of help in the past. Although I was grateful for the kindness, I was determined to always make my life work on my own. When you relied on people you cared about, put your trust in them with something huge like that, they inevitably disappointed you. And I really didn't want to be disappointed by Joss and Braden.
Obviously feeling more persistent tonight, Braden was relaying the benefits of working for him. Suddenly I felt the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. My muscles tensed and I turned my head slightly, Braden's words becoming muffled as I checked out who or what had caught my notice. My eyes flickered across the room and then my breath hitched as my gaze paused on a guy who was staring at me. Our eyes met, and for some absolutely bizarre reason the connection felt physical, like acknowledging each other's presence had actually locked me in place. I felt my heart rate pick up, the blood rushing in my ears.
There was a fair distance between us, so I couldn't make out the colour of his eyes, but they were thoughtful and probing, his brow creased as if he was just as confused by the static between us as I was. Why had he caught my attention? He was not the kind of guy I usually responded to. Aye, he was pretty good-looking. Messy dark blond hair and sexy stubble. Tall, but not as tall as Malcolm. This guy was probably six feet tall and no more. I would stand a few inches taller than him in the heels I wore tonight. I could see the muscles in his biceps and the thick veins on his arms because the idiot was wearing a T-shirt in late winter, but he wasn't built like the guys I dated. He wasn't broad and beefy. He was lean and sinewy. Mmm, 'sinewy' was a good word for it. And did I mention the tattoos? I couldn't tell what they were, but I could make out the colourful ink on his arm.