Taking the Score(23)
“Chardonnay,” Olivia said carefully, taking in Brody’s shirt dwarfing Emma’s person and his large hand in a possessive—and protective—splay on her hip. Emma watched as Olivia checked her cultural memory banks for the name, trying to match it up with her notions of who, outside of Hollywood or a trailer park, would bless their child with such a dreadful start in life.
Breeding won out. With a perfectly straight face, she said, “That’s an unusual name.”
“Not for a stripper it isn’t,” Emma shot back. Shit. Apparently Chardonnay couldn’t quite escape her terrible past after all.
Brody’s fingers dug into her hip. Emma didn’t dare look at him.
Olivia’s eyes flew open. “A stripper.”
“People usually say exotic dancer, but I’ve never been one for eu—uh, for fancy names.” Chardonnay, with her grade-school reading level, probably didn’t know the word “euphemism.”
Sorry, Chardonnay.
“I call it how I see it,” Emma continued. “Just like he calls it when he sees it.” She jerked a thumb at Brody who, but for the forehead vein throbbing in a way that looked like a stroke in waiting, was taking this really, really well. “He likes to get bossy.”
Olivia stared at her brother, a wicked smile breaking wide. “Does he now? I had no idea. He’s always seems so—”
“Uptight? Yeah, we’re working on that. He’s starting to loosen up.”
Olivia plopped a large hobo purse on the kitchen island and took a seat. “So how did you two meet?”
Brody growled. Even with the shitstorm swirling around her, Emma’s loins could appreciate that.
“Never mind the details, Liv. How about you explain how you got in?”
His sister’s smile was sweetly poisonous. “I had a key made when I visited at New Year. And boy am I glad I did.”
She refocused on Emma, eyes sparkling with mischief. “A fun meet-cute, I bet.”
“We met at a st—Starbucks. Could you imagine this guy in a strip club?”
Olivia shook her head, enthralled. “No, I could not.”
In for a G-string, in for a dollar. “He stole my coffee and I had to chase him down to get it. Me in five-inch heels, and him running like he was trying to get away.”
“With your stolen coffee.”
“Right!”
They both laughed, though there was an undercurrent of steel to Olivia’s. She clearly felt protective of her brother. Understandable, given Brody’s wealth, and the fact that a stripper was on the premises, wearing his shirt and yukking it up about coffee-stealing shenanigans.
“And now you’re here. How long have you two…?” She waved a hand.
“Olivia, let’s discuss this later,” Brody said, “Or, you know, not at all. Why are you here? A day early, I might add. And where are the girls?”
“I flew in late last night. The F-Troop arrive tomorrow, though Gabby is going to be crushed when I tell her you’re otherwise occupied.”
“The F-Troop?” Emma asked, trying to keep the snarl out of her voice.
“Yeah, the Fu—”
“Olivia,” Brody grated.
She smiled so sweetly it could cause diabetes. “I’d offered up my wedding party so my brother could get his mojo back. And they’ve all stepped up. Even my matron of honor.”
A snake of jealousy ran through Emma. Coldplay-loving Gabby and the rest of them better turn their sweet asses around and head back to Texas. There was an alpha bitch in town and she wasn’t letting anyone get between her and her man.
Emma blinked. Where the hell had that come from?
Kevin emerged from under one of the high stools and cozied up to Olivia’s designer shoe–clad foot.
“You got a cat?” Olivia asked her brother, her face crumpled in disbelief. “But you hate cats.”
“I don’t hate cats,” Brody said, and to prove it, he picked Kevin up. Kevin promptly bit him, dropped like an acrobat to the floor, and charged from the room in an affronted huff.
Brody glared at Emma as if her cat’s emotional problems were her fault and flexed his cat-bitten hand. “He’s a rescue cat. Led a hard life, so he’s getting used to people being kind to him again.”
Emma’s heart hitched. Poor Kevin. That’s exactly what was running through his pea-sized brain.
Olivia stared at her brother and gave a slight shake of her head. “I’ve clearly interrupted something here, so I’ll let you get back to it. Walk me to the door, Brody?” And to Emma, “Pleasure, Chardonnay.”
…
Brody followed his sister out. “Hand it over.”
“What?”
“Now.”
She placed a key in his outstretched palm, clearly miffed. Christ, she was so damn spoiled.
“I’ll be notifying the doorman that you are not to be allowed up without a call from downstairs first.”
“I can’t believe you scored with a stripper.”
“She’s just dancing to—”
“Put herself through graduate school?” she finished with a smirk.
He had no idea why Emma was doing this, any of it. Why wouldn’t she just take his damn help? There was that ping of doubt again. Grigson was more crooked than a barrelful of fishhooks. Maybe she was still working for him, embedded behind enemy lines while she reeled Brody in and bilked him for more than the few thousand dollars she likely owed. A long con.
He’d resisted the urge to run a background check on her. Part of him wanted to stay out of her business; the other part worried about what he might find. Needing to know more made her important to him. Made him want to trust her. The less he knew, the less he could be hurt.
The revelation that Emma might have the capacity to hurt him was like a bite to the back of his neck.
“She’s had a hard life.”
“Like the cat?” Skepticism pinched the corners of her mouth. “Brody, this thing with the stripper—and I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth—it’s just a fling, right? I’m sure she’s very nice, but my fiancé, the family values platform congressman, isn’t going to be too pleased to see her showing up as your plus one in two months. Tell me you’re not serious about her.”
He bit back his grimace. “Of course not. You wanted me to get my mojo back and here I am. Mojo’d to the max.”
She looked at him closely. Cocked her head, squinted some more. “Well, you do seem more relaxed.” Reaching out, she pushed the hair from his eyes. “I suppose sex can be a great healer.”
“I don’t need healing.” At her pained look, he regretted his snappish tone. Having introduced him to Kerry a couple of years ago, his sister still blamed herself for the crash and burn of his engagement.
“This isn’t your fault, Liv.”
“Really? I match my sorority sister up with my brother and then she fucks him over by hooking up with my father and—”
“I know how it ended.” Recounting his humiliation was not on his agenda today. He redirected the focus of the conversation. “I’m trying to keep what’s going on here on the down low. You know what Flynn and Hunter would be like if they knew.”
She rolled her eyes. “Old women. Especially Flynn, that obnoxious shithead.”
Considering his sister seemed to spend all her time “plotting” with Flynn to get Brody laid, her vehemence sounded on the wrong side of strange. They’d never gotten along, so he supposed he should be grateful she’d put her dislike aside to make Brody happy.
“It’s no one else’s business, and as it’s short term, I’d rather keep it private. We clear?”
She winked. “Clear as chardonnay, bro.” He slammed the door on her laughing face.
Brody walked back into the kitchen, pondering for the millionth time this week how his life had gotten so complicated and why he wasn’t more upset about it. He found Emma with her face buried in her hands. He suspected she’d held this position since he left the room.
“It’s not as bad as all that.”
“Your sister thinks I’m a stripper. Even worse, I told her I was a stripper.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of curious about that.”
She threw both hands up in the air. “I panicked. I was so worried she’d find out I worked for you and how sleazy that was—”
“And telling her you’re a stripper named Chardonnay is so much classier.”
“This situation is getting worse and worse. What if she stops by the office?”
Today was Thursday, so they had two days to cover. “You won’t be there. You’ll be here, playing Chardonnay the Stripper.” He laughed, marveling at how much he was enjoying himself. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had this good a time with anything.
She slapped his chest, let her fingers linger, and dropped them. “Not funny.”
“Oh, Chardonnay, but it is.” He’d wanted to keep her here, outside the office, so he could explore this chemistry between them without the constriction of nosy coworkers and know-it-all partners. The circumstances had certainly conspired in his favor. “She’s here for the weekend, so for the next two days, you’ll be calling in sick. You’ll never see her because I’ll be going out to squire her about town.”