Picture This (Bryant Brothers Book 4) Read online

  She chuckled and raised her glass. “Cheers to that. There’s definitely something to be said for having parties for actual friends rather than business acquaintances who probably wouldn’t have anything to do with you if they didn’t need or want something.”

  Ouch. “I’m guessing that’s the sort of entertaining you still do.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t entertain at all. In fact, other than the maid and the guy who delivers my groceries, I can’t remember the last time someone else was in my house, until today.”

  He swept his arm in an arc. “This place is perfect for throwing parties, whether for friends or business associates.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I like my privacy.”

  Was that because of all the entertaining she’d had to endure as a kid? Or was it because she was now a COO of a multimillion dollar company and was likely forced into the spotlight more often than she’d like? Or was it some other reason entirely? He wanted to ask, but he had a feeling he’d be delving into a subject she wasn’t keen to talk about.

  “So to answer your question about my weekend plans,” he said instead, “I love to golf too.” Not that he did very often. Golf was an expensive sport, and, frankly, when he started making money again, he should sock it away so that he could get his own place.

  “Speaking of a pastime that requires a steady income, we should discuss the terms of my employment.”

  Chapter Six

  She wanted to tell him the job was his. After all, he’d already done so much for her. Far above and beyond what she would expect from an admin.

  Except that so far, nothing he’d done was actual admin work.

  “How about a trial run?” she suggested because she didn’t want to turn him down. Since she’d never actually ask for help, he was the only person who would step up. She supposed it was lucky that he’d been there when she slammed her knee against her desk.

  To be honest, she wanted to give him a chance. Would he be as good at organizing her work schedule as he was at taking over her kitchen?

  Maybe the fact that it was her kitchen he’d taken control of was what made it easier to accept. After all, she barely used that room, so she didn’t have any real attachment to it.

  “Fair enough,” he said easily, and then he stood with his empty container in hand. “Are you done?”

  She glanced down. Oh wow, she’d eaten that entire meal, and that restaurant’s portions were usually huge. No wonder she felt so drowsy. Between the heavy meal and the wine, she wouldn’t get any more work done tonight.

  She wasn’t even upset about it.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He stuffed everything back into the bag it came in and then headed into the house. When he returned, he said, “So, how do we want to handle sleeping arrangements?”

  She ignored her first impulse—to suggest they could share her bed—because, seriously, that couldn’t have been more out of character for her if she’d tried. Besides, what in the world could they do with her bum leg?

  Not that sleeping together necessitated physical activities.

  Oh, who was she kidding? Why else did she want the man in her bed?

  It was a terrible idea, though. Assuming he agreed, what happened in the morning? Would he hop out of bed, carry her downstairs, and they would get started on their workday, with no awkwardness? No questions about where they went from here?

  Highly doubtful. Besides, Amelia didn’t have the time to devote to any sort of relationship right now. Not with her brother breathing down her neck, trying to steal away everything she’d worked so hard for. It was bad enough she had to train a new admin in the middle of all this. Make that a double, since the one she was considering hiring had zero experience.

  Oh, and don’t forget the person she was fantasizing about sleeping with also happened to be the person she was considering as her new admin.

  “Can I ask you something first?” she said.

  “Sure. That seems to be the way we communicate, after all.” He grinned and plopped onto the lounger and crossed his legs at the ankles.

  She smiled, because it was true, and then asked, “Is there a story behind your work history?”

  She watched his face cloud over, his mouth twist into a scowl, his eyes go dark. Whatever had happened in his professional life, he wasn’t happy about it. Was it self-inflicted, or had he been given the shaft at some point in his career? Maybe he was familiar with corporate politics after all. Too familiar, judging by the sudden change in his demeanor.

  “I just…I just haven’t figured it out yet, that’s all.”

  “Figured what out?”

  He waved at nothing at all. “What I want to do with my life.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t relate. “I’ve wanted to go into public relations ever since I was twelve. That was when Mom let me ‘co-host’ one of my father’s client parties for the first time.”

  Good Lord, why was she telling the man this? That was a slice of her past she’d never shared with anyone. Duane hadn’t even been there; whenever her parents entertained, he always found a friend who was willing to let him spend the night.

  “Public relations, huh?”

  She nodded. “I remember I wore this black-and-white monochromatic dress with a thick, shiny satin sash around the waist and these Mary Janes with a half-inch heel, and I felt so grown up. I pranced around that party and talked to every single adult about my father’s business and what a great company he ran.”

  Her mother had been so proud. Her dad hadn’t commented. Until a week later, when he bragged about this client or that signing huge contracts and gave credit to the party.

  But not to her.

  She cleared her throat and picked at a thread on her shorts as that memory made way for another.

  Her mom dying. Her father almost losing the business. And then he hired Veronica to do marketing and PR, and by the time Amelia was given the chance to join the business, it had turned around, Veronica had a full staff of highly competent employees, Duane ran off to Europe, and Amelia was needed elsewhere. Bigger shoes. More important ones.

  So she kept telling herself each time Veronica made a decision and Amelia thought, I would have done…

  Elliot abruptly swung his legs over the side of the chair and sat facing her, his hands on his knees. “Listen, I’m going to give this my all. I’m a hard worker and a fast learner. Every job I’ve ever had, I’ve given 110 percent, even if I hated it. Not that I expect to hate this one. I mean, when I first realized it was a glass manufacturing company, I did think—”

  She lifted her hand, cutting him off. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. It isn’t a glamorous industry, by any means. But it’s necessary, and if feeling necessary makes you tick, it’s perfect.”

  He leaned back again. “Thanks for giving me a chance.”

  She nodded. Well, what the hell. She’d told him about her secret desire, might as well be honest about the situation today, too. “I can’t even imagine what would have happened if I’d had to deal with Duane in the condition I was in earlier. I really do owe you.”

  “I don’t like the guy already. Anybody who’d take advantage of someone who’s obviously in pain is a loser in my book. Extra negative points that the person in pain is his sister.”

  She smiled. She hadn’t had anyone so staunchly in her corner since Mom died.

  “Tell me about him. Your brother. I assume I’ll meet him at some point. So give me the 411.”

  How did she explain Duane? “He’s difficult to put into a box. When we were kids, we got along great. We were each other’s biggest advocates. Our father was always trying to push him to take an interest in Gerard Glass, and Duane wanted nothing to do with it. Every time Dad made him sit with him and go through the books or explain the difference between float glass and chromatic glass, he’d come to my bedroom and just dump on me, tell me everything Dad had told him and how much Duane loathed it all. He didn’t realize it, but he was actually
setting me up to take over some day.”

  “Did you want to? Take over, I mean?”

  “I thought I’d get Veronica’s job. She’s our PR manager. She’s fantastic, by the way, so I don’t begrudge her having the position. Plus, running things is even better, right?”

  “Is it?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Are you happy?”

  She stared at him. What a loaded question. She was proud of what she’d accomplished at the company, not that her father even noticed or, at least, was willing to acknowledge that she had a role in the business’s success.

  Not to mention, she had no life outside of Gerard Glass. Hell, she didn’t even get to throw client parties; that was Veronica’s job. And the one time she’d shown up, she and Dad had gotten into a row in front of everyone, and of course it had all been her fault.

  “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “I can see it on your face that you aren’t.”

  She didn’t reply. Seemed she was good at that.

  “We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we?”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

  He shrugged. “My mom used to say that all the time about Kyle and me. I guess because we were the closest in age, so we did a lot of stuff together.”

  Amelia rubbed at her chest, over her aching heart. Her mom used to say that about she and Duane, too.

  “Okay, well, that’s the longest we’ve stayed on one topic, so let’s switch to a new one. Sleeping arrangements?”

  She chuckled. He was good at distracting her when she was starting to go down that rabbit hole of negative emotion. They hadn’t known each other long enough for him to be able to do that deliberately, so it must simply be knack of his. Maybe psychology was where his true talents lie. What had he gone to college for? It had been on his résumé, but she’d skimmed over it since it hadn’t been business.

  “I only have one bed,” she started and then waited for him to question that. She lived in a four-bedroom condo, for God’s sake. Why in the world did she only have one available bed?

  “And a comfy-looking couch,” he said. “Oh.” He snapped his fingers and jumped to his feet. “I forgot. I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared into the house and returned a few moments later carrying a pair of crutches.

  “Where did you get those?”

  “My parents’ basement. I told you I had a lot of experience with injuries. This is one of at least three pairs down there.”

  “When did you stop at your parents’ house?”

  His face turned a dull red. That was an odd reaction to her question.

  “I, uh… they don’t live far from here. I swung by when I picked up the food.”

  “Oh. Well, that was considerate.”

  “I’ll still need to get you up and down the stairs, but these should give you enough freedom to get back and forth from the bathroom, at least.”

  “That would be incredibly nice for my ego. I can honestly say I’ve never needed someone to lift me off the floor of a bathroom before.”

  He chuckled. “Never been wasted, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Not a fan of losing control.”

  His eyes widened. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth but was saved from asking by the sound of the doorbell. Her phone immediately started vibrating, and she glanced down to see a text flash across the screen.

  “The groceries are here.”

  “On it,” Elliot said, and he dashed into the house, leaving the crutches propped against the house. Too far away for her to reach.

  So she leaned back in her lounger, with wineglass in hand, and stared at her flowers and tried to tell herself that look in his eye had not been sexual in nature. That his mind had not—like hers—dipped into the gutter when she said the word “control.”

  By the time he returned, her glass was empty and she hadn’t yet convinced herself.

  “Since you don’t even use your kitchen, I took the liberty of putting things away in a way that makes sense to me,” he commented.

  “Thank you. I feel like I’ve been saying that a lot. But, seriously, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I… I’m not used to someone else taking care of me. It hasn’t happened in a very long time.”

  “Then you’re overdue.”

  She was. She was overdue for other needs to be taken care of as well.

  Eyeing him from head to toe, she took in the deliberately messy hair, the square jawline, the outline of firm muscles under his dress shirt. A narrow waist, strong-looking thighs.

  If circumstances were different, she’d certainly be tempted to ask him to tend to her other needs. Instead, she shook her head to clear it of such thoughts.

  “Okay, if you’re going to stay here, you should make yourself familiar with my house since I can’t give you a tour right now. You passed the couch on the way out here. Good thing I have a huge couch, because you look really tall.”

  He smiled. She cleared her throat.

  “You also know where the bathroom is on this level. There’s a full bath in the basement, although I rarely use that level, so I don’t even know if there’s toilet paper down there. If you go upstairs, the first door on the right is a full bath as well. You’re welcome to use that one.”

  “Why do you have such a big place if it’s just you living here?”

  There were two answers to that question. The most telling—that she’d bought this place when she first started working for the company and thought she’d be entertaining like her father did when she was a kid—and the one she was willing to confess.

  “When I was in the market to buy a new home, I was dating a real estate agent. He was pretentious as hell, which is one of the reasons we didn’t last very long, and he convinced me that I needed to buy a home that signified my status within the company.”

  “Huh.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I had just started as the COO and definitely had stars in my eyes at that point, so it was pretty easy for him to convince me. Plus, the price was right. The previous owners had gotten in over their heads and needed to offload it quickly.”

  She’d also envisioned client parties spilling out onto this patio from that huge living area. Champagne toasts as they celebrated yet another long-term, multimillion dollar contract.

  None of which had happened in the five years she’d lived here.

  “How about sheets, blankets, pillows?” he asked, yet again pulling her out of her melancholy spiral.

  “There’s a linen closet upstairs. Everything you need should be in there.”

  “Got it. More wine?” He nodded at her glass.

  “Actually, I think I’d like a glass of water.”

  “On it.”

  Elliot Bryant was going to make a fine administrative assistant.

  Which was a little disappointing, because that meant she could most certainly not ask him to tend to her other needs.

  While he was inside getting her water, the doorbell rang. Which was odd. The groceries had already been delivered, and Elliot had picked up dinner, and Missy, the maid, had already come yesterday, using her key while Amelia was at work.

  They didn’t get solicitors in this neighborhood since it was a gated community, and her neighbors were not the sort to pop in for an unannounced visit. That left literally no other options.

  She strained to listen, making an assumption that Elliot would answer the door, and after a few moments, she heard, “Who the hell are you?”

  Oh shit. She recognized that voice.

  Her brother had come to call!

  Chapter Seven

  “Elliot Bryant,” he said automatically and shot out his hand, in case the guy wanted to shake.

  He didn’t, apparently, because he stared at the appendage for a long moment before his gaze dragged back up to Elliot’s face.

  “I said, who the hell are you?”

  Amel
ia’s guest had longish, dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, like her. What wasn’t like her were the shoulders so wide he would practically have to turn sideways to step through the doorway. It was probably a good thing the guy didn’t shake, because he’d quite possibly crush Elliot’s hand.

  The thing was, Elliot wasn’t a skinny guy; he worked out regularly, jogged daily, ate well, did all the right things to ensure he was in shape. It was just that his—really, his entire family’s—version of in shape was a lot more lean than this guy. The Bryant brothers had swimmers’ physiques, whereas this guy was a linebacker for a team of giants. If he grew out his beard and let his long locks go unruly, he and Hagrid would bear a strong resemblance.

  “Since I just introduced myself, I think you should be the one answering that question, huh?”

  Hagrid narrowed his eyes. If he wanted to, he could simply walk through Elliot to get into the house. “I meant, what are you doing here?”

  Two totally different questions, not that Elliot was going to point that out to the guy. “Visiting.”

  “Visiting?”

  “Yep.”

  Hagrid glared again.

  “Is it just me, or is this a weird conversation?”

  “Not just you.” He peered over Elliot’s shoulder. “Where’s Amelia?”

  “I’m going to guess you’re either an ex-boyfriend”—holy shit, he hoped not—“or her brother Duane.” Which, frankly, wasn’t much better.

  “I’m Duane.”

  Okay, now that that was cleared up. “She’s unavailable.”

  Duane’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. Elliot knew exactly what he was thinking, and he was okay with the guy believing that he’d interrupted them doing things Elliot would certainly like to do with her, if it kept her brother from coming inside and seeing Amelia with her bum knee.

  Hell, he didn’t even need that reason. He’d happily do those things Duane was probably envisioning, no excuse necessary.

  For some reason, Amelia did not want anyone to see her in her handicapped state, and he planned to honor that wish. Unless, of course, Duane decided to step on him, and then all bets were off.