Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance (9 page)

B
rooklyn stood
in the lobby to the Sullivan building waiting by the elevators. She wasn’t quite sure what she was waiting for.

Michael Wright, obviously. But why?

She thought of Alex. Alex’s hands. Alex’s tongue. Alex’s rock hard dick. She closed her eyes and clamped her legs together, savoring the memory of him on top of her, behind her, below her. Even that stupid tattoo.

But he was just fun, right? A good time until the right man came along.

Someone like Michael Wright.

“So, it looks like you hit it off with my brother Friday Night?”

Her eyes flew open. It was Michael. A guilty flush spread across her cheeks. He was definitely handsome and, sure he wore a suit well. But Alex was—

“Wait, what?” she asked, the words he had just said finally sinking in.

“My brother, at the game? Kiss cam?” he said, a playful grin highlighting his features.

“What do you mean, brother?” she asked, still missing a piece of the puzzle somewhere.

“Alex, Alex Wright,” he said it slowly, helping her catch on.

“He’s your
brother?
Does he know?” she asked, dumbly. It wasn’t until it was out of her mouth that she realized how stupid the question was. Of course he knew. The bastard.

Michael just gave a loud chuckle that caused a few people standing around them to take notice. “I certainly
hope
he knows,” he said. He sobered up a bit when he saw the stunned look on her face. “I take it he didn’t let
you
know. It looks like I have to have a talk with my little brother on how to treat women.”

Brooklyn just nodded into the distance, only half tuning him in. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, all of them centered on one Alex…
Wright
?

He’d known all along how she felt about his older brother. She had stupidly revealed everything to him, thinking he was a perfect stranger. Was sleeping with her some sort of sibling rivalry conquest? The club, the apartment, the stupid Town Car, had it all been just to show his big brother up? Had he shaved her just to leave his mark on her like some piece of cattle?

Dear god, what if he told Michael everything. She brought her attention back to him, reading his expression for any indication that Alex had told him…anything.

She saw nothing more than a sympathetic smile. “Well I’ve got to get to my office. I hope you at least enjoyed the game?”

She shook it off, and just nodded with a smile, not trusting her voice at the moment. He looked at her a moment longer then headed into the elevator that had just opened.

Brooklyn stayed in the lobby a moment to compose herself. It wasn’t until she stepped onto the elevator five minutes later that she realized, this was the most attention Michael Wright had ever paid to her.

* * *

B
rooklyn had a pretty
good idea which partner had rained this particular hell down on the firm—specifically the IT department, which was really the only one affected. She had seen the disapproving look he’d given her when she headed toward the elevators after nabbing Michael’s ticket. If James Reaves’ shoe-polish, black hair was “natural,” then she farted rainbows. She could already feel the negative energy in the air. Clarice, with her hot pink and blonde ombré hair, had already had a breakdown.

It did nothing to calm her fiery mood as she debated what to say to Alex. She thought about calling him and reaming his ass out. No, that was more than he deserved. Wasn’t there a website that sent packages full of glitter to your enemies?

In the end, she had simply sent him a text comprised of exactly one word:
Asshole!

* * *

A
fter a lifetime
of living for the night, Alex’s body had adjusted its internal clock, such that he rarely woke up before 10 a.m., and even then, only in cases of dire emergencies. Which was why he was shocked to find himself startled awake, with a nagging feeling.

He sat up and looked around in a daze. The blackout curtains were securely drawn over the windows that faced east toward Brooklyn and the rising sun. There was no fire alarm going off. No smell of smoke in the building. What the fuck was it, then?

He scratched his bare chest and reached over to the phone to see what time it was.
9:37 a.m.—on a
Monday!
That’s when he saw the notification letting him know he had a message from Brooklyn.

He smiled into the phone. Apparently she had run into Michael at work. Or maybe he had sought her out. That thought, for some reason, erased any little bit of pleasure he’d gained from the little deception he’d played on her. In his defense, all he had wanted was to get to know her, without her associating him with either Michael or his father. Now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

It was Monday. Brooklyn was back at work. Back with Mr. Wright. The
right
Wright.

Alex fell back against the headboard, thinking. It didn’t necessarily have to end. He’d enjoyed his weekend with her. If Brooklyn denied enjoying at least a good portion of it as well, she was full of shit, however mad she might be right now. It had been fun…absurdly fun. Fun enough for him to want more. He didn’t have to be in Paris for a few weeks. Why not have some more fun?

He pressed the button to call her.

He wasn’t surprised to find it sent straight to voicemail.

“Brooklyn, listen. I guess you figured out who I really am. I do want to apologize, but I also want to explain myself. I didn’t do it to trick you, I just…I don’t know. Can you call me so I can explain properly?”

He hung up with a frown. It had been a bit rambling toward the end there. Maybe he should try again. He dialed and once again was sent straight to voicemail.

“Brooklyn, we had fun didn’t we? Beyond not telling you my last name, did I once give you any reason to not trust me? If you’re worried I’ll tell Michael anything well,” he gave a sharp laugh, realizing the fairly nonexistent relationship he had with his older half-brother, “you don’t need to be concerned. My lips are sealed. Call me.”

Over the course of the next hour, he tried five more times. If he had taken a break to think about that, it would have surprised him. Despite having recovered from a rather problematic youth, he wasn’t exactly into getting serious with someone. His lifestyle in no way permitted it. Especially someone in New York, a city that he actively tried to avoid if possible.
Jealous
had just been too awesome a project to pass up.

So why the hell was he so intent on patching things up with this girl? Normally, he’d be relieved that she had taken it upon herself to never speak to him again.

On the sixth try he was surprised to find her actually answer the phone.
“Brooklyn?”

“Jesus, will you stop calling me!” she hissed into the phone. “Some of us have
real
jobs we have to work at.”

“Don’t hang up!” he yelled…a bit too desperately for his own liking.

“What?” she said, giving an exasperated sigh.

He paused, not knowing what to say. He’d been so focused on getting her to actually answer the damn phone, he never stopped to think about what he would say if she did.

“Hello?”

“Did you get my message?” he asked, breaking out of his stupor.

“Which one?” she asked sarcastically. “The one where you claim that you withheld your name so I wouldn’t judge you? Or the one where you pointed out it was just fun?”

“That’s not what I said,” he replied. “I really did want to get to know you without my association with Michael hanging over our heads.”

“Some might call that a lie by omission.”

“Fair enough, but I had no bad intentions, honestly.”

“Just the one where you wanted to get me into bed,” she said bitterly.

“That’s not true,” he said. He heard her give a sharp laugh. “Okay, yes, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t trying to get you into bed, but it had nothing to do with Michael. I guess you ran into him today.”

“Yes, he was very forthcoming…unlike some people.”

Fair enough. Michael, perfect as usual. “So I guess you’re still hung up on him.”

There was a long pause, which almost gave him hope. Then she responded. “He doesn’t seem like he plays games. Now you know why I prefer guys like him to guys like you.”

That one hit hard. All the same, he wanted one last chance to make it up to her.

“Hey,” he said, breaking out of his stupor. “I have an idea. There’s this party this Saturday—”

“Are you seriously asking me to go out with you again?” she cried, with a laugh.

“Just hear me out, okay?” he urged. “Anyway, Michael will be there,” he waited a beat, listening closely for any revealing clues on her end. There was total silence. “If you still—for whatever reason—want to have a go at him, I can take you. It should be fun. There is an open bar, after all.”

He waited for a response. An eternity seemed to pass before he finally began to wonder if she was still on the line. “Brooklyn?”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why, what?”

“Why are you doing this?”

He paused to think about that. He certainly owed her something. He also really wanted to see her again. He wasn’t too hot to trot on the idea of helping her get with Michael, but if that’s what she wanted…well, he might as well assist her.

“It’s what you want, right?” he replied.

“Yeah,” she muttered, after brief pause.

“Okay then,” he continued. “It’s black tie, do you have something to wear?”

He was pleased (thrilled?) to hear her chuckle on the other end. “I can scrape together something.”

“Great, I’ll come pick you up at your place, then. Around 8 p.m.?”

She sighed. “Okay, Alex.”

“Great. Um…one more thing?”

“Yes?” He could hear the exasperation in her voice.

“Can I at least get your last name? I mean, at this point, it’s only fair.”

She actually laughed. “Jefferson.”

“Okay then, Brooklyn Jefferson. I will be there to pick you up at 8 p.m. sharp.”

After getting her address, he hung up the phone and leaned back against the headboard once again. It was still far too early in the morning for his liking, but how in the world was he going to fall back asleep now?