Razor: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (35 page)

My jaw almost needed to be picked up from my desk. Did Christine just compliment me? What was the world coming to?

"Close your mouth, Victoria, or you might catch a fly,” Christine advised, knowing that she’d just rendered me speechless.

I snapped my mouth shut as my boss walked away. “And don't let my praise go to that silly little head of yours, Victoria. You have a long way to go before you can walk a step in my shoes."

And then she was gone.

"
Y
ou don't have
to worry about me embarrassing you anymore," I said to my father as I sat directly across from him in his office. "My relationship with Victoria is over."

My father regarded me wearily. "Is that why you suddenly started drinking?"

I nodded. Normally I didn't reveal private things that involved emotion with him, but I felt like I needed to, so that we'd be able to at least function on speaking terms for the betterment of Armex.

“Yes. We haven’t seen each other for a few months now, actually.”

“I suppose that explains a lot,” Dad muttered. He stared at me. "I'm sorry, son. How are you doing?”

I shrugged. "I'm over it."

"Don't try to act all nonchalant with me, Tyler." Dad sat back in his seat. "For a while I didn't believe you cared about Victoria one way or the other. I believed you were just using her to get back at me because I wanted you to have a perfect relationship. In reality, I should have been happy you finally found someone who could rein you in. Lord knows you’ve picked some real keepers. Like . . .”

"Don't even mention her name,” I growled.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, after I thought about it, I realized standing in your way was just going to make matters worse."

Gee, Dad
, I thought wryly.
Now
you want to come to this conclusion when our relationship is over. How convenient.

I saw no use in arguing about it. What was done, was done.

I held in a groan. I really didn't want to hear all this now after all I’d gone through. After all, what good did it do me? I was dead to Victoria.

"All of that doesn't matter anymore," I said flatly. "It's over, so you can stop worrying about me ruining the company's image, making a fool of myself or going around screwing anything that moves. I'm done with all that. For good."

“That’s music to my ears. But I just want you to be happy, son," Dad said empathically. "That's all I've ever wanted from the beginning."

I snorted. “You sure have a hell of a way of showing it. You threatened to replace me with Charles Whitmore. I mean, I would’ve been pissed either way, but Charles Whitmore? I can’t stand that guy and you know it!" I'd intended to keep my cool during our little talk, but I was shocked at the anger that came through my voice.

Dad made a ‘calm down' motion with his hand. “Relax, Ty. I never had any intention of replacing you with Charles. Well, maybe for a minute out of anger. Of course I knew you were rivals. I hoped that telling you he would take your spot would light a fire under your ass.”

“Well how’d that work out?” I muttered sourly.

Dad ignored me. "And there's another thing, Ty." He paused and I knew whatever he was about to say was difficult for him. "I'm sorry . . . for pressuring you to break up with Victoria. Sometimes, I feel like we're more alike than you know. When someone tells us not to do something, it makes us want to do it that much more.”

I grew silent. For my dad to apologize . . . well, it was unheard of. I can’t remember him ever saying those words to me before for
anything
. He wasn’t as prideful as me, but he was damn near close.

“Um, thanks, Dad," I said awkwardly. "I know that must’ve been tough.”

Dad wiped at sweat that was suddenly beading his forehead. "You can say that again.”

I stood up out of my chair and stretched out my arms, suddenly eager to get away. "Alright, I'm going to go. Got a report I need to finish. See you tomorrow." I turned to leave.

"Wait."

I paused. "Huh?

"One last thing." He fiddled with one of his favorite pens, a gift I'd gotten him one Christmas that was emblazoned with gold and personalized with his name. "If you should somehow get back with Victoria . . . you have my blessing."

"
S
hit
, I feel like the world is crashing down on my head," Brad groaned, downing a shot. He let out a heavy sigh and smacked the glass back down on the bar, rattling my glass of Sprite. "The wedding is two weeks from now."

Brad had called me to meet up with him to discuss his upcoming wedding and the anxiety he had over it. Not having anything particularly important happening, I was quick to oblige. I seem to have a lot more free time on my hands these days.

"Everything is going to work out fine," I assured him. "I got everything covered. Stop worrying, stop stressing. It's not worth it."

Brad regarded me with bloodshot eyes. "Well, just look at Positive Suzy over here. Everything is just flowers and rainbows for you, isn't it?"

I fingered my cold glass of Sprite, wishing it was something stronger. "You called me here to give you support. I'm giving it, but if you want, I can tell you how stupid you are and how your life is over instead."

Brad shook his head. "Nah, nah. You're right. I should stop being such a little bitch. It's just that . . .” He groaned. "Katie won’t stop talking about babies! I mean, what's wrong with her? I’m just getting going with my career, and she literally wants to conceive on our honeymoon.” Brad signaled the waitress to bring him another glass and promptly turned it up as soon as it arrived. "Fuck, man."

Babies
. Just even thinking about the concept felt alien to me. I'd never really given much thought to the idea, never really wanted a kid except for maybe when my youth was gone and I was too old to do all the things I loved to do.

For some reason, the thought of babies brought Victoria to my mind. Her pretty smile. Her stubborn personality. I could totally see us having . . .

In panic, I pushed the troublesome thoughts away.
I must be getting old,
I thought.

"You need to put your foot down," I told him. "Now instead of later. Have a talk before the wedding. Come to an understanding."

"Ugh," Brad groaned. "I don't know."

I placed a hand on Brad's shoulder. "Look, a healthy relationship is based on equal partnership, not a dictatorship. A considerate and loving partner will listen to your wants and needs and take them into consideration when they come into conflict with their own. You should be able to tell Katie yours, and then you guys should be able to discuss things and find a happy medium. I mean, come on. If you guys can't see eye to eye now, how do you expect to remain married? Why get married in the first place?"

Look at me sounding like I'm some sort of therapist
, I thought. For some reason, being without Victoria had made me become all preachy.

Brad stared at me for an entire minute before he spoke. I wondered if he could even comprehend what I was saying. “Who the fuck are you? I mean, you look like Tyler. At least I think you do. I’m pretty drunk, after all. But you know what?” he asked. “Whoever you are, you're right. I should have a talk with her, let her know who’s boss."

"There you go," I said. "Grow some balls."

Brad snorted. "I've always had balls. Katie's just had a grip on them for the longest time. A sharp, nail-filled grip."

I winced at the image his words summoned.

"But now she's talking about buying a house as soon as we’re back from the honeymoon—you know—a place to put said babies in," he moaned, looking like he was about to fall apart.

I tightened my grip on his shoulder. "Remember what I said," I reasoned. "Talk it out like two adults. Everything will be fine."

Or run now while you still can
, I thought.
Run far, far, away. Save your sanity.

I didn't bother saying what I was thinking. I knew that Brad was dead set on marrying her, despite all of his complaining. He loved Katie more than life itself.

"I hope so."

"Trust me, it will."

I'll be surprised if he even attempts to talk to her
, I thought.
And if he does, the conversation probably won’t last but a minute before he just caves into whatever she wants.

“Enough of me; have you heard anything from Victoria?" Brad asked.

A sharp pain stabbed through my chest. "We haven’t seen each other for a while now.”

"I'm sorry, man," Brad slurred. "She was a pretty girl.

Pretty wasn't the start of it.

"It's alright," I lied. "I've had worse happen to me."

Our conversation drifted to more mundane matters, Brad talking about his law firm and the raise he was looking forward to, while I talked about how much better Armex was doing now that I had my shit together.

"You're still on to be my best man, right?" Brad slurred as his head seemed to be bouncing around like a bobblehead.

To be honest, I really didn't want to go to the wedding. I was just getting over my depression, and a cheery celebration would only make it worse. I felt like it would remind me of what I lost .
. .

"You
are
coming, right?" Brad persisted. "After you spent all that money on those high-fashioned outfits, it would be a shame if you didn't."

A jolt of lightning went through me.

Fashion! That's it!

"Fuck, Brad,” I said, clapping him hard on the back. “You’re a genius.”

Brad peered at me stupidly. “Tell me something I don’t know, will ya?”

I gulped down my entire glass of Sprite and grinned. “Never mind.”

“Shit. You’re acting more hammered than I am and you haven’t taken one sip.”

“Must be the those flowers you were talking about earlier.”

Brad groaned, grabbing at his temples. “Whatever, man. My fucking head hurts. I know I’m going to wake up to a disgusting hangover tomorrow.” He paused to stare at me. “You are coming to the wedding, though, right?”

Adopting an assuring smile, I draped an arm over Brad and signaled the waitress. Maybe I'd have a drink after all.

"I'll be there, buddy.”

"
I
'm sorry
, Christine isn’t available right now, can I take a message?" I asked.

“No, you can’t,” said the frigid woman's voice on the other end of the line. "Just tell her that I, or my models, won't be attending since she doesn't have the decency to be available when I need her most."

Click.

What the hell was that about?

Setting down the phone, I let out a frustrated sigh, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. I was having a stressful day. Christine had chosen to take the day off for some unknown reason, leaving me to take a million messages. I'd taken up residence in her office, and I would've been flattered by sitting in her seat if not for all the stress that came along with it.

Now she's going to blame me for Mrs. White canceling,
I thought.
Even though I have no idea why.

Patty White was a popular fashion designer that was supposed to be Christine's friend, and she usually supported all of Christine's events.

Apparently something must've happened between the two. Whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad for her to pull something like that. Christine's summer events were all the talk in the business.

"Just great," I muttered as I fingered through Christine's event planner, found Patty's name, and put a note to the side. "Just one more thing for her to bitch about when she comes back."

A knock at the doorway caused me to jump.

"Hey new boss lady!" April chirped cheerfully, popping her head through the doorway. "When did the wicked witch die and make you the new queen?" She stepped fully into the room, a stack of papers in her hands.

As usual, I thought she looked adorable. Her hair was pulled into two little girl ponytails on either side of her head, and she wore a white tank top and a white skirt embroidered with some kind of sparkly studs. Spiked boots adorned her feet.

If there was one thing I could say about April—she knew how to dress.

I groaned. "Please don't. I'm already nauseous and the day isn't half over yet."

"Oh please, I would kill to be in that chair," said April.

I stood up and motioned to Christine's seat, which we all had dubbed 'The Throne'. "Be my guest."

April clutched her papers to her chest and shook her head, her tails shaking about. "Nope. She put you in charge, not me. Though why she did that boggles my mind."

Actually, Christine had eased up quite a bit since Tyler had shown up. She hadn't been Mother Theresa by any standards—she was Christine Finnerman, after all. But she’d started to give me a little more responsibility, like today, for example. All of the useless errands she used to put me on, she made the newer girls do. I appreciated it and welcomed the experience.

“I’m basically here to take messages, not much else. But I agree, she has been a little different.”

“Must be something in the water,” April muttered. Then she shook her head. “But you might want to sit back down, because you might not like what I’m about to tell you.”

“What?” I demanded, gripping the edge of Christine’s desk, my heart beginning to pound. I eyed the papers April held with a sneaking suspicion.

“Christine was supposed to be a panelist for a modeling audition today.”

“Huh?” I asked in confusion. I was relieved and confused at the same time, and I had no idea what April was talking about. I usually handled Christine’s schedule, and I knew nothing about this.

“The male modeling auditions for Christine’s underwear line. It’s today. From time to time, Christine sits in. I thought you knew that?”

Before I could reply, April continued talking. “Anyway, me, Gabe and a couple of our co-workers are sitting in.” She beamed at me, shaking her pony tails with glee. “And guess who is filling in for Christine?”