Page 45 of Tied Up in Riches
I lick my lip to cover my smile. I shouldn’t be amused in the first place. She thinks she’s defending me, but what’s going to happen when she realizes I likely have more money than Beau does? There’s a chance my net worth is higher than his entire family. Still, I worked for every penny of it.
“I’m just looking out for you, darling,” she says, almost robotically, as she scans the menu.
“No, you’re looking out for you,” Brooke mutters under her breath, and I squeeze her hand, torn between believing she should respect her mom regardless while also wishing Brooke never had to spend another second with her.
Her mom glances up, locking her stare on Brooke. Her gaze shifts to me before landing back on her daughter. “Marriage is not something to take lightly, you know.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” Brooke snaps. “I’m twenty-four.”
“Exactly, and if you don’t find someone now, you won’t even be young enough to be someone’s second wife.” She glances back at her menu like she didn’t just fire a loaded gun.
This lady is way past losing her marbles. I mindlessly rub my thumb over Brooke’s in an attempt to lessen the impact of the bomb I’m about to drop. “I don’t want to get married.” Both their attentions snap to me. I shrug, squeezing Brooke’s hand. “I want to wake up next to the woman I love because I want to, not because I’m supposed to.”
Her mom’s mouth drops.
A small smile slips from Brooke. “I’ve never thought of it that way.”
I wonder if she knows I mean the sentiment or if she thinks it was meant to piss off her mom. It doesn’t matter either way, but I tack on an added thought. “A man I met in Greece said it to me once. It stuck.”
“I like it,” Brooke says, and now I’m wondering if she means that or if she’s trying to piss off her mom.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” her mom mutters, reminding me we aren’t alone in a bubble. “You two are delusional.”
“Mrs. Fields,” I address her, pulling her attention from the current conversation, knowing it’s not a battle we could ever win with her. “Tell me about you. It’s a beautiful place you’ve maintained here.”
The compliment distracts her for now, and we spend the next hour over lunch hearing about all her life “accomplishments.” None of which, I note only to myself, have to do with raising the beautiful girl beside me.
Chapter twenty
Brooke
“You trust me, right?” My smile is mischievous as I hold my hand against the sliding cover for the laundry chute and look over my shoulder at Marcus.
He quirks a brow. The old wood panel sticks only a little when I slide it to the right and reveal a wood platform held up by a pulley system. “Uhhhh.”
“Come on,” I say, stepping on the ledge two feet from the ground and reaching my hand for his as if he actually needs my help.
“There is no sign this has worked in a decade.”
The rope does have a cobweb. “Where is your sense of adventure? I promise it’ll hold. This thing can carry a two-thousand-pound commercial laundry bag.”
He hesitates but then takes my hand even though he jumps up and doesn’t give me any body weight. I reluctantly let him drop my hand so he can get settled. I love the feel of his hands on me, like at lunch earlier. Slipping his hand over my knee was such an innocent gesture–especially considering he was just playing his role of fake boyfriend. The thing is, no man has ever done that with me, even when the relationship was real. Especially not Beau–at least not once he became a lawyer. I can’t even remember a time he held my hand in public. He’d always claim that since I worked for him, it was unprofessional to bring what we did behind closed doors into public. But by the end of our relationship, even at home, he’d never reach for me unless he wanted sex. After a couple of years of living that way, it would have been such a strange reaction. Yet, when Marcus did it, it felt so familiar and comfortable. I shake the memories from my head.
“Turn on your phone flashlight.” He does as I ask while I reach behind him to close the door to the chute, my hand barely grazing his bicep. Pausing, I take him in as he watches me. He’s sitting on his ass, his legs bent and a hand linked around his wrist as his arms rest across his knees. His arms bulge where they are being perfectly constrained by the sleeves of his black button-up and a strand of his dark hair has fallen from its tie as he dipped his head to not hit it on the ceiling. I still fit reasonably well, but it’s comical how crowded his frame is.
He holds my stare and when my eyes flick to his lips for only a split second, the only indication that he notices is a slight furrow of his brows. I fall back on my butt, sitting criss-cross before reaching for the thick rope on the side of the cart and giving it a strong pull.
Marcus chuckles, bringing my attention back to him. “Of course it’s manual.”
I shrug, wrapping my hands around the rough nylon for another pull, nostalgia hitting me hard at the feel of the rope against my palms. Grinning, I talk over my shoulder. “This was my favorite place as a kid. One of the maids would load me into the chute with the bag of dirty sheets. Then she would walk down to the room and work the pulley from there. It was the closest thing I ever got to a theme park ride as a kid. Plus, it was the perfect hiding spot.”
With another two pulls, we’re at the bottom, and I slide the door to the chute open, this one sticking a little more than the first and sending a poof of dust into the air. We both cough a little as Marcus steps first into the empty cement room and offers me his hand. Once I’m out, he holds up his phone, scanning the room with the light. It’s smaller than I remember. It would probably only fit one commercial washer and dryer.
I take a step to see if the light by the door works when Marcus’ phone buzzes. It echos off the walls, startling me enough to freeze in place. Through the shadows, I see him glance at the screen and follow his gaze. It’s Emma.
“Were you expecting a call from her?”
“No. I should take it.”