TYLER

 

I head to the car, leaving Dean behind. We are running late already, but I know there’s not much use trying to hurry him along.

“Good evening, Mr. Hart. Will Mr. Preston be joining you tonight?” our driver asks.

“Yes, Richard, he was right behind me, but there was a girl crying in the lobby,” I say with a sigh. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

I’ll never understand my brother’s attraction to every girl with a hard luck story he meets.  Knowing him, we’re not going to make dinner. We’ll be lucky to make our client meeting.

One of these days, he’s going to meet some girl with sad eyes that cons him into believing they’re soulmates or some shit, and then he’s going to get his heart broken. Been there, done that. Only, I don’t think Dean will recover like I did.

I grab my tablet and check my email, trying not to be pissed off at him. He can’t help it. His mother is a bleeding heart. She got him hooked at an early age. And even today, she always drags him to charity events and fundraisers. At least I can get away with just writing a check. My step-mom says I’m broody and I drive away the donors. Not that I’m complaining.

I pour myself another drink and pull up the proposed rezoning for our newest real estate acquisition. I’m just getting comfortable when Dean opens the door.

“That was fast,” I say, putting down my tablet. “It must not have been a serious problem. Did she just need money?”

Dean’s brows furrow and he slides in next to me. “I have no idea what’s wrong with her. She didn’t want my help,” he says, sounding a bit perplexed. “She said she was on her way upstairs.”

I raise a brow, a bit surprised myself. It isn’t often someone turns down Dean's help. At least, not since the paper ran that article on us last spring.

Billionaire Property Brothers with Hearts of Gold.

We stumbled into the public spotlight after we renovated the children’s home. It had been Dean’s idea. A way for us to give back to our community. But ever since then, we’ve been bombarded with requests. Most of which I turn down without an issue. But when a pretty girl shows up at our office with tears and a sad story, Dean usually finds a way to help. This is the first one that showed up at our apartment.

“If she didn’t want your help, why was she standing in our lobby crying?” I ask. “Did she tell you her name?”

“She didn’t tell me her name. But she said she was on her way home.”

“Home my ass. I’ve never seen her before, and she doesn’t look like someone who can afford a million and a quarter apartment. I’ll talk to security tomorrow,” I say. “I understand you like to help, but we can’t have these people showing up at our home, too.”

Dean pours himself a drink and settles in for the ride across town. “I don’t think she was looking for us. She was just…” He looks down into the amber liquid and shrugs. “I don’t know, sad? Maybe she’s the Hamilton’s daughter. Didn’t Landon say his sister was moving in?”

Brenna.

I haven’t thought about her in years. At least, not by name. The unwanted image of sunny blonde hair and round freckled face pops into my brain. She was sweet and gentle. And sad. That’s really the only thing the woman in the lobby had in common with the shy teenager I knew from years ago.

Unlike Brenna, the woman in the lobby had long, coal black hair streaked with purple that cascaded down her back and it was hard to not to notice the full sleeve tattoo down her left arm. They are about the same height, but the woman in the lobby is rail thin—so unlike Brenna’s luscious curves.

“No, that wasn’t Brenna,” I say with certainty. “It’s probably 7D’s latest hook-up. He likes them on the edgy side.”

“I don’t think so,” Dean says with a shake of his head. “She’s a lot younger than the women Marco usually goes for. I’ll bet a bottle of my best seventy-five-year-old single barrel that she’s Landon’s older sister.”

“I’ll take that bet,” I say, reaching over to shake on it. “And I’m looking forward to drinking your prized scotch.”

“And what makes you so sure that it isn’t Brenna? You didn’t even glance at her when we got off the elevator,” he says and finishes off his drink.

“You forget, I actually know Brenna.”

Intimately. Although, I keep that fact to myself.

“That’s right. Nicole and Jon were married the year I started law school. I vaguely remember meeting her one Christmas.” Dean closes his eyes as if trying to picture the events. “Blonde, curly hair, right? She kind of looked like her mom.”

“Kind of,” I say. Both mother and daughter were blondes with clear cornflower blue eyes, but where her mother Nicole was graceful and statuesque, Brenna was petite and had two left feet. “I think she took after her dad more.”

“Shit. I forgot you guys were friends in high school,” Dean says with a sigh. “You’re sure it wasn’t her?”

We’d started out as friends. But not even Dean knew about that summer after graduation. We bonded over our mutual misery. She felt betrayed by her mother, and I felt abandoned by both my parents. After my parent’s divorce, neither one wanted me around. My mother was happily exploring her newfound freedom while blowing through her alimony and dad got remarried. He not only upgraded his wife, but he also had a new son that was everything I wasn’t.

I fell in love with Brenna during that summer, and we planned on leaving town together to start a new life. But I woke up one morning and discovered she’d left without me.

That was a long time ago.

I’ve let go of the anger and betrayal. As a matter of fact, when I see her again, I should probably thank her. It was because of that heartbreak I threw myself into college and work. Dean and I took over the business when dad retired.

We make a great team and have been able to expand. Dean is a killer negotiator, and I have all the big ideas. We really are the Billionaire Property Brothers. Although, I like to think that we have a golden touch rather than a golden heart.

“Trust me. It’s not her.”

“Well, whoever that was, I gave her my card. If she’s looking for money or a donation, I’m sure she’ll call,” Dean says. “Speaking of the Hamiltons, It’s been a couple weeks since the accident, do you think we should go down and see how Landon and Brenna are doing?”

Hell, no.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say. “Landon was just over this weekend. He seems good. If he needs something from us, he’ll ask.”

The car comes to a stop before Dean can object, and I get out ready to leave this conversation and the past behind me. I’m over her. She is old news. I’ve grown up and moved on. But even so, that doesn’t mean I want to see her again. Brenna hated that apartment. She’s probably going to sell that place before the month is up and I won’t have to see her.

God, I hope so.