Chapter 7
By eleven o’clock in the morning, the black Cadillac pulled up to the last place Bronte ever expected. Robert parked the car up on the sidewalk and went around to pull open the door before heading to the trunk of the car to grab something.
Brett climbed out of the car and turned to offer his hand to Bronte who slid out, placing her hand in his and allowing him to assist her. She enjoyed the brief embrace as he pulled her to him and hugged her close.
She was about to ask him what they were doing at the park when Robert returned carrying a large wicker basket.
“Your picnic, sir,” Robert told his boss as he handed him the basket. Brett took it from him with a quick nod of thanks.
“Shall we?” Brett turned to her and asked as he offered her his hand again. Bronte smiled to him warmly and nodded.
“We shall,” she replied as she placed her much smaller hand in his again and allowed him to begin to lead her further into the park. It was beautiful, and the air smelled amazingly fresh, like nature and grass.
“What are we doing here?” she asked curiously to Brett. She noticed that Robert continued to walk with them, but stayed only a few feet behind, careful to stay within reach in case anything happened that they might need him for. “I didn’t figure you for a nature kinda guy. You seem more the type to impress a girl by renting out Madison Square Garden, or the Grand Canyon, or something.”
Her gentle teasing made Brett chuckle and he squinted at her out of the corner of his eye. “I might be wealthy now, but I wasn’t always like that.”
He told her with a shrug of his massively broad shoulders, “You asked me once to take you to where I came from and the truth was that this was where I came from.”
He stopped in front of an old oak tree that had a massive thicket of bushes gathering at its trunk. At the very center was a small gap that led into what could only be described as a cave. Save for the leaf mulch that scattered the floor, the entire place was empty.
“What do you mean this is where you came from?” Bronte frowned at him, unable to understand what he was telling her. “Are you telling me that you were homeless?”
She would never have guessed something like that from looking at him now. Somehow, she just couldn’t picture him as a homeless man, a wanderer. Brett always seemed determined in whatever he did, the type of guy that never went anywhere without a plan and an itinerary.
Brett instantly began to laugh, looking as though she had just told him the funniest joke he had ever heard in his life. He started to shake his head slowly.
“No, Bronte, I was not homeless, but I may as well have been,” he sighed, then released her hand so that he could crouch down and open the basket to pull out a large blanket. He laid the blanket just inside the ‘cave’ and gestured for her to take a seat. “I had a pretty hard upbringing. I suppose you could say I was more ‘dragged up’ than ‘brought up’, actually.”
She saw him flinch as he said those last words and something about the way he spoke told Bronte that it wasn’t something he talked about very often. Her heart beat a little harder, knowing that he was about to tell her something he didn’t tell many people. Something that would give her a clue who he was and where he’d been, and what had made him into the man he was today.
As they sat down together on the blanket, Bronte reached out to take hold of his shoulder and give it a quick squeeze. She could tell that he was struggling with something deep down inside, something that seemed to gnaw at him and make him feel uncomfortable.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she said softly, anticipating that whatever he was thinking about was very difficult for him. She could feel it in the way his body stayed tense beneath her hand, the muscles bunched and hard.
“My brothers and I were raised in foster care,” Brett continued, looking out over the beautiful greenery of the park. The trees were just starting to shed their leaves and it left a serene picture of floating, crisp orange leaves against a ripe green backdrop. There was a chill in the air, but Brett seemed not to notice that he was in a simple t-shirt while she was in a cardigan and scarf. She had noticed in the last few weeks that he never seemed bothered by the temperature. His skin was always warm and firm, and she’d never seen him shiver. As a cold person, she was jealous of that. She was constantly wrapping herself in more layers, in thicker clothing trying to get warm. It was part of the reason why she thought she’d slept so good last night – his hot body had been wrapped around hers, keeping her warm and cozy all night long.
He took a deep breath, the inhale racking through his firm body. “We never got to know our parents and we didn’t have a lot growing up. We were moved around from place to place but this den was where we always came back to each other. We all felt very….connected…to nature.”
Bronte couldn’t stop herself from gaping at him. In the three weeks she had known him, he had never made any attempt to let her in and tell her about his family. She had asked of course. He had simply told her it was a long story. Now it seemed he had changed his mind on telling her. She welcomed the increase in trust between them, and respected that this might be difficult for him to talk to her about.
“You poor thing.” The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to think on them and she knew instantly how condescending they must have sounded. She hadn’t meant it that way, and wished that she’d thought before speaking.
“Please, don’t pity me,” Brett said as he shook his head and lowered his gaze from hers as though he couldn’t bear to see the sympathy in her eyes. “If it wasn’t for my past, I might not be where I am now. I might never have met you.”
When he turned his gaze up to look at her again, there was such meaning in his eyes that it made her feel teary. Her heart skipped a beat as she wondered what was coming next.
“I am very glad I met you, Bronte Welch,” he told her softly, and something about that sentence made her feel as though he was about to say goodbye.
“I am glad I met you too, Brett Hardy.”
She waited for the farewell but, fortunately, it never came and so instead, she pressed herself close to him. She was relieved when he reached around and wrapped her in his strong arms. She laid her head against his shoulder and looked out at the warm, sunny day ahead of them where several children were playing on the field throwing a Frisbee for their Jack Russell Terrier. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she watched them and couldn’t help imagining what it might be like to have children of her own one day. That thought both scared and excited her as she realized that it was the first time she had ever really thought about it. She had never been one to think of ‘settling down’.
As soon as that thought struck her, it began to scare her even more as she remembered the low-down that the agency had given her on Brett. She recalled what Lila had warned her during her first appointment with the agency. She had said very clearly that her client, who now she knew was Brett, wasn’t looking to settle down either. At the time, she hadn’t considered that it would ever be a problem. She had been looking for the same thing, once upon a time. It was only these last few weeks with Brett that she was now looking at it like a downside that he wasn’t looking for anything serious with her. Or at least, he hadn’t been. She suddenly found herself wanting to know the answer, wanting to hear it from his own mouth.
“So why aren’t you looking for something serious?” Bronte found herself asking the question before she could lose her courage. She waited with bated breath for him to answer, knowing that this answer could change everything she’d been feeling for him.
“My last foster father, the one I stayed with the longest, once told me a saying ‘good things come to those who wait’,” Brett explained, “I guess I kind of got used to the waiting and never finding part.”
“Are you still waiting?” Bronte found herself asking, winding her fingers around his.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Brett said mysteriously, his final words leaving Bronte feeling curious and with even more questions than she had started with. However, she remained silent as she felt him pull her closer to him. He spoke low, close to her ear. “Bronte, nobody has ever made me feel the way that you make me feel. I really like you and, to be honest, I don’t have a clue how it even happened so fast. I’m starting to think that I started to fall for you that same day you walked into that restaurant on those ridiculous shoes.”
“I really like you too,” Bronte replied, giggling as she turned her face up towards his so that she could press her lips against his cheek. “And I really like those shoes…”
***
Bronte forced herself not to look desperate for the next week and a half. She seriously liked Brett but wouldn’t allow herself to think that it was anything more just yet. She kept herself busy, only answering his messages hours later even though she had really read them straight away. She found herself smiling whenever he wanted to know when he could see her next. But even though she was desperate to see him, she played it cool and it seemed to pay off in her favor.
She was just removing her front door key from her handbag when she heard somebody clear their throat behind her. She whipped around to see him standing at the bottom of the steps to her building.
For a moment she was stunned that he’d even remembered where she’d lived. He’d only dropped her off after a few of their dates, and she still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him to stay at her place. His place was so nice, she was worried that her interior designer salary might not make her apartment seem as nice as his was. After all, she wasn’t a billionaire. She doubted she could even afford a piece of his place.
The sight of him standing there in front of her was enough to make her heart flutter and she found herself making her way down the steps to him, carefully placing each stiletto-wearing foot on the slippery steps so she didn’t tumble down in front of him.
“What are you doing here?” She asked him, struggling to contain the happiness she felt at seeing him. His familiar body was like a breath of fresh air to her. She drew in a breath, craving the smell of his cologne and him. She wanted to reach out to him and touch him instantly, but she waited for his answer. His answer was to grab hold of her cheeks and plant such a passionate kiss on her lips that it took her breath away completely.
When he stepped back again he said in a cool, calm manner, “I have a business meeting around the corner in forty-five minutes, but I just needed to see you. I needed to kiss you.”
“Well, that kiss earned you a coffee,” Bronte grinned at him. “Would you like to come in?”
“I would love to, but I can’t stay long,” Brett replied, but allowed her to lead him upstairs. She had a moment of trepidation, realizing that he was about to see her quaint little apartment in all its glory. She hadn’t even been expecting company, so she mentally tried to run through the things she could pick up while he wasn’t looking. Truth was though, she was a very neat person. It was one of the reasons she made it being an interior designer in a city full of people claiming to be ‘design experts’. She was organized, creative, and loved putting together pieces, whether they were fashion or furniture.
She knew her place was nothing compared to his own magnificent home, but as she opened the door, she felt a little proud. She had designed it herself, the grays, whites, and golds all complimenting each other. There were a few bold splashes of color, and she loved to play with fun textures. Her apartment had fur, wood, leather…all kinds of different textiles that appealed to most of her customers. She could only hope that it appealed to him as well.
She watched his face when he walked in, saw how his striking eyes took in all the different colors and patterns, and then a smile played at the corner of his mouth. She took a breath of relief when he mused, “Nice place.”
She knew that Brett could never be anything other than genuine, so she appreciated the approval he had clearly given her.
“It isn’t much but its home,” Bronte shrugged nonchalantly as she headed into the kitchen to flick on the coffee pot. “I’m afraid I don’t have a big fancy espresso machine like you do. Is regular coffee fine?”
“Regular coffee is fine,” Brett assured her. “I take it black.”
She was already pouring him a mug and walking it over to him by the time he finished that statement, so he looked at her surprised. She grinned sheepishly. “You just seem like the type of person that would only drink black coffee. Was I wrong?”
He shook his head, taking a deep drink. “Nope, you were right. I was just surprised. You seem to keep doing that to me.”
“Doing what?” She asked, taking a seat for herself.
“Surprising me,” he admitted, taking another deep swig of the hot brew.
It wasn’t until she took her first drink of her own hazelnut-flavored coffee that his cell phone began to buzz. A look of irritation crossed his face as he pulled it from his pocket.
“Please excuse me a moment,” he told her before pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello, Thomas. I’m afraid I am going to have to call you back.”
With that, he touched the phone, ending the call, and set the phone down in front of him.
“You could have taken that,” she said to him before taking a sip of her own coffee.
“I’d much rather talk to you.”
She couldn’t help the warm glow that she felt at his words. She knew him well enough now to know that his sweet words weren’t practiced or rehearsed. Brett didn’t take care to be romantic and didn’t like it when she called him charming. He only said what he felt, and that’s why he’d hurt some of his previous girlfriends’ feelings. He didn’t pull punches and he didn’t say things that he didn’t feel. She actually liked knowing that about him, knowing that he was honest in that way.
They sat and talked for ten minutes before Brett’s phone went off again. He snapped it up this time, getting up from his stool as he reviewed the number flashing across the screen. “I’m sorry, but I do have to take this one.”
“Go ahead,” Bronte said as she watched curiously, his long legs taking him quickly out of the room. A few moments after, she heard him speaking in a hushed yet angry sounding tone.
The only words she managed to pick up were, “Don’t worry about it. I can handle her,” before he stepped back into the room.
“Is everything alright?” Bronte asked, feeling concerned. It wasn’t like Brett to anger so quickly.
“Everything is fine,” he said. From the tense line of his jaw, she knew he was lying and she couldn’t help but wonder why. Before she had the chance to question him, he stepped up to her, wrapped her in his arms and kissed her as passionately as he had before. “I’m sorry, beautiful, but I have to get going. Can I call you later?”
She mmhmm’d and he kissed her goodbye. She felt that kiss on her lips almost the whole day.
***
Over the next few months Bronte felt as though she was living in a dream. Brett continued to shower her with gifts, dinners, dates and so much more. They spent every possible minute together when they weren’t at work or going about other daily commitments that normally kept them busy. Bronte enjoyed his company more and more each time they met, even though she had no idea how that was even possible due to how much she had already enjoyed it at the beginning. As the weeks went by, there seemed to be nothing that Brett couldn’t tell her. He was straight forward, upfront and seemed to speak about everything, but some part of her mind still nagged at her that there wasn’t something he was telling her.
He was the sweetest, most intelligent, delectable man she had ever met in her life, but there was something her gut was telling her that just didn’t fit in with his whole persona. Perhaps it was the way he acted whenever one of his brothers called. Brett would take that call into another room and close the door. He didn’t do that with any other call. He made hundreds of work calls a day and each one of them he allowed her to listen in on as though there was nothing at work to hide. But whenever she saw one of his brother’s names flash up on the screen, he would skulk off and click his study door closed. She had asked him a couple of times what the matter was with them, but he had brushed her off with a simple answer like, ‘Oh, Stetson just had a few questions about this or that’ and ‘Darian wanted to know where he can get such and such’. There was something about the offhandedness of his answers that made Bronte feel uneasy. He was definitely hiding something and she could not figure out what it was.
She had considered that he had changed the names in his contacts so that he could secretly talk to other women, but he never went out of his way to hide his phone from her. He had even given her his passcode in case she ever needed to use it for an emergency or her own died while she was over at his place. She had been tempted several times to look through his messages, but she knew that was not a good idea and she didn’t feel right doing it to him. He will tell me whatever it is when he is ready, she told herself sternly. She didn’t want to find it out through detective work. She wanted him to want to be open and honest with her organically. She didn’t want to force his hand by attempting to find it out without his knowledge or approval.
It wasn’t until one Friday evening when she had thought he was away on a business trip that the doorbell to her apartment dinged and she realized that something really was going on behind her back. She answered the door curiously. She hadn’t been expecting anyone but for all she knew it could have been one of her neighbors wanting to borrow a cup of sugar or something stupid.
To her surprise, she found Robert stood on her doorstep wearing his usual grin
“Miss Welch,” he greeted her before she had the chance to speak, her mouth gaping open at the sight of him. “Mr. Hardy asked me to collect you. He requests that you wear this.”
With that he held up the dry-cleaning bag that held a long silk, burgundy dress inside. It was the most gorgeous garment Bronte had ever seen in her life. She reached out to touch the beautiful fabric. “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s beautiful.”
Robert smiled, knowingly. “A beautiful dress for a beautiful lady. Mr. Hardy has excellent taste. In all things.”
Bronte laughed, enjoying his teasing tone. “He does, doesn’t he?”
Robert simply nodded. She took the bag carefully from him. Before going into the bathroom, she paused. But what shoes will I wear?”
Robert intelligently stayed silent.