Brynn

 

 

"It wasn't your virginity that he stole, was it?"

I glance over at my roommate, Sydney Tate, to find her smirking. She's still working her ass off on the elliptical machine she's been on for the past thirty minutes.  You'd never know it by looking at her. Not one light brown hair on her head is out of place. I wish I could say the same for my shoulder length black hair. It's twisted up in a messy bun, but it's not helping to cool me off.

Not only did I just spend the better part of thirty minutes on a treadmill, but Smith Booth, asshole extraordinaire and all around man I love to hate arrived right when I hit my stride.

Seeing him here, in my favorite gym, was enough to break my pace. I almost fell off the treadmill mid-jog. I didn't though. I slowed to a walk, checked my pulse and resisted the urge to look in his direction.

Sydney gave in and stared at the man doing reps on the bench press. She wasn't the only one who interrupted their workout to gawk at him.

Smith, in all his black haired, brown eyed, muscular glory, turns heads wherever he goes.  A big part of that is the fact that he has one of the most recognizable faces in all of New York City. It's also one of the best looking. I'd never admit that to another soul, but Smith is gorgeous. The problem is he knows it.

Since landing the job as the newest co-host of the most watched morning show in the country, Smith's picture has popped up on every digital billboard in this city. He's quickly become the most sought after single man in Manhattan.

"No one stole my virginity." I run my fingertips over the back of my neck as I step closer to the elliptical. "I gave it willingly to a man I thought I'd marry."

"Cue the violins and flying doves." Sydney presses the palm of her left hand to the middle of her chest. "I think my heart is about to explode."

"Shut up," I joke before I crack open the lid of a bottle of chilled water.

"Obviously, the getting married to your first didn't work out." She nods at my left hand. "There's no ring and you haven't been laid in three months."

Her words hit harder than intended. She has no clue. She doesn't know any details about my life before she moved in with me six months ago. "Remind me again why we are friends, Syd. I confide my sexual secrets in you just to have you throw them back in my face."

"Is Smith Booth one of your sexual secrets?" She exhales deeply as the machine comes to a stop. "Do you hate him so much because he sucks in bed? Did he take and not give? Is that what this is about?"

"I've never slept with him," I answer easily, tugging at the bottom hem of the blue tank I'm wearing. I paired it with an old pair of black yoga pants. It's one of my go-to outfits when I hit the gym. I'm not here to impress anyone. My too-round ass is the reason I drag myself down here three times a week. "He's my brother's friend. Julian and Smith have known each other forever."

I take a long sip of water as I wait for the inevitable remark about what she wants to do with my brother. She's only met him once, but that was enough to fuel her dreams for the past four months.

Muting the comments that my friends have made about Julian over the years has become easy. I don't see what they see when they look at him. I see a supportive, ambitious man who resembles a younger version of our father. We both have black hair and blue eyes, but Julian's face is all hard lines etched to symmetrical perfection. My nose is softer, my chin rounder and my smile is just like my mom's, a little lopsided.

Sydney judges Julian by his polished presence. To her, and most of my single friends, he's my hot older brother. To me, he's the person who encourages me to follow my dreams, and now, he's my silent business partner.

When your surname is Bishop and you live on this island, you can expect someone to ask you at least once a day if you know Julian Bishop, CEO of Bishop Hotels or Fulton Bishop, real estate wizard. My dad owns one of the premier real estate brokerage firms in the state. Bishop and Associates sold more residential properties in New York City last year than any other company.

I'm learning how to master the art of flipping the conversation, so the focus is on me whenever anyone brings up my brother or my dad. It's a constant work in progress.

That's all going to change once my interior design business takes off.

"I haven't forgotten that you told me that Smith stole something from you." Sydney steps down from the machine. "You've never told me what it was. Spit it out. Tell me what he took from you."

I know she's expecting me to say it's my heart or the promise of a happy future, but that's not what this is about.

In my family, there's one tangible thing that you value more than almost anything else.

"It happened three years ago."

"When you were twenty-two?" She lowers her voice and leans in closer. "You've never struck me as the type to stay mad at someone for more than a day. Remind me never to piss you off."

I bite back a grin, squaring my shoulders. "I'm not that type. It's different with Smith. He infuriates me."

"You don't have to tell me. I'm pretty sure I saw a voodoo doll in your bedroom with a picture of his face taped to it."

I look down at the floor with a huff of laughter. "You know that's not true."

"It's just a matter of time until you get one. If looks could kill, Smith would be a goner." She reaches for my hand. "You know you can tell me anything. Give me the goods on Mr. Booth, so I have justification for going over there and kicking his ass."

Sydney is six inches shorter than me, and I'm five foot eight. Smith has a solid foot on her and at least one hundred pounds. I have no doubt she could knock him on his ass just by looking at him. She's beautiful, and from what I can remember, she's exactly his type.

"It's simple." I glance over my shoulder to where Smith is standing next to a woman with red hair. He's even better looking than I remember and he knows it, the bastard. He's playing the part of Prince Charming to a tee, right down to the grin and cock of his dark brow as the woman he's with laughs at something he says.  Her eyes move over his bare chest and tight abs to the black shorts he's wearing.

"Brynn." Sydney taps my hand. "Tell me."

I turn back to look at her. "Smith stole the one thing from me that every single woman in Manhattan wants."

It takes a few seconds for her to sit on that and think it through. "A rent controlled apartment with a view of the park?"

I nod slowly, taking pleasure in the fact that all of my well-intentioned lectures have paid off.  Sydney is finally learning that owning a piece of the property pie in Manhattan is a better investment than a long term relationship with any man. A diamond engagement ring may seem like the brass ring to many of the women in this city, but an address in the right neighborhood isn't going to break your heart. "Close. Smith Booth stole a brownstone on the Upper East Side that I was desperate to buy. He took it right out of the palm of my hand."

"You're a Bishop," she points out. "Your dad practically runs the New York real estate market. How the hell did Smith manage to get his hands on a property you wanted?"

"He convinced the seller to take his offer even though it was lower than mine." I shake my head still regretting the fact that I didn't go straight to my dad to help me broker the deal. I used an agent who was a friend of a friend instead.  That's what I get for trying to surprise my family. "My terms were better. My offer was the right choice."

"So what happened?" She raises an eyebrow. "What did he offer that you didn't?"

"His dick." I turn and look at Smith walking out of the gym with his arm around the redhead's waist. "He screwed his way into that brownstone and I'll never forgive him for stealing it away from me."