CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brooke
I awoke on Sunday morning to a strange text.
It was from a blocked number. If you want your dirt on Cameron Brice, I can help you. Text me back.
Dirt? That was the last thing I could think about. Though I was mildly curious about who sent the text, I was more concerned about my state of physical health. Turning onto my back, I stared at the ceiling and tested each one of my muscles. Oh, hell, I was sorer than I’d been yesterday. Deliciously sore. Thoroughly fucked.
Saturday had been a wash. In addition to my limbs feeling like I’d run a marathon, I’d been tired, so tired that though I’d planned to follow Cameron to the golf tournament, I ended up missing it entirely. I’d heard he was a skilled golfer and wanted to see if his being with me had had any effect on his game. I’d resorted to googling the results online, but couldn’t find much, other than a Facebook picture from someone who’d been there. In it, Cameron was crouching in the background, elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him, in what almost looked like prayer, wearing a navy-blue polo shirt, khaki shorts, and a sun visor. On its own, I’d have thought the visor kind of dorky, but of course, Cameron pulled it off. The shirt bared his tanned, muscular forearms and showed off his thick shoulders in a way the suits never did. He had a set of expensive-looking clubs propped beside him. He looked intent on the game, fresh, not spoiled by lack of sleep at all.
It’d made me practically desperate for next Saturday. Thank god he’d wanted to see me again.
Still, I couldn’t help thinking that one of these days would be our last. It had to happen. I was reminded of that fact on Saturday afternoon. Once the tournament was done, I ended up catching up with his limo and following him to a dinner with his family and mannequin bitch-woman, hands curling into fists every time they touched, which thankfully wasn’t often.
My finger hovered over delete, and the screen changed to a call coming in from my mother.
“How’s my little girl?” my mother singsonged through the phone when I picked up. “What’ve you been up to this weekend?”
I gave as cheerful a greeting as I could muster, thinking of exactly what I’d done last night and shuddering in embarrassment.
My targets had gone to a swanky country club at the golf course, and I’d actually crouched in the bushes outside the place, watching them. The thing was, it really had nothing to do with getting dirt, unless you counted the dirt I had gotten all over my boots, which had been sinking into the freshly watered garden.
I’d become The Other Woman. At least I thought I was, although I hadn’t found any evidence that Cameron and Barbie were in a committed relationship. They seemed friendly enough, and he was polite with her, buttering her damn roll and shit like that. But he didn’t seem happy. When he smiled at her, the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
But like I’d said to him over and over again Friday night… did it matter? The answer: No. It didn’t matter if he was happier with me, or if the sex was better with me, or if he connected better to me. Men like him belonged with women like her. Part of me had kept asking him that question, hoping that he’d admit that, yes, it did matter, because he was falling for me and didn’t care what the world dictated. He wanted me. Not just for one night of hot sex. Forever.
Fat chance.
“Nothing really,” I finally said to my mom. “Boring weekend.”
“You need to get up and get yourself social, hon,” she said, imparting that useful mom advice that was meant to help but always seemed to make me feel worse. “Get yourself a beau. What about that nice Michael?”
A beau? Oh, god. I groaned. “Mom. That was a year ago. And he’s now across the country, remember?”
“Oh, well. I always thought he was nice.”
Nice. Mike had been the quintessential college slob, the sex wasn’t all that great, and he’d moved to Alaska after graduation. Not to mention, meeting Cameron had completely honed my perspective of what a real man should be. Now, Mike was the very equivalent of chopped liver. I doubted I’d even look at someone like him now. Not that I could tell that to my mother. “He was fine,” I admitted. “But we didn’t work out. Anyway, I’ve been going out a little. I went out with Kiera last week for dinner.”
“Oh, good! How’s that assignment you’re doing? For her dad?”
I climbed out of bed and looked at myself in the mirror. I could have easily used an extra ten hours of sleep. I looked haggard, my skin jaundiced and sickly. “Oh. It’s going. Um. Just fine.”
“FBI, here you come, right?” Of course, she’d always wanted me to follow in her footsteps, but she’d been so proud of my dream too. Any dream that allowed me to help repair injustices, she thought worthwhile. “I’m sure you’re finding loads on that man. He’s such a snake, that boy. Makes me utterly sick, just looking at him and his simpering smile on the television set. I want to punch him. You must know the feeling. Hopefully, you haven’t acted on it yet though.”
I sucked in a breath, thinking of the sinful feelings I had acted on. “I—” I started, not knowing where this was headed. I’d probably have given her convulsions if she’d seen me at that sex club. But at the sex club with Cameron Brice? I’d always had a close relationship with my parents, but if one thing would cause me to be disowned, that was it. “I’ve met him. He’s not horrible.”
“Tell that to the toads,” she said, sounding disgusted.
“Actually,” I said, launching into the same speech Cameron had given me, but sounding a whole lot more rambly. “The plot of land for the development will not affect the toads. The builder hired a conservationist to ensure the toads were safe. And—”
“That’s political doubletalk meant to confuse you,” my mother said in her normal didactic way. “The conservationist is clearly on the dole. Simply building in that area, bringing large diggers and construction equipment in, will jeopardize the swampland. Independent experts have confirmed that.”
Just one more reason why what Cameron and I had didn’t matter. I couldn’t bring Cameron home to my parents any more than he could bring me home to his.
“But the building of that development will at least be good for creating jobs in that town,” I said, paraphrasing what Cameron had told me. “The sugar plant closure left a lot of people out of work.”
She snorted. “Brooke,” she said flatly, “how many factory workers do you know have the skills to build a house?”
I tried to think of a rebuttal, but nothing came. That was why, in a family full of attorneys, I usually stayed silent. It was impossible to win an argument. Plus, I didn’t sound like the daughter she’d raised, and I could tell I was annoying her. I sounded pathetic, like I’d taken one too many shots of the conservative Kool-Aid.
“Oh,” I finally said. Time to change the subject. “How has your week been?”
“You know, saving the world, one potholder at a time.”
I smiled at that. My mother made potholders in her spare time, which she sold at various flea markets and donated all the proceeds to the women’s shelter. My parents may have both been attorneys, but not wealthy ones, and though we didn’t have a lot of money growing up, the corny saying was true… we made up for it with a lot of love. We couldn’t go on expensive vacations, so we did a lot of fun, explorative, educational things like hiking and visiting museums. My parents were a few decades too late, but they should’ve been hippies. They were always preaching love and working to help the poor and oppressed. They abhorred the rich and powerful establishment.
Like Cameron. They hated everything Cameron Brice stood for.
When I thought of that, I frowned. “How many are you up to?”
“Two hundred and eight!” she said proudly. “Did I tell you that the Bensalem Record wants to do a feature on Barbara’s Potholders next week?”
“No. That’s great.”
“I’m going to bring a slew of them to sell on Saturday. You’re still coming, right?”
Saturday. It suddenly hit me. My mother had texted me about that protest weeks ago, and I’d completely forgotten. “Um. What is the protest for?”
“It’s at the Hunter’s Hill Development. They’re breaking ground then. It’s for the toads.”
Oh, those yellow-horned toads again. “I’m sorry, Mom. I made plans,” I said, already feeling guilty. “I’m going out of town.”
“Really?” she asked, sounding disappointed. “Plans with who?”
Oh, no one, just the man you hate desperately. Good news though. It’s not a relationship. Just extremely hot sex.
“A friend,” I said vaguely.
“A male friend?” my mother pressed on. She was an attorney. She was not going to let this slide without a thorough line of questioning.
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because if I end up getting a call at two in the morning that they found your body in a ditch, I would like something to go on.”
I let out a quick breath. “Mom. That’s horrible.”
“Well, that’s how mothers worry.”
My mother, the Queen of the Guilt Trip. I shook my head and sighed. “Fine. It’s not a man. It’s a girl from… work.” Anticipating her next question, I closed my eyes and spat out the name of the woman with the bow blouse, a woman I hadn’t even said more than “good morning” to since I’d started my job. “Alicia Briggs.”
“Where are you going?”
Beats me. “Alicia” is keeping that information from me, and when we get there, he’ll likely fuck me senseless again.
“Just a road trip,” I mumbled, then looked around helplessly. “Oh, wow, is that the time?” I had no idea what the time was. “I have to go, Mom. Talk soon?”
“Okay, but—”
“Love you!” I hung up and threw my phone on the bed, feeling agitated and guilty. I’d never lied to my parents before. Never.
I started to change into sweats, wondering if I should even attempt to tail Cameron again today. His calendar had more of the same boring shit on it. Church way out in Bucks, as usual, followed by brunch at his parents’ house in Solebury, along with a dinner at the opening of a new boutique hotel for the ultra-rich downtown. Lame, and utterly pointless, if my real mission was to get dirt.
But my real mission had gone beyond that weeks ago. And I had that niggling sensation inside, once again, that had only grown stronger. I wanted to see him again. Even if he was with mannequin woman. Even if he was touching her and holding her and doing all the things I wished he’d do with me. Even if he wouldn’t be able to gaze at me with that desire that made my heart catch fire.
Shower. I ran to the shower, stripped down, and twisted the knobs to get the water warm. As I did, I thought of the shower I’d taken with Cameron, and the way he’d felt, thrusting into me as the warm water fell around us. I thought of the way he’d told me that any sex toys would be a distraction. Of how he’d called me the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Surely, I meant something more to him than just sex?
As my mind turned over thoughts of him, I found myself aching. Desperately, my hand found its way between my legs.
I’d always felt fine living here alone, since my college roommates had moved out after graduation. I’d had boyfriends, but never the live-in kind. I never minded. I liked the privacy. But I’d never felt as lonely as I did in that moment.
I imagined Cameron beside me, holding me, even while we argued. I loved the way he held my feet to the fire, the way he made me think, all the while making my body feel things it never had before.
I began to move my hand in circles on my clit as I waited for the water to warm. Closing my eyes, I thought of his smooth hands running over my body.
God, I wanted him with me.
I opened my eyes and looked around. My apartment was probably the size of his living room, this bathroom, the size of his linen closet. He’d be disgusted by how worn it all was from use by the dozens of college students who must have come before me, the rusting fixtures, the chipping paint, the floors and cabinets that hadn’t truly been cleaned in decades. But in my fantasy, we could look at nothing but each other. The desire was heavy in his eyes.
My fingers quickened their motion.
I looked at myself in the small mirror over the vanity, and that turned me on more, seeing the way I was getting off on the thought of Cameron. I felt myself rising to that point, getting hotter, so, so close, when…
The doorbell suddenly rang.
I straightened for a moment, then told myself to forget it. I’d just started to rub myself again when the sound came again. This time, more urgent.
Shit.
Wrapping a towel around my body, I raced out of the bathroom, across the living room, and to the front door. I opened it to reveal my employer, Owen Blakely.
Double shit.
“Hi,” I said, pulling the towel tighter around my body. While it covered everything, it suddenly felt too small.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked, sounding very businesslike as he scratched one of his graying temples. His eyes fluttered over my towel. “Of course I did. I apologize, Brooke.”
Yes, I would say that this was quite possibly the worst time I could imagine. The only worse time would have been at the sex club on Friday night. I’d just been getting off on the thought of Cameron, his arch-enemy, the man I was supposed to hate.
“It’s okay,” I said, opening the door farther and directing him inside. When he was standing in the entryway, I suddenly realized my apartment was a sty. There was laundry everywhere, a sink full of dirty dishes, and there was junk on every possible surface I could’ve offered him to sit on. I ran to the kitchenette, pulled a pile of mail off of it, and offered it to him.
He didn’t sit. He stood there in typical Owen Blakely attire — Dockers, a dress shirt, and a navy sweater vest over it, which just barely covered his stomach pooch. There was a grave look on his face. I knew what was coming, so I decided to do damage control. “You did catch me at a bad time, but it’s okay. I’m just getting ready to tail our subject. He’s at church now, and then brunch—”
“Brooke,” he said, holding up a hand. “From your expense reports, it seems you’ve been tailing him an awful lot.”
I swallowed. He’d told me to submit mileage anytime I’d tracked Cameron. And I had, listing the routes, as he directed, to all the places I’d followed him, except Camden. “Yes.”
“But you haven’t learned anything new?”
My shoulders slumped. My face heated. I tried but failed to look him in the eye. I was trash, accepting a paycheck from this man while I went and screwed the person I was supposed to be helping him bring down. “No. Unfortunately, very little.”
“And that leads me to wonder how effective tailing him really is.”
I cleared my throat. “Oh, well. Of course that’s not all I’m doing. In his office, I’ve been privy to a lot of information. His schedule, for one.” I thought about the few times I’d been alone in his office, and how I’d foolishly squandered the time. I thought about all the times I daydreamed about him when I could’ve been going the extra mile, digging harder. “And now I know where the key to his office is, so I think things will—”
“Brooke. I need the information now. Yesterday,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t acceptable. You can’t possibly tell me that with all the rumors swirling around this man, you can’t find one to pin to him?”
His voice was steadily rising, to the point where it was nearly a yell. I swallowed with difficulty the lump in my throat. “I need a little more time.”
“Time? I have a debate with Brice in less than two weeks. I need information now.” The last word was so booming that I swore it shook the walls. Owen Blakely wasn’t a slouch when it came to pinning his quarry, in a debate or otherwise. I suddenly felt two inches tall.
It almost forced tears from my eyes. I fought them, but not hard enough, because I knew that he could see them. “Yes, I will.”
He pressed his lips together, then sighed heavily. I could just see the father in him breaking through. “Brooke. You know I love you like a daughter, but this doesn’t bode well for a career in the FBI. Have you ever thought of a different path?”
I didn’t know if it was a threat, or a challenge, or just some fatherly advice. But whatever it was, it was well deserved. If I’d been in his shoes, I would have thought me incompetent too.
I forced the tears back. “I’ll try harder,” I told him, pulling the towel tighter around my body and straightening. “I promise you, you will have good, usable information next week. Count on it.”
He nodded. “I sure hope so.”
When I saw him out, I closed the door and leaned against it, wondering what I was going to do. I wondered if I should text that anonymous person back, but when I thought of the dirt I’d hear about Cameron, it made my stomach hurt. I felt like I was straddling a fence, with my feet in totally different worlds, and only inches away from getting splinters in my crotch. How could I betray Owen like this? My family? Kiera?
How could I betray Cameron?
Maybe this was how he’d felt about the toad. Because the only thing I knew for sure was that no matter what I did, someone was going to get hurt.
I looked down at my towel and sank down onto the floor, feeling so sick and wrong for having such desperate desire for Cameron. As much as I still needed him with every pore of my body, I knew it was wrong.
Burying my face in my hands, I began to cry.