I was finally starting to live outside the pages of my favorite books.
Brock had chased me out of my home, away from my family and friends, and out of my family business.
No, I told myself. That wasn’t exactly true. I made the decision to run from my home, away from my family and friends, and from my family legacy. That was all me.
Choosing to stay meant Fancy Feast for Rhage, a new purse or two for me eventually, and a job that would actually mean something to me.
But this option, staying here and working for Brock, terrified me. Not just because it truly forced me to move on from the mess that was our past, but also because it would inevitably require that I actually face it.
Obviously, I admittedly had a habit of not doing that.
There was a third option, I realized. I could stay and do this job while looking for a new one if being around Brock was just . . . well, too much.
Squaring my shoulders, I decided I was going to exist somewhere between option two and three and I walked around my desk and to the door, joining Brock.
“What?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
One eyebrow arched. “Watching you in there, it seemed like you were deciding between toppling the desk and breaking a window or walking out here and staying, working for your family like you always wanted to.”
I sucked in an unsteady breath, split between wondering if I was as transparent as a glass door and being extremely uncomfortable with the reminder of how well Brock knew me.
“So,” he said, dipping his head slightly as he stepped in. He was so close I could feel the heat from his body. “What did you decide, Jillian?”
Forcing myself to hold his gaze, I ignored the way every inch of my body was immediately aware of Brock, like it had been the moment I started seeing him as more than just a boy who was supposed to be like a brother to me. “I’m staying.”
“Good.” His smile was slow and soft. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.”
“Really?” I couldn’t believe it, because I would think he’d find this just as awkward.
He studied me a moment and then said, “Let’s chat.”
My mouth opened, with my initial instinct driving me to refuse, but I snapped my mouth shut and nodded. I may have been a coward when it came to Brock and all that, but I wasn’t stupid. He was my boss now, and I wouldn’t get myself fired. I wouldn’t embarrass my father like that.
Brock stepped aside and then moved to my left side as I followed him to the GM’s office—to his office. He held the door open for me, and waited until he was back on my left side before he spoke. At dinner Friday evening, he didn’t seem to remember or realize I couldn’t hear half of what he’d been saying. Did someone remind him?
“Have a seat,” he offered.
Looking around the office, I realized today was not Brock’s first day here. No way. It wasn’t the fact that his desk was covered with neat stacks of paper or that a gym bag rested in the corner, next to a pair of sneakers. It was the pictures on the fully stocked credenza—framed photos of Brock proudly holding a champion belt high. Another photo of him with his arm around my father, both wearing sponsor shirts and beaming at the camera. Several more photos of Brock with my uncles—
My breath caught.
There, in the middle of all those photos, was a picture I recognized immediately, because it used to be mine. It used to sit on my nightstand back home, because it had been my favorite picture of Brock and me.
Brock was in a tux, his hair a spiky, glorious mess, and I was standing next to him, in a deep red ankle-length gown with a heart-shaped neckline. It was from my senior prom, and I couldn’t stop staring at it, because that night, I felt beautiful. I felt like I belonged on Brock’s arm. But it was more than that. That night, I’d been confident. I’d been strong. I’d been full of possibilities.
Without realizing what I was doing, I walked over to the credenza and reached out to pick up the photo, but stopped short of touching it. “How . . . how did you get this?”
“You left it behind the last time you left.” There was a constricted pause, and then he said, “Considering what you said to me the last time we were standing this close, I figured you wouldn’t care if I took it.”
A knot of emotion formed in my throat and I had to look away from the photo. He’d been in my old bedroom? Obviously. I had no idea why he had that photo here, but I couldn’t focus on it. My gaze focused on a large flat-screen TV hanging on the wall opposite the desk. Why in the world did he need a TV in his office?
Wait.
A more important observation kicked in, and my head flew back toward the credenza. There wasn’t a single picture of his fiancée or them together. I glanced at his desk. Nothing there.
Interesting.
Wait again.
Not interesting. Not at all. Not even remotely.
I cleared my throat as I walked back to the chair and sat down. “When . . . when did you start here?”
“Three weeks ago.” Instead of walking behind his desk, he leaned against the front of it, lazily crossing one ankle over the other as his hands clasped the edge of the desk. “But all of this isn’t officially mine until Andre leaves at the end of the week.”
My jaw was probably on the floor. “And when were you hired to become the GM?”
He eyed me curiously. “About a year ago, when Andre first announced his plans to return home.”
I would’ve fallen out of my seat if I weren’t sitting down. “And no one thought to tell me this?”
Brock inclined his head to the side. “Well, before you took the position, why would anyone tell you? Now, let me finish.” He held up his hand when I opened my mouth. “You and I might not have spoken in years, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been around. You know that. So you know I’ve been aware that up until Andrew convinced you to take this job, you’ve completely distanced yourself from the Academy.”