Page 61 of Mr. Perfect

“You’ll what?”

“Ellie, are you listening to me?”

“Oh, I’m hearing you perfectly. Go get you a drink,” I huff. “I’m not your personal assistant, Mac. In fact, this is actually my job, not yours. He asked for me, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s the reason he asked that’s got me mad.”

Oh, he did not just go there. “Why do you think he asked for me?” I snarl. “Because I’m cute and young?”

“Exactly,” Mac says.

“Oh!”

But then the car comes to a stop in front of the house and Mac puts up a hand to silence me. “Just do it the way I planned and we’ll talk about it later.”

The driver is opening Mac’s door before I can respond, so I take a deep breath, let my anger go, and then get out, more determined than ever that I will absolutely not do it his way. Brutus is my client. If he wants me to apologize for nearly killing him last week, I’m happy to do that. But I’m also happy to take care of all the details. This is my client, not Mac’s.

Mac offers me his hand as I scoot over and get out on his side. I accept and let him get me to my feet, then I smooth down my dress and notice Mac giving me the stink eye. “Now what? You have a problem with the dress you bought me?”

“It is a little low cut,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Maybe you can just wait in the car.”

“I can’t even with you right now,” I say, pushing him out of the way.

“Ellie,” he says, catching up with me. “Just listen, I didn’t say anything before, but—”

“Miss Hatcher,” a booming voice says from the top of the stairs as we enter the imposing two-story foyer of the compound house. “My, my,” Brutus says. “You look lovely. I’m so happy you could make it today. Mr. Stonewall insisted that you were too busy for me—”

I give Mac another look. And if my eyes could shoot arrows, his eyes would have two of them sticking out of their orbits. “Did he? Well, he was mistaken, Mr. Brutus. I was happy to cancel my day to come here and apologize profusely for what happened last week. I’m so sorry. I knew better, but I had forgotten to leave my sandwich in the fridge in my office. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

Brutus makes his way down an elaborate stairway, practically caressing the wrought-iron railing, as he beams me a welcoming smile. He looks like a rock star. Typical in almost every way. Long brown hair that he has tucked behind his ears. Ripped jeans and a tight t-shirt that hugs his chest. He’s skinny though, so it doesn’t show much. Nothing like Mac’s muscles that push against the pale blue fabric of his dress shirt under his suit coat.

Stop thinking about Mac, I chastise myself. I need to be professional because apparently Mac sees me as this ridiculous girl who can’t handle her own in business negotiations. I need to prove him wrong.

I extend my hand to Brutus, but instead of shaking it, he grasps it lightly in his as he brings it up and touches his lips gently across my knuckles.

“Well.” I smile, looking over at Mac with a smirk. “That was unexpected. I was under the impression that you didn’t want me at this meeting.”

“Who told you that?” Brutus asks, not even bothering to look at Mac, who is sighing behind me. I can imagine him rolling his eyes. “Quite the opposite, in fact, Miss Hatcher. I wanted you here. Asked for you specifically. And can I just say, that dress—” His eyes practically eat me up. “Whoever that designer is, she made it with you in mind, I’m sure.”

“Oh, thanks!” I say. “Mr. Stonewall said it might be a tad inappropriate, but I—”

“What?” Brutus exclaims with a hand on his heart in mock surprise. “Mr. Stonewall should keep his opinions to himself or he might find I have a few of my own that you might be interested in.”

Wait. “What?” I ask, confused.

“He didn’t tell you about us?” Brutus looks over my shoulder at Mac. I turn and look too and Mac has a very strange look on his face. Not shame. Not surprise. Not even discomfort, like he should be, since it’s clear these two know each other and Mac never said anything. “Well, Mr. Stonewall and I go way back. Way back.”

“Is that so?” I ask, looking between the two of them as they have some kind of silent standoff. “Well, color me surprised. He never mentioned it.”

“No,” Brutus says, taking me by the arm and leading me farther into the house. “I didn’t imagine he would. It’s ancient history, I guess. A lifetime ago.”

I let Brutus lead me, but I shoot a look over my shoulder to Mac and he’s fuming mad. I squint my eyebrows at him and mouth, What?

Mac just shakes his head as he clenches his jaw in anger. I turn back to business. Whatever his problem is, it’s obviously not about the business part of this trip.

“Would you like something to drink, Miss Hatcher?” Brutus asks, leading me into a room that overlooks the city. It’s set up high on a hill so the high adobe wall isn’t in the way.

“Sure,” I say, taking a seat on the long black leather couch. His décor isn’t my taste. It’s certainly screams rock-star, since the walls are red and all the furniture is black. But I’m not here to enjoy his home, I’m just here to secure the interview.