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BLUE EYES WERE THE first sign of Cord that Brit saw when she peeked through the peephole of her doorway. She let him in, and it felt like she could finally exhale after a week of shallow breaths of anticipation. He had grown a beard. It looked unbearably sexy on him.
She took a mini step toward him but hesitated. A hug seemed like too much. She wasn’t a hugger. She didn’t just go around hugging people.
Daisy’s slapping flip-flops on the floor interrupted their reunion, and she had no hesitation flinging herself into Cord’s chest. He looped one arm around her waist, but his eyes focused on Brit.
“Come on in. Barbara and Lander should be here any minute. And Saffron and J.J.”
“Together?” asked Cord.
“No,” Brit answered too quickly. “At least, I don’t think so. I doubt it. Why would they?”
“I’d be kind of surprised if they didn’t,” he said with a meaningful wiggle of his eyebrows.
“Yeah right.”
They didn’t. Saffron showed up next, and after some initial small talk with Daisy and Cord, Saffron grasped a glass of whatever Cord had mixed up and hunched into Brit’s armchair that was pushed back against the wall, away from the main seating area.
Already, Brit was suspicious of something. Saffron wasn’t exactly the wallflower type. Today she looked uneasy as she traced patterns onto the condensation on the outside of her glass with her thumb.
J.J.’s entrance distracted Brit from worrying about Saffron for the moment. Shortly after J.J. came, Barbara and Lander arrived, and the night could officially get started.
Brit had bought a selection of liquor and mixers, which were arranged on her bar cart. Although she had no intention of drinking, she still wanted her party to be nice and toasted. That was the makings of a good party after all.
J.J. regaled the group with tales from his time in New York at the encouragement of Lander. Through his stories, Saffron looked more and more uncomfortable. When J.J. said that another pop star went out to drinks with him after the show and they had spent most of the next day together, Saffron heaved an audible sigh and got up to use the restroom.
Brit had met the pop star J.J. was talking about. She was gay—she had told Brit this in confidence once when she was drunk off her ass, of course—but she wasn’t out. If Saffron had been jealous for some reason, she didn’t have anything to worry about. Brit had the urge to get up and tell her that for some reason. And oddly, Brit didn’t have the typical excited butterflies when J.J. walked in that night. She was over it, she thought. But that couldn’t be what Saffron was all in a huff about. She was probably mad because she wasn’t the center of attention.
When Saffron emerged from the bathroom, she gave Barbara and Lander a quick squeeze goodbye. She moved to give Brit one but settled for a wave and pointed to the door with her thumb. “I gotta get going. Sorry, Brit.”
Brit stood to walk her out. She closed the door behind them once they were safely in the hall. “OK, level with me. Do you have a thing for J.J? I know we’re not close or anything, but...like, do you?”
Saffron’s big brown eyes shifted to the left, and her long eyelashes blinked slowly. “No. He likes you. And I guess this pop star chick.” Saffron waved her hand dismissively. She moved to leave, but Brit blocked her path.
“He doesn’t. And that girl’s gay. Don’t even sweat that. But I don’t blame you for being mad. He has been weird and distant lately. I’m starting to realize he’s kind of an ass.”
Saffron shook her head. “He’s not.”
Brit read the girl’s protective expression and backed off. “He’s got a personality on him. That’s for sure. He’s all yours if you want him.”
Saffron’s brow relaxed, but only slightly. “Can I go now?”
Brit moved out of her way, and Saffron stalked off.
The mood in the room had changed after that. J.J. went from bragging to brooding complete with his insipid rhyming, going into some of the not so great aspects of the trip like his delayed flights and long lines at customs.
“You could’ve started with that,” mumbled Brit.
He fell into silence then, with his elbows on his knees, massaging an empty glass between his hands.
“Brit said you were in London, Cord. How was it?” Daisy sat down next to him after refilling her glass, and her knees touched his.
Cord took the spotlight then, telling the group about his travels, but Brit couldn’t concentrate.
Her party was a bust, she felt like she wasted a perfectly good outfit, and it was all J.J.’s fault.
***
ACHING CRAMPS AND A foul attitude made Brit want to skip the company meeting the next afternoon, but her dad was going to make his big announcement about her trial period. Ugh, period. The one time he actually included her was the one time she didn’t want to be there. The Midol she had taken wasn’t even taking the edge off.
Cord walked in last and plopped down his laptop. A white bakery box hit the table with a slap. He smiled at Brit. She lifted the edge of the lid with one finger and found a box full of gourmet donuts. She wanted to cry at the sugary scent coming from the box. Or maybe she wanted to cry because her uterus was trying to forcefully secede from her body.
“Welcome, everyone,” began Lonnie. “We’re going to do something different today and have Brit run the meeting. Please give her your attention and respect her like you would respect me. Brit?”
He passed her the handwritten agenda on the legal pad in front of him. Taking it up into her hands, she tapped the bottom edge on the table like she was straightening a stack of papers. She tried to ignore Rube’s startled expression at her being suddenly in power. Along with the unrelenting pain of her cramps.
“Thank you, Lonnie. Let’s see, first, Cord, if you could look up from your many nerdy spreadsheets for a moment and give us an update on the London club...” Her usual line of teasing crash-landed when Cord’s encouraging smile bent into a frown.
Cord cleared his throat and dove into his spiel. It sounded well-rehearsed, but Brit guessed it wasn’t. He was just that good.
“You agree that it’s a good spot then?” asked Lonnie when he finished. “And you got the paperwork going.”
“Before we do anything too rash,” Rube butted in. “You should really consider Soho instead of Brixton. My dearest friend, Chadwick, who lives in Soho knows of this club that’s also for sale. Better neighborhood. Better people. Better opportunity as a whole, if you ask me.”
“Lonnie, Mike, and I have all been there, Rube. This place is solid,” said Cord.
“If I could see it for myself—”
“Oh my gosh, shut up, Rube.” Brit clutched her head. Now she had a tension headache to add to her menstrual cramps. “Who asked you here anyway? And why do you think you have any right to a free trip to London, you entitled queen?”
“Britnee!” Lonnie stood up from his seat, his rolling chair hitting the wall behind him.
Brit tried to catch Cord’s eye in solidarity, but his attention was on Lonnie. When he did look, it was surprise and disappointment Brit read on his face. Not the knowing or sympathetic shrug of a smile she expected.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No, Britnee, I want you to stay.”
Brit considered leaving anyway. Rube turned his nose up the rest of the meeting, and Brit did the same. She was right. Everyone knew it. Rube was a freeloader, and he had no right throwing in his opinion for how her father should run his business. Her family’s business. Maybe someday her own. Her father had to know she was just being protective of what he built. And what was the deal with Cord’s reaction? Shouldn’t he be just as pissed about Rube undermining his opinion? Rube hadn’t even seen the club.
After the meeting, everyone filed out, but Brit stayed put. She knew her father would have something to say. She didn’t expect Cord to leave too without even so much as a glance in her direction.
“Close the door when you leave, please, Cord,” said Lonnie.
When the door clicked, Lonnie folded his hands on the table. “Sweetheart.”
Brit stuck her nose farther into the air.
“I want you to run this club someday, if that’s what you want.”
Brit noticed that he had said “this club.” Not “all the clubs,” not “the empire.” Just this one. In Toronto.
“I want to. Run your business.” He was about to say something, so she hurried on. “When I’m ready.”
“I want you to, but I also want to leave my legacy how I began it. As a family-oriented business where everyone is treated with respect.”
“Maybe I would be better suited running mom’s escort service.”
“High-end matchmaking,” Lonnie corrected her in the same way she had corrected other people dozens of times. “She’s a mogul in her own right. Running her own successful enterprise. That takes a level of...” He cleared his throat. “Decorum, as well.”
Brit doubted her mother ran her business with even a drop of decorum. People were afraid of her. Brit could easily fill those shoes. If she wanted to. If she could get a few more successful matches under her belt. She sure had the enthusiasm to try if she wasn’t wanted here.
Lonnie heaved a sigh and coughed. “If you ever decide that you want to go to Amsterdam and work with your mother, I will support that.” He reached across the table, but she was too far away. If she reached her own hand out, they could’ve touched, but she didn’t move. “Of course, I would hope you’d stay. Maybe if you need to get away, you could work at the Amsterdam club for awhile. If you wanted. I love you, my dear Britnee, and I’ll support you in whatever you decide.”
Her dad was being supportive, which Brit didn’t believe she deserved. She didn’t know if she deserved any of it after the show she just put on, and she wasn’t sure how she was going to redeem herself.