Page 49 of Chase

“No,” he replies. “She refused to work up here.”

“Why? That’s what I pay her for.”

He looks up, holding my focus with a blank stare. “Her words were, ‘I won’t be working for Mr. Chase until he can prove he isn’t a manipulative, unhinged character.’” The stern look on his face flickers as he struggles to bury his amusement. “‘I had been told not to clean the spare bedroom as it was being used for highly confidential work. If I had known it was the headquarters for his stalking enterprise, I would have informed you.’” My brother mimics our housekeeper's cadence and tone perfectly. “She’s not happy with you,” he adds, so I don’t doubt her stance.

“I gathered as much.”

“She also said she won't be setting foot back in this apartment until the ridiculous shrine in the bedroom is removed and it's been cleaned by someone else. She’s seemingly too old to deal with a week’s worth of stale male.”

“I’ve not fucking been here,” I mutter. “Maybe it’s time to find a new housekeeper.”

“Good luck with that,” Connor tells me. “Your reputation precedes you.”

I ignore the comment. He’s right. There would be no way I could replace Mrs. D with someone else. She’s the timepiece that keeps my home running smoothly—all of our homes. I don’t know how she does it, but I suspect she may have magical capabilities.

“I’ll apologize,” I tell him. He raises an eyebrow. “Today,” I add.

“Good.”

Samantha hovers at the edge of the room, twisting her fingers together nervously. She coughs gently, moving both of our attention to her. She looks endearing, dressed casually in a simple T-shirt and jeans. Her hair is wrapped up on top of her head and secured with an overly large black clip, but stray strands fall around her face. She has this perfectly imperfect look nailed.

“You look good in here, Trouble,” I tell her, and her cheeks flush red. I love how a simple compliment affects her. Even when I was following her months ago and she knew I was there but didn’t acknowledge my presence, I enjoyed how a single look would cause her skin to color and how I could obtain a reaction with my proximity.

“She looks better in my apartment,” Connor interjects before taking advantage of the fact he can walk easily and strolling across to her side. He places a hand on her waist then leans down to peck her cheek. Her skin, which was the shade of tomato, turns beetroot. She drops her eyes away from both of us, clearly uncomfortable with the complex situation of having two men fighting over her.

“This isn’t fair,” she mumbles to her feet. “I’m not sure how this is supposed to play out.”

“Neither are we,” he says. “But if we’re both going to be seeing you for the foreseeable future, then we better figure it out.”

“Shall we set up a schedule?” I suggest, and Samantha giggles nervously, quickly placing a delicate hand over her mouth. When she drops it away, her plump lips spread into the most mesmerizing smile. My heart, already beating hard with the reality of her being in my home, increases its rhythm. The muscle strains against my breastbone. I take a breath to steady my nerves, unsettled by her amusement.

“She isn’t a piece of meat,” Connor scolds. “I think we should leave it up to Sam who she sees when. I mean, I certainly know her better than you do.” He turns to face me, and cocks his head to the side. The look in his eyes is one he uses when he tries to pick a fight. It’s been the same since he was a small boy trying to steal my toys; this time I’m stealing his. “You have some catching up to do.”

“That’s enough,” Samantha warns. “Either both of you start behaving, or I’ll see neither. I was perfectly happy single.” She places a hand on my brother’s arm, her fingers flexing against his shirt. Her touch causes him to stand slightly taller, and he visibly puffs his chest out in silent victory. I scowl openly, and he responds to my grimace with a grin.

Deciding not to take his open challenge lying down, I hop over to Samantha’s opposite side. The gesture that had been smooth in my head is made incredibly difficult by the clanging of the crutches off the floor. After what seems an age, I arrive at her side. I stand close enough to her that I’m in her space but not touching her. My brother bristles beside us; I ignore him. He started this crazy public competition.

“Trouble,” I say, my voice low. “You couldn’t stay away from me if you wanted to.” Her breath audibly catches in her throat, her body tensing more with each word. “And you fucking know it. If I didn’t have this fucking cast on, things could move much faster, but I’m sure we can improvise.”

Connor’s face darkens, but he doesn’t say anything. We’ve fought over the same girl before; competition doesn’t scare us. But we both know this girl is different, and losing will mean giving up the opportunity to have a relationship that could last.

“You started this, brother,” I tell him as his focus locks with mine. He steps into my space, and I straighten as much as I can, hindered by my crutches. He leans forward and narrows his eyes.

“No, you started it by coming after my girl,” he says fiercely. “The only reason I suggested this was so when she realizes what an arsehole you are, she’ll come back to me.” A self-assured smile appears on his lips, and he chuckles softly as he glances at Sam then returns his focus to me. “You always fuck up, Russ. Normally, I do my best to dig you out of the hole you create. This time, I’m fucking banking on you getting buried.”

“Don’t be an arsehole,” I say, lifting one crutch and tapping him on the shoulder. His eyes follow the movement, before his head snaps back to its original position. “This time I have every intention of getting it right.”

Samantha steps between us, laying a hand on both our chests. She sighs softly before shaking her head. “Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea,” she says. “I don’t want to be the reason there are issues between you.”

“There have always been issues,” Connor counters, never averting his eyes from mine. “I love and hate my brother in the same measure; he’s my best friend and my worst enemy. I want him to be happy, but I also want to fucking bury him.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Perhaps this isn’t the best way to nurture your relationship,” she suggests. “Blood is thicker than water; it would be best if I walked away.” She drops her hands, and sheer panic surges through my body. The thought of not getting the opportunity to investigate what could be isn’t something I am willing to accept. Her lithe frame takes a decisive step backward. “I’m going home,” she says, and my brother and I reach for her in synchronization. Our hands wrap around a different wrist, and we all freeze.

The three of us stand in the center of my penthouse, Samantha in the middle but connected to both of us. “All I want is for you to be sure of our future,” my brother says dejectedly. “My solution to your feelings may be unconventional, but it makes sense. You need to figure out what you want. You both do.” He huffs gently, a sign that the altercation between us is passing. “I love both of you. And if you can’t be happy with me, there isn’t another man I’d trust to look after you better than my brother would.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, taken aback by his kind words. His eyes move to meet mine, and we stare at each other like we have so many times before, since we were kids. My brother and I, although we’ve had our issues, always had a unique understanding of each other. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t believe what Trouble and I have is special.”

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