Page 11 of The Broker

“Yeah. My parents still live around here too.” There was something off about her tone. She’d sounded... sad?

“Are you close?”

“To my parents?” Her reaction told me this was a touchy subject. “I guess. Not as close as I used to be.”

Family was complicated and I didn’t want to pry, so I shifted the conversation, asking what had happened with her brand partnership. She told me how hard she’d been working to build up her business, and the first company willing to work with her was now embroiled in a PR nightmare.

“You’re an influencer?” Shit, I hoped she couldn’t hear the disdain in my voice.

It shouldn’t have been there, anyway. There was a lot of money in that industry, and she was running a small business. I shouldn’t judge or look down on her. Didn’t I know exactly how that felt?

What a pair we made to the outside world. Me, a greedy stockbroker, and her, a vapid social media influencer. Maybe we had more in common than I thought.

I adjusted my tone and pushed out a smile. “That’s cool.”

She didn’t look convinced but shrugged one shoulder. “It has its moments. Times when the work is fun and doesn’t feel like work, you know?” Her lips skewed to one side. “And then there’s days like today.”

“I think most jobs are like that,” I said.

“I guess I’m unlucky,” she said, “because I’ve hated every job I’ve ever had.”

I let out half a laugh. “When I started at my firm in Manhattan, I loved the work. I liked the,” I searched for the right word, “challenge of it. But by the end? Yeah, I definitely didn’t love it anymore.”

There’d been times I’d come away hating myself. My only escape had been the club, and that wasn’t a healthy way to deal with the stress. I was so burned out I could barely function.

“How about your new job? Do you like it?”

“So far, so good.” It was drastically different than HBHC and seemed to be the reset I needed.

We made more small talk as we finished our drinks, and I got the impression we were both avoiding any kind of details. I took it as a good sign. Maybe I’d misjudged her, and Charlotte wasn’t looking for anything serious. She told me she’d come out on a date tonight because she’d been looking for some ‘interest,’ and I was plenty willing to give her that.

She set her empty glass on the bar and then gave me a playful look. “I finished my drink, Daddy.” It was impossible to know if there was lust in her eyes—or if I just wished there were. Her head quirked to the side, and she asked it like it was rhetorical. “Should we head back to your place?”

“Sounds like a plan, sweetheart.”

FOUR

Noah

We shared an Uber back to my place, and during the drive, Charlotte asked for my address. “I’m texting it to a friend,” she said, “so they know where to start if I go missing.”

Even though she’d been teasing, the guy driving locked eyes with me in the rearview mirror, wordlessly accusing me of plotting her murder.

“I get it.” It was smart, because she didn’t know much about me. I strove to match her joking tone. “Hope I haven’t been giving off serial killer vibes.”

She smiled and shook her head.

When we pulled up in front of my house, her mouth dropped open. “You live here?”

Pride swept through me. I shouldn’t have cared that she was impressed, but I was anyway. “Yeah.”

“It’s really nice.”

“Thanks.”

We got out, and she followed me up the path and onto the front porch, waiting as I unlocked the door. I pushed it open—only to thrust a hand across the doorway and block her from entering. “So, uh... it’s kind of a disaster in here. I wasn’t expecting company.”

Especially since Patrick and Shannon had told me they didn’t play on the first date.

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