Page 48 of The Broker

Her tone was playful. “You need to be back there if you’re going to backseat drive.” She drove down the aisle of the parking lot, searching for a space, and gestured to something. “That’s Zach’s car.”

Once we’d parked and she shut off the engine, Charlotte turned in her seat to face me. “You sure you’re okay doing this? He’s not the nicest guy when he’s been drinking.”

My blood ran cold.

Was this the real reason she’d asked me to come along? For protection? I glared up at the apartment building, already hating this kid’s guts. I answered her question with action, pushing open the door and climbing out.

She did the same and stood beside her car, looking at me over the hood with a nervous expression. “Don’t judge me,” she said quietly and rushed. “I wish I’d been smart enough not to fall for him.”

Oh, man. Her words punched me like a slug to the chest. My voice matched her soft tone. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I got you, Charlotte.”

She nodded her acceptance, and then I followed her up the path to the front door.

Calling it a lobby would be generous. It was mostly just a hallway with a few mailboxes on one side and a set of stairs on the other, all lit by an underpowered chandelier overhead. She’dlived here once, and that had probably sucked. The apartment building was depressing.

Again, I reminded myself that college kids couldn’t afford to be picky. My place at NYU had been a lot worse.

We went up the steps, and when she reached the door at the end of the hallway, she took a deep breath, visually checked in with me, and then knocked.

Approaching footsteps could be heard behind the door, and it swung open, almost as if the occupant had been expecting someone. But it was immediately clear Charlotte was not who he’d hoped it would be. His gaze swept over me and then her, and somehow he missed seeing how good she looked, because his smile drained away.

“What the hell?” he demanded.

I bristled at the dark tone he’d directed at her. Who the fuck was this guy? Zach’s older brother? An uncle? The man was probably my age, and I sized him up. He was taller and seemed to be in excellent shape, but I wasn’t intimidated. Most of the time, the guys who came out of the gate with aggression were the first ones to back down when challenged.

Because the door was wide open, I could see into the shitty apartment. Dirty dishes seemed to decorate every flat surface, and a sweatshirt and two pairs of pants hung haphazardly on the couch in the living area. There wasn’t anything on the walls except for a poster of Davidson University’s basketball team from their Elite Eight appearance years ago.

Everything about the place screamed a college kid lived here.

So, where the fuck was he?

Charlotte stood at my side, not withering under the man’s pissed off glare. “I’m here for my iPad, Zach.”

Holy shit.Thiswas her ex-boyfriend?

THIRTEEN

Noah

I stared at Zach with new eyes, and my chest tightened with apprehension. I hadn’t felt intimidated by his build, but his looks? That was a different story. The man was attractive, and definitely better looking than me. He had one of those sculpted faces with perfect symmetry, the kind women usually lost their shit over.

His hair was short and messy, and he was blond like Charlotte, although his was darker. They matched perfectly in the looks department too. God, what a pair they must have made together.

A foreign sensation stole over me—something I hadn’t ever experienced in all my years in the lifestyle.

Jealousy.

It was a burn that crawled up from my stomach and wanted to escape through my eyes. I hated the feeling almost as much as I hated him.

Charlotte didn’t wait for an invitation. She pushed past him and charged into the apartment, so I followed suit. I didn’t want her too far away, or too close to her ex. There was a collection of liquor bottles on the counter in the kitchen, and a half-empty glass of what looked like whiskey beside it.

The mess of the place made me uncomfortable, so I couldn’t even imagine how bad it was for her. She didn’t show it, though. She sidestepped a pizza box on the floor and moved with purpose into the living room.

Christ, had it looked like this when she’d lived here? No. There was no way. She’d been bothered by my cluttered house the first time she’d come over, but this place was on a whole other level. It wasn’t messy—it was dirty.

“It’s not here,” Zach said. When she ignored him and began to move stuff off the ottoman, his tone turned patronizing. “But feel free to look around.”

She grimaced at the plate of food that had begun to mold and pushed it to the side. “Where’s the tray I had here?”

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