Page 2 of Jilted
Next, she removed her heels. She rubbed the bottom of her foot. She extended her legs in front of her and wiggled her toes. That’s when she noticed Brett staring at her, an odd look on his face.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Why do you keep wearing those shoes if they hurt your feet?”
“Because they’re pretty.” She smiled, and he laughed. “Once I break them in, they’ll stop hurting.”
“I’ll never understand you women and your obsession with shoes.”
“And I’ll never understand you men and your obsession with throwing your stuff on the floor.” She glanced toward the corner where he’d kicked his bag earlier.
He shrugged in typical Brett fashion – slow, lazy, and full of confidence. “At least it’s out of the way.”
Amy picked up her towel and threw it at him. “Would it really be so much trouble to just put it in the office?”
“I’ve got important stuff in that bag.” He walked over and picked it up, putting the strap over his shoulder.
“What could you possibly have in there that you can’t let it out of your sight for a single, fifty-minute lesson?”
“A man’s duffel bag is like a woman’s purse. Sacred and confusing.”
She shook her head and smiled. “You are such a dork.”
“Takes one to know one,” he retorted with a smile.
Yeah, they were grown adults who still teased each other like kids. It was juvenile, but it was their thing, and she wouldn’t change it for the world.
“Want to grab some lunch?” Brett asked.
“Yeah, it’ll have to be quick though. I’m meeting with the realtor today.” Amy picked up her heels and carried them into the back office. She slipped on her sandals and grabbed her purse.
“I forgot about that. Want me to go with you?” He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking perfectly at ease, perfectly sexy. Brett always wore a plain black T-shirt when teaching, and the fabric always stretched just right across his chest, showing the definition of his upper body.
Her gaze lingered longer than necessary on his muscular arms. What the heck was wrong with her today? Forcing herself to look away, she said, “Yeah, sure, if you want. All I’m doing is meeting with her to sign a contract and to give her an idea of the kind of space we’re looking for.”
Amy glanced around the office one final time to make sure she had everything; then she turned off the lights and followed Brett back into the studio.
“I think you forget sometimes that my name is on the sign out front, too.” He gently nudged her shoulder. “We agreed that if we were going to open a second studio, we’d do it together. I want to help.”
Amy could never forget that she and Brett were equal business partners, but she was the type of person who just naturally tried to do everything on her own. They needed another location, so she was doing what needed to be done to find it.
“Okay, if you want to spend this beautiful day going over a real estate contract, who am I to stop you?” she said with a shrug.
He laughed one of his deep, throaty laughs that always made her stomach drop to her feet and her heart flutter. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. Honestly, Amy, how long is this going to take? We’ll be done and outside enjoying the sunshine in no time.”
“You’re a poet and didn’t even know it.” She playfully stuck her tongue out at him as they made their way to the parking lot.
“Who’s the dork now?”
“I have learned from the best,” she said, bowing at him as if he were royalty.
“Shut up and get in the car.” He pointed his key fob at his car and pushed the unlock button.
Teaching dance lessons wasn’t the highest paying profession, but no one would know that based on Brett’s lifestyle. He drove a metallic blue Mercedes. It was a hot car, but very expensive. And his apartment was to die for. The view from his living room was breathtaking. He wouldn’t live like he did if not for his hefty trust fund. But despite his money, he never acted like he was better than anyone else.
Amy, on the other hand, lived less extravagantly. Not because she couldn’t afford to live like Brett – she could thanks to a large inheritance from her grandmother—but she preferred the simpler things in life. She owned her own house, a small, two-bedroom, one story Ranch outside of the city with a generous sized backyard. Someday, when she had children of her own, it would be the perfect place to raise them. And she drove a modest and safe SUV.
She opened the passenger’s door and slid into the seat, loving how the cool leather felt against her bare legs. “So, where are you taking me to lunch?” Amy rested her elbow on the door and glanced at him.
