Page 61 of Ms. Fortune

I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t like being called out like that. I would have asked if I’d wanted to know how he was. Actually, no, that’s not entirely true. I’m too flustered at the moment to think straight, let alone make polite conversation with an ex-boyfriend I can’t stop thinking about. So, yes, I should have at least returned the courtesy, but for some reason, I double down.

“Good,” I say nonchalantly and continue my trek to my work area.

He must freeze for a moment, but he recovers quickly and runs past me to block my path, hands on his hips. He’d make a great Superman. Or Batman. Stop. It.

“Can we talk?” His pleading tone matches his eyes, which are incredibly dark today. “Normandy?”

I’m caught staring at him again for the second time in so many minutes. My mind finally catches up to his question. “We have nothing to talk about, Brandon.”

I have fought myself so many times not to reach out to him to talk things over. To apologize for lashing out at him right after the shooting. He was a convenient target for my rage, but once that wore off, I was just left with the truth. I still care deeply about him. But acting on it seems foolish somehow. It’s been better for me to shove my emotions down to where they can’t be felt and leave them there in the dark rather than deal with them. But I’ve also been taking steps to deal with that aspect of my life. Facing my truths. It's not been easy by any means.

“Please. Let me at least take you to lunch or something.” There is so much charisma in that smile that I have to force myself not to automatically smile back at him. “If afterward, you still want nothing to do with me, I’ll never bother you again.”

“Did you put Sophie up to this?” I cross my arms, unsure of what to do, so I’m stalling as my mind fights a war with my heart over the decision to go or not.

He clutches at his chest as though offended, but I can’t tell if he’s overreacting as a joke or not. “Me? I would never dream of it.” He straightens and grows serious. “No kidding, I’m as surprised to see you here as you are me. I didn’t know Sophie was this diabolical.”

That makes me chuckle. Sophie is anything but diabolical. Meddling? Absolutely. But not an evil bone in her body.

“I don’t know….”

“I promise, I won’t offer you any money.” He tries a smile, but a shadow crosses his eyes as he realizes his words. A promise. He tries a recovery. “Actually, I may offer you loads of cash should I find it’s my last resort to win your favor.” His smile dies a slow death as the atmosphere around us grows uncomfortable, and I don’t respond. “Normandy, I’m flustered. I wasn’t expecting to see you here, but you are here, and seeing you has stirred up all kinds of emotions in me that I don’t know what to do with. Can we please just talk at lunch? I have some things I need to say but need to get my thoughts together before I stick my foot in my mouth again.”

His admission of being flustered and confused is a massive step in the right direction for me. I’ve never had a man admit something like that to me. It’s usually bravado bullshit. But not with Brandon.

“Fine. I’ll go to lunch with you, but can we go somewhere without photographers?” I glance toward the front of the building, where a small legion of the press is gathered to cover the event.

“We could go to my house.” He notices me flinch at the idea, even though I thought I hid it well. I haven’t been there since I was taken in the middle of the night. I don’t want to go back there. “Or we could go to yours. Grab some takeout on the way. Your call.”

“Okay, lunch at my house then.”

“Okay.”

Fantastic. I hope I don’t regret this.

Chapter 41

AFTER HOURS

BRANDON

We stop for sushi to take back to her house for lunch, and as I pull up to her gate in my Impala, it’s nice to see that it’s clear of any paparazzi. She’s still got a security detail that she can’t see, as do I. And even though I’m out driving around on my own today, I’m never really “on my own” anymore. It’s just something that I’ve had to get used to.

In the kitchen, we seem subconsciously aware of each other’s bodies because we orbit around each other with perfect synchronicity, getting plates, glasses, drinks, and the like. It’s as though we’ve done this dance with each other a million times, and we don’t even have to think about it. Of course, as soon as I think about it, everything goes to shit, and I get in her way several times, causing her to run into me. I don’t mind the closeness, but it makes things awkward, so I sit at the table to simply get out of her way.

The small talk while we eat, is relatively comfortable, with little dead air between us. That’s one thing we’ve never had a problem with, and after all of my business dealings over the years, random discussions about nothing in particular are my specialty.

When we finish eating, the air in the room becomes charged, and the anticipation and anxiety for the oncoming talk are tangible. I start washing a few dishes out of nervous habit. Normandy seems slightly surprised but grabs a clean dish towel and joins me at the sink.

“Do you always do chores when you visit someone’s house?” If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a hint of a laugh in her tone.

I grin. “Only if I have extreme amounts of groveling to do.” I hand her a freshly washed glass to dry. “You should see me with a vacuum. The symmetrical lines in the carpet are my forte.” This gets a small laugh out of her. That’s a good sign. I think.

It falls quiet between us again, but we’re back to doing that awareness dance with each other. After a while, I need to stop it. We have too much to talk about in a short time, and if I want to have any chance of fixing things between us, I need to get started.

“I put my house up for sale yesterday.”

She almost drops the plate she’s drying. “You what? Why?”

---