He made his millions a year later, at twenty-five.
Addie knew Braden when he was a blue-collar construction worker. I stifle a laugh. Addison Ames was slumming after graduation. A last fling before college. Sowing her wild oats and all that.
“You and Braden were young when you were involved,” I say.
“True. But a tiger doesn’t change its stripes.”
“Addie, there’s a world of difference between a twenty-four-year-old guy and a thirty-five-year-old man.”
“Not when both of them are Braden Black.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know. Stay away from him.”
Or what? The words hover on the tip of my tongue. What’s the worst that can happen? She can fire me. I need the job, but I’ve made tons of contacts working for her. I could probably find something else fairly quickly.
Unless she blackballs me.
“We’re dating,” I say calmly.
“Braden doesn’t date.”
“Apparently he does now.”
“Don’t fool yourself.” She flounces back into her office but then looks over her shoulder before she shuts the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The door slams.
At least she didn’t fire me.
I pull up my Instagram account and hit Public.
What can it hurt? I can always change it back.
Within seconds, though, I’m inundated with followers. Seriously, a thousand in ten minutes. What is going on? I haven’t even posted anything about Braden, and I’m only tagged in two of his.
Ding! A notification pops up. Apparently I’ve been tagged in a comment to one of Braden’s posts.
@krissmith4009: @stormyskye15 your lip color is gorgeous! What brand is it?
Without thinking, I reply.
@krissmith4009 Glad you like it. It’s Susanne lip stain in Cherry Russet.
One of my favorites and my usual “everyday” color because it’s beautifully neutral and goes with everything.
Almost immediately, I get a notification.
@krissmith4009 liked your comment.
I cock my head, expecting the xylophone rendition of The Twilight Zone melody to begin playing. Because I had lunch with Braden, someone out there is interested in my lipstick.
Surreal.
A half hour later, I have more than a thousand likes on the post of Tessa and me at the gala, plus quite a few comments.
You look gorgeous!
Beautiful ladies.
Wowza!
Who’s your friend? You’re both hot as hell.
Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
Chapter Thirty-One
I’m Braden Black’s girlfriend.
At least that’s how one of my new followers describes me.
You’re so lucky to be Braden Black’s girlfriend! #envious
This new comment appears on the post of Tessa and me from the gala after I get home from work. I’m warming up some leftover beef stew when my cell rings. Must be Tessa. She saw the post. Without looking at the number, I put it to my ear. “Hi, Tess.”
“It’s not Tess.”
Braden. How did he get my cell number? Ridiculous question. He’s Braden Black.
“Hi,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I see you’re gaining quite a following.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty weird.”
“Get used to it.”
“I’ll try. I can always put my account back to private.”
“You can,” he says, “but you won’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Just trust me. Do you want to get dinner?”
“I’m heating up leftovers.”
“Enough for two?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Great. I’ll be there in three minutes.”
“In three minutes? What—”
“I’m right outside your building.”
“How did you— Never mind. Christopher knows where I live.”
“He does, but I didn’t need him to find you. See you in a few.”
I race to the bathroom and run a brush through my hair, fluffing it. My makeup is fine, but I’ve changed into sweats and a tank top and my feet are bare. Oh well. This will have to do.
A minute later, Braden is knocking on my door.
I open it.
My breath catches. He’s clad in a black suit with a white shirt. He’s removed his tie, though, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. His eyes are heavy-lidded and his full lips slightly parted. I’ll never tire of his male beauty. The fact that he rarely smiles only makes him hotter, for some reason unknown to me.
He walks in as if he owns the place. Come to think of it, that’s how he always walks in any room. My modest studio is a large closet compared to his palace. I say a quick thanks to the universe that I made my bed this morning. That’s a fifty-fifty possibility on any given day.
“Smells good,” he says.
“Beef stew. One of my specialties. My mom’s recipe, a staple from my childhood.”
His lips quirk, and for a second, I think he’s going to smile.
He doesn’t. “I love beef stew.”
“Good. Though I’m sure Marilyn could prepare you a gourmet version that totally puts mine to shame.”
“Marilyn has never made beef stew.”
He loves beef stew but his personal chef doesn’t make it? Puzzling. But I’m done with the subject of stew. “So much for small talk. Why are you here, Braden?”
“To join you for dinner.”
“We just saw each other at lunch.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll go if you’d rather I not be here.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I want him here. I really want him here. I’m just confused as all get out. “Stay.”