Blame It on the Bikini - By Natalie Anderson Page 0,32

fund from his grandfather. He was never going to be short of money. So there was something more worthwhile that he could do. Something that would irritate his accolade- and image-driven dad.

But eventually he realised his father really didn’t give a damn what he did. Brad just wasn’t that important to him. His gestures might be grand, but they were empty. Just purchases. There was a missing element—no true paternal love. All his father was, was hungry for success, money and women—and for maintaining that façade of the perfect family in society.

‘I thought Mother didn’t know,’ Brad scoffed lightly. ‘I thought I was protecting her.’ Brad had kept that bitter secret for months, feeling all kinds of betrayal—for himself, his sister and his mother.

‘But she did,’ Mya said.

He nodded. ‘We have an annual barbecue at home for all Dad’s staff. And that trainee turned up all confidence and Mother greeted her so politely. So knowingly. Coolly making it clear to her that while Dad might screw the secretaries, he’d never leave his wife.’

His mother was as selfish as his father. She wanted what she wanted and was happy to put up with the inconvenience of having a faithless husband. Money and status mattered more than truth. She was so busy projecting the perfect image. That was the moment that Brad decided not to help her project that image any more. That was when he removed himself from home as much as possible. He’d gone off and found his own fun—with his own rules.

He looked at Mya. He’d never told anyone that. Not anyone. Had lack of sleep got to him too? And, yeah, he regretted mentioning any of it now he saw what looked like pity in her eyes. He didn’t want pity, thanks very much; he had it all under control. He was more than happy with the way he managed his life.

‘I’m never going to marry,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not going to lie the way they both do.’

‘You don’t think a long-term relationship can work?’

‘Not for me.’

‘You’re not willing to take the risk?’

‘Why would I? I can get all I want.’ He smiled, acting up the playboy answer again. And he figured the women in his life got what they wanted too. Which wasn’t really him but the things he could give them—good sex, fancy dinners, a flash lifestyle. And fun. ‘I care about my work. I like to have fun. I like my space. I like it uncomplicated.’

‘Easy.’

‘Is that so wrong?’

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘Not if that’s what both parties want. And understand.’

He trod on the brake and turned to look at her. ‘I don’t do relationships, Mya. I do fun and flings and nothing more.’

‘Message received loud and clear.’ She echoed his words of the night before, calmly meeting his stare.

He felt sorry, tired, resigned. ‘So this … chemistry between us,’ he said slowly.

‘Goes nowhere,’ she answered. ‘It’s just one of those things, you know—the friend’s older brother …’

‘The sister’s best friend.’

‘We’re such a cliché,’ Mya acknowledged with a lift of her shoulders. He’d have believed she was amused had her laugh not cracked at the end. ‘We’ve seen too many movies. And you know how it is—you always want what you can’t have.’

‘We’ll be friends.’ He did want to remain in contact with her.

She hesitated. Too long for his liking. ‘We’ll do this party for Lauren.’

And after that? Back to zero contact? It would be for the best. But it wasn’t what he wanted at all. He still wanted her to the point of distraction. He’d just have to get over it. Another woman maybe?

He gripped the steering wheel with psycho-killer strength. Appalled with her schedule, he dropped her to university for an hour’s lecture knowing she then had to go straight back to the bar for another night’s shift. Despite the scratchy feeling beneath his eyelids, he found himself driving to his parents’ house. He vaguely tried to remember when it was he’d last been there, and failed. But now was a good time. His father would still be at work and his mother would be at some meeting. He avoided both the house and them as much as possible.

‘Hello?’ he called out just in case as he opened up the door and disarmed the alarm.

No answer. He took the stairs. His and Lauren’s rooms were still neat, still as they’d had them when they were growing up. On a separate floor to their parents, at opposite ends of the hallway from each