Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,111
uses as a home office.
The decor is simple, clean lines, monochromatic gray with pops of blue to draw the eye. Steel, glass, and leather, it’s utilitarian, masculine, and surprisingly cozy.
He’s a neat freak. Either that or he has a maid. From what I know about Brody, I’m guessing he’s the reason there’s no dust on the hardwood floor, nothing under the couch, and not a speck in the corners. And yes, I checked.
I look everywhere. If I’m going to snoop, I’m going to do it right. Which brings me to the end of my tour of Brody’s apartment, his office. It has a large desk, which is great to get fucked on. There’s a man-sized leather chair with all kinds of gizmos for comfort. Sparsely decorated bookshelves with stunning photographs taken from all around the world sit on the far wall. I’m guessing those are from Cage.
His desk is clean, no piles of stuff scattered about. It’s so clean, I wonder whether Brody suffers from a little closet OCD. If so, it wasn’t enough to clean up after some vigorous sex last night. Thoughts of him bending me over this desk, and what ensued, sends licks of pleasure to my girly-bits. That man knows how to take a woman, but even better, he knows how to rut. Damn but I love when he comes completely unglued.
Scattered on the floor, opposite where he ravaged me, are several folders. Guilt gnaws at me for making the mess, and I decide tidying up isn’t technically snooping. While I try not to peek at his personal things, one name jumps out at me.
Atwood Estates.
It doesn’t occur to me not to look. I just do, and my eyes round as I scan the document, and my heart squeezes with pain.
How could he?
“Grace?”
I spin around. “What’s this?” I don’t care that I shouldn’t have looked and go on the defensive, thrusting the folder toward him. “You’re looking at selling Atwood Estates? Shopping for buyers? Is this the kind of business you run?”
I’m well aware of the terms of our contract with Sterling Enterprises. In a year’s time, if they’re not satisfied, written in the small print, Sterling Enterprises can exercise an option to sell the business to recoup their losses.
“Calm down.” He holds up his hands. “We need to talk about this.”
“Brody, there’s not one goddam time in human history where the words calm down succeeded in calming anyone down.” My fingers clench around the folder and crumple the contents inside. “You invest in companies, seeking weakness and opportunity, only to sell them later at a profit? Was this your game all along? Fuck me, literally and figuratively? Then discard me and move on?”
“Now, hold on.” He takes a step forward, but my voice rises.
“Stay right where you are,” I shout and point my finger at him. “We’re done.”
“No. We’re not done.” He says it with confidence and conviction. I almost believe him, but we’re totally done.
“You were a player in high school, and you’re still a goddamn player now. So, you were going to fuck with me for a year, watch me lose my business, then steal it out from under me?”
“Not me, but someone does want to steal it.”
“If not you,” I sneer, “then who?” Boiling hot, I rage at him. All I can think about is poking his eyes out, kicking him in the balls, or worse. There has to be something worse.
Cutting his dick off!
“Grace.” His voice shifts to a lower register, the one that makes me weak in the knees and soft in the head, “I need you to listen.”
I give a shake, unwilling to let him command me and somehow control this situation. My mind spins with what I’m going to do. How am I going to get home? Brody drove me, and Napa is way too far for a taxi.
“I’m done listening to you.” I may not know how I’m getting home, but there’s no way I’m staying here. Unfortunately, he’s between me and my clothes, which are scattered all over his apartment. Collecting them is going to take time.
As far as storming out of here, that’s a no-go, but I don’t have to speak to him. In a huff, I hurl the folder with the purchase proposal at his face and duck around him. Only he’s faster than me. Stronger than me. Brody grips my arms and backs me up against the wall.
“Goddamn it, Grace, I want you to listen.” The muscles of his jaw bunch.
“Let me go.”
“Not