For Better or Worse (10 page)

“I'll try to control myself,” she said, dropping the dirty spoon into the sink and shoving his legs out of the way once more to get a clean one.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, nudging her face up toward his. “I'll ask one more time. Why'd you kiss Trevor?”

“Why so curious?” she said, her voice coming out a little more breathy than she'd intended.

“Not curious,” he said, his gaze locked on her mouth. “Jealous. Irrationally, crazy-out-of-my-mind jealous, 4C.”

Her lips parted in surprise at the admission, and her belly flipped in excitement.

Josh's gaze held hers. Searching. Waiting.

“Oh hell,” she muttered. “That's
why
I kissed him. I wanted to make you jealous.”

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “I know.”

Josh dipped his head toward hers, his head moving slowly, giving her time to pull back.

She met him halfway.

Their mouths collided hungrily, and it was like the Fourth of July and New Year's Eve all rolled into one. Fireworks. In her mind, her belly, her . . . other parts.

Her hands lifted to his waist, fingers tangling in the soft fabric in his shirt as his hand slipped to the back of her neck, tugging her closer as his tongue
swept into her mouth, his breath minty and coffee and man.

He eased back slowly and Heather let out a little whimper of dismay, trying to pull him closer once more. Josh gave a little laugh, nipping her bottom lip in his teeth before soothing it with his tongue and releasing her. “There's someone at your door, 4C.”

Heather jerked back, the sound of a knock finally breaking through her sexual haze. “Holy crap,” she muttered, glancing at the clock. “How'd that happen so quickly?”

“Sorry,” he said quietly, smoothing a curl away from her face before hopping down from the counter. “I meant to be gone before they got here.”

Heather frowned. “What are you talking about? You're staying for brunch, moron.”

“I am?” He blinked in surprise.

Heather felt something soften around her heart at the unexpected vulnerability, and she tried to ignore it. “Of course you are. You helped me shop, helped me cook . . . you have to stay.”

“I don't want to intrude,” he said as a louder, more insistent knock sounded at the door.

She met his eyes. “Yeah, I think we're way past that. Don't you?”

Chapter Eleven

I
T TOOK
J
OSH ALL
of five minutes of watching Heather with her coworkers to realize one thing:

Heather loved her job far more than he'd ever loved his. Or at least, she loved her coworkers.

Heather was
happy.
Radiantly so.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised. For some reason, the way she was so tightly wound all the time, he'd just sort of assumed that her stress about her job came from external pressure—a fierce demon on her back that drove her to be more, to be better.

Seeing her now though, as she animatedly described some hotel lobby she'd toured yesterday, Josh realized that it wasn't that at all. Her job had its pressures, certainly, but it was pressure Heather put on
herself
, because she cared so much.

She fiercely cared about other people's weddings—about getting them perfect.

And for a heart-stopping moment, Josh was . . . jealous.

Jealous that she'd found a calling and a career that seemed to light her up from within.

“So you're the noisy neighbor, hmm?” Josh glanced up from the stove, where he'd just dropped a pat of butter into a skillet for the eggs to find Alexis Morgan watching him.

From the second the group had walked through the door, Josh had understood what Heather had meant when she'd described Alexis as complicated. There was a duality about her. She was beautiful in an old-fashioned, composed sort of way. Wide brown eyes, slim, petite features. But just when you expected her to be quiet and sort of shy, she looked at you, and you were hit with the sense that you would never have any idea what she was thinking or feeling. Ever.

He and Heather had joked about each other having walls, and they certainly had them, but Alexis Morgan was on a whole other level. Not only did the pretty brunette construct a veritable Great Wall around her, she was aware of it—aware of how other people saw her, because she carefully cultivated what they saw.

“Noisy neighbor,” Josh said, swirling the pan so that the sizzling butter coated the bottom. “Is that what she calls me?”

Alexis lifted her champagne flute to her lips and studied him. “She's mentioned being short on sleep once or twice, courtesy of your band.”

Josh felt a little stab of guilt. It wasn't that he'd been completely immune to Heather's complaints, nor was he selfish enough to think it was his right to play
live music at midnight in an apartment building with shared walls.

But he had enjoyed the sparring that had come with it. Hell, for all he knew, without his loud music, they might still just be two strangers who exchanged pleasantries at the mailbox the way he did with the rest of the building.

Not neighbors who kissed every bit as well as they fought.

His gaze flicked over to where Heather was refilling everyone's glasses, laughing as the blond wedding planner—Brooke—told some story about her latest client who was insistent on bacon cake.

No, he definitely didn't want to be strangers with her. He never felt quite so alive as when he was bickering with her, and these days, being alive was everything. Which was probably why he'd offered to help her with brunch this morning the instant he saw her flustered and overwhelmed. If only his mother could see him now, he thought ironically.

“You like her,” Alexis said with the slightest smile.

Josh reached for the bowl of eggs he'd whisked earlier. She was a straight shooter. He liked that.

But he could be a straight shooter, too.

“I do like Heather. And you like your accountant. Logan, is it?”

Alexis's eyes narrowed. “Of course I like him. We're friends.”

“Sure,” Josh said with an easy smile. “That's what I meant.”

It's actually not at all what he'd meant, and from
the way her eyes stayed narrowed on him, Alexis knew it.

She
might think she and her accountant were just friends, but the other man had his gaze trained on her every time she wasn't looking. Josh knew a man in want, and Logan Harris was downright hungry when it came to Alexis.

Luckily, Josh was saved from having to respond to that by Logan ambling over to the kitchen as he dumped the eggs into the skillet and dug around in Heather's drawer for a spatula.

“You cook?” Logan said to Josh, his British accent doing nothing to hide his surprise.

“I know, I don't look the part,” Josh said, spreading his arms to the side and glancing down at his gray Henley and jeans. “But my mother was determined I'd be able to feed myself in college and beyond, so she taught me the basics. Eggs. Chicken parmesan. That sort of thing.”

“So what do you do, Josh?” Logan asked.

“I'm a musician,” he said. And since he didn't particularly feel like talking about that, he shifted focus back to the other man. “You're an accountant, yeah?”

“Yep. Boring, right?” Logan said in a good-naturedly self-deprecating manner, taking a sip of his drink.

“No, actually,” Josh said slowly as he dragged the spatula through the eggs. “I used to . . . I like numbers.”

“Yeah?” Logan asked, his eyes lighting up.

“And, I'm out,” Alexis said brightly, wandering
away to join the other women, who were interrogating Brooke's boyfriend, Seth, about some new hotel his company was opening in the Bahamas.

“I get it, you know,” Logan said quietly. “I play the piano.”

Josh's head snapped up, seeing from the quiet understanding in the other man's eyes that he did, in fact, get it. Which was pretty unusual: It was something that very few people in his circle seemed to understand, that music and numbers were inextricably linked. That mathematics were the very foundation of music, if you just paid attention. It was the same reason why Josh's mind always flitted to complex number problems when he was playing, and why he was never found without his earbuds in while he'd been working back when he was a hedge fund manager.

“So who do you work for?” Josh asked, dumping cheese into the nearly done eggs.

“Myself.”

Josh's interest went from mildly curious to rabid. “Really?”

Logan shrugged. “I always thought I'd work for a big firm back in London, but I don't want someone else calling the shots. Running my own business isn't easy, especially in Manhattan, but it's worth the freedom and not having to answer to anyone.”

“Huh.” Josh flicked off the burner, but instead of calling to Heather to see how she wanted to serve up the eggs, he stayed perfectly still, lost in thought.

It was strange, but he'd never really thought about doing his own thing. For him, his work in finance had always meant the corporate world. The suits and the
corner office and the life that never felt entirely like your own.

“It's okay to miss it,” Logan said quietly.

Josh gave a harsh laugh. “With all due respect, dude, because you seem like a decent guy . . . you don't know me.”

Logan ignored this, studying Josh with quiet brown eyes. For a man who was wearing honest-to-God tweed right now, there was a sharp shrewdness to his gaze.

“Who'd you work for?” Logan asked. “Before you tried the musician thing.”

“Sullivan and Manning,” Josh said, referring to his old firm.

Logan whistled. “Big time.”

Josh didn't acknowledge this. He didn't have to. Sullivan and Manning was synonymous with big money. Their clients were some of the richest in the world. As a result, their employees were some of the richest in the city. But no amount of money could help you out when fate picked you as one of her victims, as she'd done to Josh.

Heather arrived at Josh's side, saving him from Logan's prying and his own dark thoughts. “You didn't have to do this,” she said in surprise, looking at the eggs.

“What can I say?” he said, glancing down at her curls. “I sort of like the idea of you being in my debt. Now what am I doing with these? Do you have some fancy platter I'm supposed to put them on?”

“Not for these,” she said. “Now, if you would have just let me do my quiche like I'd wanted to . . .”

Josh glanced at Logan. “You like quiche?”

“Ahh—”

“Hey, Seth,” Josh called across the room to Brooke's boyfriend. “Do you like quiche?”

Seth glanced uncomfortably at his girlfriend. “Well—”

“I rest my case,” Josh said, giving Heather a little pat on the cheek.

Heather rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Okay, let's just have everyone serve themselves from the stove. Guys. Grab a plate!”

“Look at you being all flexible,” Josh said approvingly as the chatty group crowded into the kitchen with plates and began reaching over each other for rolls and fruit salad and eggs and bacon.

Five minutes later, they were gathered around Heather's table. He was pleased that she didn't seem to mind when he sat next to her. They were coming along quite nicely in this friendship thing, if he did say so himself.

“So, Josh,” Brooke said, popping a banana slice into her mouth. “What do you think about our girl planning the wedding of one of the most famous women in the country?”

“Ah.” He glanced up at the pretty blonde. “What?”

“I didn't mention it to him,” Heather said quickly.

“Mention what?”

“The Belles are planning Danica Robinson's wedding,” Jessie said. “As in all-the-way planning, since she's too busy to be bothered to mention her preferences. Heather's in charge.”

Josh stared for a second at the redheaded receptionist before glancing at Heather's profile.

“Danica Robinson?” he said.

Heather fiddled with her fork. “Yeah. She's this big social media name. Reality TV, socialite . . . that kind of thing.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was
well
aware of who Danica Robinson was.

Josh set his fork aside and leaned back. Feeling an intent gaze on him, he glanced across the table and met the light blue eyes of Seth Tyler.

Josh had actually met Tyler once or twice. They weren't best friends or anything, but back in his hedge fund days, Josh had gone to plenty of fancy fund-raisers. The Tyler family had been at most of them. Hell, they'd
hosted
half of them.

But it had been a long time ago. Surely Seth barely remembered him, much less remembered that he . . .

The sympathetic look in Seth's gaze said that the other man did remember. Just like the slight nod told Josh that Seth wasn't going to mention it.

But the silent exchange hadn't gone unnoticed. Alexis Morgan and that damn eagle eye of hers leaned forward slightly. “Boys. Anything you want to share with the group?”

Josh hesitated only for a second before realizing he had nothing to hide.

“Actually, I know Danica.”

Everyone stared at him.

“You mean you know
of
her?” Heather pressed.

He glanced at her. “Ah, no. I mean I know her. Personally.”

She didn't misunderstand, and her eyes bugged out. “You
boned
Danica Robinson? Are you kidding me?”

Josh barked out a laugh. “Jesus, 4C. We dated.”

Heather and everyone else continued to stare at him. “You don't date.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Not now. I used to.”

“And back when you used to, you dated Danica Robison? How did I not know this?”

“She wasn't famous back then. Not like she is now. A few appearances on Page Six, but not a household name.”

“How long did you date?”

“Two years. Give or take,” he asked, reaching for the fruit salad and helping himself to another spoonful. “We met at a party, and just sort of . . . started hanging out.”

He felt most of the group exchange looks.

“Two years is a legit relationship,” Brooke said slowly.

Josh shrugged, trying to tamp down on his irritation, reminding himself that they had no way of knowing how much he hated talking about that part of his life. “I never said it wasn't.”

“Who dumped whom?” Jessie asked in such a no-bullshit kind of way he had to smile, even as her words brought back a memory that ripped at his very core.

“She ended things,” he said, picking up his mimosa.

Didn't want to get shackled with a dying man.

That wasn't exactly fair. Danica Robinson had
hardly been the love of his life, and they'd started to fizzle out even before his life had started to fall to shit.

Didn't make her abandonment any easier though. He'd never needed somebody quite so badly than at the exact moment she walked away.

Heather's fingers touched his forearm, and he glanced at her, bracing for . . . something.

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “Long time ago. Dedicated bachelor, remember?”

“Well, if it's any consolation, she seems like a real bitch,” Jessie said.