Miss Match (2 page)

Luke tore himself from Candi. He struggled to make sense of that voice in this setting.

And then he saw her. She strode boldly through the crowd, looking out of place in her white peacoat, ripped jeans, and flip-flops. But he recognized the bag—a twelve-thousand-dollar pink Birkin bag he’d given her as a birthday present. She had no idea how much it cost, or that he’d been the one to buy it. He’d lied and told her it was a gift from a client, since that didn’t technically violate Rule #8.

Brooke threw herself at Luke, wrapping him in a hug. Her chestnut curls, pulled back in a ponytail, tickled his nose. “You’re okay.” She moved back, glaring. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? I had to leave my mom’s house early. Without any pie.”

“What are you doing here?” Candi placed a hand on her hip and glared.

Brooke’s eyes widened, apparently noticing Candi for the first time. “Look what the cat dragged in. I could ask you the same.”

“Why are you here?” Luke asked Brooke. The words sounded slurred, even to his own ears. He winced. Brooke never touched alcohol, and hated it when he drank. Because of that, he’d never indulged much. Until the funeral.

She never mentions Antonio’s drinking.

“Duh, I’m looking for you,” Brooke said. “Your mom called and begged me to check in on you. And then Mitch called.” She pulled out her phone and started texting. “Come on, we’re going home.”

“We were just leaving for my place,” Candi said, grabbing Luke’s arm possessively. “And three would be a crowd. You never did know when to butt out.”

Brooke ignored her. “Let’s go, Luke.”

Candi stepped in front of Brooke. “He’s coming with me. You’re not his mom.”

“But I am his best friend. That trumps ex-girlfriend any day.”

Brooke stepped around Candi and tugged on Luke’s arm. He stumbled, nearly knocking Brooke over.
Way to make an impression, Luke.
Nothing makes a girl’s heart flutter like a drunk.

“You don’t have to go,” Candi called after them.

“I gotta,” Luke mumbled.

“At least call me.”

“Sorry,” he said. He’d always picked Brooke over Candi, and he always would. He’d follow Brooke anywhere. Even when she was pissed.

“You really know how to pick ’em,” Brooke said. “Were you seriously going to hook up with that psycho again? I was feeling sorry for you, but now I’m just mad. I left you like ten voice mails, but I guess I know why you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Couldn’t hear it.”

“Did you drive or take a cab?”

He had to think about that for a moment. “Drove.”

Brooke’s hands roughly patted his cheeks.

Had he fallen asleep?

“Luke. Luke! Where’s the valet ticket?”

Valet ticket? He couldn’t think clearly.

Brooke sighed, fumbling in one of his coat pockets, then the other. Luke’s heart thudded in his chest, and he wanted to lean forward and hold her. That would definitely
violate Rule #2. Probably Rule #3 as well. He pushed her hands away.

“Where’s the claim number?” she repeated.

He reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew it. Soon Luke’s car pulled up to the curb, the silver paint gleaming under the light of the protective awning. The valet opened the passenger door, and Brooke crammed Luke inside.

“Buckle up,” she said.

When he didn’t move, she leaned over and did it herself. Her breath tickled his cheek, and he inhaled the familiar scent of peppermint. He would happily spend the rest of the night filling his lungs with her fragrance if she’d let him.

She didn’t. Instead, she climbed into the driver’s side and drove toward his apartment. He admired the way she handled the clutch for about a block before falling asleep.

Luke woke when Brooke shook him. Both she and the valet for the apartment complex stared down at him. He squinted against the lights coming from the lampposts along the curb.

“I can’t carry you inside,” Brooke said. “Can you walk?’

Luke mumbled yes. He tried to support his weight as they walked into the lobby, but Brooke still bore the brunt of it. She grunted, her arm tightening around his waist.

“Do you need help, Miss Pierce?” the doorman asked.

“No,” Brooke said. “Thanks.”

Luke’s foot slid on the white marble flooring, causing him to pitch forward. He pulled Brooke with him and she let out a gasp of surprise. The doorman rushed to their aid, but Luke caught himself before the stout man reached them.

“Maybe I should help get him upstairs,” the doorman said.

“Once we’re in the elevator we’ll be fine,” Brooke reassured him. “The elevator attendant can help if needed.”

“Of course.” The doorman hurried to the elevator doors, the chrome so shiny Luke could see a blurry reflection in them. The older man pushed the call button, and the doors opened almost immediately. Luke’s stomach curled with humiliation as the doorman helped Brooke guide him into the elevator. The doorman stepped out, and the doors slid silently shut.

Luke slumped against the mirrored wall as they rode up twenty-nine floors to his penthouse apartment. He must’ve fallen asleep again. He heard the deep rumble of a male voice—the elevator attendant?—helping him into his apartment. Felt the soft silk of the duvet on his bed beneath his cheek. A tug as Brooke pulled off his shoes and socks.

He heard the clatter as Brooke dropped something—probably her cell phone—then a soft whisper as she spoke to someone on the other end of the line. “Hey, Zoey.”

Ah yes, Brooke’s roommate and trusty sidekick. He wondered if Zoey would be upset about being dragged into another episode of the drama that was his life. After eight years, it had to be wearing on her.

“Yeah, I found him, about to hook up with Candi. Yeah, that Candi. I don’t know—he’s totally wasted. Can you pick up my car? I’m going to stay the night to make sure he’s okay.”

That’s when Luke fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWO

Luke awoke to the banging
of pots and pans in the kitchen.
Brooke.
His head felt as though it had been sliced in two with an ax. Now he remembered why he usually didn’t drink. He squinted at his alarm clock. It was already ten in the morning. He rolled over and sat up, groaning. He was still dressed in his suit from the night before, minus shoes, socks, and jacket. His stomach churned. He wasn’t sure if it was a result of the hangover or anxiety over facing Brooke. He’d made an idiot of himself. Again. And he knew she’d have a lot to say on the subject.

His feet hit the floor, sinking into the plush charcoal-colored carpet, and the bedroom lights flipped on. Heavy dark blue drapes—Brooke’s choice—slid back from the large picture windows on one wall. “Good morning, Luke,” said the cool voice of Talia, the computer running his home automation system. “Los Angeles is a chilly fifty-five degrees today. It’s 10:09 a.m., and your schedule is blank for the entire day-day-day.” She repeated the last word three times, a glitch that happened a few times a day. Luke hadn’t bothered to fix it. Talia was the last project he and his dad had worked on together. She functioned correctly most of the time.

The heated wood floors of the hallway warmed Luke’s cold toes, and Josh Groban’s voice drifted from the speakers in the kitchen—one of Brooke’s presets. The unmistakable smell of frying bacon overwhelmed him. He sighed in relief. If Brooke was making breakfast, she couldn’t be too mad.

“I miss you too.” The voice was Brooke’s, and Luke froze in the hallway. She must be on the phone with Antonio. He peeked around the corner. Brooke stood behind the six-foot long island, mixing some sort of batter—pancake, if the griddle was any indication. The diamond in her engagement ring caught the light, sending a rainbow across the white shaker cabinets and a knife through his heart. He still wasn’t used to seeing it on her finger.

“I saw the pictures too. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let him go home with that floozy.” A pause as she listened to something Antonio said in response. “I know I’m not being fair to you. I promise, you do come first. I’ll set better boundaries in the future.”

Luke closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He’d noticed Antonio and Brooke fighting more and more lately, and this confirmed his suspicion that he was a big part of that. He didn’t like Antonio. He was always ordering Brooke around, and was a little too arrogant for his own good. But Brooke seemed genuinely in love, and Luke hated causing her trouble.

“I’ll talk to Luke again. I’ll take care of this, promise. I love you too. Bye.”

Clearing his throat, Luke walked into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Brooke said, glancing up from the batter. She looked adorable in her rumpled jeans and T-shirt from last night. Her face was devoid of makeup, her hair pulled back in a loose messy bun. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. I’ve been banging pots for twenty minutes. Aspirin’s on the counter.”

He grabbed the two white pills and swallowed them dry. “You could’ve borrowed a pair of my sweats instead of sleeping in jeans.” Before Antonio, she would’ve done so without blinking. But since the engagement four weeks ago, things had been changing.

Luke dipped a finger into the pancake batter, and Brooke swatted at his hand. But it was playful, so maybe they were okay.

“I’m engaged now. I shouldn’t be spending the night over here in any type of clothes. That’s the last time I babysit your drunk butt.”

He winced at the accusation in her tone. “At least it’s a holiday, right?”

She grunted. “You made me miss out on Black Friday shopping.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you wanted.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “I’m not taking your money.” She stirred the batter a few more times, then poured some on the griddle. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“You didn’t have to cook. And you didn’t have to stay last night, either.” If Antonio found out she’d slept over, he’d pout and throw a tantrum like a spoiled toddler. From the calm voices of the phone conversation, Luke was guessing she hadn’t told him.

“The breakfast is to help make this conversation suck less.” Brooke slid a tablet across the black granite counter top. “Mitch called. Google Alert directed him to this about an hour ago. Obviously he’s thrilled.”

“Mitch needs to relax.” Luke woke the tablet with a swipe. A web page was already pulled up to a popular tabloid. One of the less reputable ones, if there was such a thing. And there, on the front page, was a photo of him and Candi, lips locked in a sloppy kiss. The picture was grainy, as though taken long-range with a cell phone. In big, black letters across the top, the headline proclaimed, “Billionaire Turkey Bags a Holiday Treat.”

Luke clenched his hand into a fist. He never should’ve let Candi kiss him. He couldn’t believe he’d almost gone home with her. He glanced at Brooke, hoping to gauge her reaction. She busily flipped bacon, but her lips were pursed into a line.

“Must’ve been a slow news day,” he said.

“Read the story.”

Oh no.
He clicked on the article and opened it. There were two more grainy photos—one of Brooke helping him to the car, and another of Brooke and Candi talking. The photo made it look like they’d been in a cat fight. Luke didn’t remember anything like that.

He read the caption.
Luke Ryder was seen leaving the club with Brooke Pierce, who still sports her engagement ring from artist Antonio Giordano. Pierce and Giordano met through a matchmaker at Toujour, where Pierce is an employee. Despite that, it has long been rumored that Pierce is carrying on a not-so-secret affair with Ryder.
Luke swallowed. The article couldn’t be further from the truth.

“I’m sorry, Brooke. I didn’t mean to drag you into this again.” He sheepishly motioned to her phone on the counter. “I heard you talking to Antonio. He’s pissed, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and I can’t blame him. I see red every time a girl so much as flirts with him. And you and I are constantly being linked together in the media. It’s not easy for Antonio.” She pointed her spatula at Luke. “I assured him I’d do whatever necessary to stay out of the papers and squash the rumors.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke repeated. He curled his fingers into his palm. She acted as if being linked romantically to him was the worst possible thing.

Brooke flipped the pancakes. “Out of all the girls in the club, you had to pick Candi. Have you forgotten how crazy she is?”

Maybe.

“You’ve been showing up in the media a lot lately.”

“Not true,” Luke said.

“Talia, how many times has Luke been mentioned online recently?”

“Fourteen times in the last month,” Talia said, her voice surrounding them from all sides.

Luke’s jaw clenched. “Of course I’m in the news a lot right now. Ryder Communications’ founder just died.”

Brooke grunted.

“There’s nothing between me and Candi.”

She removed the bacon and blotted it with a paper towel. “She didn’t seem to know that. You two were quite the item in college.” Was it Luke’s imagination, or did she sound angry? Maybe even jealous?