Provocative Professions Collection (8 page)

"Not everyone's a doctor, Snobby Butt. Being a janitor's the least of my concerns. His pervy comments,
much
bigger problem."

"Fine, pick a reason. You could do better. And that fucking hand of his was a little too friendly for my taste. I was about to teach him some respect."

I have no words, I can only stare at him, jaw dropped. Brady's always been a bit hard on the guys I bring around, but he's never suggested violence before. Both of us out of sorts, it doesn't register, until parked at
my
house...that we're in
my
car.

"We should talk, brilliant duo and all." I laugh and he joins in. "No way I feel like driving all the way to your house then back."

He curtly shakes his head. "Wouldn't let ya anyway, I saw you throw back the drinks. I'll drive home and pick you up in the morning to hit the gym, then you can drop me at work. Cool?"

"Fine," I easily concede, seeing as he's used my car a million times before. "Why's your car still there anyway? They picked you up?"

"Yeah, Dylan and
the dates
."

"And
which
one was your date again?" I bite back my snicker, unable to resist giving him hell.

Stifling a chuckle of his own, he tilts his head and ponders. "I have absolutely no idea."

"I figured. Okay then, great night. See ya in the morning." I smile and climb out, jerking back a bit in shock at how fast he's standing in front of me. "What're you doing?"

"It's late. I'm walking you to your door. Plus, I need to use your bathroom." He admits sheepishly, busted on the pseudo-chivalry.

The walk to my apartment is nothing new or special but there's
something
different tonight. No, I refuse to over analyze it. The man has pissed in my bathroom more than anyone besides myself. Nothing strange going on. Nothing at all.

The second I have the front door open, Brady flies past me down the hall and I mosey to my bedroom to change. "Lock it when you leave," I holler.

"Huh?"

I jump, holding my nightshirt in front of me when his head pops in. "I said, lock up when you leave."

"Of course." He turns to go, peering back with a devilish twist to his lips. "By the way, when'd you open a drugstore? Lotta girly shit in there for only one girl." He winks and heads out. "Night, Moe, sweet dreams."

I hide my face in my hands even though he's gone and can't see me.

My bathroom, shopping spree, productpalooza....

He saw.

Chapter 7

Incessant ringing wakes me—
as though Monday mornings aren't dismal enough on their own
—the shrill noise piercing my brain no matter how many times I reach out through the sleepy fog and slap the damn thing.

Probably because it's not my alarm.

Groggily¸ I fumble around, following the noise of my phone. When I see the name flashing, I'm wide awake—my brother? What's going on with him lately? First his early appearance at the gym, of all places, and now this. Dylan has never been up before noon in his life but suddenly he's pulled it off twice in one week. I'm officially worried. Something must be wrong to rouse him this early.

"Dylan, what is it? Oh God," I choke through the panic, "are you okay?"

"Rise and shine, Mocifus," he chirps. "You free for lunch today?"

My unsteady breath trips up my words. "W-what?"

"Lunch? You, me, whadda ya say?"

"Dylan, it's seven in the morning! Who's dead? What's on fire?"

He chuckles annoyingly in my ear. "Not a damn thing's wrong, everything's right. Can you meet me? I have big news I wanna tell you about in person."

Oh hell, he knocked someone up. I blanch. As scary as the thought is, maybe it's the kick in the ass he needs to learn some responsibility. Please let the girl be someone I can tolerate for the next twenty years.

"You there?" he asks, full of excitement.

Shame on you, Addison
. I shake off my pessimism. "Yeah, ok, lunch is good. When and where?"

We make plans to meet at McAllister's Sports Bar at noon. I love their wings
and
it means I won't be eating in the break room. Ricky joined me there on Friday to "end things" because he and Pat "mesh."
Longest conversation without rolling my eyes and gut laughing ever.
Today's venue is all the motivation I need to drag myself to the coffee pot.

As I get ready for work, random scenarios run through my mind of what Dylan's news could be. I adore my big brother, but he tends to be...flighty. An announcement from him could literally be anything from "I joined the circus" to "I'm getting a sex change."

So yeah, to say I'm a bit on edge would be an understatement.

Nevertheless, when I walk in the pub at noon on the dot, I sport a big, optimistic smile of support.

He waves from his perch at a high-top, beckoning me over, dressed in slacks and
a tie
. The fabric strips men wear around their neck, knot at the top—yeah, that kind of tie.

So maybe not the circus then. So far so good.

"Hey." He stands and hugs me. "Thanks for coming. I ordered those cheese bits you like to start. Here." He pulls out my chair. "Take a load off."

"T-thank you." I glance around, trying to spot the
Punk'd
crew, wherever they're hiding. Never once has Dylan been a gentleman! I'm antsy and my patience is waning, but I try to hold firm waiting for the big news. No way would he dress up to declare he's about to become a father, so I'm at a panicky loss. "Out with it, you're scaring me."

"Ah, ye of little faith." He shakes his head and clicks his tongue. "Ok, are you sitting down?"

"Um, you pulled out my chair," I deadpan. "Guess."

"Right, ok sorry, lil' nervous." His face lights up, eyes brightening as he rubs his hands together furiously. "Here goes. Moe, I'm opening my own company. Game software."

I try for a speedy recovery, schooling my bulging, shocked eyes, snapping my agape mouth closed. "How? I mean, I know you're very passionate about those games," I lay my hand over his, hopefully it softens my words of skepticism, "and you're good at them. But Dylan, it takes a lot more than
Pac-Man
prowess and obsession to own a company."

He pulls his hand away from mine, defensive and hurt, scowling. I hate making him feel that way and I'd love nothing more than to see him succeed at something he enjoys, but I've lent him money and helped him move too many times to not say
something
.

"Dyl, you need a business plan, collateral, a building, equipment, employees to whom you can offer benefit packages." I sigh, my chest tight, taking in the disappointment in his features. "Not to mention customers."

There's fifty more things I could rattle off but it's then that our waitress arrives with drinks and appetizer in tow. I'm grateful for the moment of reprieve.

"Thank you." I look at her, snagging an extra dressing off her tray. "I'm ready to order if…" I turn to Dylan. "You know what you want?"

"Let's wait," he says directly to our waitress. "We're expecting one more."

She nods and retreats as I ask, "Who's joining us?"

"The investor who took care of the building and equipment when I showed him my business plan." He fires back smugly.

"Who would—"

"Hey, sorry I'm late. You guys been here long?"

My head's down, sipping my drink, when the familiar voice hits us. Of course...savior Brady.

"Nah, thanks for coming," Dylan answers him as I look up, staring forward.

"I take it he told you." Brady grabs the chair beside me then leans in to my ear and whispers, "Tell me, do you stay mad just so I'll tell you how fucking cute you look when you pout?" He laughs, only momentarily, as I kick him under the table. His hand disappears to rub his shin, still lightly sniggering. "So, catch me up. What'd I miss?"

"Shit, I should've got a refill while she was here. I can't eat without a drink, hang on," Dylan gets up with his glass and wanders off in search of the waitress. "Don't eat them all, Moe!"

The second he's out of earshot, I turn narrowed eyes on Brady. "So when you let him move in and I said quit enabling him, you took that to mean buy him a company? What the hell, Brady? Things handed to you aren't worth working for! Dylan needs to learn that work is hard and bosses suck, but you do it anyway, until you earn more, because that's what adults do!"

His easy demeanor is gone, replaced with a tight jaw. "And I told you, all he needs is a shot, someone to believe in him, which I do, and it pisses me off that you don't! He has a good business plan, Moe, have you seen it? Have you asked to see it? I don't have money because I go around throwing it away." He pops a cheese bite in his mouth and I'm tempted to reach down his throat and take it back.

"
No
, you have
money
from a pathetic trust fund your dead beat father left you! And once again, I'm the bad guy all because I want stability for
my
brother?" My anger slowly dissolves into hurt, softening the harshness in my tone. "I'm tired of lying to our parents and saying 'he's doing great!' I'm tired of moving him around and checking to see if he's got groceries. And I'm tired of you swooping in to be his hero. What happens when you have a family? You still gonna raise him too?" I prop my elbow on the table and grip my hair, letting out an exasperated sigh.

He smoothly runs his finger over my cheek. "Maybe you're mad because you didn't dream bigger, because you stopped at vet tech, eager to turn a paycheck, scared to go all the way and open your own clinic."

"I like my—" My defensive statement is cut short, silenced when he takes my chin in his hand.

Our eyes meet in a fiery battle. "You think he's helpless, dependent on me? Well you're
dependent too, Moe. That clinic could close tomorrow, do cutbacks, fire you. And guess what? That security you think you have that allows you be so high and mighty?" He shakes his head, eyes never straying from mine, fingers loosening on my chin. "It'd be gone. You'd be crying for help from your loser enabler boy then too."

My gasp comes out louder than I'd hoped, anger, shock, and hurt coursing through me. I rear back out of his grip and stand, overturning my stool. My chin is quivering, pulse racing as I snatch my purse. "Tell Dylan good luck and tell yourself," I take a deep breath, "to fuck off."

With that said, I storm from the restaurant, another lunch break ruined. Make that a whole day ruined.

Hours later and I'm still seething; not so much mad at Dylan as worried about him. But Brady? Steaming mad at that asshole. How dare he talk to me like that? I love my job and I'm damn good at it. And excuse me if yes, an income, my own life, sounded better than years of Ramen and student loans.

I'm still doing what I love, helping animals.

Except today; today I'm scaring them off with the piss poor mood and angry vibes oozing from me. Even Roscoe, a bloodhound too old to lift his own head, has growled at me twice.

I get pulled away from Tabby's hissing to answer an important phone call. O
h no, it's not a bad joke,
too coincidental to happen anywhere but in a badly written sitcom with canned "oohs" and "ahhs." It's actually happening.

"Hello?"

"Miss Porter, hi, this is Samantha from Dr. Reynolds' office. Sorry to bother you, but we need you to come in for some retesting. Your last results were reported back as inconclusive."

"What does that mean,
inconclusive
?" I look around, making sure none of my coworkers are eavesdropping.

"Miss Porter, I'm not licensed or qualified to discuss that with you. Only Dr. Reynolds can do that, so I need to make you an appointment. Is next Wednesday at one okay for you?"

"
Next
Wednesday? Like not the one in two days, the one in nine?"
Is she kidding me?
You don't drop a bomb on my already war-ravaged battlefield and then tell me I need to wait eons for an explanation. "Uh, no, actually, it's not. I'm not waiting that long to find out what's wrong with me. I want in as soon as possible, please."

"That is as soon as—"

"Listen, Samantha," I cut her off snidely, which I'll feel guilty for later, "you can't call a woman with evasive, worrisome news like that and then expect her to get any sleep. I need you to go ask Dr. Reynolds when he can fit me in, please."

"Yes, ma'am, please hold."

My boot's tapping and I chew my nails, a habit I quit years ago, as I wait. If this hasn't been an awesome day I don't what has.

My entire body trembles when she returns to the line, snapping me from my spiraling thoughts. "Miss Porter?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Reynolds said to come in at 10 am tomorrow. He'll move things around for you."

I exhale and let my shoulders relax a bit. "Perfect, tell him thank you. I'll be there."

After hanging up with her, of course my first instinct is to call Brady and see what he thinks, so he can tell me the possible meaning, options, etc., but I can't do that, seeing as how only hours ago I told him to fuck off.

Not to mention, that'd be asking for help and he made it perfectly clear he's just waiting for the chance to throw
that
in my face.

No, I'll go home, have some brown-bag wine and a hot bath and face this tomorrow like the independent adult that I am.

"Jennifer," I call to the other tech as I gather my things, "I have to leave for the day and I'll be late tomorrow. I've got an emergency appointment that can't be helped."

She comes in the room, concern lining her eyes and brow. "Is everything okay? Can I do anything?"

"Thanks, Jen, that's sweet of you. Can you hold down the fort here and let the others know?" I smile hopefully. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

Once out of the building, I inhale a lungful of fresh air and trudge straight to my car. I can't drive home fast enough, deadbolting the door, turning on some Miles Davis and opening the wine as I head to the bathtub.

So done with this day.

Maybe I'm delirious with fear about my results or maybe I'm actually deranged and badly in need of an alignment to my priorities, because in spite of it all, one lingering thought induces a shiver…