SWEAT Page 2

  I don't at the moment, but since Mrs. Pentlow is leaving for Greece tomorrow, I have two months to complete this project before she returns from her fifth honeymoon.

  "Let's do a grand unveiling when the Mister and I get back from our trip." She narrows her eyes at me. "You'll have it all done by then, won't you?"

  With what she's paying me, and the promise of the rest of the apartment as an incentive to stay on time and budget, I'll have this bedroom done within the next two weeks. "I promise that you'll be stunned by what you see when you get home."

  "Good." She coughs, clearing her throat. "Don't put your personal life on hold for this, Brynn. A woman needs time with her man, if you know what I mean."

  Sadly, right now, I don't. I haven't been with anyone in a few months. My last relationship was short lived and as boring as watching paint dry. "There's no man in my life at the moment."

  "No man?" Her voice raises an octave. "We live in Manhattan, Brynn. This is the city of a million possibilities."

  "I'm focused on work right now." I shrug. I get that it sounds pathetic, but the only person I have to fall back on in this life is me. It's career before cock in my book. "I don't have time to go out and meet men."

  "You don't have to plan an excursion to meet a man." She smooths the side seam on the skirt of my black dress. "They're everywhere. At the museums, Times Square, hell, you can even meet a man on the subway. Tell me the last place you saw an attractive man."

  "At the gym," I blurt out without thinking.

  That's what happens when I have Smith Booth on the brain.

  "What did he look like?"

  Like every dream I had when I was a teenager.

  "He has black hair and brown eyes," I confess.

  "I bet he has a body like my Morty did back in the day. I called him the Drill Sergeant." She leans in closer dropping her voice to a whisper. "It wasn't because of his time in the Army."

  Silence fills the space. I'm stunned and she looks lost in thoughts about the man Mr. Pentlow used to be.

  "That's a story for another day," she finally says. "Make a move the next time you see that fellow at the gym. You never know where it will go."

  I know exactly where it will go. If I make a move on Smith Booth it will be a knee to his groin. He'll hit the floor and I'll walk away feeling completely satisfied.

  Chapter 4

  Smith

  Julian Bishop, wearing an expensive tailored suit and sporting a five hundred dollar haircut, can't keep his eyes off a curvy dark haired woman who just walked into the restaurant. That, in itself, isn't a big deal. She's cute. She's also not the woman he's been involved with for the past few years.

  "Do you know her?" I finally ask because someone has to break the trance he's in, and since we're the only two at this table, that job falls on my shoulders. I need to hit the hay in an hour. I don't have room in my schedule to wait around while Julian mentally undresses the petite woman wearing the red dress. I need to order dinner now if I have any hope in hell of making my self-imposed curfew.

  "Maya Baker," he says her name without looking away from her. "We met last year."

  Julian's not the fuck and tell type. I'm going to read between the lines and assume met is code for screwed senseless.

  "Looks like Maya's on a date," I point out because I'm an asshole like that. Besides, the minute hand is inching closer to lights out for me. I need his undivided attention so I can ask about his sister.

  "So it seems." He follows Maya and her date as they casually hold hands and walk across the restaurant. "What do you think he does for a living?"

  I know exactly how he earns a paycheck. Julian's crush is having dinner with Everett Faulkner, the most widely sought after criminal defense attorney in the country. I interviewed him two weeks ago. My competition on the other networks called it a coup. I called it a favor. Everett owed me and I cashed that ticket in by asking for a sit-down, live on air, at eight a.m. last Monday. He was happy to oblige.

  He gave me insight into the case he recently won. His defense of a senator's son accused of murder was brilliant.

  "That's Everett Faulkner." I sip from the tumbler of whiskey I ordered. "I take it you know about the Carney case."

  "That's Everett Faulkner?" He whips his head back to look at me, curiosity knitting his brow. "His work is impressive. No one thought he'd get an acquittal for Bert Carney."

  Irritation brews within me. I didn't invite Julian to dinner to discuss this. I had one goal in mind when I suggested he meet me at Nova, my favorite restaurant in Manhattan.

  I want to know what's happening in Brynn's world. I'm looking for insight into the life of the woman I saw yesterday. I need to nip this off topic discussion we're having in the bud now.

  I should have gone with my gut instinct and asked the research department at the show to find her number. Hell, I know it's crossing a line, but it would have been a more efficient use of my time.

  "I'll introduce you." I let out a sigh. I'm pulling from personal experience here. If roles were reversed and one of my past hook-ups walked in with a dude I didn't know, I'd bow out of the introductions. Shaking the hand of a man currently fucking a woman I once had my dick in, is not high on my to-do list.

  Julian may see it differently, but I'm hoping the offer will put the issue of Maya Baker to rest.

  "That's not necessary," he says right on cue as he turns back toward me. "I don't want to disturb them. The last I heard Maya was dating a doctor. I'm surprised that's over."

  I can't resist the obvious question. I don't judge anyone else's life choices, but my curiosity is gnawing at the corner of my brain. I know it's not going to shut up, so I need to ditch the idea of getting to sleep at a decent hour.

  "Did you hook up with her when the doctor was in the picture?"

  "I've been with Isadora for three years, Smith."

  That's the best answer-non-answer I've heard in weeks. I met Isadora once. From what I remember she's tougher than a two dollar steak. The woman is all business, all the time. It's paid off for her in spades, professionally.

  "How is she?" I ask before I signal to the server that I want another drink. If Julian's about to wax poetic on the woman of his dreams, I need to settle in for the long haul.

  Fuck sleep. I can survive on a couple of hours if need be.

  "Fine." His gaze lands just over my shoulder.

  What is this fine shit? The last time I asked about his beloved I was treated to a thirty minute sermon on the virtues of Isadora Patel.

  "What's going on with you two? I thought you'd be married by now." Twisting my head to check on Maya Baker, I catch her giving Everett a chaste kiss on the cheek.

  "Don't you need to get up early to be on the air, Smith?"

  If I was a bigger dick than I am, I'd point out that fair maiden Maya is likely going to spread out in her birthday suit on a bed later tonight as Everett's dessert. I tone it down because Julian and I go way back. That reminds me why I invited him here in the first place.

  "I have time," I say flatly. "How are your parents? I haven't seen them in years."

  What can I say? I'm sensitive. I'm also smart enough to know that interrogating him about his younger sister right out of the gate will raise red flags. I'll ease into my questions about Brynn.

  "Good. Busy." He looks down at his trillion dollar watch. Thousand dollar maybe, but still it makes mine look like a dollar store discounted special. "Yours?"

  I have no fucking clue. Since my parents retired, they've been on a non-stop party-until-we-drop world tour. The last I heard they were in Australia, learning how to surf. "They're living the good life."

  "They deserve it." He finally tears his eyes away from Maya again to look at me. "I'm proud of you, Smith. You took that college radio gig and turned it into a career."

  I did. A few lucky breaks along the way didn't hurt. A year and a half as a midday news anchor in Buffalo turned into four years as the co-host of an entertainment show in Los Angeles
. I've spent the last two years as the six o'clock anchor on a cable news network. My current job is the dream for me.

  "I appreciate that, Julian." I pick up the glass of whiskey the server just brought me. "I don't have to say how impressed I am by what you've done with the hotels. I can't turn a corner without seeing a Bishop property."

  "Expansion is my goal." He mirrors my movement with his glass and takes a drink. "The hotel chain has been in the family for years. I took it nationwide. The next step is to go international."

  I see an opportunity so I take it. "I remember your mom being part of the business? Did your sister sign up too?"

  "Jane's moved on to other endeavors." He smiles when he mentions his mom. "Brynn was on board right after she graduated. She quit last year to start her own interior design firm."

  "Interior design?" Why the fuck didn't I find a trace of that online? I searched Brynn Bishop in two different browsers, three different times, after my scavenger hunt of her social media profiles turned up nothing. The only explanation is that she's using her married name now. Fuck if I can remember the name of the guy she was head over heels for.

  "She has an eye for it, not to mention a master's degree." His gaze drifts back over my shoulder in Maya's direction. "The company is Brynn Janie Interiors."

  "Brynn Janie," I repeat back. Janie's her middle name.

  "She's determined to make it on her own. She thinks the Bishop name will give her a leg up. She's right but she's bull headed. She wants to prove she's got the talent to succeed."

  It's impressive. Bishop is a name that commands respect in this city. To willingly toss it to the side is admirable.

  "I could use some help in that area." It's not a lie. I've got a shit eye for design. I can't pair a shirt and pants together most of the time. The jeans and blue button up shirt I'm wearing right now are a testament to that. I stick to the basics when it comes to what I think looks good. Trying to decorate an entire home is a joke for me. "Maybe I'll give her a call."

  "I'll text you her number." He picks up his phone from the table. "I can't say if she'll remember you. It's been years since you've seen her."

  Wrong. I saw her yesterday and I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since.

  I ignore the comment. Self-torture isn't my thing but I can't resist. I need to know she's happy. "How was her wedding? It was in the Hamptons last summer, right?"

  He tosses back the rest of his scotch. "Brynn called it off the day before. It was the best decision she's ever made. I couldn't stand the prick she was engaged to."

  Best decision indeed.

  "What are we doing here?" He pulls his wallet from the inner pocket of his suit jacket before he tosses a hundred dollar bill on the table. "Let's go grab a beer at Easton Pub. We can order something to eat there."

  I'm all for following him to the pub we used to hang at when we were in college.

  He gives one last look in Maya and Everett's direction before he pushes back from the table. "Are you seeing anyone, Smith?"

  "I'm not your type," I joke. "Maya Baker is."

  He laughs, it's rough and low. "She's a talented real estate broker. We met in her friend's photography studio. We spoke briefly. End of story."

  He's delusional if he thinks that's the end of their story. He wants her. He's convinced himself otherwise but Manhattan is a more intimate place than most think. Their paths are bound to cross again.

  "The answer to your question is no, Julian. I'm not seeing anyone. Why?"

  "I believe you asked my assistant out the last time you came to my office. I hoped that would go somewhere."

  "It went to hell." I chuckle. "She was a fun one, but we weren't compatible long term."

  "That might explain why she quit without a reason." He squints at me as he stands. "One day you'll find the right woman."

  I might. I'm not convinced there's a perfect woman for every man. I am sure as shit that at some point tomorrow, I'll be talking to Brynn. With any luck, she's as single as I am.

  Chapter 5

  Brynn

  "I love him, Ad." I hear my voice cracking. "I can't lose him. My heart can't take it."

  "Brynn, listen to me." Adley York grabs my bare shoulders. I was in such a rush this morning that I threw on a strapless white dress and slipped my feet into a pair of worn out flip flops. I didn't even bother to brush my hair. "He's not going to die. We're going to start him on a cycle of antibiotics. I'll show you how to administer them. If you're not comfortable doing it, I'll come by your place before and after work to handle it."

  "You'd do that for me?" I feel tears well in the corners of my eyes. Since I met Adley six months ago in the elevator of my apartment building, we've become good friends. We're almost the same age. We're both single and when either of us needs a shoulder to cry on, the other is there in an instant.

  Adley lives two blocks from me. Fate put us together in the elevator that day. She was on her way down to the lobby from a disastrous dinner date with a guy she'd met at work. I was on my way out to have a drink with a man I didn't have anything in common with.

  I called my date to cancel and Adley and I went for martinis. Our bond was formed that night.

  "I'd do anything for you." She swipes her finger across my cheek to catch a tear. "Pike has an infection. You did the right thing bringing him in first thing this morning. He's not young, but he can fight this. He's strong. You know that."

  I do know that. Pike, my sweet little brown and black Yorkie, was an adoptee. I don't know his exact age, but I know that his time is coming to an end. I'll fight with everything I have to keep him with me as long as I can. I won't let him suffer. If he's in pain, I'll let him go, but he's still as spry as he was eleven years ago when I first met him.

  "Did Dr. Hunt get the test results back?" I look toward the brown haired veterinarian Adley works for. Two women are talking to him. It isn't surprising. The waiting room is always filled with women and their pets looking for a minute or two of the good-looking doctor's time.

  He has a following on social media that has reached several million. I admit I'm one of them, but it's only because the last time I brought Pike in for his check-up, Dr. Donovan Hunt took a selfie holding my dog. Pike was a star for a day-and-a-half on Instagram before an overweight cat stole his thunder. Dr. Hunt flexed his bicep in that photo and there was a sudden rush of single women bringing their cats to the clinic to be evaluated.

  It keeps Adley busy. Being an assistant to Dr. Hunt is a stepping stone to her dream of becoming a vet herself.

  "Most of the results are in." She looks down at the tablet in her hand. "It's a stomach bug. It's not uncommon, but you need to make sure he's drinking plenty of water and I'll give you a couple of cans of food. Feed him that until his stomach calms down."

  "Will do." I nod as I cradle Pike in my arms. "Is there anything else I should be doing?"

  "You should answer your phone." She gestures toward the large brown leather purse slung over my shoulder before she pushes a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. "It's ringing again."

  "It's nothing important."

  She tucks the tablet under her arm and reaches to take Pike from me. He instantly nuzzles into her chest. "Someone thinks it's important enough to call twice in the past five minutes. See who it is so you can be sure it's nothing."

  I sigh heavily as I fish in my bag for my phone. "It's probably Mrs. Pentlow checking in to see if I've found a man yet."

  "Isn't that the woman you're doing design work for?" Adley smiles, her blue eyes brightening. "Are you taking relationship advice from her now?"

  "She was offering advice. I wasn't asking for it." I glance down at my phone and the incoming, unfamiliar number. "This might be a new client. I should take it."

  "Take it." She looks over at the reception desk. "I'll get that prescription ready and pack up the food. Once you're done your call, find me and you can take this little guy home."

  I nod, stepping to a quiet corner of
the waiting room. I clear my throat, calm myself and answer the way I always do. "Brynn Janie Interiors."

  "Brynn Bishop. It's been years. "His voice is pitched low, rough, and as sexy as I remember. My face flushes and my insides knot in ways I've never felt before.

  "Who is this?" I ask, even though I know exactly who it is. Every cell in my body can sense the energy that's coming from him. It's palpable. Smith Booth's voice hasn't changed. Its effect on me hasn't either.

  He huffs out a surprised laugh. "You know exactly who it is."

  Charming egotistical asshole is still a part of his repertoire. Bitchy brat is still a part of mine when need be.

  "Matthew? I've been thinking about you," I purr.

  It's not a lie. I have been thinking about Matthew. He's a friend and a recent client. I redesigned his home office in rich dark tones and imported woods. He paid me my going rate and let me drag a professional photographer to his apartment so I could add the before and after images to my online portfolio. The sexual tension between us ranks below zero, but Smith doesn't need to know that.

  "No. It's not Mathew," he replies flatly.

  I take a deep breath. I'm tempted to end the call, but knocking Smith's ego down a notch or two is worth the anxiety I'm feeling talking to him. I pull the name of my dentist from out of the ether. The only thing about me that Dr. Tony Adami is interested in is my slight overbite.

  "Tony, it's you, isn't it? Do you want to meet for drinks? I'm available now."

  "It's not even noon, Brynn." His words come out as a warning.

  I jump in before he can say anything else. "We can skip the drinks and go straight to your place."

  "Jesus." The sexy rasp in his tone sends shivers down my spine. "How the fuck is this conversation happening? I'm not Tony."

  I smile. Toying with Smith is fun, but I have a full day of work and taking care of Pike ahead of me. "My bad. Whoever you are, it's been a slice, but I need to run."

  "You know who I am." The sound of a blaring horn punctuates the words. New York traffic is a familiar third voice in many conversations in this city. "Drop the act, Petal."