The Brat (The Playgirls #3) (3 page)

Brooke interrupted his inner ramble by opening the oven.

Shane gasped out loud.

No.

It just couldn’t be!

But yet, it was. She pulled the tray of brownie out, and there was no denying it: he could have identified that smell anywhere. 

“Mom gave you her fucking recipe?”

He just couldn’t believe it. How many times he, Katie and Alice had begged for it?

“Of course not. I just tried to copy it; it’s close, but not quite there.”

Ignoring her words of caution about letting it rest, he went right for the brownie and broke a corner.

He moaned.

Brooke was right; it wasn’t his mother’s brownie, there definitely was a bit of a difference there.

But it was
better,
somehow. She’d added another component that made the shell softer without dripping on his fingers.

Shane was contemplating going down on one knee, but he didn’t have a ring right now. 

Fucked. He was fucked.

“Anyway, if Jack’s better at assessing stuff, why were you going to go?”

To avoid you.
Instead of saying that out loud, he shrugged.

“It fit the schedule. We managed to work around it. But before he went, I heard him…”

There goes nothing.

“I heard him on the phone; I don’t know who he was talking to, but he said you’re planning on hiring a fucking escort, Chubs. Tell me that’s not true.”

•

Brooke

She was going to tell him something that
was
true: her brother was dead – he would be well and truly deceased, the moment she got her hands on him.

Jack knew full well she’d been bloody joking. Who could he have been talking to?

She let out a terse laugh without an ounce of humor.

“I was kidding, Shane.”

Shit. Even to her ears, it sounded like a lie; it really wasn’t, though. She knew full well she could pick a guy at a club and fuck him for free, no questions asked; why the hell would she waste cash on it?

“I hope so, Chubs; you don’t know what kind of disease they carry and…”

She did
not
need parental advice from Shane Vaughan.

“One word!” she warned. “One word about it again, and I’m throwing out the brownies.”

That shut him up for a full minute; he looked at her as though she’d confessed to kicking her way through litters of cute puppies for fun.

“Right… no need to involve the brownies, but I just need to say this.”

She glared at him as he breathed in and out, slow and deep.

“I’m volunteering.”

Hm
? What was he on about? 

Then, he landed his bombshell, clarifying his meaning.

“I’d like to have sex with you.”

That explained it: she was dreaming. She’d probably fallen asleep after baking the brownies. Damn, she hoped they didn’t burn.

“Whether you were serious or not about…
hiring
someone, I’m there if you need me to,” he carried on. “If that’s something you’re self-conscious and worried about…”

Strike the daydreaming. It was way too embarrassing to be something she’d ever subject herself to, even in her imagination.

“Thanks, I guess. But I’m not desperate enough to want a pity fuck.”

Her brain was in total disagreement with other parts of her on the matter; even as she spoke, she could feel her inside tighten and moisten like she’d been teasing them with a vibrating egg for hours, just because Shane had mentioned sex in conjuncture to her.
Please pity-fuck me,
the slutty pussy said. She could hardly blame it: that guy was so damn hot.

The hair that had been long and wavy when it had been cool was now cropped short, he filled his business casual get-ups in a way no professional had any right to, and his smirk held legendary insta-wet powers.

He’s offering to use that mouth on you.
And his hands. And his dick, too. God, she was certain that dick was glorious.

Brooke did her best to stop the brain freeze and remain focus on retaining her dignity.

“It would
hardly
be a pity fuck, Baby.”

Shane stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he said that.

Oh god, here goes nothing: she was ready to serve up her dignity on a silver platter. Along with her pussy.

“When I heard you haven’t had anyone inside that pussy of yours, the last thing I felt was pity, Baby. I wanted to go get you, toss you over my shoulder and take you to my bed until you scream so hard Jack would have no other choice but to murder me.”

By then, he was a breath away from her, his hands encaging her, holding on to the sides of the kitchen counter.

“I don’t do relationships, so if there’s a boyfriend in the corner waiting to claim what’s his, fine. But if you want sex? Sex, I do very well.”

On that note, he stepped away from her, walking towards the fridge. He pulled a bottle of water and winked at her as he left.

“You just have to holler, Chubs. I’m all yours when you want me.”

Oh fuck.

•

Dana couldn’t stop laughing.

“Seriously?
I’m all yours when you want me
?”

Brooke nodded.

“Don’t forget the wink.”

“Damn. Shane Vaughan offering sex on tap. I kinda hate you right now.”

She shook her head, explaining: “No tap. It was more a tall glass of water kinda offer. One time deal, if you see what I mean.”

“So?”

So
indeed.

Brooke wasn’t saving herself, or anything; half of her was tempted to just say fuck it and accept that generous offer.

The thing was, she had too much self-respect for that. She knew why he’d step in: because the idea of her buying herself a male whore had made him panic, big time.

Out of Jack and Shane, Shane had always been the one more suited to the usual description of big brothers: he was overprotective to a fault. Whatever he said of desire, his proposal had been made to ensure she stayed safe, like when he’d bought himself a bike and drove her around town everywhere, rather than let her get herself one.

Then, just like now, she’d learnt the hard way that while the ride was amazing, while it lasted, independence was the best thing for her, in the long run.

Five years ago

“You didn’t!” she yelled, her eyes bulging out of her face.

“I totally did,” was Shane’s reply.

She couldn’t believe it, but her eyes didn’t lie: he’d bought a Ducati. A canary yellow 916:
her
dream bike.

“Fuck. You
have
to let me ride it!”

His smile made her heart flutter, as per usual.

Shane grabbed a yellow helmet tucked between his legs and handed it to her.

“Hop on Baby.”

He’d drove her around the whole summer, which had made her feel like she’d started in her own romance flick.

Then, reality crashed on her lap.

Shane

“What was that?”

Jack shrugged, before repeating his bombshell.

“Yeah, Brooke’s had the biggest crush on some guy for ever. Rides a bike, has cool hair, even a tattoo, I think. The works.”

Shane wanted to punch something.
He
rode a bike, now. For her. He’d sold his car and bought the bike she raved about. His hair was more all-over-the-place than cool, but girls didn’t generally have anything against it.
He
had a tattoo.

He’d really believed they’d hit it off, the last couple of months but apparently, he was wrong, if she spoke to her brother about some other guy.

Fuck. Maybe he’d been hasty when he’d broken up with Fiona, the day Brooke had turned eighteen. Fiona wasn’t his idea of perfection, but she was a known entity, at least. With her, he went in aware of what he walked into.

That night, he texted Brooke, saying he couldn’t make it to the cinema, and went to get Fiona.

Six months later, they were married.

•

Brooke

Now

“So,” she said, “It’s best if I don’t enter one time deals with a guy I’m going to fall in love with. You know, self-preservation and all.”

She and Dana hadn’t been that close, back in school, and that was the main reason why she could be totally opened right now: to her, the Vaughans were mere passing acquaintances.

“I kinda see your point… but I’ll tell you two words: what if. Might as well get used to them. They’ll be with you forever if you don’t do it now.”

She glared at her friend; the girl had married a stranger in Vegas, what did she know about anything?

Chapter Five

Shane

Shane might have got a bike to impress a certain brat, but there had been no going back afterwards; he was hooked.

He generally travelled on his Ducati, but from time to time, he needed a four wheeler – he couldn’t very well turn up to meetings in full biker outfit; his name wasn’t Brett Webber.

It had been a while since he had driven his car – a eco-friendly, quick, sporty number that he’d bought just because Jack was happy with his.

That kind of car was more of a computer than a piece of mechanic; when it went to the shop, the guys just plugged it in to see what was underneath the bonnet.

Shane really,
really
should have taken that aspect into consideration when he’d settled on that car.

Because anything even remotely related to a computer was BB’s bitch.

It all started when he had to blow the horn to signal his presence to a group of teenagers playing around without paying attention to the road.

“My little poney….”

He was going to murder her. Painfully. Slowly.

It would have been bad enough if the theme song had just blasted
inside
his cab, but turns out, it was also blowing out.

The kids
sure
were noticing him now. Along with everyone else in the main road.

“I used to wonder what friendship could be…”

Shit. Never had he wished quite so hard for a miracle to happen and alleviate the heavy traffic.

“And magic makes it all complete!”

Would that fucking song ever end!

Eventually, it did.

Then, it just started again from the beginning.

Why, oh why, hadn’t he gone for tinted windows?

•

Brooke

She managed to keep a straight face for all of two seconds when the dark, brooding man stormed into the house, aiming right for her.

One of her alarms had informed her that he’d activated her little pony stunt. She knew for a fact that she would pay dearly for that, but it was completely, totally, utterly worth it.

Shane didn’t say a word, he threw her on his shoulder and carried her, laughing and kicking, all the way from the lounge to the rooftop.

Oh, no.

There was one reason why VandB had purchased the penthouse: the pool on the rooftop. She had to admit, she’d drooled when Jack had showed her the pictures… But mainly because it had been in May, and she’d spent most of her time stuck in stuffy class rooms.

They were in February and as no one had used the pool for a while, she bet that if it was full, it wasn’t heated. Shit.

Now was a perfect time to start begging.

“Shane, don’t do this, I have phones on me!”

“See if I care.”

‘You can’t! I’m on my periods.”

“Tough.”

If the feminine issues weren’t working, she was in deep, deep shit.

“Seriously, I’ll get pneumonia.”

“You have a great doctor.”

Oh, hell. The pool was in view – and definitely full.

Knowing that there was nothing she could do, except limiting the damage, now, she took her various phones out of her pockets and dropped them, before bracing herself.

Holy shitty hell, that was fucking cold. He’d thrown her right in, the asshole. She tried to get out, but Shane jumped in and before she’d reached the sides, he was catching her by the ankle and pulling her right back underwater.

Oh, there would be hell to pay for that.

It was common knowledge that she was just bugging them because she was younger and therefore, entitled to act like a brat to entertain herself if she damn well felt like it, but if they made the mistake of retaliating? That was declaring war. On a crazy hacker chick. 

Her lips were blue and stiff as hell, and her teeth wouldn’t stop shattering, but she tried to speak until she managed to say:

“I hope you’ve written a fucking will, Shane Vaughan. You’re so dead.”

He came out smirking, not even shaking, and looking pretty damn sexy with the wet hair and all.

“Sure thing, darling. At least, I got to see you compete in a wet t-shirt contest before meeting my fate.”

Following his gaze to her tits, she felt heat rushing to her face. Fucking hell. Might as well have been naked. Her soaked beige t-shirt wasn’t hiding a thing, and underneath, she’d worn a lace bra – not exactly the kind of die-hard full cup that might have saved her dignity.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You like it in the asshole?”

Turned out, the asshole was pretty good at redeeming himself. She didn’t stop glaring, but it took some effort: between the blanket, the hot chocolate and the foot massage, staying mad wasn’t that easy.

“How come you have so many phones?” he asked, pointing at the six devices on the table.

She shrugged, but he wasn’t letting it go.

“I only have one number for you.”

“That’s because I only have one number.”

He frowned, moving to pick up one of her phones – the black one. She tapped his hand away.

“Behave. Those are computers.”

He opened his mouth, and closed it again. They definitely look like phones, to be fair; and not even the best of the ones out there.

She was going to have to face up, or he would bug her about it and touch them until he got some clue.

“I used to have five different computers – I could only carry three at a time, and that was pretty damn heavy, anyway. I just transferred everything on those computers to a very, very small system; look at the phones; do you recognize the make?” He shook his head; they were pretty basic, smaller than her iPhone, but unremarkable, otherwise. “That’s because it’s just a boring shell I’ve made. That one,” she pointed to the one with yellow tape at the back, “I use everyday. I just sync my laptop to it, and I work on anything from website to random internet stalking assignments.”

“You
stalk
people?”

Brooke had to roll her eyes at that.

“Some private investigators take pictures of people doing the nasty to prove a husband’s cheating; I just do it online.”

He launched into the expected remonstrance, telling her that it was illegal and blablabla. She tuned it out after a while.

“Do I
want
to know what the other phones are for?”

“No. You want to make me another hot chocolate.”

And strangely, he did. He also carried on bugging her about her systems, but his questions sounded more curious than forbidding, as though what she was up to genuinely interested him, so she opened up a little.

“So you never use that,” he said, pointing to the white one.

She nodded.

“Yep: backup only. Let’s say I get compromised, or my bag get stolen; white’s always with me. One code, and every other system gets flushed; all the data is transferred to this one. White is my baby.”

“What about Red?”

She had to laugh; he would love to know about that one.

Switching it on, she synced it with his TV, and a red screen with an evil laughing Chucky on the background appeared.

There only were a few folders, in there; she deleted the ones she didn’t need after using them. Right now, they listed every single member of the Barnes and the Vaughan family, as well as a handful of her friends, and the ex-boss she was going to have to deal with at some point.

She opened Shane’s folder, separated into two subgroups: files, and blackmail material.

“What the…”

There were a fair few embarrassing pictures in there, as well as videos – some, she’d gotten from bystanders who’d filmed his falls, his really bad hair days or any other ways he had made a fool of himself over the course of the last decade. Others came from security cameras.

“Shit. Mh… Brooke. We can put the whole pool thing behind us, can’t we, honey?”

“Not. A. Chance.”

She thought he’d taken the moments of silence to reflect on his impending doom, but when he spoke, it was to ask about the second file.

“Oh, that’s a backup of your computer. Don’t worry, I don’t actually look at it; but I do get a report when you manage to crash it,” she told him, rolling her eyes. That had happened often. “I just put your files back.”

He stared at her like she had grown a second head, which was surprising; Jack knew she did that on both of their computers. She’d assumed he’d told Shane.

“Fuck. I clearly remember losing a huge presentation for a potential client on our first property. I didn’t save anything, but when I managed to log back in, it was there. That was you.”

“2009?” She guessed. “Sure. So, see – you should be nice to the red phone. Red is good. Potentially embarrassing if I decide to release the blackmail material, but otherwise, pretty useful.”

Shane ignored her tirade, visibly lost in his thought. Soon enough, he was sharing them:

“Why do you do all that? I mean, I’m seriously thankful, but I don’t get it.”

Well, he wouldn’t, would he?

Truth was, she wasn’t babysitting him because of her crush on him; she’d started on her sixteen birthday, and he wasn’t the only one she monitored.

She was born in July, when everyone partied hard before returning to college.

That year, her birthday had fallen on a Saturday. She knew for a fact Shane and Jack had been invited to tons of parties, with cute girls and a lot of beer.

The systematic, consistent answer to any invitation they got by text or phone call, had been a simple:
No. It’s BB’s birthday.

Yep, they’d tagged along to her silly, pink, sparkly sweet sixteen, although she’d celebrated it by going bungee jumping – something both of them, along with most of her friends, still hadn’t forgiven her for.

Brooke had thought back to three years prior, when she’d been sulky, shy, withdrawn and pretty friendless. Her brother had been there, then, and that was it.

That day, she had a dozen people around her, following her lead and taking the damn jump although they’d screamed all the way.

She’d felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world thanks to them all, and there had been no words to express her gratitude.  Ensuring they never got hacked, scammed or let down by a computer seemed like a good start. She’d never stopped; it rarely took her more than an hour per month.

“You were a good friend,” she summed up, rather than getting into the whole pathetically mushy sentiment. “And that’s easy for me to do. As you see, you aren’t the only one on Red. Don’t feel
too
special.” 

“We should pay you for that.”

“Right. And I should pay you for renting out your carpet space, I guess?”

He’d offered an office, but she wasn’t a desk kinda gal if she could help it.

“Don’t be absurd,” he scowled. 

“Right back at ya.”