Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Brandon

Rose is already on the private plane when I board, seated across a table-for-two from my brother, a bottle of champagne chilling in a wine cooler.

She looks up, her lips forming a smile that changes her entire face, briefly, like a light in a pitch-darkened room. Then it fades quickly, when she realizes that it’s me. Her gaze hops between me and my date for the week, Jennifer, and she chews her bottom lip in a mannerism that reminds me too much of Kelly.

“Brandon has arrived.” Damon raises his crystal flute in a mock toast as I gesture for Jennifer to take a seat on the opposite side of the aisle from my brother. “You’ve just lost me a couple hundred bucks. I was convinced you wouldn’t show.” He’s not drunk, but he isn’t sober either.

At least Rose has the grace to avert her eyes.

“Damon.” I take my seat and remove some documents from my briefcase. Nothing urgent. It’s a tool to avoid getting drawn into mindless conversations I’d rather ignore. “Drinking champagne with the housekeeper?”

Damon winks at Rose, whose cheeks grow even pinker. “My bad. No point making her sit at the front with Tom when there’s a perfectly good seat right here.”

Tom, the steward, appears to take a drinks order as I take my seat across the aisle with Jennifer. I ask for iced water. “Some of what they’re having,” Jennifer gestures at the wine cooler on Damon’s table, and the champagne bottle dressed in a starched white napkin.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Damon asks.

Rose raises her eyes and studies Jennifer closely as if trying to figure out our relationship. I could put her out of her misery, but the less interaction we have the better as far as I’m concerned, and I have no desire to swap personal information with someone I hope never to set eyes on again once this is all over.

“Damon, this is Jennifer,” I say. “Jennifer, my brother Damon.”

“And Rose.” Damon’s eyes narrow in my direction. “You’ll do well to keep Rose on your side,” he says to Jennifer. “She’ll be the one making sure the guests are fed and watered.”

“So, you’re the VIP.” Jennifer winks at Rose when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

Tom returns with my glass of iced water in a crystal tumbler and a champagne flute for Jennifer, and I ask him to fetch me a double brandy, ignoring the sly smile on Damon’s face. I don’t know why seeing them together has gotten me so rattled—it’s not like I discovered Rose and feel responsible for her. She’s an adult. She doesn’t need my protection.

“How did you two meet?” he persists, his eyes lingering on Jennifer.

This is the thing with Damon, he’s like a dog catching the scent of a bone. He won’t let it go until he has picked the situation apart and left his teeth marks on it, by which point, he’ll be on his way to steaming drunk, and I’ll be enemy number one in the eyes of everyone else on board the aircraft.

“In an art gallery,” Jennifer says, sipping champagne once Tom has filled her glass and retreated to the galley.

“Are you an artist?” Rose asks.

I try to keep my eyes on the documents in front of me, but I can’t help watching her out of the corner of my eye. Is she really that na?ve or is it all an act for Jennifer’s benefit?

“No.” Jennifer slants a perfectly shaped eyebrow in my direction. “I’m a business associate of Brandon’s.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Is that a flicker of relief in Rose’s eyes, or am I imagining it? Why do I even care?

I met Jennifer years ago when I first inherited the business from my father. She was an escort then—high-class, with a clientele of wealthy businessmen, politicians, and actors. An escort with ambition and more determination to succeed than anyone else I know.

Jennifer learned long ago how to be discreet, but there’s another side of her that enjoys the shock factor of disclosing her previous occupation. Fortunately for me, not today.

“ Business associate. That’s what they call it these days, huh?”

Damon emphasizes the word ‘business’ and downs his drink, refilling it himself and emptying the bottle in the process. He taps it with his index finger and waits for Tom to reappear with a replacement.

“Brandon is a typical Weiss. A workaholic with no time for meaningful relationships, so don’t go getting any ideas, sweet Rose.”

“I…” Rose shakes her head, heat flooding her cheeks. “No, I wouldn’t… I mean, I’m only here for the celebrations. To help your mom, that is. As a favor.”

Damon’s cell phone rings then, rescuing Rose, and he answers it with an eye roll. “Mom? Checking up on us before we’ve even left the ground?”

Pause. Damon’s eyes meet mine briefly.

“He’s here.” His tone is clipped. “Is that it?” Our mother must cut him off because he studies the screen and mutters, “Love you too, Mom,” under his breath.

“So, does that mean you’re not a typical Weiss?” Jennifer steps in, rescuing Rose.

It’s one of the things I like about her. I met Jennifer about five years ago through a business associate. Aside from the fact that she introduced me to three sexual positions I’d never tried before during our first encounter, I recognized in her a level of determination and confidence that few people possessed. The sleek black bob with red streaks down one side, the heavily kohled eyes, and the intricate ouroboros tattoo snaking around her wrist, hide a quick wit and intelligent mind. It’s the reason I jumped at the chance to bankroll her art gallery.

“I don’t need to be,” Damon says. “That’s what the eldest son is for.”

“Hmm.” Jennifer swallows a mouthful of champagne. “I detect a note of bitterness in your tone, Damon. Have you ever considered this situation from Brandon’s perspective?” When my brother doesn’t answer, she continues, “Perhaps he’d like to sit back and reap the rewards of someone else’s hard work occasionally.”

My brandy arrives and I down it in one, while Tom waits discreetly for my glass.

“You’re wasting your breath,” I tell Jennifer. “Damon doesn’t understand the Weiss family work ethos. He prefers to make his money via more sordid avenues.”

Rose is following the conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, her gaze flitting back and forth across the aisle.

The engines rumble to life then and Tom closes the door, locking it into position for takeoff. It’s going to be a long three hours.

Jennifer plays Candy Crush Saga on a handheld device, the sound muted so that she doesn’t disturb me poring over the documents I’ve barely even registered. At some point shortly after takeoff, Rose produced a pack of cards, and she and Damon have been playing a game that involves a lot of talking and bullshitting about what cards they have in their hands.

Damon is deliberately loud—he has always been disruptive, even as a kid, because in Damon’s eyes, any attention is better than no attention. I don’t know what Rose’s excuse is though, but she seems to enjoy my brother’s company.

It won’t last. But meanwhile, I have to fight the urge to glance at her every few seconds out of the corner of my eye.

Finally, she stacks the cards and asks him to tell her about his children.

Damon takes a deep breath and peers out of the window at the turquoise ocean below. “They’re great kids, just like their mom,” he says. “Frankie, the eldest, is seven going on sixteen. Then we’ve got Charlie who’s five, and Georgie, the baby, who’s three.”

“All boys?”

“All girls.” Damon strokes the stem of his champagne flute. “The family name won’t be going far unless Brandon produces the future generation of Weiss sons our father craves.”

Rose’s gaze instinctively flickers my way before she turns her attention to the view from the window. The three of them have been through three bottles of Moet, but she stopped drinking after the first glass.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” she says, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

“You want kids?” Jennifer asks her.

The smile is back for the first time since we left New York. The genuine smile. The one that reaches her eyes and lights her up from the inside. “Sure. I love kids. I had a job lined up at a preschool that fell through, but that’s what I want to focus on when I get back.”

Without warning, the aircraft drops, and my stomach takes a moment to settle. That’s all we need, some turbulence along the way.

I stand up and brush past Jennifer on my way to the restroom. An invitation. I have an irrational fear of turbulence and need to splash water on my face. As I leave the cabin, I hear Jennifer say, “What happened? Why did the job fall through?”

In the restroom, I lower my face to the cold water faucet and wait for my heartrate to regulate.

Whatever Rose’s intentions for this week, I get the feeling that Damon will be backing her all the way. He has a knack for sniffing out trouble, especially if there’s a chance it will backfire on me, because despite what our parents believe, their sons have never been on the same side.

What is it she wants? Money? I could’ve written her a check and saved us all the excruciating embarrassment of pretending to be civil in front of my parents and their guests. I’m struggling to accept that she’s interested in the job my mother offered her, albeit temporarily. Perhaps she’s hoping there will be a younger family member she can get her claws into, a cousin, or even a son of a family friend.

Jennifer has seen straight through Damon, but I’m worried he’ll charm Rose with the friendly card games and the doting-dad public image. It seems to work on plenty of other people including our own mother.

There’s a gentle knock on the door, and I smile to myself. Turning around, I open the door, grab Jennifer’s hand, and pull her inside the tiny room, squashing her body against mine. Only, it isn’t Jennifer. It’s Rose. There’s barely enough room for two in the confined space, and our lips are almost touching, our noses so close, I can see the amber flecks in her brown eyes. She doesn’t pull away.

Why doesn’t she pull away?

“I’m sorry,” I say huskily, releasing her.

I release her hand and try to step backwards, my thighs hitting the rim of the basin. “I thought you were Jennifer,” I say.

She rubs her wrist and continues to stare at me with those big brown eyes. “It’s fine. At least I didn’t splash you this time.”

I nod. I’ve spent my entire adult life manipulating conversations to my advantage, with some of the most influential people in the oil industry. But Rose always seems to have me on the backfoot, like I’m the one in the wrong.

It’s no wonder my mom fell for the innocent fa?ade though—she’s always been a sucker for a sob story, you only need to ask the CEOs of all the charities she has funded over the years.

“I know you don’t want me here,” she says, “but can we just agree to stay out of each other’s way?” Her back is pressed up against the door like a caged animal waiting for the opportunity to escape.

“Fine by me.” It sounds way harsher than I intended. I nod towards the door. “You’re blocking my way.”

A flash of emotion— irritation? anger? —passes behind her eyes, and she goes to step aside as the plane hits more turbulence. She’s thrown off balance and I instinctively try to catch her. My arms wrap around her as her forehead collides with my jaw. “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she says, rubbing her brow. “Are you all right?”

She’s so close, I can feel the contours of her body pressed against mine. My pulse is racing—the turbulence or her proximity? I breathe in and catch the citrusy scent of her shampoo, and my lips instinctively gravitate toward hers. Our lips are so close I swear I can taste champagne, feel her tongue teasing mine, and I grab her hips, pulling her even closer.

She squirms in my grip and twists her face away from mine. “What are you doing?” She licks her lips and I know that she can imagine the taste of me, too. Her chest is heaving with the effort of controlling whatever is going on inside, and I want to rip her blouse apart and bury my face between her breasts.

“Jennifer is out there,” she says, jolting me back to reality.

“Jennifer and I… We’re just friends.” Goddamned if my voice is betraying me every time I speak to her.

Perhaps she doesn’t believe me. Can I even blame her? Rose sucks in a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. When she opens them again, I see the janitor’s daughter mocking me for complaining about sticky fingers on my pants. “She isn’t just anything,” she hisses. “She’s your date. Maybe you should try treating her with the respect she deserves.”

“We’re not dating, Rose.” Why does this matter? Why am I explaining myself to her?

She turns around and tries yanking the door open, but it doesn’t budge.

I lean across her and flick the lock. “It’s a bit temperamental.”

She opens the door and walks back to her seat without another glance in my direction.