What You Need (Need You #1) Page 4

  “Then he’ll think I want something from him, when I don’t.”

  Kiley sighed. “You are using skewed logic. But whatever. You’re too chicken to do it anyway.”

  I watched as Jailbait got up and headed to the ladies’ room. She’d just given me a chance to casually swing by and say hello. I pushed my chair back and stood.

  “Thatta girl!” Kiley said. “Go get ’im, tiger.”

  Lund was the tiger. He’d probably eat me alive.

  So in a total chickenshit move, when I was within four feet of him, I cut around the side of the sushi bar and headed for the bathroom.

  I swore I heard Kiley clucking behind me.

  I used the facilities, and when I stepped out of the stall, I froze.

  Jailbait stood in front of the mirror, affixing piercings to her face. She now sported a nose piercing, two nose rings, as well as snakebite piercings in her lip. I continued to watch as she shed her skirt, revealing skintight leggings. Beneath the blouse was a Sex Pistols T-shirt, strategically ripped and then held together with a row of safety pins.

  At that point, I was helpless to look away. I washed my hands, trying to discreetly watch her apply thick black eyeliner to her eyelids and then outline her lips.

  “What’re you lookin’ at, eh?”

  She had an accent I couldn’t place. British? Irish? Scottish? And because the “What’re you lookin’ at?” question annoyed me, I didn’t temper my answer. “Your outfit. Wondering if you’re going to an eighties costume party? Or if I somehow missed the fashion update that punk style from that era was back in style.”

  For a moment anger sparked in her eyes. Then she grinned. “Ballsy one, ain’t ya?”

  I shrugged.

  “Punk never went out of style where I’m from.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Great Britain—specifically I was born in Ireland and went to uni in London.”

  “Ah.”

  She pulled a long studded belt out of her bag and wrapped it around her hips and waist. Then she attached studded bracelets to each wrist. “Look, you seem like an okay lass, so could I get you to do me a wee favor?”

  “What?” I said cautiously.

  “There’s a man sitting out there. Can’t miss him, right stodgy as hell. If you look closely enough, you might see a stick up his arse.”

  “What about him?”

  “Tell him I left, yeah?”

  “Wait. Is he your date?”

  “Hard to believe, ain’t it? Him ’n me on a bloody date.”

  Hard to believe indeed. “Why are you ditching him?”

  She snorted. “Because I don’t like old dudes.”

  My eyes narrowed at her. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one. Can you believe the arsehole asked to see me ID? After the bloody waitress didn’t card me? What kind of bastard does that?”

  A smart one. “Why’d you agree to go out with him if you think he’s too old for you?”

  “My auntie set up the date—though now I know why she was very careful not to call it a date, eh? But I can see why he agreed to go out with me. I bet the poor bugger never gets his pole waxed. I might’ve given him a ride because he is right nice to look at, but he’s such a cold wanker.”

  Wow. Harsh assessment of Brady Lund. But how could she have come to such a fast judgment about him when they’d spent less than an hour together?

  “Anyway. Tell him I bailed, yeah? And I’ll find me own way back to Auntie’s.” With that, she sailed out of the bathroom.

  I followed her and watched her yell at the kitchen workers before she bolted out the back door.

  Freakin’ awesome.

  But there was no way I could tell the CFO of a multibillion-dollar company that his blind date had dumped him.

  I carefully kept out of his line of sight as I returned to the table. When I told Kiley what’d happened in the bathroom, she had no problem switching seats with me. So I didn’t see when he’d left. I only know he was gone when I turned around.

  *

  Brady

  Sunday afternoon I got that familiar buzz of excitement when I entered the stadium. Vikings home games had always been fun, even before Jensen started playing pro ball. I was damn proud of my youngest brother for getting to live his dream.

  I swiped my access pass in the key card machine in the elevator and slumped against the wall with my eyes closed.

  Last night’s events pushed to the forefront of my mind no matter how hard I’d tried to forget them.

  After Siobhan had slammed her first two beers, she hadn’t turned into a sweet and charming Irish lass. She proceeded to tell me everything that was wrong with me.

  I had a superior air that made me a wanker.

  My clothing style made me a wanker.

  Even my hairstyle made me a wanker.

  All the time she was lecturing me about the evils of money and my sense of entitlement, she ordered the five most expensive sushi pieces on the menu.

  Then she ditched me.

  Her ditching me didn’t affect me as much as her assumptions. After I’d demanded proof of her age, she’d guessed mine to be a full decade older than my thirty-two years. I’d looked at her at one point and wondered what I’d done to piss Maggie off so badly that she’d sic this horrible creature on me.

  At first, I hadn’t noticed she’d left. I had another beer, ate more sushi and checked e-mail on my phone. So when I looked at my watch, it surprised me to see thirty minutes had passed by.

  I knew it made me a jerk to feel relieved that she’d left. I was just glad that no one I knew had been around to witness the debacle. I’d lived through public humiliations from various women throughout the years and it never got any easier.

  Still, I wasn’t a total dick. I’d called Maggie to let her know that Siobhan would make it back there on her own steam.

  Maggie had let out a litany of curse words—then she’d apologized profusely. So I’d felt entitled to ask what she’d been thinking, setting us up in the first place. Maggie finally admitted she’d picked me because I was safe, gentlemanly and solid—meaning as bland as oatmeal—and not only would I not take advantage of her niece, chances were slim Siobhan would be attracted to me.

  I’d come away from that conversation feeling worse than before.

  Some men are confident in their attractiveness to the opposite sex. I’ve never been that guy. I was the shy dorky kid in junior high. It was even worse for me in high school. I stayed in that awkward stage—a long-necked beanpole with acne and glasses—until the last month of my junior year, when Jessica Lewis started talking to me. Being a clueless dumbass, I had the foolish hope that Jessica, a girl who was moderately popular and more cute than pretty, had seen beyond my wimpy, skinny, zitty outer shell. And she had seen beyond it all right—she was looking at dollar signs. Jessica wanted to go to prom in style, and who better to take her than a Lund? She insisted on eating dinner that night at the exclusive club my parents belonged to. She insisted on taking a limo to the dance.

  But once we got to the dance, she refused to dance with me. She said the prom was lame and if I wanted to get with her at all, I’d invite her and some of her friends to my big fancy lake house that I’d bragged about. Hormones overcame common sense. We left the dance; she didn’t even hold my hand. The limo dropped us and eight of her closest friends off on the road in front of the lake house—a guesthouse in the Lund Compound—that was still closed against the endless Minnesota winter. But I had a key. No sooner had I opened the place up than two dozen more people appeared. Booze flowed freely after they found the liquor cabinet.

  And the whole time I heard these people, who I’d gone to school with for three years, asking who the house belonged to and the response was always the same: that weird rich kid.

  That weird rich kid who wasn’t even memorable enough to have a name.

  So I was at my first high school party, in my own house, and I was still persona non grata.

&n
bsp; Not cool to cry in front of anyone at age seventeen, so I went outside. But that proved to be an even bigger mistake. Someone had opened the window in the bedroom, presumably thinking blowing pot smoke through the screen would somehow mask it. It didn’t. The pot smoke and their voices drifted to where I sat alone on the back deck.

  “Jessica, stop hogging the joint! You never take that many hits.”

  “I’m fine. It’s a special occasion. It’s prom!”

  “You might not say that when you’re out of it and your boyfriend takes advantage of you and starts feeling you up.”

  “Eww, Carly—he is not my boyfriend and that is too sick to even think about!” Jessica declared.

  “What? That’s probably the only way he’ll get anything. You’d have to be passed out.”

  Jessica laughed. “Or maybe be totally stoned.”

  Everyone laughed.

  I thought my cheeks couldn’t burn any hotter, but they did.

  Someone asked, “So that weird rich kid is your boyfriend?”

  “Hell no.”

  “But you went to prom with him,” Carly pointed out.

  “So? Doesn’t mean I’m gonna do anything else with him. Yuck. I don’t even like him. But I knew since he’d never had a girlfriend and he’s rich that he’d go all out for prom to try and make me think he was cool.”

  “So, are you gonna be his girlfriend now?” some dude said and made kissing noises.

  “Fuck off, Tyler. No. Gross. I can’t imagine rubbing against his zitty face if he kissed me.”

  “Hey, he’s rich. Maybe he can get plastic surgery to fix his face.”

  More laughter.

  I’d had enough. I cut through the grounds and ran the half mile to my house. Once I was in the sanctity of my room, I ditched the tux. Then I dialed 911 and reported a break-in on the Lund property.

  I finished out the last two weeks of school at home. I changed to an all-boys prep school for my senior year.

  So over the years I’d learned to be more cautious, but rejection still had the power to send me spiraling back to that awful night.

  “Mr. Brady!”

  The doors to the box were open and our regular security guy manned the door. “Burt. Are we over capacity in the suite yet?”

  “Not even close. Miss Annika didn’t arrive with her usual entourage today. And I believe Mr. Archer isn’t here because his wife is feeling poorly.”

  I walked into the private box. Game day meant the Lund jerseys came out. No one in the family was exempt from wearing them. Not only were we a supportive bunch, we were suspicious too.

  My mother was the first one to greet me. And by her somber look and long hug, I knew Maggie had filled my parents in on last night’s events. I didn’t blame her; Siobhan hadn’t considered that her actions might put her aunt’s job in jeopardy. Not that it would—my dad wouldn’t survive a day without Maggie running his daily affairs—but it’d been a poor decision on Siobhan’s part, especially after Maggie had gone out of her way for the thankless girl.

  “Brady,” my uncle Monte boomed. “Come and meet some associates from Texas.”

  Warily, I eyed their Texans jerseys. At least they weren’t Cowboys fans. We exchanged pleasantries and Monte let me drift away because I could tell he was in business mode.

  I snagged a beer and wandered over to the window, watching as the stadium filled in with a sea of purple and gold.

  Only a few minutes passed before my brother Walker stood next to me. “Oddsmakers are saying this game will be too close to call.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see if Jensen plays.”

  “Second half, I’m betting.”

  “Did you talk to him this morning?”

  “Briefly. He said they’re confident they’ll win this one.”

  I snorted. “PR. He always says that. Their record of one and three doesn’t back up that statement.”

  “No shit.”

  An arm snaked around my waist. Another one snaked around Walker as our sister Annika inserted herself between us. “Hey, thing one. Hey, thing two.”

  “Hey, brat. What’s up? Where are all your hangers-on?”

  “Why is everyone saying that? I don’t always surround myself with a million people.”

  Walker and I exchanged a look over her blond head and we both laughed. “Right.”

  “Can’t a girl just spend quality time with her family without being grilled about it?”

  “In this family? No.”

  She faced us, putting her back to the window.

  Our little sister took after Mom—she was undeniably gorgeous. Annika had done some modeling in the Twin Cities, mostly to appease our mother. For being raised the daughter of a fashionista, Annika didn’t always present a flawless appearance. Oh, she could. When she was on, the girl was on fire. But when she wasn’t running PR for Lund Industries, she took the term “dressing down” farther than our flannel-shirt-and-faded-jeans-loving brother Walker did.

  Walker said, “Want a beer, sis?”

  “Sure. Leinie Bock if there are any left.”

  “Brady?”

  “Sure.” I kept my focus on Annika, because something clearly troubled her.

  After Walker left, I said, “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m tired of Mom harassing me.”

  “What’s she harassing you about?”

  “You name it, I’ve screwed it up somehow. That’s why I didn’t bring anyone today. With the rate she’s been going the last week, she’d tear into me in front of my friends.”

  “You know Mom wouldn’t do that.” My gaze searched her face. She looked more tired than usual. “What’s this really about?”

  She shot a look over to where our parents stood. “Not here. It actually has to do with work. Can we go to lunch next week?”

  “Sure, but since it’s your idea, you’re buying.”

  That got me a quick smile. “Deal. I also pick the place.”

  That meant I’d be eating quinoa salad or quiche or some girly shit. “On second thought . . .”

  Walker returned with beer.

  “Three minutes to kickoff,” Dad announced.

  We took our seats.

  At the end of the first quarter the Vikings were up three to zero. Jensen hadn’t played.

  A wild second quarter put the Vikings ahead seventeen to ten.

  My cousin Nolan finally appeared at the start of the second half with a skinny blonde. But since Jensen played the third quarter, I paid attention to the game, ignoring Nolan when he motioned me over.

  When the fourth quarter started and the Texans had possession, Nolan approached me where I stood at the bar by myself. “Brady. Got a second?”

  I faced him. “Sure.” I angled my head toward the blonde. “You got her to wear a jersey? I’m impressed.”

  “Just had to show her firsthand how much fun it was for both of us when I put in on her.” He grinned. “She’s something, huh?”

  “Yeah. Where’d you meet her?”

  “Out and about.”

  His standard response. For once, I didn’t give him shit about it.

  Nolan leaned in. “Look, I’m going to do something that I swore I never would.”

  “That’s a short list, cuz,” I said before taking a sip of my cocktail. “What are you going to do?”

  “Offer you my help.”

  “With what?”

  “With showing you how to cut loose, find some loose chicks, and demonstrating how to have a life outside of work. It’s time. Actually, it’s past time.”

  I wasn’t expecting that at all. Then I knew. My face heated. “Goddamn Selka said something to you about what happened to me last night, didn’t she?”

  He nodded. “I thought maybe you’d come to me long before this. But you haven’t and your mom is worried, Brady.”

  Fucking awesome.

  “I’m worried too. So are your brothers and Ash. It’s been going on for too long. Now you’re working seven days a
week.”

  I raised a brow. “I’m here at the game, aren’t I?”

  Nolan poked me in the chest. “Because Selka would skin you alive if you weren’t. And you’d be talking business if we didn’t have the ‘no work talk’ rule at family things. It just reminds me that you weren’t always all about work all the time. It changed—you changed—when you set your sights on the CFO position.” He swirled the ice cubes around in his glass as he studied me. “But you were—what, twenty-eight?—when you started down that path.”

  Wrong. I’d made that decision at age eighteen after a particularly nasty conversation with Grandpa Lund. “Around thereabouts.”

  “You’re thirty-two. You’ve been CFO two years. I don’t gotta tell you what a bang-up job you’re doing. You hear that every damn day from your dad, my dad and Uncle Monte. But that doesn’t mean you should work even harder. That means you should take the time to enjoy the station you’ve reached at your young age.” He pointed at our cousin Ash. “Between us, Ash had this same kind of crisis situation two years into his stint as COO too.”

  “It’s not a crisis situation,” I said with an edge. “And this has nothing to do with a woman. He was messed up during that time about Veronica.” My cousin’s ex had been a real piece of work. No one had been sorry to see the ass end of her except for Ash.

  “But it’s a woman—a blind date who ditched you—that has you here looking like a pathetic bum and drinking. But I suppose that’s better than you working.” Nolan plucked the half-finished drink from my hand and passed it to the bartender. “I’m done watching you wallow. Your life is about to change, my friend. Friday night you, me, Walker and Ash are going out.”

  I opened my mouth.

  Nolan shook his head. “You don’t get to know where we’re going. You don’t get to know what we’re doing. And you will spend time with Andres, my personal shopper this week so it doesn’t look like we’re taking a homeless guy out on the town.”

  I tempered my The fuck I look like a homeless guy response to “Fine” after I caught sight of my reflection in the glass. Hell, I did look like a bum. Had I even combed my hair? I hadn’t shaved and I still wore the sweat-soaked shorts and ratty running shoes I’d put on first thing this morning.