A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) (8 page)

I
’ve brought
my laptop with me to England, but it stays in its neoprene case until Monday afternoon when I finally fire it up. Ostensibly, I take it to the library to catch up on emails. I at least owe my mother one, especially after ignoring her FaceTime call last night and her follow-up text an hour later. I start an email, meaning I open Outlook, but end up spending more time on Facebook and Instagram by far, stalking Theo, of all things.

He’s been in my head since my run yesterday and catching up with him takes only a click of the mouse. He has a personal training Facebook page, which he’s religious about updating daily, and he’s almost as devoted to Instagram as he is to his gym routine, so I have a lot of posts to get through since I last bothered to cyberstalk him. Which was a lot longer than six days ago.

Truthfully, we broke up in May, but I started ignoring his Facebook posts in April, and when I unfollowed him on Instagram the same week, I said it was because I didn’t think I was his target meathead audience. All true, but I knew then I was trying to work up the courage to end it and seeing his smile upped the guilt factor for me.

Now, though, it’s oddly comforting to troll through Theo’s social media accounts. There’s him and Mike playing softball, a group picture of the guys from the gym, including Ray who always used to call me Theo’s old lady. I couldn’t stand Ray and I stick my tongue out at him on the screen because I can.

I smile at Theo’s Charlie Brown comics he likes to post and actually laugh at a video of him running down a Slip ‘n Slide. The half hour I spend with virtual Theo makes me happy, but more than that, it makes me homesick. For Atlanta. For my apartment, my bed, my stupid Luna bars I ate for breakfast every day. Even Theo. When the door rattles and I look up to see Jasper framed in the doorway, I feel on the verge of tears as I slam the lid of my laptop closed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says. He stays in the doorway.

“It’s fine. I’m done.” I busy myself by putting my laptop back in its sleeve, checking the floor for things I’ve dropped. Anything to avoid looking in Jasper’s general direction.

“You don’t have to leave on my account.”

If Jasper wasn’t rooted in front of my only exit, I’d already be gone. I shrug. “I’m sure Lou could use some help in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen is closed on Mondays.”

Right. I remember Claire saying something about that. Aloud, I say, “Of course. Well, there’s probably something that needs doing.”

Jasper doesn’t say anything for so long I finally look up at him. He bites his lip and says, “As I recall, we were supposed to play tennis today, yes?”

I recall that too. But that was before Jasper the jerk showed up yesterday afternoon. “Yeah, I’m not sure…”

“Afraid I’ll beat you and hold you to our date?” He raises his eyebrows a little.

At least ten responses flit through my head. None of them are nice, but I choose the most innocuous one of the lot. Despite my brave words to Hannah about confronting Jasper, a snide remark is all I can manage, and I still squirm. “I figured you had more important things to do.”

He purses his lips and nods. “I deserve that.”

I wait for him to say more and when he doesn’t, it takes most of my willpower not to fill the silence. He was the jerk, not me.

It feels like ten minutes go by before he speaks, but in reality it’s probably less than one. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

That’s it? No apology, no explanation, no nothing? An
I deserve that
and, boom, the ball’s back in my court? I make a noise in the back of my throat that could be taken as assent and turn back to rummaging in my bag. But, God help me, if Jasper says one more thing…

He doesn’t. In fact, he turns and goes back out the door, shutting it softly behind him. I stare after him, my jaw gaping. That’s how he’s going to leave it? I open my mouth to call him back and shut it again, which annoys me more than anything Jasper did or didn’t say to begin with.

If you always do what you’ve always done…

My eyes sting as my mom’s words play in my head, but this time it’s all frustration. Fuck Jasper. And fuck me. I twist a handful of hair through my fingers until it hurts, force one deep breath in and then another. It takes a minute, but by the time I let go of my hair, my eyes are dry as an Arizona summer.

With a sigh, I take my laptop back out of my bag. If I don’t email my mother, she’ll FaceTime me again and no one wants that. Sometimes it’s better when I don’t see her, and given how homesick and uncertain I’m feeling, this is definitely one of those times. When I flip open my laptop, my browser is still on Theo’s Instagram, but he’s posted a new photo in the past five minutes as I spoke to Jasper. It’s a photo of Big Ben, captioned with the words “Trip of a Lifetime” in all caps. Underneath are lots of meathead comments like, “Duuudde,” and, “No way,” but there’s also Theo’s response, “Yes way. Chaperoning youth group, end of July for a week.”

It takes me a minute to process, but Theo’s going to be in London? Really? Given the past twenty-four hours, this feels way too coincidental for me to ignore. I open a new email and type:

I see you’ll be in London later on this summer. Let me know when you know your plans. – Bea

I read it four times before pressing send. It’s innocuous and noncommittal. I don’t suggest we meet. I’m not sure I even want to meet. The problem is, I’m not sure what I do want. I only know it’s not this.

W
hen I finally play tennis at
the end of the following week, it’s against Scarlett, who’s using me as an outlet for her frustrations, which makes her a pretty worthy opponent.

“And then the asshat had the nerve to suggest I might be asked to work for him in the future if I played nice this time around.” She backhands the ball to the far corner of the court.

I return it. Barely. “And by playing nice, he means working on this project for free?”

Scarlett grunts as she slams it into the center of the court. “He didn’t say those exact words, but that was the message I got.”

I hit the ball straight into the net and drop my racket. “Set, Scarlett St Julien, ladies and gentlemen. You are a force to be reckoned with.”

Scarlett barks out a laugh. “Tell that to Mr. Bradley Waring-Smith, would you? God, even his name is pompous.”

“Says Ms. Scarlett St Julien?” I grin.

“Oh, shut up,” says Scarlett, but there’s no venom in it. “I didn’t choose it.”

I’m tempted to point out neither did he, but I don’t think Scarlett will let that go. Instead I say, “So what are you going to do? Besides tell him to fuck off, I mean?”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to do that.” Scarlett walks over to the clubhouse and grabs her water bottle. “I mean, I’m trying to get work experience and this guy’s a major player in the design world. If I play nice, is my name suddenly on everyone’s lips because he’s showing off my work? Or does he take what he can get for free because he knows I’m hungry?”

“I can ask my mother about him.” I’ve offered to hook Scarlett up with my mom’s connections at least five times and Scarlett’s said no every time, although I understand why. My mom is an office manager with one of the biggest architecture firms in Atlanta and she’s always telling Scarlett to “say the word” and she’ll get her more introductions than a prince at Cotillion.

“That might be good, but then what?” Scarlett says she wants to make it on her own. Hence the reason she always turns me down. Well, that and her belief that the business world is tough and interior design is subjective. And Scarlett would be mortified if she ever felt like she’d put my mom in an awkward position.

“I wouldn’t say you’re going to work for this guy for free, but my mom would know if he’s got a reputation.”

“Google would know, too. And everything I’ve read says he’s legit, but my gut says he’s not.” Scarlett takes another gulp of water, then hands it to me. “However, we all know how reliable that can be.”

I’m not sure if Scarlett’s referring to a design decision or an ex, so I err on the side of caution and go with her most infamous ex. “Hey, you had Scott’s number from the start.”

“Oh, God, Scott.” Scarlett laughs and this time it’s genuine. She lowers her voice. “‘Scarlett, I think I love you. And if you have five hundred dollars you can loan me, I’ll love you even more.’ If only everyone were as transparent.”

“At least he had good hair?”

“He did, didn’t he?” Scarlett sighs and takes her water back. “But it doesn’t solve my Bradley Waring-Smith problem because I have no idea what to do about him. Either he’s making me an offer I can’t refuse or he’s trying to con me and I genuinely can’t tell the difference. Why, why, why do I put myself through this?”

“Because you’re insanely talented and you’re looking for your big break. Who knows what it will look like when it comes?” I twist my ponytail around my hand. “Why don’t you talk to your parents? Get their opinion?”

Scarlett shakes her head. “My parents are great, but my mum’s running the hotel and dad’s half here, half off doing his legal shit still. They’re not exactly hip on what’s happening in the business world.”

“But they built the hotel up from nothing. And legally your dad might have some insight.” Hannah seems to have a good read on people and a legal perspective can’t hurt.

“What would you do? If it were you?” Scarlett asks. “Would you give some guy your time and effort for free in hopes it would lead to more work? Or would you say fuck you and make him pay?”

“Oh, God, Scarlett. I’m a math teacher. I mean, we play it safe by nature. You know, formulas, equations, actual answers.”

“Stereotypically, yes. But not you. I mean, look at you.” Scarlett waves her water bottle around her head. “You broke off your engagement to your safe guy and you’re here for the summer with my dodgy family. If that’s not risky I don’t know what is.”

I laugh. “Oh, I see. You’re looking for questionable advice. Why didn’t you say so?”

Scarlett leans towards me, stopping with her face inches away. “Don’t sell yourself short. There’s no one I trust more than you and you know it.”

If Jasper and I were flirting or even speaking, this would make me feel guilty. But because we’re not, I’m flattered. “Well, me too. For you, I mean.”

“Well, right. Obviously.” Scarlett laughs, but turns serious in the next breath. “So? What would you do?”

I close my eyes and let my mind race. When I open them, I have an answer. Maybe it’s not the right answer, but it’s exactly what I would do. “I’d make a list of pros and cons, even before I did any research on this guy, of the merits of working with him regardless of pay. I mean if you wouldn’t want to work with him anyway, then there’s your answer. If you would, I’d dig further into Mr. Waring-Smith and tell him I’m doing it. Ask him for references. Ask him what kind of exposure he can provide and when. Tell him you’re willing to entertain his proposal, but you need to understand the return on investment for you. I’d also talk to Laura about getting additional space in her gallery to display your paintings, maybe even setting up a limited show, because for every Mr. Waring-Smith out there, there’s another person who will fall in love with your art who’s willing to pay. You have art and design going for you, so if this isn’t the right opportunity, there will be another one. I’m sure of it.”

I take a breath and Scarlett throws her arms around me. “Oh my God, this is why you’re my favorite. That’s the most solid advice I’ve ever heard.”

I laugh and then disentangle myself from Scarlett to get her hair out of my mouth. “When you look at it like a math problem, it’s easy. Your work is the X we’re solving for, take into account the variables and you have a plan.”

“When you say it that way, it becomes a lot less agonizing,” Scarlett says.

“When you treat it like a business proposition, it becomes a lot less agonizing. The problem is, it’s personal, which is totally understandable, but it makes it hard to see it clearly.”

“If I’m ever rich and famous, you need to promise me you’ll quit your math teaching job and come on as my full-time advisor,” says Scarlett. “And, of course, I won’t take no for an answer because I’ll be rich and famous and I’ll woo you.”

“I’d like to be wooed in general, so you might have a shot.”

“You should be wooed. We need to find you a cute English boy.” Scarlett looks around the empty tennis court. “Only problem is we’re a bit short of cute English boys, aren’t we? There’s Will, but Claire would never forgive you.”

“And I can’t understand half of what he says,” I add.

“That could be an advantage.” Scarlett grins. “There’s Jaz, but he can be ghastly, let’s face it.”

“He’s ghastly because you’re related to him. To the rest of us, he’s mildly difficult.” I shrug and blame the sudden flush stealing across my face on the heat. I’m still mad at Jasper, so why am I defending him again?

“Maybe.” Scarlett studies me and I think for a minute she’s going to call me on my discomfort, but then she shakes her head. “But no. I can’t see it. We need to go out. That’s the only solution.”

If ever there was an opportunity to tell Scarlett about hooking up with her brother, this is it. On a silver platter. But he and I haven’t even spoken since his brush off in the library and the thought of hooking up with him again feels distant and unlikely. Hell, the thought of having a multi-syllable conversation with him feels distant and unlikely. So I nod, twirl my tennis racquet, and say, “Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay. I’ll check the bookings and get Mum to schedule us a Saturday night off. You, Claire, and me out on the town in Windermere. It’s a long way from Atlanta, but it’s the best we’ve got around here.”

“It sounds fun.” And it does. Girls’ night out is a cure for a thousand ills. A night out with Scarlett and Claire will do me a world of good.

“No going home early,” Scarlett warns. “And no wine spritzers to save calories either.”

“You don’t even have to think about your weight,” I start.

Scarlett doesn’t let me finish. “You don’t either. You’re gorgeous and you don’t even appreciate it. Do you know what I’d give to have your boobs?”

I roll my eyes. Scarlett is flat chested, but it’s nothing a Wonderbra can’t fix. “Do you know what I’d give to have your ass?”

Scarlett laughs. “Your ass is lovelier than you give yourself credit for.”

“My ass is passable until I stop running for two weeks. Then it morphs into granny ass.” I look over my shoulder. “In fact, I need to get on it. Do you know I’ve only run once since we’ve been here?”

“You run your ass off every day around the house. And you may have noticed we just played tennis?” Scarlett taps her racquet against her knee. “Of all the reasons I’m glad you’re done with Theo, this tops it. He did a number on you with his diet and exercise regime.”

“He was trying to help,” I say, but it sounds weak.

“He was trying to turn you into his...” Scarlett holds her hand up. “Forget it. We could fight about this forever and forever disagree. You deserve a guy who adores you. Period.”

The weird thing is, Theo did adore me in his way, but I know better than to say that to Scarlett. I doubt she’d see his concern as anything other than controlling. I sigh. “I’ll make that a prerequisite for whoever I date next. Are you employed? Any STDs I need to know about? And, oh, are you prepared to adore me?”

“Bloody well right. Set your standards high, darling. No one will set them for you.” Scarlett laughs. “And if you can’t, send them my way. I’ll screen them for you.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You’d reject Prince Harry on my behalf.”

“Only because I want him for myself. He’s the naughty one, after all.” Scarlett winks, then turns serious. “When we go out, I’m dedicating myself to your cause so you see it’s possible.”

My stomach roils and I taste the annoyance on the back of my tongue. “I’m not undateable, for God’s sake.”

Scarlett studies me and when she speaks her voice is gentle. “I know you’re not. I’m just saying, you sell yourself short. You can have any guy in the room, but not until you believe it yourself.”

Right. Because wishing makes it so.

“Maybe.” That’s as far as I’m willing to go.

“Definitely. Let’s go sort a night on the town and you’ll see.” Scarlett grins and raises her voice. “Watch out, Windermere. Bea Gillespie is coming to town.”

I muster up a smile and follow Scarlett back towards the castle. Suddenly girls’ night feels more like a chore than a chance to cut loose. I see it like it’s already happened and nothing about it makes me eager to go. But I will. I know it. Because part of me wants to know if Scarlett’s right, and an even bigger part hopes so.