The Other Brother (2 page)

Sean had unintentionally gotten Patrick into trouble after calling his latest squeeze by the wrong name. It’d been hairy for awhile, but Patrick, with all his charms, talked her around.

Yes, he would be ideal for the calendar. And when she told him which charity it would benefit, she had no doubt he’d be eager to get involved. She’d give him a call in the morning. Checking the clock beside her bed, she saw it
was
morning. After flipping the switch to turn off the alarm, she headed for the shower.

***

“Hi, Patrick. It’s Melodie.”

“How are you? You feeling better today?”

She cringed. He’d taken a battering from her emotions the previous day. The poor guy would be dry-cleaning his suit for another six months.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m really sorry about all that. I’m not usually such a sap.”
Liar
.

“It’s okay. We’ve been through some crap, haven’t we? You needed to let it out. Seriously, don’t worry.”

“Thank you. If I promise not to do it again, can I persuade you to meet me for coffee today? I have a proposition for you.” Grimacing, she hoped he didn’t notice her words could have a different meaning.
Especially after yesterday
.

“Sure. How about during my lunch break?”

“Oh, crap. I didn’t know you’d started work already. That’s fast.” Now that he’d mentioned it, she heard voices in the background. Perhaps he was in the staff room?

“I know. Seems they were desperate.”

“Good thing they’re getting the best, then.”

“Aw, shucks. Are you hoping I’ll pay for the coffee or something?”

“No, of course not. I’m not that strapped. I asked you, I’ll pay.”

“I’m only joking.” Humor laced his tone.

“It’s cool. So when’s your lunch break and where do you want to meet?”

“One-fifteen. And I have no idea—I don’t know the area all that well yet.”

“Oh, yeah. Ha. Sorry. Um….what about the Dancing Crane Café in the park? It’s right next to the zoo, so you can get there really fast.”

“Okay. So, twenty after the hour, then? I apologize in advance if I’m late—I’ll probably get lost.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you.”

After hanging up, she switched on her laptop. Carrying it over to her desk and plugging it into the printer, she hoped she could retrieve the damn e-mail—otherwise she’d have to search the web for information. Either way, she’d meet Patrick fully armed with data on the calendar, and the exact requirements.

Fortunately, the e-mail still loitered in her deleted folder. She printed it out, stashed it in her purse then settled in to do some paperwork for the morning before heading to the café.

***

“Hey,” she said, spotting Patrick already seated at a table with a coffee. “You’re early. Can I get you another?”

“No, it’s okay. I still have plenty left.”

“Hmm, are you sure? I told you on the phone, it’s my treat.”

“I know, but I couldn’t sit here without buying anything. I wouldn’t mind a muffin or cookie, though, while you’re at the counter.”

“No problem. What kind do you like? Or not like?”

“I like everything, really.”

“Okay. Back in a few.” Retrieving her wallet from her purse, she headed over to the counter. The barista took her order and had it ready in record time. Melodie dropped a couple of coins in the tip jar.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl said.

The girl’s happiness lifted her own mood and Melodie still wore a grin when she returned to the table with two chocolate-chip cookies and her coffee.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked.

“The girl behind the counter. She’s so happy and it seems to have rubbed off on me. And I felt cheerful enough to start with.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been worried about you.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Most of the time, I’m sort of okay. As I said before, I try to keep busy, keep my mind occupied. Anyway, before you have me blubbering again, eat your cookie—only one of them is yours, by the way—and let’s get down to business.”

“Yes, ma’am. Have you always been this bossy?”

“Probably. Take a bite of your cookie.” Suddenly nervous, she worried he might say no to the calendar, and hoped her attempt to literally sweeten him up would work.

He frowned, but obeyed. An expression of pure pleasure covered his face as he began to chew the snack. Damn, now she wanted hers. But she’d wait until she’d made the proposal—the cookie could be her reward.

“Okay,” she said, reaching over to pull the sheets of paper from her bag. “I want you to pose for a charity calendar. Preferably without a shirt on.”

Patrick coughed a little. “You…what?”

“You heard me. I found out about this charity calendar and would love to submit a photo of you. You could be Mr. June.”

Appearing utterly bemused, he sipped his drink before responding. “Mr. June? Why Mr. June?”

He hadn’t refused, but he didn’t seem impressed, either. Melodie decided to play her trump card. “It’s for the Hero Family Fund. And I said Mr. June just ’cause it’s June, that’s all.”

He raised his eyebrows then took another, almost fierce, bite of his cookie. Chewing slowly, deliberately, he seemed to consider it. She smiled hopefully.

After what seemed like years, he finally swallowed and opened his mouth. “No, I don’t think so.”

Her jaw dropped. “Seriously? I would have thought that charity meant something to you.”

“It does. Christ, you know it does. I’m not saying no to be awkward or an asshole, or because I can’t be bothered. I’m saying no because I don’t think I’m the right kind of guy you need. The models that will get chosen for the calendar are exactly that—models. Attractive guys with great bodies. I’m no match for men like that. If you sent a photo of me, it wouldn’t even be considered. I think it would be better to save my time, and yours, and not bother. I’m sorry. But, if I see anyone around who looks like a male model, I’ll send him your way.”

By the time he’d finished speaking, a maelstrom of emotions churned in her brain. Anger, disappointment, disbelief. Anger and disappointment, because he’d said no. Disbelief, because she couldn’t get a grasp of his so-called reason. Had he seen himself in the mirror recently? He acted as though he were Quasimodo’s identical twin, when in fact, if Patrick were famous, he could give Channing Tatum, Bradley Cooper, and Ryan Reynolds a run for their money in 
People’s
Sexiest Man Alive polls.

An intense wave of guilt rolled through her. Thinking about him in that way made her feel as though she betrayed Sean. Which was ridiculous. He’d been dead for two years. He’d never be coming back, and would want her to move on.

Probably not move on with his brother, though
.

She shook her head. What the fuck? Why were Patrick and moving on even in the same thought space? Because she’d come to the conclusion that he was attractive? It didn’t take a genius to work that one out. And finding someone attractive wasn’t the same thing as being attracted
to
them. Absolutely not.

One day, she’d get over Sean. Maybe when she found someone she liked in the same way. But for now, she’d concentrate on convincing Patrick to do the calendar—to help raise every cent necessary. Those people needed the cash,
deserved
the cash, and she’d make sure they got it.

She’d better say something. He couldn’t read her thoughts—definitely a good thing. “Are you serious? Since when have you had self-esteem issues? The Patrick I used to know always had a new girl on his arm.”

“Well, things change, don’t they.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, they do. And not always for the better. Whoever gave you confidence issues is an idiot. If you don’t do it, we’re both missing out on a fantastic opportunity to help out. Can your conscience live with that?” A low blow, but she had to change his mind. Her heart was set on it and she wouldn’t give up.

His green eyes glinted with irritation. “My conscience is fine. It’s not as if the charity is going to struggle to fill twelve spots, is it? They aren’t exactly going to miss our contribution, are they? If I was one of the last twelve men on the planet, then I’d do it. But I’m not.”

Fuck. He had a point. If the Hero Family Fund never received a photo, they couldn’t miss it. But still…she wanted to make a contribution. Patrick’s photo.

“And thank fuck for that,” she said, suddenly angry. Fury forced the words before her brain had a chance to stop them. “I’m beginning to think you’re fishing for compliments now. Is that what you want? For me to tell you that you’re perfect for the calendar? That you’re gorgeous, you’re sexy, and you could give any male model a run for his money? Well, there you go, I’ve said it. I hope you’re happy.”

She stood so abruptly her chair fell backward, but she didn’t care. She had to get out of there. Get away from the stares, the pointed fingers and whispers. Mostly to get away from him. Grabbing her purse and, with the specific purpose of being extra annoying, the remaining cookie on the plate, she left.

As she stalked up the path that led her out of Central Park and back toward her loft, her anger slowly, very slowly, began to dissipate. Thinking a little more clearly, she couldn’t work out where the fury had come from. Patrick had irritated her, sure, but not to the extent he deserved her to blow up in his face. Had his refusal pushed her over the edge? His pathetic reasoning? Hormones, perhaps? Maybe because he lived on, and his brother, kind, gorgeous, funny Sean, hadn’t.

Munching on the cookie, she hoped the chocolatey goodness helped her feel better. She shouldn’t have taken it out on him, not really. Not when she meant every word she’d yelled—he
was
gorgeous, sexy, and could give any male model a run for his money.

Maybe she’d have been okay with it if she’d meant it in an objective way, as though she were admiring a bunch of flowers and calling it pretty. But there was more to it than that, far more, and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

A big black cloud floated over her head, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

Melodie cringed when her cell rang later that evening. Patrick’s name flashed on the screen. No doubt off work and calling to give her a piece of his mind. She ignored it. The bad mood she’d plummeted into since her outburst in the café still had her firmly in its grip, and an argument certainly wouldn’t help. Instead, she’d probably end up saying something she regretted—even more than she already had.

The phone trilled again, the vibrations shifting it along the desk, the ringtone piercing the silence of her apartment. She grabbed it before it vibrated itself off the edge. It would probably survive the impact, but a hefty repair or replacement bill was the last thing she needed, both in terms of her mood and her finances.

Patrick refused to give up. Her irritation grew; he obviously
really
wanted to talk to her. She tapped her fingers on the desk to give them something to do other than picking up the cell, pressing talk, and shouting, “Bite me!”

Another noise. The door buzzer to her apartment. Her gaze flicked to the console on the wall. Was Patrick outside her flat? Only one way to find out. Stomping across the kitchen, she wished for the umpteenth time she lived in one of those places where the panels had a built-in screen to show who waited downstairs. Ugh, she’d have to keep on buying lottery tickets.

Stabbing at the button, she barked, “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

Crap
. He didn’t sound as pissed as she’d expected him to be—maybe more frustrated than anything. Ignoring him would get her nowhere, so she buzzed him in without replying. Her reaction earlier had been way over the top, way angrier than she had any right to be under the circumstances. Patrick had the right to refuse a request, and she’d behaved like a child. Flipping the lock on the door, she left it ajar so he could get in. She sat on one end of the couch, pulled her legs up, and wrapped her arms around them. Even though he didn’t sound too mad, she still expected some unpleasantness.

By the time he entered her apartment and closed the door behind him, she clung so tightly to her legs, her arms had begun to ache.

Crossing the room in a few strides, he surprised her by sitting next to her instead of on one of the chairs. Right next to her.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do the shoot.”

Her eyebrows shot up.
Wow
. She hadn’t expected
that
, especially after the way she’d behaved earlier. His proximity, the heat of his body so close made it difficult to focus, which irritated her. She inhaled deeply, trying hard to keep calm.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding around?”

“No, you don’t. It’s just…I was kind of a bitch earlier. I expected you to tell me to go fuck myself.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” He grinned, his green eyes full of mischief. “But although you went off the deep end and made me look like a total idiot in front of a room full of people, I kinda know why you did it.”

“You do?” Christ, he hadn’t figured out she had feelings for him, had he? If so, he’d definitely caught on faster than she had.

“I think so. That particular charity means a lot to you, for obvious reasons, and you wanted to use your talent and your time to help out. I arrived with perfect timing—for you, anyway—and then said no. I had my reason, but not a very good one.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve been coping reasonably well with Sean’s death, and seeing you, talking about this charity brought it back to the forefront.” He took a deep breath and fidgeted. “I wanted to steer clear, grieve more privately, I suppose.” He gave her a shaky smile. “But it’s a great cause, and I’d like to help. Plus, if Sean could have communicated with me in the café, he’d have told me to stop being such a fucking pussy.”

His words were such a shock, and yet so true, they wrenched a startled laugh from her. Covering her mouth, she giggled. “Sorry. A very inappropriate time to laugh, I know, but I didn’t expect that. You’re right, though. Sean would definitely have said something along those lines. But, whatever your reasons, I’m glad you’re on board. We’re totally going to get you into the calendar.” She kept her tone light. “We’re going to get you in because you’re hot, and we’re going to help to raise stacks of cash for the Hero Family Fund. This is going to be awesome!”