Betrayal (19 page)

Brandon stood at the windows in his office, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. It was Monday morning, and he was having a conversation with the most powerful man in the world.

What a way to start the week.

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Brandon smiled warmly. “Thank you for calling, Mr. President. Please give my warm regards to the First Lady and the girls.”

Cynthia had wandered into Brandon's office while he was on the phone. Upon hearing his parting words, her eyes grew so wide they almost popped out of their sockets.

As Brandon set his phone down on the desk, she demanded excitedly, “Were you just talking to
President Obama
?”

Brandon grinned broadly. “I was.”

“Oh my God!” Cynthia squealed, damn near splitting his eardrums. She hurried around his desk and perched on the corner, staring at him with fascinated curiosity. “What did he say?”

“Can't tell you,” Brandon teased, dropping into his chair and clasping his hands behind his head.

“
What!
” Cynthia sputtered indignantly. “Why can't you tell me?”

Brandon winked. “It's classified.”

“
Classified?
”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Her eyes narrowed on his face. After another moment, she sniffed and shrugged a careless shoulder. “Fine. Be that way, then. It's not as if
I've
never met the president before. I was at the inauguration just like you were. And your father isn't the only one who's played golf with him
.
”

Brandon grinned. “I'm still not telling you what he said.”

Cynthia made a strangled sound of vexation and lunged at him. He laughed, warding off her playful blows.

“Awww,” intoned a mocking voice. “Aren't you two adorable?”

Brandon and Cynthia glanced around to find Brooke Chambers standing in the doorway, watching them with a smirk on her face.

Brandon was surprised to see her. “Hey, baby girl,” he said affectionately. “Wassup?”

“Oh, nothing much. Iris said I could head on back because you weren't with a client.”

“That's cool. Come in.”

Brooke strutted into the room as if her name was on the door—hips swinging, hair bouncing, lips smiling confidently. She was a voluptuous mahogany beauty who made no apologies for who she was and where she was going in life. An often-imitated fashionista, she wore a white pea coat over slim red pants and fur-trimmed boots. Even the small wicker basket slung over her arm looked like a fashion accessory.

“Hey, Brooke,” Cynthia greeted her, lips stretched into a plastic smile. “How're you doing?”

“I'm good,” Brooke drawled, lowering herself into a visitor chair. “Maybe not as good as you, though. I could hear you squealing all the way down the hall.”

“Oh. That.” Cynthia looked embarrassed. “I was just excited because your brother was talking to President Obama.”

Brooke snorted. “Is that all? They talk all the time.”

“I wouldn't say all that,” Brandon interjected, partly to rescue Cynthia from his sister's ridicule. “Barack is Dad's friend, not mine.”

“Same difference.” Brooke gave Cynthia a look of amused condescension. “Just out of curiosity, do you spend any time in your own office anymore?”

“Brooke,” Brandon said warningly as Cynthia's face reddened.

Brooke laughed. “I'm just sayin', Brandon. It seems like she's always in your office instead of hers.”

“How would you know?” he countered. “Last I checked, you don't work here.”

Brooke grinned. “Touché.”

Brandon could see Cynthia gritting her teeth, striving for composure. He knew she wanted to tell his sister off, but she didn't want to risk offending him because Brooke was his baby girl.

That was the difference between Cynthia and Tamia. He couldn't see Tamia holding her tongue if Brooke was talking smack to
her
.

“I was on my way out anyway,” Cynthia announced. “I have to meet with a client.”

“Okay.” Brooke raked Cynthia with the coolly dismissive look that had been perfected by Gwen Chambers. “Buh-bye.”

Cynthia's nostrils flared with indignation.

Brandon stood, giving her a peck on the lips. “Have a good meeting.”

“Thanks, baby.” Shooting a haughty glance at Brooke, Cynthia strode from the room.

When she turned and paused at the doorway, Brooke flapped her fingers at her, shooing her off.

Cynthia spun on her heel and stormed out the door.

Brooke snorted, rolling her eyes at Brandon. “Seriously. How the hell do you get any work done around here with that leech stuck to you?”

“Watch it now,” Brandon said sternly. “That ‘leech' happens to be my fiancée.”

“Don't remind me.” Brooke sucked her teeth. “Honestly, Brandon, getting involved with you was the worst thing that could have ever happened to Cynthia.”

Brandon scowled. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, I'm serious. When we first met Cynthia, she struck me as a really smart, independent woman who had her shit together. She was a fellow soror, she had her law degree from Howard, she was focused on her career—the sister was on point. But once she started dating you, it's like her personality did a complete one-eighty. She went from being Miss Run the World to having her world revolve around
you
. Nowadays if you ask her about her career, homegirl is like, ‘Making partner? What's that?' All she cares about is planning the perfect wedding and picking out china for your new home.” Brooke snorted, shaking her head in disgust. “It's really sad, Brandon.”

He grimaced, leaning back in his chair. Brooke wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. Though he'd shared the very same concerns with Cynthia, her behavior hadn't changed. If anything, she'd gotten worse.

“Tell you what,” Brooke vowed. “I'll never let any man knock
me
off my game like that.”

Brandon smiled faintly. “You'd better not.”

“Oh, I won't. Trust.”

“Good. Now that you've gotten that off your chest,” Brandon drawled wryly, “mind telling me what's in the basket?”

Brooke glanced down at her arm as if she'd forgotten what she was carrying. “Oh, yeah. I brought you something from Mrs. Jessup.”

Brandon perked up at the mention of their longtime cook, who'd always been like a member of the family. “What is it?”

Brooke smiled, passing the small basket across the desk to him. “See for yourself.”

He opened the basket and folded back the checkered cloth. When he saw what was inside, his face broke into a huge, delighted grin. “Oh, man. Mississippi mud cookies?”

Brooke grinned. “Yup. Your favorite.”

Brandon picked up a warm cookie and bit into it, closing his eyes with an appreciative groan.

Brooke chuckled, rising from the chair. “When I stopped by the house this morning and told Mrs. Jessup I'd be seeing you today, she whipped up a batch just for you. For old times' sake, she said.”

“God bless that woman,” Brandon mumbled around a gooey mouthful of chocolate and marshmallow. He killed the cookie in two more bites and reached for another one.

Looking immensely pleased with herself, Brooke perched on the corner of the desk and started swinging her legs back and forth. It reminded Brandon of the way she used to skip into their father's study, hop onto his desk, and hand him a pretty flower she'd picked from the garden—buttering him up before she asked for a new doll, or whatever it was she'd been coveting.

Brandon paused mid-chew, his eyes narrowing suspiciously on his sister's face. “What do you want?”

She blinked innocently. “What do you mean?”

He snorted. “Come on, Brooke. Do you honestly expect me to believe you just dropped by in the middle of the workday to deliver some homemade cookies? We both know you obviously want something.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Brooke insisted, batting lashes and all.

Brandon laughed. “I can't believe you tryna play me. Have you forgotten who you're talking to? You know you can't get anything past me, so why even try?”

Brooke took umbrage. “Why are you being so paranoid? Why do I have to have ulterior motives for bringing you a special treat from home? You've been so damn depressed lately, maybe I just wanted to cheer you up.”

“Uh-huh.” Brandon eyed her skeptically as he polished off the cookie, then dusted the moist crumbs off his hands.

Brooke cast a look around the lavishly appointed room and sighed. “I don't know how you do it, Brandon. Don't get me wrong. Making partner is the ultimate, and your corner office is the bomb-dot-com. But I couldn't work here. Biglaw just isn't for me.”

With a J.D. from UT, Brooke had abandoned her law career to become a consultant to Houston's power elite. She planned social events, hosted fundraisers, and was invited to every soiree that mattered.

“Everything's on track for Friday night,” she announced, segueing to another topic. “The tickets are sold out, all of our VIP guests have RSVP'd, and we've had no cancellations despite the fundraiser taking place two days before Christmas. Didn't I tell you guys the date wouldn't be a problem? People love to dress up and attend glitzy parties around the holidays, especially if they're supporting a good cause. Everyone I've talked to is so excited—”

“Brooke.”

She broke off, staring at Brandon. “What?”

“You're rambling.”

She frowned and tucked her hair behind one ear, a nervous gesture that always gave her away.

Brandon smiled knowingly. “I'm waiting.”

Brooke met his gaze, then took a deep breath and blurted, “I'm in love with Dre.”

Brandon froze, his eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “Dre . . . who?”

Brooke swallowed visibly. “Dre Portis.”

“WHAT?” Brandon shouted. “Aw, hell, nah!”

Brooke winced. “Just listen to me—”

Brandon shoved to his feet and marched across the room to shut the door. Stalking back over to his sister, he jabbed a finger at her. “You have lost your damn mind, Brooke.”

“No, I haven't.”

“You must have if you think I'ma let you get with Dre.”

“
Let me?
” Brooke sputtered in outrage. “I don't need you to
let
me do anything!”

Brandon scowled. “Look here, little girl—”

“Stop calling me that! I'm not a little girl anymore, Brandon. I'm twenty-seven years old and a grown-ass woman. So I don't need your permission to date whoever the hell I want!”

Brandon snorted. “You ain't dating Dre, so you can just forget that.”

Brooke heaved an exasperated breath. “I knew I shouldn't have told you. I didn't want to, but Beau's been holding it over my head and threatening to tell you himself. I wanted you to hear it from me, but I should have known you'd go all big-brother ballistic.”

Brandon glowered at her. “You don't need to be checking for Dre.”

“Did you not hear what I said? I'm
in love
with him. Have been for years. Now that he and Leah have broken up—”

“What? You figured this was the perfect opportunity to make your move?”

Brooke lifted her chin. “Why not?”

Brandon held her defiant gaze for several moments, then shook his head and scrubbed his hands over his face as he stalked to the windows and glared outside.

Brooke sighed. “I don't understand why you're so dead set against this, Brandon. I get that you've always been protective over me, but Dre's your best friend. You know him better than anyone—”

“Which is exactly why I can tell you that he's not right for you,” Brandon growled, turning from the windows.

Brooke stared at him, searching his face. “What are you saying? That he's not good enough for me?”

Brandon clenched his jaw. “That's not what I'm saying.”

“Good, because I'd hate to think you consider Dre good enough to be your best friend but not good enough to marry into your family. That's the kind of snobbery I'd expect from Mom and Dad, not you.”

Brandon scowled. “You know me better than that, Brooke, so I don't even know why you went there. Look, the bottom line is that Dre's got a lot of shit going on right now—”

“Like what?”

“Don't worry about it.” Brandon wasn't about to betray Dre's confidence by telling Brooke about Fiona's pregnancy. It was bad enough that she knew about his cheating—and she still wanted him.

“All you need to know is that he's unavailable, so don't even think about stepping to him. Besides, he still loves Leah and wants to work things out with her.”

“But what if they don't?” Brooke challenged. “What if Leah doesn't take him back?”

Brandon shook his head at his sister. “Believe me, baby girl, you don't wanna be the rebound chick.”

Brooke smirked. “Like Cynthia?”

Brandon grimaced. He couldn't even deny it.

Just then the intercom on his desk buzzed. “Brandon, your eleven-o'clock appointment is here.”

“Thanks, Iris.” He retrieved his suit jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged into it as Brooke hopped down from the desk. “We can continue this conversation later.”