The Three-Week Arrangement (Chase Brothers) (2 page)

“Let me toss your clothes in the dryer,” she offered again. An unnecessary reminder, considering that was why he was in the house to begin with, but he didn’t look to be in any hurry to strip down. Her intent was genuine, but if it got him naked, she’d be okay with that, even if the last thing she needed at the moment was to fall hopelessly in lust with anyone. She was up for
an internship out of the country, and with an ounce of luck, in three weeks she’d be so far from New York City, she’d forget all about it—or if not the city, at least the string of disastrous, short-lived relationships she’d suffered within its borders.

“I’m fine,” he said, eyeing her like he expected her to rip the clothes off him herself. “I appreciate the gesture, but—”

“But nothing.
We’re adults here, and you’re not fine. You’re soaked, and there’s no good reason to wander the city that way.” With a wink, she added, “You’ll
chafe
.” That said, she went into her extra bedroom and grabbed a pair of pajama pants she’d bought for her brother but had never gotten around to giving him because he was in Europe, and they were too hideous not to see his face when he opened them. She
and Ian had a long-standing thing of trying to out-ugly the other when it came to sleepwear, a tradition inadvertently started by a particularly hideous matching set their grandmother had given them one Christmas. Rue bit back a grin as she returned to hand the uber-serious Ethan a pair of flannel pants covered in freaky clown faces that more closely resembled John Wayne Gacy than cheerful party
entertainers. “You can wear these.”

He stared at the pants he held and then, blankly, at her. “I never really thought I had an issue with clowns.”

She teetered on the edge of a smile. Ethan’s reaction was almost as good as the one she expected from Ian. “Until now?”

“That is correct,” he said with a wary nod. “And seriously, I’m fine. But thank you. I should just…go.”

“Then how about I give you a ride home?” Surely he knew that chafing issue was real, and she’d hate to think herself responsible—however indirectly—for damaging any of his parts.

He jerked his gaze to hers, his face draining of color. “Okay, the dryer it is. Where’s your bathroom?”

Interesting
. She gestured toward the short hallway. “On the left.” Once he’d disappeared behind the door,
she ducked into her bedroom and made a quick check of her appearance. She was no diva, but it was another million-degree summer in New York, and she’d been flustered to find herself locked out of pretty much everything she owned, so there was no telling what she’d done to her hair. Fortunately, she was presentable.

On the way out, she nearly collided with Ethan in the hall. They stood there
for a brief, awkward moment before he took a step back, and not a second too soon. His hair was un-plastered from his head, and she imagined he’d run his fingers through it. Then she imagined
herself
with her hands threading those platinum streaks, and her pulse responded with a cartoon-like whooshing and hammering. Overkill, perhaps, but she couldn’t deny the visceral reaction. As long as she
didn’t give into it, she’d be fine. And avoiding a thing with him didn’t seem to be among her problems. The way Ethan kept glancing toward the exit, she half expected he’d make a break for it, clown pants and all. “You want me to take those?” she managed.

His gaze tracked from her mouth to her face, then jerked south toward his armload of wet clothing. “I think I can handle them,” he said.
“Much more so than I can these pants. Are you sure the owner isn’t going to…miss them?”

She laughed. “Would
anyone
? They’re a gift for my brother, and if I thought he wanted them to begin with, I wouldn’t have bought them. Anyway, the dryer is in the basement. That’s the door over there.” She let him take the lead, trailing behind. She hated spiders, and no matter how often she yelled and
waved her broom, the little jerks rebuilt. “You can, um, lead the way.”

He shot her a dubious look, the seriousness of which he couldn’t quite pull off in those ridiculous pants. “Is there something I should know?”

“No—” Her phone rang.
Boyd Von Snootington.
Not his real last name, but accurate nonetheless. She frowned and silenced the call, or attempted to. The phone slipped out of
her shaking hand. Ethan caught it easily and handed it back.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“That seems to be an ongoing theme between us.” A weak laugh followed, and she knew she’d only further convinced him she was
not
okay, but her wretched little sob story wasn’t something on which she wanted to focus. She’d much rather lose herself in a pair of green eyes and a body absolutely built
for pleasure. “The dryer is just…” She gestured needlessly. Her basement was empty except for the washer-dryer setup. And probably a whole slew of arachnids. She might be the only person in the world without a single ounce of cardboard in her basement, but she didn’t own much. She didn’t need
stuff
. The house had belonged to her grandparents, who had left it to Rue’s mother, who had married up
and could no longer bear the thought of such a pittance of real estate. She’d promptly listed it for sale and had been furious to find out Rue was the buyer. Apparently an address in Flatbush was no comparison to one on the Upper East Side, as her mother had wasted no time and a lot of breath to tell Rue what an embarrassment she was to the family. Nevertheless, Elaine Campbell would be livid if
she ever got it through her head that Rue was leaving to fulfill her dream of being a conservation photographer.
One simply does not leave the establishment of New York to traipse through the wilderness
, her mother had said when Rue had first mentioned her career goal
. It’s uncivilized.
Rue had stopped trying to convince her otherwise, but she’d flat out refused to sell the house. She wouldn’t
be in the city often, but she liked the idea of having her grandparents’ house to go back to.

If Ethan thought it odd her basement was empty, he didn’t react. He took the steps at a normal pace, while she followed, distracted. She hadn’t given Boyd a second thought since she saw Ethan on the sidewalk, but the respite was over. Officially and then some. She sighed. Loudly.

She barely
noticed as her impromptu guest tossed his clothes in the dryer. The low rumble of the machine sounded, and before she realized it, Ethan was standing directly in front of her, two steps down. The difference in elevation evened their heights, leaving her staring directly into his electric green gaze. Even somber, they were a sight to behold.

Her phone rang again, breaking her focus. She glanced
at the display. Boyd. Again. Her annoyance with him edged into anger. She spun on the stairs, headed up, and accepted the call.

“What do you want, Boyd?” she snapped as she and Ethan reentered the kitchen.

“I need to know what you’re wearing to the gala.” Pompous, arrogant, like he hadn’t the slightest question she’d attend with him.

“I’m not going with you.” Her tone, harsher
than she intended, had Ethan jerking his attention toward her, though he turned and crossed the room to the far corner, apparently to stare blankly at the wall.

“That’s not what was arranged.” Boyd’s voice broke through, more irritating than usual.

“I don’t know what you heard,” Rue said, her attention pegged on the shape of Ethan’s back, “but I never agreed to go with you, and no
one
arranges
my life but me.”

Soft, misplaced laughter filled the connection. “You don’t understand. Your father is expecting to close a lucrative business deal with my firm.”

He left the threat completely unsaid, but the implication lingered, loud and clear.

And useless.

“Your alluded threat falls on deaf ears,” she snapped. “If that’s how you do business, my father isn’t
missing much.”

“If that deal doesn’t go through, it’ll cost him millions,” Boyd boasted, clearly having planted his butt on his own father’s coattails.

She paused and counted to ten. Boyd’s father, as the head of his own team of investors, was poised to sink a fortune into some hedge fund with her father’s investment firm. She highly doubted the elder Von Adler would refuse to deliver
because she didn’t arrive at a fundraiser on the privileged arm of his son, and she certainly didn’t expect her father to back out. She doubted many of them cared one bit about rainforests, considering the only ones in the continental United States were wedged on the opposite coast. Boyd was basically full of hot air, but that didn’t make him any less annoying.

“I’m not for sale,” she said
tersely. She ended the call in the middle of whatever Boyd was saying next. She half expected him to call her back, but her phone remained silent.

Ethan was staring now, not even bothering to pretend otherwise.

“What was that?”

“A pasty, annoying creep who thinks money buys everything.”

“I got that part,” he said. “Except maybe the pasty.” Ethan’s grin eradicated most of
her irritation, but no surprise there. The man was hot enough to leave her heartbeat rattling erratically in her chest.

Not the first time you’ve been near a man
, she scolded herself. But definitely the first time she’d had a reaction like this. It was bone deep, almost needy, and that really wasn’t her thing. Had to be the pants. But when her gaze drifted lower, her focus didn’t land on
the ugly clown faces. Instead it took a very pleasurable stroll along his happy trail and came to an abrupt stop at a bulge that didn’t look as if it had been anywhere near cold water. Like,
ever
.

Definitely time for a shift of focus.

Ordinarily, Boyd would be the last person she wanted to talk about, but if doing so kept her from panting over Ethan, she’d manage. She took a breath,
surprised to find it wobbly. “He’s trying to get me to go with him to a charity event,” she said, “and as many times as I’ve told him no, he keeps asking. His grandmother is the founder, and my mom is on the committee, so there are some politics involved and, well…” She sighed. “I shouldn’t burden you with this.”

“Must be charity season,” he muttered, almost under his breath.

She stared
at him, a blatant invitation for him to continue, but he didn’t. Finally she gave up and switched tactics. “Want a drink?

“Sure,” he said, his friendlier tone surprising her. “Water would be great.”

Of course it would. There was no way a guy that ripped could share her iced coffee addiction, though she offered him one anyway, and he declined. She poured him a glass of water out of
a gallon jug she kept in the fridge and handed it over, then helped herself to the coffee. His puzzled gaze lingered on her refrigerator after she closed the door, leading her to think he’d noticed her coffee stash. Might be a bit excessive, but a girl had to be prepared.

With a slight shake of his head, he focused on her. “So he thinks he can pressure you because your mom is on the committee
of some charity?”

“I think that’s an opening, but he’s using my father’s business deal as leverage. I don’t have the first clue what’s going on between them, but they’re both investors, and I don’t think either one is going to turn down a profit because I won’t go to the gala with Boyd in two weeks.” She rolled her eyes. “My mom, on the other hand—”

“Two weeks? What’s Boyd’s last name?”

“Von Adler.”

Ethan laughed. It was beautiful. She wasn’t above staring. But still… “What’s so funny?”

“Von Adler Rainforest Initiative?”

“That’s correct,” she said slowly, “but still not amusing.”

“My mom is also on the gala committee,” he said. “My whole family is involved. You’ve probably met most of them.”

“I actually avoid the meetings,” she confessed. “My
mom is a real piece of work. She has it in her mind that I’m going to give up my career aspirations and devote my every waking hour playing socialite as Boyd’s wife.”

Ethan’s face twisted as if he’d smelled something terrible.

“I know,” she agreed. “It’s stupid, but in their elitist world, marriages between families still affect alliances and broker business deals.” She took a breath,
guilt stabbing her from the inside out. “I stopped letting her dictate my life a long time ago, but she lays it on pretty thick. I don’t necessarily believe her life and social standing will be ruined because I refuse to marry Boyd, but I believe
she
believes it.”

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not going to judge. I assure you, your mother hasn’t cornered the market on guilt.
And before you let yours get to you, keep in mind she should be less worried about her standing than your happiness.”

She sat back, warmed by his perspective. “So how well do you know Boyd Von Snootington?” she asked.

Ethan choked on his water and came up laughing. “Not at all personally, but his reputation precedes him. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have gone out with him, either.”

Rue almost smiled. “I wish he’d ask you, because I’ve yet to come up with a version of ‘no’ he can actually comprehend. Apparently, my mom has given the impression I’m desperate to go out with him, so he probably thinks I’m playing hard to get. To be honest, I don’t think he hears the word
no
all that often.”

“My mom is one of those people who can always find something good in anyone,
and I’m under the impression even she doesn’t think much of him.”

“Really?”

“She hasn’t said anything about him,” Ethan added quickly. “She just doesn’t seem to like to say his name.”

“I can relate to that. He’s a stereotypical spoiled rich kid with entitlement issues. He thinks he’s going to take over that charity, but I wonder if he cares one bit about the cause. I believe
he’s more interested in having another reason to flaunt his last name.”

“He’s probably in the wrong place to do it. New Yorkers aren’t easily impressed.”

“You’d think he’d know that, being the epitome of the New York elite, or so he thinks.” She toyed with her iced coffee. “You know, I feel a lot better now. I’ve never had anyone on my side where he’s concerned. My mom is pushing,
hard, and I’ve not really mentioned it to any of my friends, but the couple who know what’s going on say I should absolutely go for it. Apparently, they’d be willing to put up with a creep if he’s loaded.”