Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

2. Trips

Chapter 2

Trips

A fter the disaster that was the fucking Rubens in the family art gallery, I’d hoped the rest of the day would be a flying fucking cakewalk.

But of course, shit just keeps snowballing down on me, like a nightmare plumbing failure.

Trevor hasn’t left my side, his freaking teenaged fiancée giggling like my brother is the height of humor. He isn’t even trying to be funny; he’s so pissed he’s almost forgotten to be charming. The golden boy knows he’s out of the loop, and he hates it.

If there was one thing that Father understood when he was planning his future empire, it was that Trevor is shit at secrets. He probably doesn’t even realize the engagement gift he got for Olivia was stolen, let alone that I was the one who took it .

And Olivia? Turns out she’s a freshman at some ritzy-ass private liberal arts school, and she’s been whispering to me throughout lunch about how thrilled she is that my family is letting her drink the wine. Because she’s a fucking child. My twenty-seven-year-old brother is marrying a girl three years younger than I am.

Disgusting.

And to add to that discomfort, Father’s been taking every opportunity to catch my eye, as smug as a cat with a half-dead mouse in its mouth. He won this round. He knows it. I know it. And it feels like lava in my guts. One good rumble and I’m bound to explode.

Mattie slides up next to me after luncheon, dragging me away from Trevor and Olivia. I’ve never been so grateful for a save by my kid sister as I am right now.

We sneak into the game room unseen, and Mattie flops onto the couch, one arm flung across her eyes. “Archie, did you see her? Olivia? I mean, she’s nice and all, but Trevor’s, like, super old, and she’s practically my age. Can’t you tell him to stop?”

Peering around the ceiling, I debate my answer. Mattie cuts into my thoughts. “We’re safe. Just yesterday, I pretended to call Lily and announced that Benny Benson got me pregnant. As I’m still here, and Benny Benson is still posting online, obviously not dead, I have to assume this room is clean for now.”

What a way to test the security. I pour a finger of the good scotch from the cabinet for myself. Wine isn’t going to cut it if I’m staying here until tomorrow evening. “That was risky. And why the hell would you think I have an ounce of control over anything that goes on in this family, Mattie? I’m just the meathead spare son.”

Mattie holds out a hand for some scotch. “Better the muscle than the bargaining chip.”

I salute her with my glass, ignoring her unspoken request.

It could be worse, I guess. Mattie’s probably only a few years from a similar arrangement as Olivia if we can’t get her out of it.

During the interminable luncheon, the political princess told me all about how she and Trevor met at a party on her dad’s yacht and how they’d just hit it off. A whirlwind summer romance, with Trevor proposing before she left for college. Only, I’ve spent more than a decade sniffing out my father’s plans, so I usually catch a whiff even when they’re subtle. And this was anything but.

There was a reason Trevor was at that party, and there was a reason he pointed the full force of his charm at some kid.

It’s all about money and connections. Poor Olivia is a bargaining chip, and unlike Mattie, she doesn’t even realize it.

I knock Mattie’s feet off the couch, so she sits up cross-legged in her designer jeans and Christmas sweater, her dark auburn curls falling over her shoulders. Still a kid, all coltish angles and sass, but my kid sister isn’t going to get to keep that label for long. “How’s the first semester of high school, Sparkles? Still kicking it with the rich bitches?”

“I own their shiny asses, Archie, and don’t you forget it.”

I chuckle, hiding it behind my tumbler. “Anybody there remember my troubled ass?”

She plucks the glass from my hand and takes a sip before handing it back. She doesn’t even cough. Not good. “Vice Principal Nelson pulled me out the first week, but I think it was just to get a read on me. It’s not like I give off ‘beat someone unconscious’ vibes. Not everyone can be expelled and get a juvie record all before they turn seventeen.”

“As I said, meathead extra son.”

“Meathead extra son with a 4.0 GPA.”

“Gotta keep all those bastards on their toes somehow.” Mattie laughs and dives for my drink, but this time I see it coming and block her. “Sparkles—”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, giving Mattie a chance to snag my glass and dance away from me as I pull it out. It’s Clara.

I answer the call as I dive for my sister. “I swear to God, Matilda Evangeline Westerhouse, you are only fourteen.”

“As if you have a single toenail to stand on, Archie,” she retorts, taking another sip of my drink.

“And my lack of toenails gave me a juvie record instead of an Ivy League education, Mattie.”

She shrugs before sauntering over to the decanter.

“Um, if this is a bad time, I can call back,” Clara says, her voice high, like she’s scared.

Shit. “No, this is a fine time. My sister’s just being a brat. What happened? Are you okay?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. Totally fine. I was just going to go for a run, but I know you and RJ were talking about installing a new security setup, only I don’t know if you got around to it before winter break and I don’t want to trip a silent alarm or something while I’m out. I tried RJ, but he didn’t answer. Never mind. I don’t want to be a bother. It’s not important. I can call back later. ”

“Clara, breathe. You can call. It’s okay to call. Whenever. Any of us. You know that, right?”

Mattie whips around, her eyes wide as she mouths “Clara?” at me, her grin full of schemes.

The damn girl might only be in charge of the freshmen now, but she’ll have the entire school under her thumb before the year’s out. She got the terrible Papa Westerhouse combo of ambition and charisma. Good luck to the administration—she’ll be more trouble than I was.

You can’t expel a kid for always getting her own way.

Clara’s silence has me worried. “Clara?”

“Yeah. I know that. I just, I don’t want to have to call.”

God. It’s only been a few hours. And she already sounds halfway to a full-blown panic attack. Goddamnit.

Futile anger blooms in my gut for the second time today. Loathing for my brother who wanted to get his barely legal bride a rare gift. Fury at my dad for commissioning the Rubens job then buying out the competition when my team won the contract. And rage, at her, at myself, for letting her get so broken.

She fucking chose this shit. And then fell the fuck apart.

I turn away from my sister’s stupid “gimme” hands and pace to the other side of the pool table, eyeing the ceiling, choosing my words with care. “There’s a cycling multifactor code for the doors and all the windows have silent alarms. RJ sent something to your school email about an app for your phone. And he sent a text with the static door code.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push the rage anywhere but out of my mouth. She knows she fucked up. That’s why she’s so messed up. Yelling at her won’t do shit to fix it. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be curt. Some stuff has come up since I’ve been here and it’s hitting me hard.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not here. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Sure. Okay.”

I grip the phone, wishing I weren’t here. This mandatory family time was always going to be painful. But that was before Clara smashed hardcore into our lives and made everything terrible. Unpredictable and rash. Dynamic and so goddamn hot I might have a permanent semi at this point. “Merry Christmas, Crash.”

She huffs out a breath, but when she speaks, a smile colors her tone. “Merry Christmas, Grumpy. I hope it’s not all awful for you.”

“Same to you.”

We both say bye at the same time and hang up, awkward like we’ve never had a conversation before. Like insecure strangers who don’t want to upset the other. Fuck.

Mattie snatches my phone, jamming a newly full tumbler of scotch into my hand. “Clara? A girl? Who calls on Christmas Eve and doesn’t get chewed out by my always annoyed middle-est brother? Who is this mystery woman?”

I roll my eyes and go back to the couch. With all the security RJ’s put on my phone, my sister would have to be a CIA recruit to get into it. “None of your business.”

She hops over the back of the couch, turning to give me the full little-sister-begging treatment. “Please? ”

Making deals is the Westerhouse way. “You tell me when you started drinking and why, and I’ll tell you something about Clara.”

She pretends to think about it. But she wouldn’t have drunk in front of me if she didn’t want to talk. “Fine. Only, I want the full rundown. No one-word answers. Deal?”

As if I even know what’s going on with us. “Deal. You first.”

She plucks at a bobble at the bottom of her ugly sweater. “I started drinking this summer.”

“What happened to reading romance novels and becoming an Olympic fencer?”

“I’m reading all the romance novels, and I’m still fencing.”

I try, again, to keep my anger out of my voice. “Then why drink?”

Mattie’s glare begs me to lose it. “I know you haven’t been around much, so maybe it’s slipped your memory. But you do remember what it’s like living here, Archie, don’t you? You’ve been home what, three hours? And how many drinks are you up to?”

This is the fourth. Maybe. Wine service at luncheon makes it hard to keep track. I set the tumbler on the coffee table. “Damn it, Mattie. This isn’t about me. If you can make an international name for yourself, it makes it much harder for father to sell you off to whatever business associate he wants in a few years. You stand a chance of getting out of this mess.”

“You always said you’d find a way out for both of us, Archie. But here we both sit, hiding from the family, tied just as tight as always. So don’t lecture me. Anyway, I’m done with my sharing. It’s your turn.” She hands me back my phone .

I set it on the coffee table next to the nearly full tumbler. Father might be forcing me to be with the family more, but at least I’ll be able to keep an eye on Mattie while I’m around. “She’s my roommate.”

Mattie kicks me. “Full story, you sneaky bastard. With emotions, and worries, and actual things that happened. But if you’re fucking her, I don’t want details, because, gross.”

“Oh my God, Mattie! You’re a kid. Why would you bring that up?”

“I’m not a kid! I’ll be fifteen in less than a month. Plus, you didn’t see your face when you talked to her. If you’re not fucking her, I’ll freaking gnaw this bobble off my sweater.” She points to a red pom-pom on her arm.

God, I love winning. “Then I guess you lose. I’m not fucking her.”

“Bullshit.”

“Truth. She is, however, fucking all my roommates, except me.” When Mattie’s eyes grow to cartoonish proportions, I realize that might be too much truth for my fourteen-year-old sister. Shit. “But, like, they’re all chill with it.”

“Like, at once?”

Oh hell no. I’m not answering that one. I’m up and across the room, racking the balls on the pool table. “I don’t fucking know, Sparkles.”

She trails after me, her sleeve in her mouth. “But you want to.”

“Like fuck I want to get that close to my roommates’ dicks.”

She slaps my shoulder, then hands me a cue. A second later, she hands me a red pom-pom. “You win. But I expect that thing back when you break and figure out what all the fuss is about.”

“Fuck off.”

“Keep it someplace safe. You’ll see.”