Brazen Mistakes (Brazen Boys #3)

26. Walker

Chapter 26

Walker

I ’ve always prided myself on my ability with color. It’s second only to my strength in visual balance.

But it turns out that my skills are perfectly useless when shopping. I have no idea how to dress Clara so she looks pretty, but not striking; rich, but not showy; youthful, but not childlike.

The pile of rich forest green, burgundy, and plum dresses that all make her skin and eyes glow, but somehow still aren’t right, has Clara so frustrated that she’s taken to pacing, her hands balled. She’s refusing to tap out her anxiety the way she usually would.

Trips’ appearance at this high-end boutique awarded us a private dressing room, emphasis on the room. Jansen’s lounging on a cream velvet couch-sized ottoman in the middle of the giant neutral-colored space, the glint of something sparkly popping in and out of his sleeve. “You look fantastic in all of them, beautiful,” he says, not wrong in the slightest.

But every attempt has Trips and our assigned personal shopper twisting their lips, so the four of us non-trust fund kids are obviously clueless.

Clara flops between Jansen and RJ, her face a study in exhaustion. Not just from this disaster, either. The alert on her phone she found after her dance lesson telling us Bryce had been near didn’t help. Being chewed out by Trips for leaving her phone in the kitchen made it worse.

I lean against the wall by the protective bastard. “What am I missing? Why aren’t these working?”

This is a “two hands through hair” problem, apparently, as Trips makes a mess of whatever uptight style he’d had. “Everything that she looks great in makes her look fierce. We need her to look benign, not like she’s there to become some guy’s possessive third wife. But when we put her in something softer, she looks like she just escaped senior prom.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Can’t say that my girl being too hot is something I would consider a problem.”

The saleswoman gives me a weird look, as Jansen’s kissing Clara all over her face and neck until she giggles, while RJ twines their hands together, focused on his phone, not the silliness beside him.

The saleswoman grabs a handful of dresses and gets the fuck out.

It’s probably better that way.

“What do we do?” I ask, trying to focus on the conversation with Trips despite Jansen scooping Clara up and sprinting around the ottoman with her. She twists and wiggles, trying to break free, only for RJ to make three quick moves that end with Jansen on the floor groaning and Clara on her feet beside RJ, laughing.

Trips has the tiniest hint of a smile that vanishes after a moment, worry clouding his face. “I think we need to ask for help.”

“Mattie?”

“I thought about it. But fashion isn’t her thing. She can dress herself fine for any event, but threading this needle isn’t in her skill set. Plus, I don’t want her involved too deeply with whatever the fuck is going on with my father and his sudden interest in Clara.”

“Then who?”

He grimaces. “I was thinking Summer.”

“Poker Summer? Sports cars and stilettos Summer? Jansen’s Summer?”

Trips’ eyes track Clara as she whispers something in RJ’s ear that makes him grin, a soft smile that I’ve never seen him point at anyone else. “Can you think of anyone better?”

I huff out a breath. “None of us have your connections. Unless we want to get Jasmine to fly in from Chicago to help Clara shop, I guess Summer is the next best option. Do you think she really knows enough about your world for this to work, though?”

“She can turn herself into whatever she needs to be. And I’ve seen her at a few of my father’s events this year. If anyone can get this right, it’s her.”

“Are you going to call? Or are you fobbing this off on Jansen? ”

“I’m not using my phone for anything besides what I normally would. RJ checked it, but with my father, I’m worried he’ll subpoena my phone records or some shit, just to have more leverage over me.”

“Thank God for my mostly normal parents.”

“I’ve always known I was fucked, so nothing new there.”

I stutter out a sad laugh before calling Jansen over. Whatever shiny thing he’s got flashes between his fingers as he trots over. “What’s up?”

Trips moves to the collection of dresses we’ve already tried, obviously not wanting to ask for what we need. I guess this one’s on me. “We need help, and we’re thinking Summer might give it.”

Jansen immediately pulls his hair back into a ponytail. “And I have to call her?”

I shrug. “You know her best.”

“I knew her, man. When I was a kid tagging along with my cool older cousin and his girl. I don’t know this new Summer at all.”

“But you have her number?”

He sighs, looking at RJ and Clara curled up together, whispering, their faces serious. I follow his line of sight, wondering if he's telling her why he disappeared. RJ's slow with his words, but he's still capable of sharing what's on his mind. Unlike me. Even if I'm trying to do better.

Jansen's smile falters. “Yeah. I’ve got it. Unless she’s changed it in the last seven years. Which, you know, is totally possible.”

Trips shakes his head. “No, it’s the same number from when we were starting the games.”

“Why am I doing this if you have the number?”

“Because my father is a sneaky shithead.”

Jansen’s face screws up, but he shakes out his arms before wandering to the main part of the store, phone to his ear. “Should we watch him so he doesn’t steal anything else?” I ask.

Trips shrugs. “I’ll leave extra cash to cover whatever he takes.”

“Not even you have that much cash in your pockets. He could take hundreds of thousands in jewelry and hairpins right now.”

Clara and RJ perk up at that, scooting closer. “Jansen’s stealing jewelry?” Clara asks, brows dipped, the circles under her eyes clearer as she approaches. RJ doesn’t look much better.

“Jansen’s calling in reinforcements. I don’t think he’d take anything more than a few thousand dollars’ worth of shit, and they can always chalk it up to shrinkage. If anything big goes missing, they’ll know it’s him. They’ve got cameras all over this place.” Trips turns back to the clothes, his face tight.

Clara’s face blanches. “A few thousand dollars? Oh my God. We’re going to jail.”

There’s a beat of silence before the three of us break into laughter. Because, really? Jansen picking up some sparkly hairpin has Clara freaking out about jail time? What about all the other laws she’s been breaking since she met us?

Jansen clicks the door to the room shut behind him, killing the laughter, his green eyes glinting with something wild that worries me. “She’s on her way. ”

Clara holds out a hand, and after a long pause, Jansen pulls a bracelet from one of his pockets and sets it in her palm. She waits, and out comes a wallet, a man’s watch, and a tie pin.

“He was being an ass to one of the employees. He earned a bad day,” he explains, an unrepentant smirk on his face.

Clara takes the collection of items and hands it back to him, leaning in for a long kiss. “Put it all in his car. Not having his card when he goes to pay will be punishment enough.”

He groans but fills his pockets again and leaves the room. All I can think is that he’s going to use a thousand-dollar hairpin to break into this guy’s car until I remember he probably has tools secreted somewhere on him. Just like RJ doesn’t leave the house without the bug detector, and Trips has freaky amounts of cash stashed on his person.

When you need your tools, you’d better have them.

As my sketchbook is in the car, I guess I can’t really point any fingers.

Clara swings her gaze to Trips, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he shrinks. “What?” he asks.

“Just how expensive are these clothes you’ve decided I need? There’s a noticeable lack of price tags on things.”

“It’s a business perk. Your clothing allowance.”

“An allowance makes it sound like spare change. If a piece of jewelry costs thousands, I don’t think we should buy actual clothes here.”

Trips’ hands clench, and I’ve known him long enough to see when emotion is about to come out of him sideways. “Clara,” I say, cutting in, “You need to fit in with rich fucks. We’ve all done this, although to a lesser extent. Well, except RJ. For what it’s worth, whatever we end up buying here, it’ll probably last longer than you will want to wear it. I got my wool coat last fall at a place like this, and it still looks brand new. The same with my cashmere sweaters and the bespoke loafers Trips talked me into.”

“Why does RJ get a pass?”

“Sugar,” RJ answers for me, “I spend ninety-nine percent of my time in the van, and one hundred percent of my time away from the action.”

“But you need new clothes, so you’re next on the list,” I say, shuddering as I remember wrestling his polyester dress shirt into something canvas adjacent in Chicago.

Clara huffs, her arms across her chest, and I can’t help myself, pulling her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her head. “You’re going to have to get used to the nicer things in life, princess.”

“I want to earn them. Not just have them given to me.”

“You are earning them. And when you get to that party, you’ll find out exactly how. But first, you need to spend an exorbitant sum looking like you belong at the party.”

The tension in her makes me wish I could do more to take some of the weight off her slight shoulders. But I can’t fix any of the shit that’s broken right now. I can hold her. I can coax her into eating regular meals. I can offer her comfort and a safe place.

But as much as I want to, I can’t march into Trips’ house at her side.

Based on the tension radiating off him, he wishes he didn’t have to bring her at all.

I don’t know everything that happened to Trips as a kid. He hasn’t shared much with us, just enough for us to know not to cross his dad. But he asked us to be scarce yesterday when he briefed Clara on his family and based on the concern Clara’s been wearing like so many rubber bands snapped around her body, he told her a whole lot more than he’s ever shared with us.

And while I’m glad he’s letting her in, I wish he hadn’t put another weight on her, even if she needed to know what she was walking into.

Watching them dance earlier, none of us could deny that there’s something there between the two of them. We’d be blind idiots to not see it. But they both held back. Which was new. And it made my chest ache.

The sketch I was working on in the car was a swirl of emotions more than images, Trips and Clara both fading into the mess from opposite edges of the paper. Apart, but wanting to find a path through the fog to each other.

There was no path. And when I tried to add one, every line just added to the swirl of chaos between them.

Clara leans into RJ, and Trips turns his back to us, sliding one wrong dress, then the next along the rack as the silence grows.

I can’t fix this for them. Not without knowing what Trips knows, without knowing what he shared with Clara. All that’s left is fear, longing, and one girl trying, yet again, to stand up straight while everything firm under her feet sinks, breaks, and disappears into an unknowable black hole.