Heather Macallister - Personal Relations

A hot fury burned away the desensitizing layers of composure Brooke had grafted onto her emotions. It had the effect of exposing all her feelings to an intensity she hadn’t experienced for years.

Everything was…more. The afternoon sun coming through the window was brighter. The air from the heating vent was dryer, the breath mint she’d eaten before coming in here was mintier.

Chase’s shirt was crisper, his jaw sharper, his eyes colder.

And the dimple in his chin was deeper.

It looked old-fashioned—kind of forties Hollywood. She hadn’t noticed many men with clefts in their chins these days.

But this wasn’t about the cleft in his chin, or his jaw, either, or her pride. This was about…about…

Yes, it was, too, about pride, damn it!

He, this jerk, this old-fashioned male chauvinist pig, thought that Courtney wasn’t good enough for his brother. He didn’t care that two young people were making a major life decision based on their hormones. His only objection was that Courtney wasn’t good enough or classy enough for his—for Jeff.

Brooke was furious and it hurt to breathe. She couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs anyway.

“Courtney is worth ten of Jeff! Marriage to her would be the best thing that could happen to him. He might even grow up.”

Slowly, Chase rose and leaned over the desk, propping himself on his fists. “He doesn’t need to grow up that way. Right now, he’s still young enough to believe in hearts and flowers and getting tickets to the prom. He doesn’t need to know that there are women out there only interested in him for his money.”

“What money? He had to borrow a few dollars from Courtney to pay for pizza the other night. I know, because she had to borrow the money from me.”

“I’m not talking chump change, and you know it.”

Actually, pizza was more than chump change to someone who was watching every penny. That had blown Brooke’s lunch budget and she’d had to brown bag it twice to get back on track.

“You’ve seen the kind of car Jeff drives,” he continued.

“The ten-year-old Honda?”

Chase flushed. “That’s my car. It runs great. Jeff’s is the silver Porsche. His mother gave it to him.”

“Then what are you doing driving it?”

“His grades weren’t up to par the past six weeks and that’s the deal. He maintains a B average, or we switch cars.”

“Oh.” What a great incentive. How could this jerk have thought of it?

Unless he wanted Jeff to blow off his grades so he could drive the Porsche. But as much as she wanted to believe that, especially after his next comment, she didn’t.

He eyed her. “You’re not trying to tell me you didn’t know he’s sitting on a nice little trust fund.”

“Not until you just told me. And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”

“Tell me another one.”

“Jeff doesn’t look like a trust fund kid.”

“He hasn’t been one for all that long,” Chase grudgingly conceded.

Their eyes met. Brooke’s anger had unaccountably cooled and as it did so, she found herself replaying their argument. He must have been doing the same because at that moment, his eyebrows drew together and he echoed her thoughts. “Let me get this straight—you’re against them getting married?”

“If it means Courtney giving up college, you better believe it.”

“Oh.” He straightened, his forehead still creased as he looked down at her. “Then that means—”

“We’re on the same side,” Brooke finished.

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