My Brother's Roommate

Chapter Two

2 PENELOPE“Good morning, Penny!”

On the list of people I’m willing to talk to first thing on a Monday morning, my coworker Spencer is at the very bottom. Right beneath pushy telemarketers and the majority of my ex-boyfriends. I’ve barely hung up my coat and settled at my desk when his loud, nasally voice cuts through the air for the second time.

“I said, good mooorning, Penny.”

I’m normally a pretty patient person, but with Spencer, all that flies out the window. I don’t know what it is about him. Maybe it’s that he slacks off ninety percent of the time while I bust my butt for this company. Or maybe it’s the fact that he gets away with it, thanks to a little thing called nepotism. It could even be the annoying detail that, despite me telling him multiple times that I go by my full name, he’s insisted on calling me Penny since my first day on the job.

Spoiler alert—it’s all three.

“Morning, Spencer,” I finally grumble back, wiggling my mouse to wake my computer from its weekend-long nap.

Unlike some people, I prefer to get straight to work in the mornings and not waste my time on small talk. Plus, I have a lot to get done before our work retreat this weekend.

My fingers fly across my keyboard, typing in my password and booting up my computer for the day. But I barely get a chance to open my email before an uneasy feeling in my gut tells me I’m being watched. I swivel my chair around, and sure enough, Spencer is peeking over the side of my cubicle, his big stupid eyes staring me down.

“Aren’t you going to ask how my weekend was?”

Ugh. What is the office policy on bopping this guy down like a Whac-A-Mole? If he weren’t my boss’s nephew, I might give the idea some honest consideration. Instead, I draw in a slow, measured breath and plaster on the biggest, fakest smile I can manage. You know, like the professional I am.

“Of course, Spencer,” I say through clenched teeth. “How was your weekend?”

He shrugs. “Fine.”

I blink at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something else, something worth nagging me to ask him about. But he just stares back at me in silence, not so much as a how about you? in return. I heave a sigh, turning back to my computer. If this is any indication of how this Monday is going to go, an emergency vanilla latte may be in order.

“Morning, Penelope.”

The low, familiar voice of my boss, David Douglass, rumbles from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find him leaning against my cubicle, sipping from his LIKE A BOSS coffee mug. Spencer gave it to David for his birthday last month, and I’ve rarely seen him without it since. It’s a surprisingly goofy mug for someone as serious as him.

“Good morning, David.” This time, my smile isn’t so fake. I like David just fine. Although I’d like him a whole lot more if he’d give me this promotion I obviously deserve instead of handing it over to his deadbeat nephew. Fingers crossed.

“Are you ready for the retreat this weekend?”

“Ready as I can be,” I say. “I’m not much of a wilderness person, but I’m excited to learn.”

Whoever had the idea that we should have a formal business conference at a wilderness retreat is delusional, in my opinion, but I guess that’s what happens when you work for a company run by ninety percent men. If learning to take down a few clay pigeons is what it takes to show my boss I can keep up with the senior consultants, consider me ready for the challenge.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” David says, then takes a long, slow sip of his coffee. “And if you need any pointers on anything, you can always ask Spencer.”

“I’ve got your back, Penny!” My least favorite voice chimes in, his stupid head reemerging over the side of my cubicle again like a zit I just can’t quite get rid of. “Plus, I’m bringing my girlfriend, so you’ll have somebody to talk about manicures and purses with.”

Cue my teeth grinding together.

Manicures and purses? Are you freaking kidding me?

If our boss weren’t standing approximately two feet away, I’d have a few choice words for Spencer about that sexist remark. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek and manage to force out the words, “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“What about you, Penelope?” David narrows his eyes at me from behind his coffee mug. “Are you flying solo this weekend?”

I straighten up in my chair, tucking a strand of loose hair into the low bun at the nape of my neck. “Actually, I’ll be bringing along a plus-one.”

“Really?” His head c***s to the side ever so slightly. “Who would that be?”

My stomach drops to my kneecaps. Shoot. I should have thought this through ahead of time. My shoulders slouch, and I desperately hope my boss doesn’t notice the heat creeping across my cheeks.

What do I say? Well, my brother’s roommate volunteered to come along so I can keep up with the sausage fest. That’s not going to work.

Say something, Penelope. Say anything at all.

“My boyfriend.”

Okay, anything but that.

David’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Honestly, I’m as surprised as he is.

Boyfriend? Where did that come from? Can I take those words back and try again? Just kidding, everyone. I’m actually not bringing a plus-one with me after all. Ha-ha, got you good!

Unfortunately, it’s too late for that. David’s lips are already curling into a satisfied smile, which means one thing and one thing only. I’m totally screwed.

“Boyfriend? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“Of course I do,” I say, enthusiastically digging my own grave. “Haven’t I mentioned him before?”

“You haven’t,” Spencer says from behind me. “Not even once.”

“Well, you know me.” I shrug, focusing on the folder icons on my computer screen to avoid any semblance of eye contact. “I like to keep my work and personal life separate when I can.”

“What’s his name?” Spencer asks with a suspicious edge to his voice.

“Wolfie. Short for Wolfgang. But no one calls him that,” I say pointedly. No way am I letting this asshole’s bad reputation with nicknames carry over to my guest.

“Wolfie, huh?” David takes another long, slow sip of his coffee.

I hold my breath, waiting for him to call me on my bluff. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he gives me a firm, approving nod. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

And just like that, my boss disappears off to his office. Spencer ducks back into his cubicle, leaving me alone to try to figure out when I became such a big fat liar.

It’s not like me to be dishonest, but the words just tumbled off my tongue. It was easy, natural even, to say that Wolfie and I are something more than friends.

Maybe it’s because that’s a reality I’ve considered more than once. Not that I’ve ever told that to anyone other than hinting at it to my best friend, Scarlett. Though I did write freely about my attraction to Wolfie in my journal.

If those well-worn pages could talk, they’d tell you that I’ve spent more than one sleepless night fantasizing about all the dirty things I’d like that man to do with me. If Connor ever flipped through those pages, he’d be calling up all the local convents to see if they’re accepting new nuns.

But feelings aside, there’s something deep in my gut that says this whole thing might be a happy accident. After all, Wolfie is exactly the kind of man David takes a liking to. A man’s man. Someone straightforward and loyal. If my boss thinks I’m dating someone so serious, maybe he’ll think higher of me. It’s gross to say, but it’s a man’s world here at Douglass and Associates, and it just might take a man by my side to help me move up in the ranks.

My computer dings, pulling me out of my daze and straight into my inbox. These twenty-three unread emails make it quite clear that it’s time to put the personal stuff aside for a while. There’s work to do, and lots of it, so I gulp down the golf-ball-sized lump in my throat, pop in my earbuds, and get down to it.

Unfortunately, I only power through thirty minutes of solid work before a tap on my shoulder interrupts me. It’s Carol from accounting, better known as the office gossip machine. Her hands are planted on her hips, a big mischievous smile beaming on her round face.

“Is there something you need to tell me?”

I tug out my earbuds, my brows drawing together in confusion. “Um, I don’t think so. Did I forget to do my expense report?”

“No, silly.” She swats my arm playfully. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you have a boyfriend. Spill it, girl.”

Jesus, already? I guess word travels fast in a small office.

“There’s really not much to tell,” I say, which isn’t a lie. Maybe if I can be partially honest about things, I’ll be able to curb some of my guilt. “His name is Wolfie,” I say, drawing out my words to buy myself time to think. “He’s my brother’s roommate. We’ve run in the same circle of friends for a while now.”

Carol nods along, her eyes wide with interest as I rattle off a quick bio of my newest, fakest boyfriend, leaving out the part about how he works in the business of pleasure. I don’t even want to know what the office rumor mill would churn up if I admitted to dating a guy who made his fortune in s*x toys.

“How long have you been together?” she asks.

“Not long. But I’ve always been sort of secretly into him.”

Again, that’s technically true. We’ve been together for exactly zero months and zero days, which I think qualifies as not long.

As for me being interested in him . . . well, I’m a sucker for the broody, mysterious, silent types, and Wolfie is about as broody as they come. Trying not to fall victim to those dark, hypnotic eyes is like trying to ice skate in the middle of summer. Take one step and you’re going under. Which is why I’ve been treading carefully for years.

Once Carol is satisfied with the amount of info she’s squeezed out of me, she heads back to her desk, leaving me to hunker down on client emails and spreadsheets until five o’clock rolls around. Another day in the books, and just four days to go until the retreat. I guess I should probably tell my plus-one the big news about the acting debut he’ll be making this weekend.

As I step out of my office building and onto the streets of Chicago, the early November wind bites my cheeks.

God, I hate the cold. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to live in a city that gets a grand total of three seconds of summer a year.

Zipping my coat up to my chin, I head down the sidewalk toward the nearest Brown Line stop. It’s just a five-minute walk, which, come to think of it, is the perfect amount of time to have a very awkward phone conversation.

Might as well get this over with.

I dig my cell phone out of my purse, swiping to the bottom of my contact list until I land on Wolfie’s name. He’s not going to be happy about this, but then again, he’s rarely happy, anyway. So, really, what have I got to lose?

All right, here goes nothing.

I suck in a deep breath and double-tap his name on my screen. Two rings later, he answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Wolfie. It’s Penelope.”

“I know,” he says curtly. “I have your number.”

“Oh. Right.” So far, so good. “I was just calling to solidify our plans for this weekend. I mean, if you’re still down to come with me to my work retreat. You can back out if you want.”

Please don’t back out. Please don’t back out.

“I’m not backing out.” His voice is gruff but certain. “I’ll be there.”

There’s that lump in my throat again. I guess this is really happening.

“Great,” I say in the cheeriest voice I can muster. Hopefully, my nerves aren’t discernable through the phone. “So, it’s up in Wisconsin, just over the border. It shouldn’t take much more than an hour and a half to get there. And it’s just two nights, so we’ll be back by Sunday evening. I can pick you up on Friday afternoon, and we should be there in time for—”

“I’ll drive,” he says, interrupting me. “Friday afternoon? I’ll pick you up.”

All-righty then.

“Ohhh-kay,” I manage to get out. “And, um, one more teeny-tiny thing.”

“Yes?”

Just say it, Penelope. “I may have accidentally told everyone at the office that my boyfriend is coming with me.”

The line is quiet for what feels like half a lifetime. So quiet, in fact, that I have to double-check to be sure he didn’t just hang up on me. But no, the call is very much still going. He’s just as silent as a stone.

“Um, Wolfie?”

“Yes?”

“Did . . . did you hear what I said?”

He’s quiet again, then finally says, “Uh, your boyfriend?”

“Yup. Good, you heard. Okay, gotta go. ’Bye. See you Friday!”

The words tumble out at the speed of light, and before he can get another word in, I hang up, then immediately power down my phone so he can’t call me back. If he tries, I’ll blame it on bad reception on the Brown Line. By the time I step onto the train, I can hardly hear the stops being announced over the blood thrumming in my ears.

Well, I guess that could have gone worse.