Breaking Up With Barrett, The English Brothers #1

Chapter 2 (1/2)

CHAPTER 2

Emily stood in front of her closet, staring at the two outfits Barrett had sent to her soon after she'd agreed to play fiancée for him several months ago: a Givenchy couture black, silk cocktail dress that cost more than two months' rent, and a light blue custom-made Chanel suit that cost three times more than two months' rent. It was hands down the most expensive thing in Emily's apartment.

She almost always chose to wear the black dress, mostly because the one time she'd worn the Chanel, Barrett's eyes had darkened appreciably like she'd done something wrong, which made no sense at all since he'd purchased the suit for her to wear in the first place. Honestly, she loved it. It hugged her size eight curves on top, but sucked her in at the waist and fell to a flattering but tasteful line across her thighs. Not to mention, the fabric color was such a close match to her eyes, it was almost unreal how blue they became when she wore it. But, he'd looked so displeased after the first time, she hadn't worn it again.

She huffed, taking the beautiful blue suit out of the closet, watching as the clear cellophane from the dry cleaners rustled lightly over it.

"I don't feel like black tonight. I'm wearing the suit, and I don't care if you like it or not, Barrett."

She pulled on her white cotton underwear and simple Playtex bra—it's not like she could afford La Perla to go underneath—and, keeping with the propriety of being Barrett English's fiancée, she pulled on some nude pantyhose with a scowl. A cream silk camisole covered her simple bra and tickled the skin of her stomach. Barrett had sent one pair of size seven black patent leather Coach pumps that were boring, but comfortable, and she slipped those over her feet, remembering the awkwardness of his proposition.

It was several months ago in late-Spring, and Emily had been sitting on a bench outside of College Hall at the University of Pennsylvania, where she was a first-year doctoral student, when she heard him say her name.

"Emily Edwards?"

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun to see Barrett's handsome face come into focus. "Barrett?"

"Yes. Hello. I thought that was you. I was here for an endowment meeting. Decided to stroll the campus for a few minutes before heading back to the office."

Stroll the campus. She grinned up at him. Barrett English always spoke like someone much older than his thirty-two years, but she sort of liked that about him. It was part of who he was.

In contrast to his stiff conversation was the way he looked—easy, smooth, and ridiculously debonair. Her eyes flicked down for a second to check out the cut of his suit, which was obviously custom made, because it fit him like a dream. Navy blue and sharp, it was the perfect complement to the light blue dress shirt with bright white French cuffs underneath. Her eyes touched on his wrists where shiny silver cufflinks were engraved with BEE. Barrett Edward English. It was good the sun was so bright—he wasn't able to see her pupils dilate with a lifetime's worth of lust.

"I'm interrupting you," he observed.

"It's fine." Emily's eyes strained against the sun, narrowed to slits in an attempt to maintain eye contact. "Do, um, do you want to sit?"

"No. How are your parents?"

"Very well, thank you. And yours?"

"Fine."

"Fitz, Alex, Stratton, and Weston?"

"All well, thank you."

Her shoulder slumped in disappointment as their pleasantries found a dead end.