Breaking Up With Barrett, The English Brothers #1

Chapter 8

"Fix it, Stratton. I can't do everything, damn it!"

"Jesus, you've been a prick this week," exclaimed Barrett's younger brother. "And just as a reminder? You may be the Chief Operating Officer, Barrett, but Dad's still the President even if he is in Zurich for two weeks. You're not the top asshole yet."

"I may as well be," he grumbled. "I do everything around here."

Stratton stood from the chair in front of Barrett's desk and straightened his glasses. Stratton was, and had always been, the most bookish and serious of the brothers. He was in charge of researching future acquisitions, and his projected numbers looked accurate. Barrett just didn't like them.

"May as well be top asshole? Yeah. You're definitely acting like it, anyway."

Stratton slammed Barrett's office door behind him, leaving Barrett and Fitz alone.

Fitz, who'd been listening from the couch where he was reviewing the final Harrison Shipbuilding documents before drawing up tentative contracts for the acquisition, didn't look up. "He's right, you know. You're being an asshole. I mean, more than usual."

"Screw you, Fitz," said Barrett, swiveling in his chair to look out at the Philadelphia skyline.

He wondered where Emily was, who she was with, if she was smiling or studying or taking a nap. He couldn't stop thinking about her and while it hadn't affected his work yet, it was definitely messing with his familial relationships.

"Yeah. Screw me. Okay. But, I'm the last brother standing." Fitz cleared his throat, and though Barrett didn't turn back around, he knew his brother had moved to one of the chairs in front of Barrett's desk because his voice was closer when he spoke again. "Alex won't come back in here after your tantrum on Tuesday morning. Weston, who was working for free, refuses to do anymore paralegal moonlighting until you take back what you said about him being the "idiot savant" of the family, and I think you just managed the impossible: you pissed off Stratton."

Barrett took a deep breath and sighed, turning around. Fitz and Stratton, sandwiched between the first, middle, and last English brothers had always been a little quieter than the other three, a little more serious, a little closer to each other. It was unusual to see Fitz angry, but pissing off Stratton would generally do the trick.

"What the hell, Barrett? You nervous for the meeting this weekend or something?"

Nervous? No.

Frustrated? Deprived? Lost in a loop of the memory of Emily climaxing against his hand on the tennis courts? Yes.

They had laid quietly with one another for a long time in the darkness before Emily sat up and fastened her bra, buttoned her shirt, and then stood to tuck it back into her jeans. He had looked up at her, at her blonde hair framing her face in the moonlight.

"I don't know what to say," she'd whispered.

He sat up. "How about... your rule is ridiculous?"

Her eyes had narrowed, but he kept talking like a total moron. "I like you, Emily. I really like you. It doesn't matter if you work for me. It doesn't matter if you call yourself my fake fiancée or my girlfr—"

She'd gasped, looking down at him with her hands on her hips. "Don't."

"Why not? That's what I want you to be."

She'd shaken her head, turning and walking quickly off the tennis courts. Barrett had sprinted after her, grabbing her elbow when he caught up to her.

"Stop! What?"

"I'm not your girlfriend. I can't be... yet. You need me to do a job for you this weekend, and I'm going to take money for it. That's real."