Stranded with a Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #1)(63)

“I am,” Bront? said with a nod. “As long as it’s not Pretty Woman. Something New Yorky.”

“Maid in Manhattan?” Gretchen teased.

Bront? shot her a look. “Very funny.”

“Cloverfield?” suggested Cooper. “I have it on DVD. I could bring it over.”

“Not exactly a chick flick, Cooper,” Gretchen said, tossing a hand towel over her shoulder. “And you’re not exactly a chick.”

Cooper flushed at her tease, heading back to the counter when a new customer lined up. Bront? winced at the adoring look that Cooper cast at Gretchen before smiling at the customers. After a week of working at Cooper’s Cuppa, two things had become extremely obvious to her: one, that Cooper was one of the nicest guys she had ever met anywhere, and two, that he was carrying a major torch for Gretchen.

A torch that Gretchen seemed determined to ignore.

“How about 300?” Gretchen asked, pulling out a mug and drying it with her towel. “That’s practically a chick flick, considering it’s filled with oiled-up beefcake. It’s not New Yorky, but with all that man-meat, does it matter?”

“Works for me,” Bront? said. “Want to invite Audrey?”

Gretchen shook her head. “She can’t. A certain someone is keeping her busy on a secret project.”

“Oh?” Bront? feigned casualness, even though her heart sped up at the thought. “What sort of project?”

The redhead said nothing, just continued to wipe mugs dry.

“Gretchen?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s just business reports. Apparently her boss is skipping a lot of meetings lately, so she has to listen to recordings and recap them for him so he doesn’t miss out on anything.” She gave Bront? a pointed look. “Don’t read too much into that.”

“I won’t,” Bront? promised, but her mind was already racing. Why was Logan missing meetings? Was he all right? She squelched the rising worry and forced herself to focus. “So, a movie tonight?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Gretchen said. “I want to stop somewhere first and pick up a donation.”

“Donation?”

“Yeah. I pick up used books and take them in to a local retirement home.”

“Oh, Gretchen, that’s so sweet.”

Gretchen waved a hand, dismissing Bront?’s compliment. “Not so sweet. I started doing it when I kept getting so many author copies of my ghostwritten books. I didn’t want them, so I donated them to my nana’s nursing home. I didn’t realize when I first went that so few of the elderly get out, so I bring them books. I can’t imagine sitting around all day staring at the wall.”

Bront? smiled. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I love the idea and I want to help.”

“Good, because Audrey bailed on me. She’s working late, which means you and I get to go and pick up a few boxes from an estate sale. Someone told her there were two boxes to pick up and she volunteered us to go in her place.”

An order popped up on the screen, and Bront? moved to the blender to prepare the drink. “Your sister’s very dedicated to her job.”

“Eh. She likes working for that soulless bastard.”

Bront? bristled a little at Gretchen’s dismissive tone. “He’s not a soulless bastard.”

“Says the now proud owner of a diner,” Gretchen teased.

Bront? flushed, turning the blender on so she wouldn’t have to hear more about it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have shared so much of her story with Gretchen. The woman was fun to live with, and funny, but she had a caustic sense of humor and absolutely zero patience for anything related to Logan Hawkings. He kept Audrey hopping, apparently, and Gretchen resented it.

Bront? handed the blended drink to a customer with a smile, struggling to hide her heartache. After a few days, the pain had dulled into an ever-present ache that triggered tears at the slightest thought of Logan. Unfortunately for her, almost everything seemed to inspire thoughts of Logan. She and Gretchen had gone out for drinks the night before, and when someone at the bar had ordered a hurricane, she’d nearly burst into tears.

The girls working the evening shift came in to Cooper’s Cuppa, and Bront? and Gretchen left the counter, heading to the back room to take off their aprons and count out their tips. As Bront? stuffed her apron into her locker, Gretchen pulled out her phone and checked her text messages, then sighed. “I have the address for Audrey’s pickup. You ready to haul some books a few blocks? She says it’s two boxes.”

Bront? pretended to flex her muscles. “Ready.”

“Let’s go, then. The place should be empty. Audrey says the key’s under the mat.”

***

Hunter strolled through the empty, silent town house, regarding it with an eye long-used to appraising at a glance. He mentally sized up the asking price, tallying all the things that would make it a prize—the luxurious décor, the reputation of the prior owner, the fact that it was a historical building, and the number one thing that always made his interest perk: location. The Upper East Side was a great one.

This town house, he knew, would command several million on the market . . . provided he bothered to put it up for sale. It was a lovely gem of a home, and one of the Brotherhood might be interested in it. Griffin, perhaps, he thought, examining the Victorian wainscoting. An elegant townhouse would be something he’d be in the market for. Reese wanted it for a director friend of his, but Brotherhood came first. He’d probably offer to Griffin to see if he was interested, and if not, talk to Reese’s friend.