Page 99 of His Turn

His brother just died, Nadia. Be nice.

“I’m sorry,” I say, sighing out a long breath of air. “What can I do to help?”

“Stay the fuck out of my personal business.”

That’s it. I’m pissed. I throw the sheet off me, swing my legs out of bed, and stand up. He doesn’t back away. In fact, he looks down at me with a challenge in his eyes. I point my finger in his face. One long, well-manicured pink nail. Right up to his face. “Don’t talk to me that way.”

He huffs out some air and whips the towel from around his waist. “Go back to sleep,” he says, opening one of the closets and disappearing inside.

“You know where I’m going the minute you leave?” I ask.

“Enlighten me,” he says, uninterested.

And that pisses me off too. I’m nothing to him. Absolutely nothing to him. “Home,” I say.

“This is home, Nadia.”

“Not anymore it isn’t. Jordan is absent, you treat me like shit”—he peeks his head out of the closet at that remark—“and I’m done. I quit this game. Fuck the both of you. I’m sorry about your brother. Clearly, he meant a lot to you. But I can’t do this anymore.”

“You’re staying here,” he says.

“Am I?” I laugh.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

“I’m leaving. I’m packing up my clothes, calling an Uber, and I’m leaving.”

“I have a family emergency, Nadia. You can hold that against me if you want, but—”

“I’m not holding that against you,” I snap. “I’m holding everything but that against you. I don’t even know you, that’s my problem. And Jordan isn’t playing by the rules.”

“There are no rules,” he says, pulling on a pair of dress pants.

“There are rules, Bric.” I use that name on purpose and it gets the desired reaction. Because he opens his mouth to correct me, but I beat him to it. “I don’t know Elias,” I say. “So I’m not calling you that anymore. Elias is the one who goes home for funerals. I only know Bric. And I don’t like Bric very much. I’m quitting because neither of you are taking this seriously. I’m the only one invested in this game. So fuck off.”

I storm off… but I need clothes. So I end up in the other closet—my closet—and start pulling things off hangers.

He peeks his head in, adjusting his white dress shirt. “Just fucking stay and I’ll be back tomorrow night. I’ll talk to Jordan and—”

“No,” I say. “This isn’t my home. It’s just a new house. And it’s not even my new house, it’s your new house. I’m going home. I won’t stay in an empty fucking mansion all alone for the weekend. And yes, I already know I’ll be alone. Because Jordan is too damn busy to pay me any mind at all. The only way I’ll stay here is if…”

And then a delicious idea pops into my head. An evil, scrumptious, five-thousand-calorie idea.

“If?” Bric asks, buttoning his shirt up now. “I’m listening,” he says, irritated.

I smile before I turn around. But then I tuck it away and scowl as I face him. “If you take me with you.”

“Where?” he asks.

God, he’s dumb. “To the funeral.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too,” I say, crossing my arms over my bare breasts. “Either you take me home with you and show me something real, Bric”—I snarl his name this time—“and show me who this Elias man is… or…”

“Or?”

“I’m leaving and I’m never coming back. Game over.”