A Brit Player Read online

  A Brit Player

  Brenda St John Brown

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  A BRIT COMPLICATED sneak peek

  RIVAL HEARTS

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Where to find me and my books

  Keep in touch with Brenda St John Brown

  Join Brenda’s Book Babes on Facebook

  Get Brenda’s Newsletter

  Follow Brenda on Bookbub

  See what Brenda’s reading on Goodreads

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  * * *

  Read the whole Castle Calder series

  * * *

  A Brit on the Side

  A Brit Unexpected

  A Brit Complicated

  A Brit Player

  Rival Hearts

  Chapter One

  The English countryside is gorgeous out the window of the train. Rolling green hills. Sheep. We even passed a llama farm. I should be appreciating it way more than I am, and the reason I’m not is sitting across the table from me, eating salt and vinegar crisps and pretending she didn’t just hijack my weekend plans.

  Scarlett St Julien is my best friend and my biggest pain in the ass. The order of those two things swings wildly, depending on the day. Today it’s definitely at the pain-in-the-ass end of the spectrum.

  “I don’t know what the big deal is.” Scarlett licks her finger. “I mean, I’m doing it.”

  “You’re offering a one-on-one art lesson. I’m being auctioned off on a date I never agreed to.” My voice is a little nails-on-a-chalkboard, but under the circumstances, I’d say it’s allowed.

  “Correction – you’re being auctioned off on a date you never agreed to for charity.” She laughs. “Let’s not forget that this is all for a good cause.”

  “I love a good cause as much as anyone. You know that. But I’m not up for dating right now.” An understatement if there ever was one, but maybe it will appeal to Scarlett’s sense of empathy. She knows what I’ve been like these past six months.

  “My God, it’s not an arranged marriage. It’s a dinner.” Scarlett shrugs. “Some posh guy who has more money than sense will bid on a date with you, and you’ll run rings around him. He’ll think you have a connection and try to text you, but you’ll give him the wrong number from the start and never have to worry about him again.”

  I let out a loud sigh and make sure Scarlett sees me when I roll my eyes. “At least in an arranged marriage, I’d get a say in who I end up with. Trust me. My mother’s been texting me because she’s been getting ‘inquiries’ now that I’m not with Tom anymore.”

  My heart clangs in my chest as I say Tom’s name out loud. Even though I have no one to blame but myself for our break-up, it still hurts. Too much, if I’m being honest.

  “Well, you can go forward with your arranged marriage after this weekend if you want. All I’m asking for is for you to go to dinner. Don’t think of it as me asking. Think of it as Save the Family asking.”

  “Save the Family is asking me to go dinner with some guy who’s going to pay a lot of money to go out with me? It’s like one step removed from prostitution. Maybe not really what they stand for?”

  “No one is saying you need to sleep with him.” Scarlett crunches on a crisp for emphasis. “Besides, if he’s too weird, we’ll make it a double date. Bradley’s driving up tomorrow morning and we’ll tag along. Better yet, we’ll spy from a nearby table and cause a scene if things get too dire.”

  Bradley Waring-Smith – aka Bradley Walking-Sex – is Scarlett’s boyfriend/former boss/perfect match. He’s also my current boss, but that’s not helpful right now. He and Scarlett have been together for over a year and, even though they had a sketchy start, they’re the most solid couple I know. They’re also the most beautiful couple I know, but that’s only relevant when we’re all queueing for a club and they dazzle the doorman.

  “Maybe Bradley can bid on me?” I say hopefully. “You know, not like a real date or anything. To rescue me.”

  “You, Tara Kapoor, are the last person who needs rescuing.” Scarlett leans forward, holding a crisp between her fingers like a cigarette. “Listen. I know all that shit with Tom knocked you for six, but you are fine. You broke up with him for a reason.”

  I did. But was it a good enough reason?

  That’s the perennial question, the one I always come back to. The one, six months on, I still can’t answer.

  “Speaking of Tom, did you know he’s with the Met now? I read that the other day.” Because I was stalking him on LinkedIn, but Scarlett doesn’t need to know that. Tom was Bradley’s former business manager at WS Consulting. He moved back to New York City after we broke up, and since we’ve disconnected on all social media, LinkedIn is all I’ve got.

  “Bradley mentioned that. They went to dinner when he was in New York last week.”

  My heart thumps in my chest like a bass guitar at a rock concert, but I try to keep my tone casual. “Really? I didn’t realize Bradley was in New York?”

  “He stopped there for one night on his way back from Chicago.” Scarlett narrows her eyes at me. “And the reason I didn’t tell you is because I knew you’d get that look on your face.”

  I widen my eyes and bite my lip. “What look on my face? I just said I didn’t realize Bradley was in New York.”

  And why didn’t Gemma, his admin, tell me? She’s my work wife now that Scarlett is gone and, although she doesn’t know Tom very well, she knows about the great implosion of our relationship. Which is probably exactly why she didn’t tell me, to be fair.

  “I’ll suggest he check his schedule with you next time he travels.” Scarlett raises her eyebrows. “Or was that look on your face about the fact he saw Tom?”

  “Don’t make me ask.” I give her a pleading look. “You know I don’t want to, but I can’t help myself.”

  “He’s fine. Bradley says Tom’s settled back in New York and he likes his new job. He has a flat in Tribeca and he helps coach his nephew’s baseball team when he can. There was no mention of you, although you know Bradley would go out of his way to avoid that.” Scarlett’s voice softens. “I think Tom really is fine, Tara.”

  I nod and keep my gaze on the passing countryside. I want Tom to be fine. So much. But the look on his face when I rejected his marriage proposal still makes my heart clench like a fist. He was shattered and I did that to him. N
o one else. Me. I have a lot to feel guilty about in my past, God knows, but breaking up with Tom was awful for both of us.

  “He deserves so much better than me.” My voice is low, and I keep my eyes on the scenery. “I hope he finds it.”

  “You’re not a monster, no matter how much you try to convince yourself you are. It’s just…shit happens, you know?” Scarlett’s voice trails off, which is probably good. We’ve rehashed this a million times and there’s no sense in going another round. Scarlett takes a deep breath and pastes a smile to her face. Her voice is bright and a little too loud when she continues. “Speaking of shit, you brought something decent to wear, didn’t you? I mean, you’re going to be on the auction block and you need to dress the part.”

  “I brought my red strappy dress, which will have to do.” I raise an eyebrow at Scarlett. “It’s not like I can borrow anything from you.”

  Scarlett is tall and thin with legs a mile long. I’m barely four-foot-nine and can’t hold on if I’m riding the Tube unless I’m standing near a door. Once, during a rammed ride back from the O2, I had to latch onto the strap of Scarlett’s bag so I wouldn’t end up in the lap of the guy in front of me.

  “My mum has a new girl working there now. Tilly Something-or-other. Maybe she’s itty bitty like you.” Scarlett grins. “Your red dress will be great, though. It’s a man magnet.”

  “You need to stop saying shit like that or I’m not getting off this train.” I do my best to level a glare at Scarlett before giving up and laughing. “Can we go back to the fact that I don’t want to be in this charity auction?”

  “Nope. It’s a done deal, I’m afraid. You’re welcome to take it up with my mother if you’d like, but you know how she is.” Scarlett crumples her crisp packet for emphasis and stands up. “I’m going to get a coffee from the café car. Do you want one?”

  “No thanks. We’re going to be there in less than an hour.”

  “I know, but I’m going to need my energy. We have a big weekend ahead.” Scarlett winks and strides down the aisle before I can respond.

  I grin and shake my head, although it doesn’t last. Damn Scarlett. I know she means well, but this isn’t going to be the weekend escape I was counting on. At all.

  When Scarlett convinced me to come to Castle Calder with her – her parents’ castle-turned-hotel up in the Lake District – I jumped at the chance. It felt like an opportunity to get out of London and go “home” – but not to my home because my modern-but-traditional-when-it-counts Indian mum is serious about that arranged marriage shit. Scarlett and I have been friends since sixth form and her parents are not only completely uninterested in any arranged marriage, they’re also plain amazing. Castle Calder is more so. I’d envisioned lazy breakfasts, country walks and maybe a heart-to-heart with Hannah, Scarlett’s mum, because she has a way of making me see things from a different perspective.

  Instead, I’m going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder and probably go to dinner with a guy who makes me miss Tom more instead of less. Although maybe Scarlett’s right. It’s one dinner. I’ve gone on my share of shit dates. What’s one more?

  Chapter Two

  “Come on. This is supposed to be fun,” Scarlett says and tugs at my arm. “Turn that frown upside down, lady.”

  “Oh my God, why are you like this?” I roll my eyes but let her pull me down the hallway. “I swear, you didn’t used to be this annoying.”

  “I’m not annoying. I’m excited.” Scarlett flashes me a grin. “There are a million hot men out there for our ogling pleasure.”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure you said there were ten hot men here to be auctioned off as charity dates?” I raise an eyebrow. “Ogling wasn’t mentioned.”

  “Ogling is mandatory. You know that. Besides, we need to inspect the goods, right?”

  “I’m not sure Bradley would agree that it’s a need?” Not that he has cause to doubt her. He’s saving our seats since Scarlett was helping me get ready to sell my best self. Her words, not mine.

  “Well, I don’t believe he needs to know.” Scarlett laughs. It’s the laugh of a woman confident in her relationship.

  I should know. I used to be that woman, too.

  Ugh. I swear to God, I’m so sick of myself. I wish my brain came with an off switch.

  “It would be a shame, then, if I let it slip during my Monday morning catch-up with him.” I grin. Scarlett moved on from WS when she and Bradley got involved, but I still report to the man himself.

  Scarlett stops, spinning around to face me. “If you think it’s appropriate to tell your boss about your weekend activities, who am I to say otherwise? But I assume then you won’t mind me telling him about your more questionable ones? A certain tattooed biker comes to mind?”

  I wince because, yeah, Mikhail had bad decision written all over him. Including a literal tattoo that read Bad Decision. I should have considered it a warning label. Still, I keep my voice cool as I say, “I doubt Bradley cares what or whom I do in my free time.”

  “He’s surprisingly open-minded, but I think he’d have an opinion about Mikhail. Just saying.” Scarlett claps her hands together. “The clock is ticking. Come on. The marquee isn’t that big and Bradley’s saving seats for us. But someone’s going to snag them if we don’t get in there. Prime ogling, remember?”

  I smile, but I’m pretty sure it looks as half-hearted as it feels. I’m not nervous about being on the auction block. I’m…mired. Like, if I could stay in my turret room reading all weekend, I would, even though that’s not the point of our trip.

  The point is “to get me out of my head” and it’s a valid one. The least I could do is act happy to be here.

  I smile harder. I don’t think it’s any more convincing, but I make my voice bright as I say, “I’m warning you now, I have no money for bidding. In case you think that’s on the table.”

  “But I have money.” Scarlett grins. “I owe you a birthday present, after all.”

  This time when I smile, it’s genuine. “You and Amalie took me out to that burlesque show on my birthday, which was fab. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “That was all Amalie’s idea.” Scarlett raises her eyebrows, trying to look innocent. “She’s very provocative under that chic French exterior, you know. I mean, Bradley Walking-Sex?”

  This gets a laugh out of me. Amalie works in the New York office for WS, and she was the one who coined the – very apt – nickname for Bradley, although she claims it was a group effort. Something about seeing him in shorts…

  “Scarlett, I thought you were saving us seats?” A voice rings out in the hallway behind us.

  Scarlett and I both turn to face the girl who was bartending last night when we got in. Scarlett introduced us, but I’m drawing a total blank. Remembering names is so not my strong suit.

  Thank goodness Scarlett knows this about me. She says loudly, “Tilly. Hey. We’re on our way. Bradley’s got our seats.”

  “Oh, good. No one will mess with him.” Tilly slows as she reaches us and gives me a grin. “For a minute I thought you were shirking your responsibilities.”

  “My responsibilities being?” Scarlett raises an eyebrow.

  “Saving seats for those of us who are perennially late.” Tilly grins wider. She has a gorgeous smile, although she’s also just plain gorgeous. Dark coffee-colored skin, high cheekbones, and big brown eyes. It’s her hair – or lack thereof – that turns her into a total stunner, though. She has a very close buzz cut because, as she said last night, she “can’t be arsed, you know?”

  I do know. My long black hair hangs to the middle of my back and I’ve fantasized about cutting it all off, although I don’t think I could get away with it quite as well as Tilly does.

  “It’s my fault,” I say. “I was running late and then Scarlett had to have a go at my make up.”

  “Your face was day at the office rather than femme fatale. I fixed it.” Scarlett grins, then says to Tilly, “By the way, we’re scoping out bachelo
rs for Tara.”

  “Oh, exciting. Money to burn, then?”

  “Ha. Not exactly.” I laugh and roll my eyes.

  “Tara’s been sad,” Scarlett says to Tilly as we start walking again. “So we’re going try to find someone who can cheer her up.”

  Tilly sticks her lower lip out in a pout. “Why are you sad?”

  “Boy troubles,” Scarlett says. “But you know what they say. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

  I manage a strangled laugh as Tilly says, “Well, I saw a few of the guys come in earlier and I’d happily get under any of them.”

  Scarlett laughs in reply, and she and Tilly continue chatting as we walk through the dining room towards the marquee. I haven’t been to Castle Calder in years – not since Scarlett and I were in uni – but it’s more gorgeous than I remember. Everything is understated and elegant yet inviting enough that I saw three guests in their slippers at breakfast this morning.

  Tom would have loved it here.

  I try to stop the thought before it forms, but I can’t. I can see us here, lingering over the morning papers at breakfast, playing tennis in the afternoon, making love in the double shower, and again in the canopied king-size bed. Scarlett always said we were welcome to come up anytime, but we never did. And now we never will.