Stepbrother Roommate Read online

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Billionaire Stepbrother’s Homecoming - Sneak Peek

  Other Books by Stephanie Brother:

  About the Author

  Stepbrother Roommate

  by

  Stephanie Brother

  © 2015 Stephanie Brother

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author’s imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

  Want her mailing list? Click here!

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Billionaire Stepbrother’s Homecoming - Sneak Peek

  Other Books by Stephanie Brother:

  About the Author

  One

  "Where's the bathroom?"

  "It's in the kitchen."

  "Why would the bathroom be in the kitchen?"

  "Honey, you're not exactly working with a Taj Mahal budget. Do you want the apartment or not?"

  Amelia looked around the dingy, closet-sized space and tried to imagine cooking eggs right next to the toilet. If her arms were longer, she might actually be able to flip the frying pan while simultaneously relieving herself. She shuddered at the thought.

  "I think I better keep looking. Sorry I wasted your time."

  "I'm a Realtor. It's what I do. Welcome to the New York City rental market."

  She clomped down the four flights of stairs and walked along the sidewalk dreading the phone call she was about to make. Her mother and grandparents warned her that chasing an art degree may have a smaller return on investment than say, a medical degree, but they didn't stop her from following her dream. They chose instead to remind her with a gentle “we told you so” whenever she ran out of money. She had no idea her cramped New York City dorm room may have been the last decent, civilized living quarters she would experience for quite some time.

  The phone rang several times before clicking into voicemail.

  "Hi, Mom! It's your favorite starving student. First, let me tell you that you're always right. Second, I'm not saying that just because I need something. Okay, maybe I do need something, but needing something is slightly better than merely wanting and ... I'm rambling." She exhaled deeply out of resignation. "May I stay with you? It would only be temporary until I find something affordable that doesn't have a sloping floor or a shower that drains in the middle of the living room. Yeah, apartment hunting has been that bad. Let me know. I really do love you, though."

  She walked until she found a building with a stoop and plopped down in defeat. "Why does this have to be so hard?" she asked under her breath. She loved her mother and loved New Jersey, but that didn't mean she wanted to live there again. Especially not after four years of Manhattan life.

  "You're so smart," her mother said with frequency. "Why don't you just try med school? ‘Dr. Bradley’ has a nice ring to it."

  Amelia couldn't get her to understand that no one just tries med school or that she preferred the way "Amelia Bradley, Artist" sounded. Her mother's second recommendation was to follow in the matriarchal footsteps and become a hairstylist. While the creative aspect of the beauty industry piqued her curiosity, she only had to think of some of her mother's more high-maintenance clients to instantly flip her thoughts back to art.

  She was actually browsing her favorite art supply store when her mother returned the call later that day.

  "How's my favorite soon-to-be homeless child who should have become a doctor so this type of thing wouldn't happen?"

  "Without even taking a breath. I'm impressed."

  "I'm just kidding. You know I'm proud of you no matter what."

  "I know you are. I had no idea the rents would be so high."

  "Well, today I'm not just your mother … I'm your fairy godmother."

  "How so?"

  “My friend's kid is looking for a roommate. The space is yours if you want it."

  “No way! Where is it?”

  “Broadway and 73rd … I think it’s called the Hanson Hotel or something.”

  “Wait a minute. Do you mean the Ansonia Hotel?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Why?”

  “It’s one of my favorite buildings! Are you serious?”

  “Yes!”

  “Really, are you serious?”

  “Okay, I’m hanging up on you if you’re just going to repeat yourself all day.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve walked by it so many times and dreamed of going inside. This is just crazy luck. Who’s your friend?”

  “Never mind that,” she said with a girlish giggle.

  “Are you dating one of your clients again? You know they just love watching your boobs dangle while you wash their hair in the sink.”

  “Oh shush. Just ask for Sandy in apartment 1214.” Click.

  Amelia released a happy shriek as soon as her mother hung up. Her feet were floating as she ran to the subway and rode to the Upper West Side. When she was finally standing on the corner of Broadway and 73rd, her gawking nearly caused a pedestrian traffic jam. With feet frozen in place, she stared up at the eighteen stories of heavenly, Parisian style. The ornate carvings and mansard roof reached into the clouds. It was good to be a copper baron in 1904. Any year was a good year to be a copper baron, really, but modern wealth didn’t subscribe to such luxurious design. The hotel had once housed Babe Ruth and Igor Stravinsky and was now a co-op building full of wealthy business folks and artists. The door attendant tipped his hat as he opened the heavy door, revealing the sparkling lobby with its marble floors and chandeliers. Amelia released an audible sigh as she stepped inside. She playfully clicked her heels together three times like Dorothy returning from Oz. It felt like home.

  She cleared her throat and marched with purpose to the front desk. The attendant smiled and greeted her with his full attention.

  “May I help you?”

  “Would you please ring Sandy in apartment 1214?”

  “Are you Amelia?”

  “I am,” she said with surprise.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” He opened a drawer under the desk and pulled out a small envelope. “Here’s your key. You can go on up. Welcome to the Ansonia.”

  She held it gingerly in her hands as if it were the key to a magic kingdom. Her face was too frozen in the shape of a wide smile to speak, so she nodded her head with gratitude. As she followed the path to the elevator, she read the note scribbled on the envelope. Make yourself at home. First door on the right is yours. Fridge contents are fair game. The key clicked softly in the metallic lock. Amelia appreciated the heavy, wooden door, feeling as though the extra effort required meant you were leaving the world behind you as you crossed the threshold.

  “Hello? Sandy?”

  She waited for a response before walking a few feet into the circular entryway. A long hallway led straight ahead to bright sunlight beaming in through the arched windows. The high ceilings made her feel like she was only a couple feet tall. She marveled at the carved, crown molding as she made her way down the hallway and stopped in front of the first door on the right. She placed her hand on the doorknob and closed her eyes as she slowly twisted
it open.

  “One, two, three,” she whispered before opening her eyes. “I’m in the turret! I’m in the turret!” she yelled before covering her mouth in embarrassment. She waited for signs of life from the apartment before continuing her celebration. She ran and slid across the room to the large window seat and peered down at the people walking below. Her hands and face left tiny smudges on the glass as she unconsciously spoke to herself. “I’ll sit right here and paint. The light is perfect. The view is perfect.”

  She stretched out in the center of the room and made the snow angel motion with her arms and legs, sliding her limbs out and back against the wood floor. As she stared up at the chandelier hanging directly above her, a sinking feeling took over her stomach. I can’t afford this place. She sat up on her elbows and looked around the room. What does this Sandy chick do for a living? I bet she’s some trust fund baby. We probably wouldn’t get along anyway. She collapsed back down and made a few more angels with her limbs. Amelia was so engrossed in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard the front door open and close.

  “Do you like the room?”

  She flipped on her side towards the source of the deep voice and audibly gulped at the sight of the muscular figure leaning against the doorway. His shirt was wet with sweat as he dabbed a towel against his face. Yes, this view is perfect.

  “Pardon my appearance. Today was leg day. The gym is on the fifth floor if you’re interested.”

  “Good to know,” she said. “Are you Sandy’s boyfriend?”

  He laughed, revealing a row of perfect teeth. “I am Sandy. It’s short for Sanford. It’s the curse of an old family name.”

  “It’s a lovely name. I just thought…”

  “I was a female? I get that a lot.” He took a step forward and offered his hand. “Sandy Hughes.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She nearly missed his hand as her eyes were focused on the pec muscles outlined by his damp T-shirt. Even his sweat smells good. He tightened his grip and leaned back, helping her to her feet. “How do our parents know each other?”

  “I think your mom cuts my dad’s hair.”

  “Aha,” she said without emotion while fighting the urge to roll her eyes. I knew he had to be one of her clients. One of the boob oglers.

  “Let me give you the grand tour,” he said, motioning for her to follow.

  She bit her lip and shuffled her feet. “Listen – I don’t know what type of arrangement our parents have, but this place is really out of my price range.”

  “Oh I’m sure he’ll figure out a way for her to work it off.”

  “Excuse me? My mother isn’t a whore!”

  He smacked himself in the head. “Oh fuck. That’s not what I meant.”

  “What the hell did you mean?”

  “I always put my foot in my mouth.” He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “My father has no use for money, so he does a lot of trading instead.”

  She crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently.

  “As in trading haircuts or artwork or car repairs, not sex. It’s fun for him. He feels connected to people that way, like he’s a part of the economic wheel and not just some rich guy far removed from it all.”

  She relaxed her stance slightly. “In all fairness, my mom has dated a few of her clients and it never ends well. I’m always a little leery when a guy is too nice to her.”

  “In all fairness, my dad has dated everyone in town and none of those relationships ended well either. My mother was wife number three of five.”

  Amelia’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The economic wheel of the wedding industry must be his favorite.”

  “Ha-Ha, smarty pants. At least he’s willing to try and try … and try again.”

  “He’s not a quitter in love. I haven’t met him yet and I already like him.”

  Sandy motioned again for her to follow him. “You will love him. I promise.” He brought her into the expansive living room and stopped in front of a wall full of framed photos. “That’s my Pop.” He pointed at a smiling man with salt and pepper hair and a slightly red nose.

  “He’s smiling in every picture. My mom is like that too.” She turned and looked at him, trying not to stare at his chiseled draw. “Do you know if our parents are dating?”

  “I was hoping you would know,” he said with a laugh. “He definitely speaks highly of your mom. My Jeanette is amazing, yadda yadda yadda.”

  “He says My Jeanette? That’s interesting.”

  “Interesting-good or interesting-bad?”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Maybe ‘sweet’ would have been a better word choice.”

  “Do you have a picture of your mom?”

  “Yes, on Facebook.” She brought up the page on her phone and handed it to him.

  “Aww you ladies are beautiful.” He kept swiping with his finger until he stopped on a photo of Amelia and her mother wearing sweaters with cat designs and matching earrings.

  “That was a Crazy Cat Lady party.” She tried to snatch the phone away.

  He held it up over her head as he furrowed his brow and said, “Hmm … now that’s interesting.”

  “You can’t steal my words.” She elbowed him gently in the side. “I’ve got your ‘interesting’ right here, Sanford.”

  “Ugh, not the S-word.”

  “Hand over the phone. Sanford. Sanford. Sanford.”

  “Okay, you win.” He bowed and gently placed it back in her hands. “Amelia is a beautiful name. Be glad you didn’t have a family name like Gertrude that had to be used every generation.”

  “I don’t even think that’s terrible. It’s classic.”

  He tilted his head and scanned her up and down. “You would wear any name well.”

  “You mean I have a familiar Jane Doe face?”

  He shook his head and smiled. “I’ll steal another word from you. Classic. You have a classic face and…” He paused while nodding his head and scanning her body once more. “And classic, classic curves.” He swallowed hard when he finished the sentence and stared down at the floor.

  Amelia’s cheeks grew warmer as she blushed. She wanted to speak, but instead … hiccupped. It was an unfortunate side effect of nerves and, on occasion, the ingestion of hot peppers. The hiccups created their own side effect of … more blushing. She did the only thing she knew would work and took a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks and pinching her nose closed.

  Sandy covered his mouth and tried not to laugh. He turned away from her for a few moments before quickly flipping back around and grabbing her waist. “Boo!”

  She jumped in response and started giggling. “I think it worked,” she said with relief. “You scared them out of me.”

  “I swear it’s the only thing that ever works. That whole, drink from the glass backwards and upside down, trick is bullshit.”

  He left his hands on her waist. Amelia tried to act calm and collected as she enjoyed the feeling of his grip, but she didn’t know what to do with her own hands. She moved them about awkwardly and patted him gently on the chest. Her nose crinkled as she felt the cold sweat under her fingers.

  “Gross. So sorry.” He moved his hands from her waist to his own shirt, making Amelia wish she had a magic rewind button. “I should really change out of my workout clothes and get packing. A bunch of us are going to the Hamptons for the weekend. Would you like to join us?”

  “I would love to. I’ve never been out there.”

  “Where do you normally summer?”

  I’ve never used ‘summer’ as a verb either. “Umm … Jersey City.”

  “All the more reason for you to come. I love showing people around.”

  “I should probably just get settled here. I’ll need to move my boxes and buy a mattress from IKEA.”

  “Don’t waste your money on a mattress. I’ll have one sent over on Monday from my father’s place on Park Avenue.”

  She stiffened up her shoulders and held her chin up high. “I’m a responsible adult
now … and a slight homebody. Rain check?”

  “As you wish,” he said with a shrug. “You’re more than welcome to use my room this weekend, though. The mattress is great. You should at least be comfortable for your first night here.”

  His bed? Don’t faint. Just breathe. “I may take you up on that,” she said with only a slight increase in the octave of her voice.

  “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

  “Back in my door room. I’ll grab it this weekend.”

  “Let me help you. I’ll just jump in the shower and we can call one of the drivers around.”