Mr Masters (Mr. Book 1)

An hour has passed, and I’m still on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Just how did I get myself into this situation? What did I honestly think was going to come of going out with Julian Masters?

When we were at the hotel and it was just the two of us, things were safe. It was controlled.

It didn’t hurt.

I take out my phone and flick through Instagram and Facebook to try and take my mind off how shitty I’m feeling. Nothing works.

I throw my phone down in disgust. Ugh. I hate Facebook. It should be called Fakebook the way every idiot in the world posts pictures and shows off how good their lives are. All their gorgeous, caring boyfriends and husbands, babies, kids, they all seem to have everything I don’t. You never see anyone posting pictures saying ‘Oh, I went out with my older boss tonight, who, by the way, treated me like I was a stupid slut and embarrassed the hell out of me’ do you? I roll my eyes.

Fake fuckers.

My phone beeps and I scramble to read the message from my mum.

Hi, Brell,

How’s everything?

We’re missing you.

I read it and tears fill my eyes. Before I even think about it, I’m dialing her number. She answers on the first ring.

“Hello, my beautiful Brell.”

“Hi, Mum.” The sound of her loving voice gets to me, and I instantly choke up.

“You okay, darling?”

I close my eyes. How does she always know when something is wrong?

I nod, even though I know she can’t see me. “Yeah,” I lie, despite my obvious tears.

“What’s wrong, Brell?” she asks.

I went on a date with a guy who is closer to your age than mine, who turned out to be a real asshole, and now I’m alone in this big, scary house with nowhere else to go. “Nothing, Mum.” I smile. “I’m just a bit homesick.” I twist the blanket between my fingers. “Everything will be fine in the morning.”

“Are you going out and sightseeing?”

“I am.” I puff air into my cheeks. “Emerson met someone.”

“Oh, is he nice?”

“He’s dreamy. His name is Alastar. He’s Irish.” I smile. “He’s different.” She laughs. “And what about you? Any men in your sights?”

“No.” I frown. “All the men I meet are idiots.” I hesitate for a moment. “I’m like a magnet to them.”

“He’s waiting for you, Brell. Somebody very special is sitting and waiting for you to come along. Any day now, he’s going to show up.”

I get a lump in my throat. I used to always think that someone, somewhere was waiting for me, but I just don’t know if I believe that anymore.

I’m losing my faith in the male species day by day.

“How are you and Dad?” I change the subject.

“We’re good. Actually, we’re thinking of coming over for a trip.”

My eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes, it wouldn’t be for another six to eight weeks, but we thought we might come and stay in London for a week and then go on to Prague.”

“Oh, could you? That would be so great.” My eyes fill with tears again. “I would really love to see you.”

“Are you okay, darling? You sound off. It’s Friday night. I thought you would be out.”

“I’m going out tomorrow night with Em. She has a date tonight.”

“Have you met anyone else that you can go out with?”

“Emerson’s flatmates are really nice. I guess I might start going out with them if Em really likes this guy. I’m not sitting around this big, old house alone, that’s for sure,” I mutter, almost to myself.

“And how’s your job going? Are you getting everything done that you’re supposed to be getting?”

My eyes widen as I remember the uniforms that are still in the trunk. The uniforms. Shit. “I am,” I lie. “Mum, I have to go, one of the kids is calling me.”

“Okay, dear. I love you,” she says lovingly. “I’ll get back to you about my trip.”

“I love you, too. Bye, Mum.”

I hang up and go down to the darkened garage. I kick my toe on something that’s sticking out.

“Fuck it!” I snap as I hop around. Pain shoots through me. I flick the light on angrily and go around to the trunk to take out the huge bag of jerseys.

Are you kidding me? There are at least two loads in here. I drag the big bag back into the house. The light is on in the garage, but I don’t care, he can pay the damn bill. Now, to top off a great night, I have to stay here alone and do his washing, while he has no doubt gone back to the work function to continue to crack onto the stunning redhead.

I shove the first load of washing into the machine and turn the dial with force. My blood has risen to boiling temperature.

Stupid fucking asshole.

Where’s his fancy scotch? I’m drinking the lot of it.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

I frown. What the hell is that? I punch my pillow, roll over, and close my eyes.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.

“Shut the hell up,” I mumble into my pillow. Why the hell is the alarm going off on a Saturday?

I hit snooze and close my eyes again. Why would it be going off? I didn’t set it?

Wait…

My eyes spring wide open.

The uniforms.

I throw my robe on and race to the laundry, pulling the jerseys from the washing machine and throwing them into the dryer. I go into the kitchen and flick the coffee machine on. I glance at the time on the oven. It’s 6:00 a.m. and it’s very quiet around here.

Oh, that’s right. The kids slept at Grandma’s and Judge Stupid is still asleep upstairs. I wonder what time the jerk got home.

I go to the window and peer down at the garage to see if I can see his Porsche in the driveway. Nope. He must have parked in the garage. Weird. I didn’t hear the garage door like I normally do. It annoys me that it sometimes wakes me up.

Damn it, I’m supposed to be on a post-date high right now, feeling relaxed and refreshed. Instead, I’m tired, menstrual, and I’m pissed—not a good combination to be in any situation. I hope that Tiffany bitch gets in my way today at soccer. I need an excuse to end somebody.

I make myself a cup of coffee and sit at the dining table. I want those jerseys dried and put away before anyone wakes up. Nobody will ever know I’m shit at this nanny gig.

My mind goes over last night’s events and I think I’m angrier now than I was last night, if that’s even possible. I get a vision of him being all witty and charming, and my blood boils.

I wonder… did he pick up that redhead in the end? I roll my eyes in disgust. Imagine if he brought her back here. What would I actually do if she walked down the stairs?

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I imagine them together or her in this house. I’d go batshit crazy if I saw her here now, no doubt about it. I’d probably lose control and karate kick Julian in the dick, too.

I smile as I imagine him doubled over in pain, begging for me not to kick him in the balls again.

Fucking twat.

God, I hate feeling like this. I thought my days of feeling like this were over.

I walk back to the laundry and open the dryer in a rush. The clothes are still wet. Damn it.

I walk back out into the house and look up the stairs.

He wouldn’t have brought her home. No way in hell.

I frown. Would he?

I blow out a deep breath because who knows? I mean, I never thought he would have treated me like he did last night.

Anything is possible now. I bite my lip, looking left and right to check that nobody can see me.

There’s nobody down here, stupid, I remind myself. He sleeps with his door a little ajar. If he brought her home, his door will definitely be closed. If it is… Heaven help him.

I tiptoe up the stairs. I just need to take a peek.

I peer down the hall and see his door is open.

I put my hand on my chest in relief. Thank God. But then I frown. His door, it’s too open.

I walk down the hall and look into his room to see his empty bed, unruffled, still made.

What?

He didn’t come home.

Are you kidding me? I storm back down the stairs like The Hulk. I go to the laundry and open the dryer, cursing when I see the clothes are still wet.

“Dry, motherfuckers!” I yell at the jerseys. “Do not mess with me today. Do you understand me?”

I get the second load out of the washing machine and begin to hang them around the heater on the small fold up clothesline. Why didn’t I think of doing this last night?

“Your stupidity astounds me,” I mutter under my breath.

I sit back down and make another cup of coffee, drinking every bit of it in silence.

He must be picking the kids up on the way home from Fucksville.

I get a vision of him walking in the door and me punching him fair and square in the nose, knocking him out. I’m sure if I looked in a mirror right now the whites of my eyes would be red. I’m like the exorcist before a kill.

I put my head into my hands.

Calm, calm… just keep calm.

He’s an idiot and you’re too good for him. He had sex with strawberry fucking shortcake last night.

I hear the car drive up the driveway, and I run to the window. Oh no.

They’re here.

I run to the laundry and start pulling the jerseys out of the dryer at double speed when something falls on the floor. Huh? I glance down and see a white thing. What’s that? I pick it up and see that it’s a very hot number seven.

My eyes widen.

I pull a jersey out of the dryer to see the number on the back of it is melting and hanging off.

Oh no.

What the hell?

I scramble through the jerseys. Sure enough, all of the numbers on the back are either completely fallen off or are half hanging off.

“Brelly!” Sammy calls from the kitchen.

I put my hands over my mouth. What the ever-loving fuck??

This can’t be happening. No… Dear God, no.

“Go and wake her up,” I hear Julian say to Willow.

‘I’m awake,’ I growl. ‘And in the middle of a nightmare.’

Willow comes into the laundry and her eyes widen when she sees the jersey I’m holding up. “Oh my God,” she cries. “What have you done?”

I wince and put my hands on the top of my head. “I don’t know!” I yell.

Julian walks into the laundry and his face falls as he sees the melted number two. “What the hell’s going on here? You can’t put those in the dryer. Don’t tell me you put those in the dryer!” he snaps.

“Of course I did!” I yell.

Willow starts crying and takes off upstairs, having a complete meltdown.

I know how she feels because I want to have one myself. This is unfucking believable.

Mr. Masters picks up the jerseys and starts to go through them.

“They’re all ruined,” he growls.

“What kind of crap jerseys can’t go in the damn dryer?” I cry.

“Every jersey in the damn world.”

Sammy snaps and punches his father on the leg as hard as he can. “Don’t yell at her,” he cries. “Stop it.” Then he bursts into tears.

My face falls. “Sammy, no, baby. It’s okay.” I pick him up and he howls into my shoulder. “Dad didn’t mean it.” I rock him as he has a meltdown, too. “You can’t ever hit Dad.”

Julian glares at me, and storms up the stairs to comfort Willow. I put my head on top of Sammy’s head as I rock him.

Yep…

Saturday’s off to a flying start.

Bring on the alcohol.

I sit in the fold up chair with Sammy on my lap as we wait for the game to begin. Julian took over the jersey situation this morning, because clearly, I couldn’t handle it. It turned out that there were two sets of jerseys in that bag, and combined with the ones that weren’t in the dryer, we nearly had a full team. Only four numbers were missing, and he ironed them back on temporarily while I freaked out. They are definitely going to fall off on the field, but at this point, who cares? I’m not talking to Julian, and Willow isn’t talking to me. Sammy isn’t talking to anyone but me, and this is one hell of a traumatic weekend.

Julian stands behind us with his arms folded, too wound up to sit down.

“Samuel, why did you hit me this morning?” he asks, unable to hold it in any longer.

I roll my lips, but I somehow keep my eyes on the field.

“Because I wanted you to stop it,” Samuel answers honestly.

“Stop what?”

“Yelling at Brelly. You’re going to make her leave.”

Oh no. “No, Sammy,” I say. “I’m not leaving. We were just having a discussion. You can have a discussion without anyone leaving.” I wrap my arms around him. Poor little kid.

“Do you promise?” he asks as he looks up at me with his worried little face.

“I promise. I’m not leaving,” I reply. “You don’t ever have to worry about that.” My eyes rise up to Julian, and he glares at me, furious that his own child chose to defend me over him.

I may kill your father, but I’m not leaving you, Sam.

He snuggles into my lap and the game begins. Soon enough, Sammy sees his little friend on the other field and runs off to play with him.

Julian and I watch the game in silence… until he chooses to speak.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly.

I stare at the field, unable to answer him.

“Aren’t you talking to me?”

I ignore him again. If I talk to him I’m going to lose my shit, and I have way too much dignity to do that here.

“What did you expect me to do?” he pushes.

“Stop talking,” I hiss. “I’m trying to watch the game.”

“Brell?” I hear a woman’s voice behind me, and we both turn to see Mr. Masters’ mother and father, Joseph and Frances, walking closer.

Oh, great. Just what I need. “Hello.” I smile as I stand to greet them.

They both kiss me on the cheek and stand beside me and their son.

“How’s she doing?” Frances asks as she watches Will on the field.

“Great.” I smile.

Julian’s eyes flicker over to me, silently accusing me of being a liar.

“Julian?” We hear another woman call out, and we all turn to see that stupid Rebecca.

“Hello.” He fakes a smile.

“Have you been hiding from me?” She laughs, putting her hand on his chest.

He chuckles uncomfortably.

I roll my eyes in complete disgust.

She flirts and laughs with him for ten minutes, making everyone cringe until I can’t take it anymore. “I’m going to check on Sammy,” I say.

I check on Sammy, and then I strategically go and stand on the other side of the field.

I can’t listen to that woman flirt with him for one moment longer.

Frances comes and stands beside me. “Good Lord, Brell, don’t leave me with that stupid woman.”

I roll my eyes. “I know, you need a bucket to listen to them fawn over him.”

She pulls a face and fakes a shiver. “Julian has this knack of attracting the worst women.”

“He likes it,” I reply, deadpan.

“Would you and Julian like to come over tonight… for dinner?” she asks hopefully. “I would love to repay the favour.”

Damn it, she’s being nice. “I can’t, I’m so sorry. I have plans.”

Her face falls. She thinks for a moment. “Do you have a date?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m going out with my friend, Emerson.”

“Oh.” She fakes a smile and links her arm through mine. “How lovely.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” I sigh.

She taps my arm. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Julian and his father walk around the field to stand with us.

“Mother, would it be alright if you took the children back to your house this afternoon? I would like to have a meeting with Miss Brielle in private.”

Her eyes widen in excitement. “Yes, great idea. Take Brell out for lunch for a meeting.” She taps my arm. “And if you can talk her out of cancelling her date tonight, I can have the children so you can take her dancing.”

Why, that old snake…

Julian’s face falls. “You have a date tonight?” he asks, horrified.

“Yes.” I hesitate because I’m the worst liar in the world. “I do.”

“Who with?” he snaps.

“A doctor,” Frances replies as she squeezes my arm.

I frown at her. What are you doing, you senile, old woman?

“What doctor?”

His father smirks as he pretends to watch the game.

“None of your business,” I tell him. “Why don’t you go and ask one of the desperate, dateless soccer mums to go dancing.” I pretend to watch the game. “Or Strawberry Shortcake. She’s always up for a good time.”

He narrows his eyes, knowing exactly who I mean.

“Who’s Strawberry Shortcake?” his mother whispers under her breath.

“Julian’s rude work friend.”

“She’s not rude. It was a business meeting,” he defends.

“She’s more than just the nanny,” I offer sarcastically.

Julian fakes a smile.

“I’m lost,” his mother whispers, thinking only I can hear. “Who’s stupid?”

“He is,” I reply.

His father smiles at the field, entertained by our conversation.

“Oh, because putting the jerseys in the dryer is so intelligent.” Julian sneers.

I glare at him and squeeze his mother’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, but in Australia, we can put our jerseys in the dryer. I’m not used to these United Kingdom inferior products… or men.’

His father chuckles again as he looks at his phone. “Oh, I see. Strawberry Shortcake is a doll from the eighties with red hair.” He holds the phone out to show us.

Julian rolls his eyes, and I bite my lip to hide my smile. Has his father really being googling Strawberry Shortcake all this time?

“Julian?” A woman calls from the other side of the field. We look over and see a woman smiling and waving in an exaggerated manner.

He fakes a smile and waves back.

“Good grief.” His mother sighs. “These women are unbearable.”

“They’re a perfect match for him,” I mutter as I watch the game. “Julian, go over and stand with her so she doesn’t come over here talking, please.”

Julian’s mother giggles and taps my arm that’s still in hers. “Oh, I really like you, Brell.” She glances at Julian. “Are you sure you two can’t go dancing tonight?”

“Positive,” we both say at the same time.

I need to get out of this conversation. “I’m going to get a coffee. Anyone want one?” I ask.

“Yes, please,” Julian and his father both say.

“I’ll come with you, dear.” His mother smiles, keeping her hand tightly linked through mine as we walk across the fields.

“Who’s Strawberry Shortcake?” she whispers.

I roll my eyes. “You’re very nosey.”

“This is true. Go on.”

“You can’t tell him I told you.”

She crosses her fingers over her chest. “God’s honor.”

“I went out with Julian last night as a friend.” Her eyes widen in excitement. “You did?”

“Don’t get excited. It was a disaster.”

“Why?”

“He ignored me for two hours and spoke to a hot redhead from his work.”

Her eyes narrow. “Strawberry Shortcake?”

I nod.

“I always hated that doll,” she mutters.

“Anyway, I left, we had a fight, and then he went back out and didn’t come home all night.”

“Well, he was at my house.”

“What?” I frown.

“He came back to my house to get the kids and ended up falling asleep on the sofa, so he decided to stay the night.”

“Oh.”

She frowns. “You didn’t think…”

I shrug.

“No, Brelly.” She taps my arm and pulls me closer. “He was with us.”

I shake my head in disgust. “It doesn’t matter. We’re just friends, so…” I shrug. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?” She frowns. “That can’t be it.”

I look at her deadpan. “That’s totally it.”

“Talk to him this afternoon. Maybe you can go out and work it out tonight.”

I pull from her grip. “I’m not working it out with him. He’s weird, he’s a weird person…” I hesitate, because that sounded so rude. “No offence, he’s a lovely man, but—”

“None taken. He is weird.” She laughs. “And this is exactly why I like you. You are so refreshingly honest. Julian needs someone like you in his life.”

I pat her arm and link it back through mine. “I don’t like Julian. He’s not the man for me.” I sigh. “But do you want to have coffee and cake on Tuesday?”

She smiles broadly. “I’d love to.”

The drive back to Julian’s house is made in complete silence. The children have gone back to his mother’s so we can talk about last night.

Too bad for him, I’ve got nothing to talk about. I’m going inside, I’m packing my things, and I’m going to Emerson’s for the weekend. I don’t even care if she’s not home and I have to sit out on the curb waiting for her. Anything is better than being with Julian right now.

I’m still so mad that it’s not even funny. He parks the car and I get out, marching up to the house.

“Can we talk, please?” he asks.

“I have nothing to talk about, Julian,” I call over my shoulder.

“I do.”

“Call somebody then, because I’m not talking.”

I walk through the house, into my room, and I take out my overnight bag.

What shall I wear out tonight? Hmm, something insanely hot. I begin to go through my wardrobe and lay things out on the bed. I take out some cute black, lacy underwear and lay it on top of a black dress.

He walks into my room.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Packing my stuff.”

His eyes roam over the underwear on the bed. “You have a date tonight?”

“Yes.” I continue looking through my drawers.

“Where did you meet him?”

“None of your business. Get out.”

He exhales heavily. “Can we talk about last night, please?”

“No.” I bend and begin to look through my shoes in the bottom of my walk in wardrobe.

“I didn’t want anyone to know that we were together.”

I throw my high heels onto the bed with force. “We’re not together.”

“She’s just a girl that I work with,” he adds.

“I don’t care who she is. This isn’t about her.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “What is it about then?”

My eyes rise up to him. “You can’t be that fucking stupid.”

“Try me.”

“This is about you and your inability to communicate.”

“I communicate,” he hits back, outraged. “I communicate very well.”

“You have no idea how to communicate with anybody, not even your children.”

“That is not true.”

“Okay then, smartass. You found out what that girl said to Willow last week about her mother at the soccer game. Did you bring it up and talk to her?”

He frowns. “I don’t want to upset her.”

“Ignoring her is upsetting her!” I yell. “Tell me. Tell me the last time you talked about anything with either of your children that was about them.”

“What? I talk to them every day. What are you on about?”

“You talk to them about what’s on television, world events, what they are eating, homework, school related things. You have trivial conversations, nothing more, nothing less.”

He frowns harder.

“When was the last time that you asked them about something personal? Willow played golf last week and she was really, really good, but you didn’t even discuss it with her. Why? Why are you like this?”

“Because I don’t have the pleasure of being the fun parent. I have to be the disciplinarian.”

My face creases. “They are good kids. They don’t need a disciplinarian. They need a father to show them how to love.”

He drops his head and then his eyes flash up to me angrily. “This is none of your business. I will not discuss my children with you.”

“You wanted to talk. This is me talking.” I fold my arms over my chest. “While we are at it, why are there no photos of their mother anywhere in this house?” I add.

His eyes flare with anger. “Don’t go there.”

“No. I want to know. Why is there no evidence that she ever existed? Her kids deserve to remember her. They are a part of her but they’re being brought up as if she never existed.”

“Fucking get out!” he roars.

“You’re in my room. You get out!” I scream.

His eyes hold mine, and I can see that the comment about his wife hurt him. Regret fills me. “Julian, childhood is supposed to be filled with mess and love and laughter.” We stand in silence for a moment. “I just don’t want you to look back one day and wonder why you’re not close with your children.”

“I love my children. More than anything, I love my children,” he replies sadly.

“I know you do.”

“Well, what are you saying then?”

“I’m saying that you need to learn to give yourself to them.”

“I do. I give them my all!” he cries.

“You give them stability. They need compassion and understanding. They need you to be their friend, too.”

His eyes narrow and fall to my underwear on the bed. “And what about last night? I was just trying to protect you from gossip.”

“I don’t need protecting. Like your children, I want compassion and understanding.”

He shakes his head, pausing for a moment. “Before we went out… when we were here…” His voice trails off.

“When we were here, what?”

His eyes rise to meet mine. “You threw me.”

I frown. “Threw you?”

He runs both of his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. You just did.” His eyes rise to meet mine. “I was genuinely excited to be going out with you…”

“What’s wrong with that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t do normal relationships, Bree. I have no fucking idea what’s going on between us.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m fucking confused, okay?”

“Julian,” I sigh.

He grabs my hand. “Don’t go out tonight. Stay here with me.”

I exhale heavily and he puts his arms around me to pull me close. “I just…” He hesitates. “I just.” He stops himself talking again.

I pull out of his arms. “Julian, I get that you don’t want a relationship. I get that we have no future. But I will never understand the way you made me feel last night. I would never treat a friend like that.”

His face falls.

“You need to get your shit together. I can’t be in a friends with benefits set up if there isn’t even a friendship.”

“Bree.” He goes to grab me again, but I pull away from him. “Don’t Bree me.”

His eyes search mine. “Are you really going out with someone else tonight?”

“Yes.”

His jaw clenches in anger. “Consider us done if you do.”

I smirk and shake my head in disbelief. “You ended us last night, Jules. Don’t put this back on me.”

He drops his head and stares at the floor.

“Can you get out, please?” I ask. “I want to get ready.”

He turns and walks out, and I watch the door close behind him.

Regret curls deep in my stomach

That feels unexpectedly final.