The Space Within (The Book of Phoenix #3) by Kristie Cook Page B

argued for a few moments in hushed tones. Brandon peered over his shoulder at me and turned back to Brock with a scowl, but then he nodded. Brock headed over to his Audi.
    “Let’s go for that test drive,” Brandon said to me as he walked back over to my car. I supposed he won that argument.
    Facing the reality of getting into the car with him in control caused a nervous band of butterflies to flutter in my stomach. Not the good kind either. I was about to change my mind about the whole transaction, but was able to force myself into the passenger seat. I needed the money. And surely Brock wouldn’t be associated with a psychopath, right? Wouldn’t that be really bad for his mother’s celebrity status? Of course, I knew firsthand what guys with their kind of money could get away with and keep silenced from the public. Which was why I kept a handgun in the glove compartment and my hands on my knees for the entire ride, only inches from the latch.
    “So?” I asked after we’d been driving for about ten minutes. “She drives nice, right?”
    “Yeah,” Brandon muttered. “She’s great.”
    His voice was off. Something had changed his mind. When we turned into a familiar neighborhood, my hand slid closer to the glove compartment. Maybe this really had been a ruse. When he pulled into Brock’s driveway and climbed out without a word, the butterflies became eagles, making my stomach clench. Brock pulled up next to us, and Brandon gave him a nod then sauntered down the street. Anger replaced the fear. I jumped out of the car.
    “What the hell did you do?” I demanded of Brock, who’d made his way around his car by now. “I needed to make this sale! Who do you think you are, anyway, you arrogant son of a—”
    “Asia?” called a female voice from behind me. I spun around to find Hope outside with her baby, who’d grown so much already, on her hip. “I heard you still need a job.”

Chapter 8

    The semi-famous author stood on the front walk in jeans and a red t-shirt, her hair again swept up and clipped to the back of her head, and her face void of makeup. And yet, she was still stunning. She held one arm under the baby’s butt and her other hand against his back and head as he leaned against her shoulder. I supposed enough time had finally passed that I didn’t have quite the same reaction to him as I did last time, but I still had an overwhelming desire to hold him … and to run away, too.
    Hope stared at me expectantly. I stared back for a long moment as everything computed, and then I turned toward Brock. He wore a proud grin.
    “You both have a problem, and you’re each other’s solution,” he said.
    I turned back toward Hope. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Verdor. This was not at all … I didn’t plan … I had no idea …”
    I stopped, unable to form coherent sentences as a bazillion thoughts ran through my mind.
    Hope tilted her head, then moved her gaze to her son. “Brock, what did you do? You said—”
    “Mom,” Brock interrupted, and he paused briefly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You seriously need help. You’re trying to do it all, and making yourself insane, along with the rest of us. If family is really your first priority, do us all a favor and hire the assistant you know you need.”
    His mother stared at him with her mouth partly open. Before she could say anything Brock turned to me.
    “Asia, you obviously need a job. You’re selling the car, which you called your baby , for the money, aren’t you?”
    Heat rose to my cheeks. Hope’s open-mouthed stare turned on me now. I flushed even harder.
    “Do you remember what I said about this being none of your damn business?” I hissed through clenched teeth.
    “Just listen for a moment,” he pleaded. “Mom loved you. Told me everything about the interview, and she really wanted to hire you, but shit was weird here for a while. It’s settled down now, and she needs you so damn bad that if she doesn’t hire you herself, I’ll