He stared at me, and his surprise was replaced with a slow smile. “Michael? I’m sorry, you trailed off there. I didn’t catch your last name.”
I barked out a laugh, because honestly, what else could I do?
The guy he was with looked between us, then recognition dawned. “Oh . . . Oh, this is your nameless guy?” He stared at me with no attempt at hiding his grin. “Oh, this is perfect.”
SAF cleared his throat and nodded toward his friend. “Terrence Huang, this is Michael . . .” He deliberately trailed off.
I shot him a quick dirty glare before turning to Terrence. “Nice to meet you, Terrence. My name is Michael Piersen.” Then I looked right at SAF. “Piersen. With an e. P-i-e-r-s-e-n. And you must be Bryson Schroeder.”
He stared for a long, heart-stopping moment. “Correct.” He held out his hand, which I shook without thinking. “It’s very nice to meet you, Michael Piersen. With an e.”
“Likewise, Bryson Schroeder,” I replied, and we both seemed to notice at the same time that we still had hold of each other’s hand.
“Well, I’m glad this isn’t awkward at all,” Terrence said brightly.
Right. Right. Business first. Christ, Michael. I took a step back. “Yes, sorry. As I said before, Natalie sends her apologies. There was an accident in the Harbour Tunnel and she’s stuck in gridlocked traffic. Which is most unfortunate. She was disappointed not to be here.”
“It’s not that unfortunate,” SAF replied casually. “I mean, then you wouldn’t be here.”
I withheld the laugh of incredulity I wanted to let out and focused on the manila folder I was holding instead. I read straight from the listing information. “This site is eighty-six square metres, with existing gas and water connections with grease trap and kitchen exhaust, if you’re looking at food and beverage. Approximately twenty metres squared of space is available in the basement, comprising large cool room and secure dry storage. Lease terms are negotiable, one year or three. Rent per annum is fixed at 99,600.”
“Eleven hundred and fifty-eight per square metre, Bryce,” Terrence said. “Plus fit-out at 1,600 per square metre, and you’re going to need 250k upfront. That’s 20,800 a month before you start, and if you want to maintain a percent margin of—”
I let them talk about figures and percentages and profit margins. Clearly Terrence was a genius at maths and Bryson wasn’t far behind him. I’d have needed a calculator and ten minutes to work that out.
Bryson . . .
His name was Bryson.
It suited him, if names could suit a person.
God, I couldn’t believe of all the people in this city that I had to run to meet for a last-minute appointment, it had to be him.
Of all the people.
And Schroeder. He was Schroeder fucking Hotels. When he said he was staying at a hotel in Circular Quay, I just assumed it was temporary, between staying at his dad’s and returning from two years overseas.
I had no way of knowing he was living there because his family owned it.
Fucking hell.
He’d talked about his dad being successful and a little overbearing at times, with high expectations and standards. It was no wonder, given he was a luxury hotel magnate.
Fucking hell, again.
“Uh, excuse me, Michael?” His voice snapped me from the spiral of my thoughts.
I turned and smiled. “Yes?” God, I hadn’t heard a word they’d said.
“You’re . . . distracted,” Bryson said, smirking like he knew why.
I met his gaze and held it. “Sorry. What can I help you with?” I tried for some modicum of professionalism, though we all knew that ship had sailed the second he’d walked in.
His smug fucking smile just about did me in. “I just asked if we could take a look at the basement storage?”
“Yes, of course. This way,” I said, taking them through to the back where the stairs were. I stood at the top of the stairs, giving him space to go down. I assumed he wasn’t trying to get me down there by himself—as much as I wished he might.
Bryson got halfway down the steps when he noticed Terrence wasn’t following. “Terrence? You coming?”
Terrence looked at me. “No. I’m good, thanks.”
Bryson stared at him, firing flaming daggers with his eyes. There was definitely an unspoken conversation between them, but Bryson eventually turned and went down to the basement by himself. It wasn’t a big space. He certainly didn’t need a babysitter.
I could feel Terrence’s gaze burning into me. I glanced his way and he raised an eyebrow. “So . . . you and Bryce?”
I’m sure I blushed scarlet fucking red. “In a professional capacity, Mr Schroeder—”
“Now he’s Mr Schroeder?”
Christ. I was getting the third degree by his friend. Who very obviously knew all about me. “I didn’t even know his name until twenty minutes ago.”
Terrence shook his head. “He’s not his name. That’s not all he is. He’s more than that.”
“I know that,” I replied a little frostily. Because I did know that. I’d spent weeks getting to know him, little morsels of information here and there, without ever knowing what preconceptions his name would bring. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want me to know who he was. When I spoke next time, it was more of a whisper. “I know who he is.”
Terrence nodded because he knew I got it. Bryson didn’t want me to know he was a Schroeder. He wanted me to know who he was, not his name.
He was funny and smart, generous and attentive. He was compassionate. He loved movies and TV shows with subtitles, and vintage T-shirts. He loved all kinds of foods, and he carried around the weight of expectations of a rich and famous father. And he was really, really good in bed.
“Don’t let this change anything,” Terrence murmured just as Bryson came back up the stairs.
“Are you two done talking about me?”
“No,” Terrence replied casually. “If you could give us a few more minutes.”
Bryson smiled as he trudged up the last few stairs. “Not a chance.”
“This place has potential. Great location,” I said, my professionalism in tatters. “Can I ask what kind of business you need a space for?”
Bryson looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of daring and caution. “You can ask, but—”
My phone buzzed in my hand, interrupting him. Natalie’s name appeared on the screen. Goddammit. “This is Natalie. I’ll have to take this; please excuse me a moment.” I stepped away to the front of the store and I saw Bryson shove Terrence and Terrence laughed. This was all going so badly. With a sigh, I answered the call. “Natalie.”
“I’m still stuck. Haven’t moved at all. How is it going with the client?”
“It’s going great. We’re still at York Street. I think he likes it, but we’ll head to Kent Street now.”
“Can I speak to Mr Schroeder?”
I frowned. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s necessary?”
She was quiet for a second. “Michael.”
Fucking hell.
I walked back over to Bryson and held my phone out. “Sorry to interrupt. Natalie Yang would like a quick word.”