Chapter 2

Imogen

I’m not impressed to say the least. Here I am back at my folks home in Minnesota with my mom clucking around me like a mother hen. Anybody would think that I’ve never been back since I left to work in a restaurant in New York City. That didn’t work out too well for me and I set up on my own as a nutrionist to some seriously wealthy people. Er, that didn’t work out too great either. 

“Oh, my it’s so good to have you home sweetie.” She says wrapping me in her arms and almost suffocating me. I glance over my shoulder and see dad standing behind her with the broadest smile on his face you could possibly imagine. 

“Good to see you, honey.” He says, naturally waiting his turn to squeeze the living daylights out of me too. This is what happens every time I come home. It’s always the same. They fuss and pamper me like they haven’t seen me for years. Jeez. I come home every Thanksgiving holiday, Christmas and New Year and Easter. I’ll always travel back for their birthdays and I’ve been known to come back to watch Atlas play hockey. So there you have it. This is not a case of not having been in their home since I left for New York three years ago at the tender age of eighteen. A lot has happened since then.

It didn’t best please them that I decided to leave for New York in the first place, but I was and still am headstrong. Atlas says it’s the worst trait I have and that once I’ve made my mind up, that’s it come hell or high water there’s no changing my mind. He’s right. Of course he is. That’s me in a nutshell. Studying at uni wasn’t for me even though I had the grades to get in. I wanted to be out in the big world earning some real money for myself and I always wanted to be a nutrionist preferably to the stars. That’s a bit of a laugh because even though I managed to work my way through an online programme with New York Uni, which by the way was not easy – I never bagged any famous clients. Rich ones, sure because there’s something about people with money. They all want to look slim and like they’re in the prime of their youth. 

It was at the restaurant I worked at that I met Hayden. He was exciting and interesting and only working there part-time since he was studying law. We kind of used to hang out together and go to bars and clubs then one night we fell into bed. It was okay. It wasn’t earth shattering and to be honest it left me thinking, wow is this all there is to sex? No fireworks, no trumpets blasting. Where’s the orchestra? It was flat. His kissing was sloppy, nothing electric happened. My body didn’t zing and zap, I never had butterflies. Nothing. Nada. 

We dated on and off, very casually for the three years I was in New York until I realized I wasn’t going to be able to make sufficient money on my own to continue renting. Oh yeah, I forgot to say I was renting with three other girls all models who loved that I could whizz up delicious and filling meals without all the carbs and calories. I was like their best friend. Gradually, four became three, then two then one as they all moved away to other places. 

Beta went to live in Madrid, Heather jetted off to Paris, Kate when to LA and then there was just me with soaring rent to pay and a landlord who decided he had to hike the prices up. So, when Atlas told me had a job for me all lined up, I couldn’t believe it.

The stipulation was that I had to come back home to Minnesota. Okay, so that isn’t too bad. I mean I love home, I just wanted to spread my wings but I’ve done that and it didn’t work out too great for me. Sure, I had plenty of fun with the girls and with Hayden, if you leave out the sex that was just boring but home is home, right? Atlas told me that the position was live in too and when he told me how much I was going to be paid, I almost collapsed on the floor. It’s more than my New York apartment cost in a year. Holy Shit. That’s right. It’s a huge amount of money the client is paying me and with free board and lodging. How hard can it be? 

“Hey you made it.” Atlas says as he comes through the front door with my luggage. A lot of luggage. I don’t travel lightly, a girl needs her shoes, boots and clothes. “What the fuck have you got in all these bags, a house?” 

“Atlas, language.” My mother says. She’s adorable. 

“Just shut up and take them upstairs. Or actually, since I’m moving in with the client tomorrow, how about leave them in the hallway.” 

“Not in the hallway, darling.” Dad says. “We’re bound to trip over them.” He has a point. 

“I’ll stick them in here.” Atlas says as he opens the door to Dad’s office which he isn’t using so much these days now that he is pretty much retired from his law practice. He does have it still running but has other people who work the cases. If it’s something pretty interesting then dad will take it on. He favours mostly clients who are fighting a cause against big companies, he’s superb at his job and has won an awful lot of cases. 

“Come in, come in.” Mom ushers us straight through the hallway into the large kitchen. It’s a beautiful space, all stripped pine cabinets and some painted in vintage olive green. Offering a subdued and cosy cottage vibe. In the middle is a large island with a granite counter and four stools surround it. There’s a bowl of fresh fruit on it and some flowers no doubt mom has picked from her extensive garden of shrubs, flowers and plants. It’s definitely cosy. 

Atlas sits down on one of the stools after he’s helped himself to a large glass of cold milk from the fridge. “Are you ready to start your new job, little sis?” He asks. 

“Already with the little, jerk.” I say. “I’m only three years younger than you.” 

“You’re always going to be Imi-Imi.” He says with a smile on his way too handsome face, his baby blue eyes shine brightly. We’ve always been close and even though I’d never admit it to him, I love him to pieces. He’s my big bro.

“So, who’s the client? Does he or she have a name?” I ask pouring myself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the island. Mom busies herself in the kitchen adding some cherries to a sponge cake she’s made with icing on it. I can’t wait to dig in, I’m hungry since I didn’t eat on board my flight. 

Atlas gulps. Okay, so what’s he not telling me? 

“It better not be some jumped up dickhead who’s arrogant and a royal pain in the butt.” I say watching him closely. Mom ignores our banter, she’s used to it. So long as we don’t say any major swear words she doesn’t mind too much. Dad has gone off, no doubt to put the TV on and start watching re-runs of Atlas’ game earlier. 

“Atlas. Tell me.” I sound insistent. 

He coughs. “Cody.” It doesn’t register with me at first. There’s thousands of guys with the name Cody in this country. Actually, it’s a pretty common name. Then it hits me like a crash on the head. 

“Cody as in Cody Brannigan?” I am almost stuttering. I feel dizzy and my head begins to spin. Atlas is nodding, he daren’t speak.

“That fucking man-whore jerk?” I say. My mother swings around alarmed at the vocabulary that just flew out of my mouth. 

“Imogen. Enough.” 

“Sorry, Mom.” 

“How could you, Atlas?” I want to punch my brother right in the face. Of all the people in the world, Cody fucking Brannigan. Is he for real? I can’t stand him, like I really cannot stand the arrogant piece of shit. In less than twenty-four hours, I’m going to come face to face with the guy who taunted and teased me mercilessly as a kid, who poked fun at me, who said horrid things to me and has become, in my opinion the biggest prick around.