Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 7640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 7640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 38(@200wpm)___ 31(@250wpm)___ 25(@300wpm)
I reach for the journal and shove it between the cushions to my right, while Bella remains on my left. If she notices my actions, she blows it off, her sole focus on convincing me to eat ice cream.
“Okay,” she says. “I have four flavors, all my favorites.” She indicates pints with the touch of her hand. “Milk chocolate peanut butter. Cookies and cream. Key lime pie. And finally.” She taps the final pint. “Cookie dough. I think chocolate peanut butter fits you. It’s rich and complicated.”
My brows shoot up. “I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.”
“Depends on the day and if you’ve pissed me off that day, which is fairly often, by your own decision to do so, of course.”
She’s not wrong. I push my employees to be all they can be, even when it’s uncomfortable. I don’t play the game of pretending otherwise. “And yet, here you sit,” I point out, “in my living room.”
“I’m crazy like that,” she concurs. “And you have done a lot for my brother so I owe you.”
She’s talking about Dash’s obsession with underground fighting that he couldn’t control even if the scandal it equaled might have halted the development of his books into Hollywood films. Fighting was a drug, and just as Dash once forced me to let go of the booze as a crutch, I did the same for him with fighting. I forced him to walk away.
“I protected my interests,” I say, dismissing a personal side to this that creates an obligation to me she does not possess.
“And mine,” she replies glibly. “He’s my client, too.”
“He’s your brother.”
“And your friend.”
My cellphone chooses that moment to ring, and the idea that this might be the detective working on Allison’s case, has me tuning out Bella’s relentless attempt to humanize me and reaching for my phone. I grimace as I find my mother’s number on the caller ID, clamping down on the emotional spike that declares me human after all, I push to my feet. “I need to take this.” I don’t look at Bella.
I walk a few feet to the patio door and step outside again, the rain pitter-pattering, with no sign of easing. “Mother,” I greet, at this point using my earbuds.
“You aren’t going to show up, are you?”
“I cannot, in good conscience, go to an event meant to honor that man.”
She’s silent a beat that stretches into two. “Good. Because I’m not going, either. You were right. The memorial was foolish. It only serves to paint me as stupid all over again.” There’s a hitch to her voice that bloodies my heart all over again.
I lean on the table as if it might just hold the burden of life beating down on me and her right now, and offer some form of relief. “You aren’t stupid, Mother. You were a wife who loved her husband.”
“I was a wife who stayed too long. Stop trying to give me an excuse for being foolish. It serves no purpose.”
No good purpose, I think, before I say, “A friend brought me ice cream and lots of it. Apparently, it’s supposed to lift one’s spirits. Why don’t you come over?”
“Thank you, son, but I’m actually headed to the airport. A client of mine has been hitting on me for years. I turned him down, of course, but I was flattered. I called him before I called you. He offered to take me to Europe to escape the press. I said yes.”
Two years ago, my mother left the firm to start an investment firm, in which many of our clients are now involved. The idea that I know this man, isn’t hard to assume. Protectiveness bristles. “Who’s this client?”
“No one you know,” she says. “And he can’t be worse than your father. I’ll call you tomorrow once I’m settled in. Take care of yourself, Tyler. And forget living in your father’s shadow.”
“Easier said than done,” I remind her, not that she needs to be reminded. The press is doing a beautiful job of that for us all.
“That’s why I left the firm to start my own business,” she replies. “To step out from under his dominant presence. But now he’s gone. And I’ve moved on. You’re acting CEO but the ‘acting’ title is a mere formality. I have no idea why your father delayed the reading of his will for sixty days, but it doesn’t matter. That firm is yours. Act like it and you will not fail.” She disconnects.
I let the phone disconnect and stand there, watching the rain pitter patter and bounce off the concrete of the patio wall. If only the impact of my father’s actions were as easy to deflect.
“Tyler.”
At the sound of Bella’s voice, I rotate to face her. She’s standing there, in her hosed feet, the light casting her in a glow, her hair messed up, and I didn’t even help get the job done.