Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“The only lasting relationship in my life is with Pennington Industries,” I admitted. “Eventually, I drive everyone else away. Why the hell would I do that to someone I lo—care about?”
“Well,” she said practically. “At a guess, I’d say you wouldn’t. The answer’s in the question. I never got the sense that you loved Heather. She was pretty, and she never asked for more than you wanted to give, so it was easy enough to be with her and then just as easy to let her go. With me… we were teenagers when we got together, more interested in the idea of being in love than actually doing the work it would have taken to stay married.”
“Yeah.” I’d accepted that truth a long time ago.
“So, you picked the wrong people. Twice. Big deal. Are you telling me you’ve never made a wrong turn in business? Never… I don’t know… funded the wrong project? Never put too much faith in the wrong people?”
“Obviously, I have.” I thought uncomfortably of Layla and all the things I’d stopped Reagan from telling me the other night. “Possibly recently.”
“Right. But you’re not breaking up with Pennington, are you? And you haven’t run it into the ground, unless I’ve missed some really big headlines. You care too much to let it fail, so you make the company a priority—figuring out what it needs, how to make it thrive, all that good stuff. And when you make a mistake, you take the time and trouble to correct it, even when it’s complicated and it’d be easier to say ‘fuck it.’” I could almost hear her shrug. “Hate to break it to you, but relationships with humans are pretty similar. The difference is, unlike a billion-dollar corporation, a human partner will simultaneously be prioritizing you and your needs… while also fucking you on the regular, which is a nice bonus if you’re into that sort of thing.”
She made it sound so simple, and maybe it was. But it definitely wasn’t easy. I had no idea where to begin. And the not-knowing was uncomfortable.
“Back to the original subject,” I said roughly. “We need to figure out what to do about Brantleigh. Or,” I said, remembering my conversation at dinner the night before, “what not to do. Have you heard about some article in the Times that says parents who view their kids as problematic create a self-fulfilling prophesy?”
“Actually, yes,” she agreed. “Because we jump in to provide them solutions rather than letting them learn they’re capable of figuring out solutions themselves. That’s why I told you that Paul and I aren’t giving Brant money anymore. If he wants to come here, he can live with me. I don’t want to see him on the street. But if he needs more out of life than a bed and three hot meals—and I really hope he does—he can figure out a way to get it without my interference. Or rescue,” she added. “It’s the failures in life that teach you what you really want and the kind of person you want to be.”
I blew out a breath and moved toward a display of candy and selected a toffee and chocolate bar for McGee, a Snickers for me, and a pack of watermelon bubble gum for Reagan. After so many days together stopping at rest stop gas stations, I knew everyone’s preferences without having to think. “Someone recently told me it’s funny how parents want to give their kids what they need but never seem to get that what they need is independence and respect.”
“Mmm. Your Reagan sounds like someone I want to know,” Thalia said.
“How do you know Reagan said it?” I asked, amused and more than a little excited about the idea of someone else calling him my Reagan.
“Dreamy voice,” she said succinctly. “Listen, talk to Brant. Explain that we’re giving up running his life for him but not giving up on him. And then I’ll get him back here, and we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
“Agreed. Thanks a lot, Thalia.”
When I put my phone away, I approached the counter and mumbled an apology to Pop.
He smiled and shook his head. “Nah. Family comes first. You’re Thatcher Pennington, right? The boy who helped our Flynn expand his business? We’re all grateful.”
It had been a while since I’d been called a boy, and I found myself smiling. “I’m the grateful one, sir. Your grandson is a keen businessman. You must be proud.”
“Of course.” Pop took my candy and rang it up on his giant, old-fashioned cash register. “Firecracker was always going to be a success. You couldn’t stop him even if you wanted to. Just like Mr. Important.” He leaned across the counter like he was imparting a secret. “I heard you talking about Reagan on your call. I should probably apologize for eavesdropping, but I love hearing someone say nice things about one of my favorite Honeybridgers.”