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)
“You do,” I informed him. “Which in this case means finding whatever accommodations you can. Remember, I’ve been sleeping in the bus for a week, and now I’m staying in JT’s old room since all the Wellbridges’ guest rooms are full. That’s simply how things are right now.”
“But if you asked—”
“I won’t,” I interrupted. “Not when you have a perfectly fine place to stay… and not after what happened last time you stayed with Patricia and Trent.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Brant groaned. “You think they’re still pissy about last summer? I told everyone it was all a joke! People took it way too seriously and turned it into a whole thing, but you made me apologize. Like, get over it already.”
“Apologizing doesn’t mean a guarantee of forgiveness or that there won’t be consequences,” I said sharply. “One of the consequences in this case is that you’ll have to stay where you are. Understand?”
After a moment, Brant sighed. “Yeah. Whatever.”
He sounded a bit unhappy, but frankly, I’d expected a lot more pushback and to offer a lot more bribes to make Brantleigh accept the situation—which was not because I’d taken ownership of his life, as certain people had incorrectly suggested, thank you very much, but because I’d given in too often and spoiled him too much.
“So what time did you want to meet tomorrow?” he asked again. “And when do I fill out the paperwork to get paid and stuff?”
“I’ll have HR call you tomorrow morning.” I sat on the edge of the bed and smiled a bit for the first time since Reagan had walked out. “You’re eager to get to work, huh? Like father, like son,” I teased.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Definitely. I have some ideas about my job title and whatnot. But first, I’m gonna need to get some decent clothes. Not sure there’s anything designer in a hundred-mile radius, but there have to be some boutiques in Portland—”
“Whatever you have is fine, and I have a bunch of Elustre samples I can give you, too. Send January your sizes, and I’ll have her send you more. That way, we can post your picture to the company Instagram, if you’re okay with that—”
“Hell yeah. That would be sick,” he agreed. “You can tag me, too.”
I chuckled. “Great. You know, I’m really pleased that you’re so enthusiastic about this job. Just promise you won’t go too far overboard and become a workaholic like your old man,” I joked. “Balance is the key.”
He snorted. “Like you know any damn thing about balance.”
“Hey! I know plenty, even if I don’t always put it into practice. Focusing too much on work and making it your only purpose is almost as bad as not having any purpose at all. It can prevent you from having relationships with the people in your life who matter.” I cleared my throat. “I never wanted that for you.”
I wasn’t sure when I’d started wanting it for myself.
An image of Reagan surfaced in my mind, as it did so often these days, and I wondered what balance would look like with him in my life. Though I’d never been the type to sit on a couch and watch the snow fall, or stroll Central Park in spring sunshine, or cut out of work early for a long summer weekend, it was shockingly easy to picture myself doing all of those things as long as a pair of aquamarine eyes were at my side, warm and teasing and steady.
But that was just a fantasy. In reality, critical eyes would follow us anytime we strolled together, noting the difference in our ages. People at work would whisper when Reagan took time off to vacation with the boss. The media would have a field day as the Billionaire Dates Politician Friend’s Son headlines wrote themselves. And what were the chances Reagan wanted to curl up on a sofa when he could be out with younger, non-workaholic friends, doing Instagrammable things?
“So, tomorrow,” Brant said, bringing my attention back to the call. “Meet at twelve or twelve thirty? Maybe at that Tavern place with the cute bartender?”
I frowned. “Brant, our first event at the Investment Summit starts at twelve thirty. You did see the schedule of events, right?”
“Yeah. Sort of. I mean, I didn’t memorize it—”
“Never mind. Layla might need your help with preparation, so let’s meet at ten.”
“In the morning? Dad, I’m still mostly on West Coast time…”
“Fine,” I conceded. “Noon, then, at the Tavern. McGee’s picking up a rental car, and I can have him grab you at eleven forty-five—”
“McGee.” Brantleigh said my driver’s name sourly. “Not necessary. I have a rental.”
“Alright.” My lips twitched. I’d never liked the animosity between McGee and Brant, but if it spurred Brant to take more personal responsibility, that could only be a good thing.
I changed into a suit, and pausing for only half a second outside Reagan’s closed door, I made my way back downstairs for dinner with the Wellbridges.