Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
"Is anyone compared to Liam?" Briar asks.
Opal laughs. "Was anyone? No. That's true." She looks at me. "Take care of her."
"I will," I say.
"I mean it, Liam! Don't fuck this up. Briar is my favorite future sister-in-law," she says.
"What do you say to Danielle?" Briar asks.
"My favorite future sister-in-law with purple hair," she says.
"She didn't qualify Simon being her favorite," Briar says.
"I noticed that too." I mime being stabbed in the gut. "You're brutal, kid."
Opal smiles. "Liam… you know you're my favorite brother… who's a CFO."
"You really have the Pierce charm." Briar laughs. "I believed that."
"It's true." She turns to Briar. "Will you help me dye my hair purple?"
"You're not dying your hair purple," Simon says.
"I'm an adult," Opal says.
"If you keep bringing it up, you weaken your case," Briar says. "Just do it. He can't stop you once it's done."
Opal taps her chin, taking in the advice. "Smart. Very smart."
"Is this your natural color?" Briar asks.
Opal nods.
"You'll fry it if you bleach it light enough for purple. Even with a lot of TLC."
Opal frowns. "That's what my stylist says."
"It's pretty like this."
"Yeah, but it gets boring, you know?"
"I do." Briar looks at the phone. "Ten minutes. We better go. Good luck with Simon."
"I'll need it," I say.
She kisses me goodbye.
It's fast, for show, but I still feel it everywhere.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Liam
This is the longest seven block walk of my life.
It's not the grey sky, the fat clouds, the threat of rain.
It's Simon.
He surveys the gloomy sky suspiciously. As if the weather turned from sunny to miserable as some kind of personal affront. "You could have said no."
"Huh?"
"To Opal. She gets her way too often."
"You budge?"
"She knows what buttons to push."
That's hard to imagine. Simon is unflappable. But maybe there's something I'm not seeing. Maybe he's not the guy I imagine. I don't see that guy grabbing takeout with his half-sister. "Since when do you eat Thai food?"
He stops on the sidewalk. Looks at me funny. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Why wouldn't you eat greasy noodles? You're really asking that?"
"Yes."
"You're like Adam."
"Taller than you?"
"Yeah. That's it. Tall people don't eat noodles."
"How am I like Adam?"
I shoot him a really look.
"Because I take a few things seriously?"
"You're both brooding bastards."
"Adam isn't a bastard."
A chuckle spills from my lips. "Fuck. Did you just cop to being a bastard?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
I shoot him another really look.
"You play your role. I play mine."
"Master of the Universe?"
"I was expecting 'bossy bastard.'"
"Stuck-up suit maybe," I say. "Or control freak."
"Bosshole?"
"Perfect."
Finally, we turn onto my street.
I motion after you. Follow Simon inside, into the way too tiny elevator.
He waits until the doors are closed. "You're good at hiding your feelings, but not as good as you think."
What the fuck does that mean?
The elevator arrives at the penthouse with a ding. The doors slide open. Simon motions after you. Waits.
Okay, fine. I step into the hallway. Open the door for him.
Again, he motions after you. Again, he waits.
Is he not buying this ruse?
Briar and I are a little awkward, sure, but I can fix that perception now.
The shit with Preston—
That's harder.
Simon knows something. He's been walking around like he knows something for weeks, months even.
But is it whatever he whispers to Adam or is it something else?
"Have you talked to Harrison?" I step inside.
He follows. "About the wedding?"
"No, about his favorite color. I'm guessing blue. It's the most popular color. You know what's second?"
"Green."
"Bingo."
He shoots me that Liam, you're ridiculous look. "Is it about the wedding?"
"Is what?"
"Whatever it is that's upsetting you?"
"Have you ever heard of boundaries?"
He shoots me the same look.
"As in 'I say something is none of your business, then you respect that and drop it.'"
"I'm familiar with the concept."
"So…" I motion get with it.
"Do you really want a conversation with this level of sincerity?"
Hell no. "Do you?"
"I can take more than you can."
Probably. This isn't a fruitful argument. I need to find something better. His weak spot. "You want a drink?"
"What are you having?"
"What do you think?"
"A Blue Hawaiian."
I can't help but laugh. "You'd drink one?"
"I have to do it once."
"Save it for your trip to Tahiti."
"When am I going to Tahiti?"
"On your honeymoon," I say.
"I didn't realize I was engaged."
"What do you want?"
"Whiskey, neat," he says.
"Original choice."
"We can't all drink appletinis."
Am I crazy, or is that respect in his voice? "Don't knock it till you try it."
"Sure."
"Sure?"
"Sure. Fix an appletini."
All right, that's a distraction I need. I find the bottles and lemons in the fridge. Martini glasses in the cabinet.
I fix three drinks worth of appletini, strain them into martini glasses, offer one to Simon.
"Cheers." He raises his glass.
I do the same. "Cheers." Not the greatest appletini in the world but good. Sweet, strong, artificial flavor. An alcohol version of a green apple Jolly Rancher.
"Are you okay?" He says it without judgment.
But it still puts me on edge. "I'm fine."