Me? Why?
Choosing the direct route instead, I ask Dad, “What’s the deal? It sounds like Cameron’s got the restaurant under control.”
Dad’s shrug is noncommittal. “Like I said, it’s a big job, and you don’t have anything specific on your plate right now, so I thought you could help out. You always push each other to do better.”
This is one of the ways Cameron and I started our perpetual competition with one another. As the second oldest, I wanted to do everything my big brother did when we were kids, and as the oldest, he wanted me to leave him alone. Our parents cultivated our relationship as brothers by encouraging us to play together, whether in the yard or on a baseball diamond, and later, to play against each other in school, in business, and in life. The result is a rivalry built on shared experiences and a love that we show by giving each other massive amounts of shit whenever possible.
“Putting one and one together, I take it you think I need Cameron to push me right now?” I summarize bluntly. Because I don’t have time for games and double-speak right now. I’m too busy with my notes and follow-up from dinner at Elena’s.
Not that Dad knows that.
Dad chuckles. “You don’t have to make it sound like a bad thing.”
“Seriously? You’re basically forcing Cameron to let me tag along on his big deal like some pitiful puppy no one wants.”
“Woof, woof.” Cameron’s sound effects are not needed, and I shoot him a warning glance that he thankfully accepts.
“If you don’t have anything going on, help Cameron.” Dad’s declaration is final, or at least in his mind, it is.
“And if I have something going on?” I challenge. I’m playing with fire because I don’t want to spill my guts about the possibility of the Cartwright deal, not yet, but I can’t work with Cameron and give Elena the time she deserves.
Cameron clears his throat, but it doesn’t cover his scoff and I glare at him openly now. Shut the fuck up, Cam.
“Yeah, Gracie said you had something going on.” He backhands my arm like we’re frat bros, which we definitely are not. “By the way, next time she’s hanging out with you, could you not take her to your latest’s house for an overnight? All I heard was Elena-this and Elena-that. If Gracie doesn’t know about my dating life, I definitely don’t need her knowing about yours.”
Shit, there’s a lot to unpack there, but I start with . . .
“Your dating life? I thought you’d taken a vow of celibacy.”
It’s borderline and I know it, but it’s been a long time since the accident that took Cameron’s wife, and to be honest, even though we argue and compete with one another, I worry about him. He buries himself in work, not because he loves it but because it’s a distraction from the loss I’m sure he still feels acutely. As an unspoken rule, we don’t discuss the accident, never mention his wife’s name, or note that Grace is the spitting image of the mother she doesn’t remember. His mentioning a dating life, even as a joke, is . . . progress? At least in a twisted way.
“Yeah, well, if I’m celibate, at least you know I’ll never fuck you over. Can’t say the same for you.”
“Who’s Elena? Someone we should meet?” Dad asks, skipping over the brotherly shit-stirring. He’s always worried about who we date and spend time with, wanting to make sure they’re ‘worthy’ of a Harrington, and in some cases, that no one leads us astray. I think he fell down on that gig by the time Kyle came around, but for the rest of us, it was a constant Q-and-A about anyone we mentioned. Which is why we don’t mention anyone we date to family, especially our parents. Mom would have the wedding half-planned before the introduction was over and Dad would be running a Pentagon-level background check.
“Maybe, but not like you’re thinking,” I venture carefully, not wanting to say too much, too soon.
“She must be something real special for you to not bail on the overnight after Kyle saddled you with a tagalong. Sorry about that, by the way. Grace said y’all did some sort of museum visit to look at boring paintings, the pancakes were yummy, and that she got to pet a horse?”
“Again, yes . . . but not like you’re thinking.” He’s fishing for information that I don’t want to share, but not answering is like chumming already-shark-infested waters. Because Cameron is definitely a shark, but Dad is the head shark of us all.
“Elena who?” Dad asks, suddenly intrigued.
“Thanks,” I mutter to Cameron. I could say that Elena is someone I’m casually seeing. Lying is becoming my SOP when the situation warrants it. But I don’t.
“Elena Cartwright. Strictly professional, I assure you.”
Dad’s eyes narrow, and if his head were transparent, I think I’d see a tiny elf erratically flipping through file cabinets, looking for an encyclopedia entry on the name Elena Cartwright.
And I see the moment the elf finds the correct file when Dad’s eyes widen and the proverbial lightbulb over his head lights up. “What in the Sam-hill are you doing with Elena Cartwright?”
“When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you. Until then, I’ve got it handled.” I try to sound confident, maybe even arrogant. Dad respects both. Cameron respects neither, at least not in others.
“You had dinner with the matriarch of one of the wealthiest families in the state, and now you’re holding out on us. Spill your guts or I’ll spill them for you.” He makes a slicing motion across his waist, as though he would have the courage to attack me physically. We both know his daggers are verbal.
“I’ve got it handled,” I repeat.
“Look, I’ve heard of Elena, so I know what she’s capable of. Why are you talking to her?” Dad asks again. Except it’s not a question this time.
I don’t want to say. I’ve already said too much, and if I spill any more, there’s no way I’m going to be left alone to handle this. But Dad isn’t the type you tell no. Especially about business.
Resigned, I sigh and search the ceiling for how best to say this, where I come out the hero for having brought the Cartwright portfolio to Blue Lake Assets all by myself. No shared credit, no shared responsibility.
“Carter.” Dad’s patience is waning, the vein in his forehead starting to pulse.
Meeting his eyes, I say proudly, “I’m talking to her about taking over her portfolio management.”
Dad leans forward in interest. “Are you serious? Her portfolio is massive, diversified, and . . . seriously?” His brows are climbing his forehead as he tries to decide whether I’m telling tall tales or the truth.
I smile triumphantly, though I haven’t sealed the deal yet. I know Elena is going to sign with me. She has to after this weekend.
For a long moment, I wait for Dad to return the smile. He’s got to be proud of me for chasing down this opportunity. It’s not a make-or-break for Blue Lake Assets because we’re so large ourselves, but gaining Elena Cartwright’s portfolio as a client would be a massive win for us. Which means it’s a huge win for me.
Because this is my deal. Even if it’s in the early days.