Dad stands up, coming around his desk and leaning back on the front of it between Cameron and me. With his arms over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles, he says, “This sounds like an exciting prospect. Good job, Carter.”
I beam at the approval. I hate to admit it, but I do. I’ve worked hard for so many years to please my dad, to feel worthy of the Harrington name, and in one little sentence, I feel like I’ve finally done that.
“We’ll have dinner with her. The whole family shebang. We need to woo her, really show her what the Harringtons and Blue Lake are all about,” Dad decides.
And just like that, the balloon of pride filling up inside me pops, leaving strings of latex self-doubt and frustration in its wake. “No, Dad. This is my deal. I’m handling it, and it won’t include the five-ring circus we call a family.”
“This is a potential Blue Lake Asset deal, and if a little Harrington is good, a lotta Harrington is better. We’re not a five-ring circus. We’re a close-knit, passionate family who happens to know a thing or two about making people money. That’s what Elena Cartwright cares about.”
I hear what he’s not saying loud and clear. He doesn’t think I can do this on my own. He thinks I’m not good enough to secure the deal alone and is taking over because he thinks I’ll fuck it up.
“You have no idea what she cares about. I do. I’ve done the research, put in the hours.” I almost admit that I’ve gone above and beyond to a point that no one else in the family would be willing to do.
“Then I’ll ask her what she cares most about . . . at dinner,” Dad says. “Any food things I should tell the chef?”
Once my dad has made up his mind, there’s no changing it. I think I could literally switch out his brain with a new one, and he’d wake up from the transplant surgery still planning a dinner for Elena. But I have to try.
“Dad, stop. I’ve got this under control. Sometimes, going in full-throttle isn’t the move, and finesse isn’t exactly your style.”
“I was finessing before you were a thought in my ball sack, Son. Now what should I tell the chef?”
“Yeah, that’s some smooth moves, Dad.” I glare at him mockingly, hoping he’ll see reason and yield, but he stares back, giving no quarter.
“She likes horses, pancakes, and art,” Cameron offers, and when I sharply cut my eyes to him, he shrugs. “At least according to Grace.”
Dad nods, as if it’s everything he needs. “This is happening with or without you, Carter.”
I feel like this whole thing is being taken from my hands no matter how much I scramble to keep ahold of it for myself. I weigh my options, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut in the first place. But that bell can’t be unrung.
So, what are my options? Say nothing and play second-fiddle to Dad when he contacts Elena. In that case, even if Elena signs with Blue Lake, it won’t be my acquisition, it’ll be Dad’s. Or give in and try to hold on to some degree of control of this deal.
“I don’t know if she’s allergic to anything, but she must prefer chicken or pork because there was no red meat at our dinner, breakfast the next day, or the lunch charcuterie board.”
Why am I sharing this and how the hell did this happen? This is supposed to be my big deal, and now I’m discussing menu options like I’m Martha Stewart or some shit. Next thing you know, I’ll be making napkin origami swans.
“It’s settled then. Carter, get with Elena and invite her for dinner as soon as possible and then let me know what night. I’ll need a full run-down of everything you’ve got so we’re on the same page. Cameron, looks like you’re back to working on the restaurant alone.”
Dad claps his hands sharply and strides back around his desk, returning to his chair. I guess that means we’re dismissed.
In the hall, Cameron whistles quietly. “Damn, man, I had no idea that’s what you were working on. Grace kept talking about Elena, and I thought you had a new hook-up.”
“You thought I’d take your daughter with me to a hook-up? I’m not a monster.”
Cameron smiles a small smile. “I trust you with Grace, implicitly. You probably more than anyone else. You won’t try to put her on a motorcycle . . . Kyle.” He holds up a finger. “Or take her shopping—”
“Kayla,” I complete for him, and he holds up another finger.
“Or let her eat her weight in sugar.”
In unison, we say, “Mom.”
“For fuck’s sake, you showed Gracie art and horses, let her sleep with Nutbuster, and fed her ‘shark-coochie’。 She thinks you’re the best.”
“Because I am,” I volley back. “To be clear, I’m pretty sure she meant charcuterie.”
“I know, but don’t you dare tell her how to say it correctly. I haven’t had to put a sandwich together in months, and it cracks me up every time she says that’s what she wants for dinner.”
I can see the light of humor in his eyes, and it reassures me in a deep part of my gut. We all worry about him, but finding joy in little things like your daughter’s mispronunciation of a difficult word is a good sign.
“Does she have you playing Royal Family yet? I might’ve gone a bit overboard on the tiara, but she earned it. Not to mention, she negotiated for it like a damn pro. She’ll be interning before she’s eighteen at this rate.”
‘A bit overboard’ is being kind. By the time I took Grace home, she’d talked me into a plastic rhinestone-encrusted tiara with purple silk roses and curled ribbons that hung down her back plus a gold one with rainbow rhinestones for Peanut Butter.
“Yeah, since Peanut Butter left his at our house . . .”
He pauses and together, we say, “Kyle.”
Cameron continues, “That one is mine for now, but I only warrant a loaner and have to share it with the dog.”
I smile but don’t give him a bit of shit because we’d all do the same for Grace, and he says, “Good luck on this Elena deal, man. I think you might need it with Dad acting that excited.”
His expression says I’m gonna need a hell of a lot more than luck. I might need a genie and three wishes, and even then, I may not be able to get in front of the steamroller better known as Charles Harrington the Second.
“Shit. I’m fucked, aren’t I?” I ask, not sure if I want him to tell me the truth or a white lie that’ll make me feel better.
“Completely and thoroughly, six days a week, and twice on Sunday,” he answers.
Yeah, the white lie would’ve been better.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
LUNA
“Luna!”
The yell through my door is accompanied by loud banging that scares the snot out of me. I startle, a squeaking noise escaping as I instinctively try to hide in the corner behind the couch.
Do I have an outstanding warrant I don’t know about? Is the SWAT team gonna bust through my door? Maybe they’ll go away if I’m silent?
“Open the door, Luna!”
“No Luna here!” I call out in a falsely low voice. Ugh, I sound like a voiceover dub for an anime or something.
And they clearly aren’t buying it either. “Not funny. Open the door, wife.”