And this is firmly into the realm of a company project, at least in her eyes.
“What else do I need to know? Any updates?” Dad asks. He’s been a bulldog on this, and his questioning’s been relentless. We’re sitting in leather chairs in front of the empty fireplace, a pre-dinner scotch in each of our hands. I take a sip, stalling as I take Dad’s measure.
I think every teenage boy comes upon an age where they think they could out-man their father. I was fourteen when I thought that day had come. I don’t remember what we were fighting about, but I’d yelled, been disrespectful, and thrown out those infamous words, ‘wanna take this outside?’ and though Dad hadn’t wanted to, he’d gone with me, a resigned look on his face.
I was wrong, and the fist-sized bruise he left on my gut after I’d tried and failed to land several punches was proof enough.
As I got older, I realized that real power wasn’t in whether or not I could take Dad on mano-a-mano. It was in money, influence, and control, and he will always have more of those than I do. At least at Blue Lake.
But this time, he’s the one who’s underestimating me.
“I still don’t agree with this. You’re stomping right into and over my prospect when your heavy-handed approach isn’t warranted.”
I’m trying hard to not sound like a whiny seagull—mine, mine, mine. Not sure I’m succeeding, though.
“Noted,” Dad says agreeably but then adds, “It’s still happening. But consider your objection on the record.”
He’s such a steamroller. A charming one, but a steamroller, nonetheless.
Mentally, I evaluate the imaginary chess board we’re sitting at, searching for my best play. The end goal is to bring Elena on as a client. It’ll be good for Blue Lake, good for Elena, and admittedly, good for me. It’ll prove that I can stand up next to Cameron as the next generation of Harringtons, bringing in business, managing clients, and increasing revenue.
My best move is to make sure that tonight is a resounding success.
“Elena isn’t your usual fundraiser elbow-hobknobber,” I remind him. “She’s got more money than God but lives casually. You’re more likely to find her in the barn with her horse than attending a gala. She literally told me to drop the pomp and circumstance, so don’t overdo it. It’s a sure bet to turn her off Blue Lake.”
Dad scoffs. “Everyone likes a little pageantry to make them feel important. Don’t worry about me. You just make sure you don’t underdo it. This could be a big deal for us.”
He doesn’t understand at all. Not Elena, and not me. He’s usurped this deal without giving me a chance of succeeding on my own. And I was doing well with Elena without involving the family.
I just needed Luna. I still need her.
Once more, I consider my decision to spring Luna on my family in the middle of everything. Of course, the most obvious answer would’ve been to tell them about the fake wife situation ahead of time and hope they’d play along, but there’s no way that would’ve gone well. I can almost hear Dad yelling at me about treating this opportunity like a joke.
Which I’m not.
Having Luna arrive a few minutes after Elena is my best choice. No one in my family will risk being the fool who doesn’t know who Luna is during a professional dinner. We’re trained to nod along with whatever Dad says, and they’ll do the same for me. I hope.
Mom comes in, her full-circle, knee-length skirt swooshing as she walks to Dad’s side. “Hey, boys, enjoying a last-minute scotch?”
I hold mine up in answer. Mom perches on the arm of Dad’s chair, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. If they weren’t my parents, they’d be an adorable couple people would aspire to emulate—wealthy, attractive, intelligent, and one hundred percent in love. Sickeningly in love. To the point that we know not to drop by unannounced or walk into any room without making an obvious noise first.
I learned that the hard way.
“Not as much as I’m enjoying you,” Dad growls, gripping Mom’s hip. She pushes her blonde hair behind her ear, giggling.
“Could you not?” There’s only so much staring at my glass of scotch I can do.
“You should be so lucky to be this gross when you’re our age,” Dad taunts.
The doorbell rings, and I’m saved by the bell, literally. Setting my scotch on the table, I bolt for the door. “I’ll get it!”
One of the staff will already be on standby to open the door as people arrive, but I’m taking the opportunity to get away from parents who are likely gearing up for a pre-dinner make-out session.
Walking into the foyer, Grace sees me and shouts, “Uncle CJ!” She runs at me with both arms outstretched, and I bend down to do our usual pick up-and-spin greeting. “Wheeee!” Her squeal echoes in the high-ceilinged space.
“Put her down, Carter. I don’t want her to get riled up before she’s got to be on her best behavior.” Cameron says the last part to Grace, likely reminding her about the conversation they had in the car about manners for a family dinner with a guest.
I let Grace’s feet touch the floor as she tells Cameron, “I know, Dad. I’ll be the bestest ever. I always am, you know that.” She’s nodding her head up and down with surety, but I could name at least a handful of people who’d disagree with that.
“You ready to see Elena again?”
Grace screws up her lips, tilting her head. “D’pends. Are we having shark coochie again?”
I glance to Cameron, who’s wearing a smile that matches my own. Both of us are fighting laughter. “Not tonight, Gracie girl. Maybe another time.”
“Promise?” She holds out her pinkie finger expectantly.
I wrap my finger around hers. “Promise.”
“With tiny cookies,” she amends.
I nod. “Circus cookies. I know your favorite.”
Grace pulls me into the sitting room, and Cameron follows closely behind. But Grace quickly abandons us for her collection of Barbies that fills a basket in the corner.
“How much shit is Dad giving you about this whole Cartwright deal?” Cameron says low enough for Grace to not hear.
“Not as much as he’s going to,” I mutter cryptically. “Have my back?”
“Always.” I’ll give it to Cam. He might give me shit, and I give it right back. But if I had to go into a life or death knife fight with anyone on the planet, I know who I’d pick to be by my side. No matter how much we bicker and compete, at the end of the day, Cam’s my ride or die.
We watch Grace playing for a moment, and then she yanks us down by our hands to sit at her kid-sized table. “You, be Princess Pony. And you, be Dino Dylan. He’s Barbie’s boyfriend.” She shoves figurines into our hands, and though Cameron and I are equally annoyed, we play along.
“Remember when we used to pop firecrackers in back, behind Mom’s garden? How’d we end up playing Barbies?” Cameron groans.
“You had me,” Grace answers flatly, seemingly not listening but as usual, hearing everything.
The front door opens again, and Kayla and Chance appear. Though Kayla is Cole’s twin, she’s more likely to be with Chance at any given time. They’re perpetual sidekicks. I’d call them partners in crime, but Chance wouldn’t consider speeding, much less any actual crime, and Kayla pretty much does whatever the fuck she wants. Usually, we don’t even know what she’s up to because she holds her cards close to the vest until it serves her to lay them out for show. I should’ve taken a play from her rule book with this whole Cartwright deal.