“And Huxley can say that, because it’s true, but my job doesn’t warrant the accolades Huxley and Breaker receive. I’m just the public relations face. Hell, some days, I have nothing to do. The only reason why you work with me is because I’m the one who could handle the additional workload, which is barely anything since you pretty much do everything on your own. I get a paycheck, but for nothing.”
“Some people would be pleased with that, you know, especially your paycheck.”
“Yes, but when you have to live up to your brothers’ reputation, it’s brutal.”
I subconsciously rub his chest and say, “I can understand that.” I attempt to get off his lap again, since he’s talking—finally—but once again, he keeps me where I’m at. Okay, not ready to let go just yet, that’s fine. “Then, can I ask you, what is it that you want to do?”
He shrugs. “Still trying to figure that out.”
“Would you leave the company?”
He shakes his head. “No, my brothers depend on me. They’re very private people and trust practically no one. If I left, they’d have to take on my job responsibilities. They wouldn’t hire someone outside of the family for that.”
“That doesn’t make sense, though. You’re not happy.”
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s my life. Unhappy.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“Well, Kelsey, sometimes life isn’t fair.”
There’s the pessimist.
“You don’t have to put yourself in purgatory in order to help your brothers. I’m sure if you spoke to them, they’d want to know that you’re not happy.”
“You’d think,” he mutters and then blows out a heavy breath. Now he attempts to move me, but like this push-and-pull game we’ve been playing, I’m the one to stay put this time.
“I still need to do two truths and a lie.”
“Right.” He settles back into the couch and waits. I can see that his mood has shifted again—actually, I’m not sure it was ever not sour. But instead of being a grump, he talked to me. Looks like I have so much more work to do. “What are your two truths and a lie?”
In a cheery tone, I say, “Since you asked.”
He rolls his eyes again.
“Let’s see. I like to collect magnets. I’ve always said I’d collect a magnet from every new place I visit, but I haven’t been many places, so it’s a sad collection. I have a plant in my apartment that I’ve had since college. His name is Boris and we have a mutual understanding that I’ll always water him and he’ll never die on me. And I plan the color of my underwear for each day of the working week. Weekends are a free-for-all. And before you ask, Monday is red. Tuesday is pink. Wednesday is black. Thursday is green, because I once heard green is for Thursdays, because that’s when you make the money, when you should work the hardest. And Friday is white.”
He’s silent. Blinks.
And then scratches the side of his jaw. “All three were in-depth. Frankly, it’s disturbing how easily you rattled those off. Makes me believe you’re some secret operative.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Better watch your back.”
He gives my answers some thought. “The first one seems like something you’d do, but you only have like . . . five magnets.”
“Four, to be exact. But it’s a collection nonetheless.”
“And a plant named Boris feels on-brand for you, but so does the underwear, but my guess is you messed up the days of the week so instead of Friday being white, it’s actually black, because that’s a typical date night.”
My jaw falls open as I stare down at him. “How the hell did you guess that?”
“You might be able to think quick on your feet, but I can smell bullshit from a mile away. You’re a romantic on a dating journey and I’m assuming, given your innocence, wearing black on Friday, date night, is daring for you. Just makes sense.”
I fold my arms over my chest now and ask, “Okay, so what’s the order of the rest of my underwear?”
He pauses for a moment and then holds his fingers up. “Monday is white, to start the week off on a fresh note. Tuesday is pink because you seem to be the type of girl who would have a lot of pink underwear so it fits in on a Tuesday. Wednesday is red for hump day. Thursday . . . well, that’s the wild card. I kind of believe the whole green money-making thing, so I’m going to say that’s right. And then black on Friday. The weekends are probably when you wear fun underwear. Like some pink thong with a heart.” When I don’t say anything, he says, “I’m right, aren’t I?”