I sit back in my chair and scowl. “It’s not a lair.”
“You’re drinking. Spending nights out with women—”
“The women are for Dom.”
“You grunt and scowl and sneer…”
I fold my arms over my chest and huff. “I do not grunt,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You just did!” Nick glances up as our aunt Maisie appears in the doorway. Her blonde hair swoops down her back in casual waves, offset by a smart pair of black slacks, a fitted blouse, and heels that look like they could kill a person.
“You heard that, right?” Nick asks, with a wide grin. “Nathan grunted to prove he doesn’t grunt.”
“And he’s scowling,” Maisie replies, smiling through sad eyes. “Maybe everyone’s right about this whole intervention thing.”
I drop a hand on my desk and my companions jump. “I don’t need an intervention! I’m not doing drugs. I’m not self-destructing. Blossom cheated after using me for my money, and I’m channeling my disappointment into building something better for the people who really need it. I don’t see how what I’m doing is wrong!”
“The late nights, the drinking, the questionable company.” Aunt Maisie glances at Nick, who nods in sage agreement, which makes sense since she bullet-pointed everything he said two minutes ago.
I laugh to myself. What will they think after I spend an evening with Frederick Chantal?
“Your actions are tainting the reputation of the foundation. The reputation I’ve spent decades building.” Aunt Maisie’s features aren’t designed for judgment. It sits uncomfortably on her pretty face as she seeks out my gaze. “How are we supposed to help those who need it when every time there’s a headline with your name on it, we lose credibility?”
“Fallon Mae is misrepresenting me.” And if anyone should know that it would be the people standing across from me.
“Maybe that would be easier to believe if you surrounded yourself with less…” Maisie glances at Nick. “What did she call the women he’s out with all the time?”
“Dazzling and spectacular.” He says the words like he’s describing a criminal enterprise.
Maisie flares her hands. “You don’t need dazzling and spectacular to secure donations.”
“The women are for Dom. Not me.”
“That’s not the way it looks in the pictures, Nathan,” she continues, her posture softening from that of the CEO of a deeply respected charity, to the aunt who hosted sleepovers and taught us to build blanket forts. “You are so much better than the way you look online.”
“Maybe if I wasn’t being misrepresented,” I grumble, then hold up my hands because they won’t leave me alone until I concede. “But I hear you. I’ll try to keep myself out of the headlines.”
“Good.” Aunt Maisie closes her eyes and clears her throat. She glances at the floor, then meets my gaze and I don’t like what I see there. “Because the charity gala is in a few months. If you can’t get your act together, I don’t want you there, especially if there’s going to be anyone dazzling or spectacular on your arm.”
There’s a charged moment where everyone seems to want to say something but chooses silence instead. With a sigh, Maisie turns and leaves the room.
“I’m not a villain,” I say, more for my benefit than anything.
“Don’t read any of Fallon Mae’s articles or you’re in for a rude awakening.”
I grumble something about Ms. Mae being in for a rude awakening if we ever meet and Nick shakes his head.
“Just try to hear what we’re saying. The whole family’s worried. There are good women out there and you’ll find one when the time is right. Just because Blossom is a parasitic nozzle muncher doesn’t mean everyone works that way.”
Fuck finding another woman. That’s not gonna happen. Ever. I almost launch into my speech about wrapping my heart in barbed wire but stop myself before Nick can make fun of me too.
“I’m listening,” I lie.
“That’s all I ask. Opportunity will present itself. Something good is coming your way. Keep your eyes open so you recognize it when it walks in. In the meantime, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back to being Nathan Fucking West.”
“Pretty sure that’s what I’m in the middle of doing.”
Nick sighs deeply and shoves his hands into his pockets, chewing on a thought he’s not sure he should express. “Friday? Your birthday party?” he finally says. “If you bring a date—”
“I’m not bringing a date.” Maybe I should have hit him with my barbed wire speech after all.
“Okay, fine. But if you do, it might put everyone’s mind at ease if she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d catch Dominick Taylor’s eye.”
We say our goodbyes and I sit there, replaying the last couple days in my head, Dom insinuating I’m squandering a winning hand, Aunt Maisie telling me to skip the charity gala when it’s my favorite part of the year, Mina calling, drunk and desperate…
Huh.
Look at that.
Maybe the opportunity Nick mentioned already presented itself in the form of an accidental message and a drunken request. Maybe I can keep that barbed wire around my heart and put my family’s mind at ease.
I’ll ask Mina Blake to pretend to be my new, non-dazzling or spectacular girlfriend.
It’ll be a little “extension” to our business relationship.
After the utterly dickish move of cutting her fee to send that text, I’ll have to offer to pay her.
But that could actually work in my favor.
That would make it a business arrangement, bound by professionalism.
What could go wrong?
SIX
Mina
A heady mix of guilt and excitement hits my belly as I pull into Shady Cove Restorative Clinic. I’m always glad to see my mom. She was my first best friend. My rock. She worked her ass off to take care of me after Dad left and was the perfect blend of “shoulder to cry on” and “get your butt in gear.” She was strong and beautiful and held her chin up no matter what life threw in our direction.
When I was thirteen, she sold the house she bought with my father. It was a handyman’s dream and they planned to pour time and attention into it over the years until they ended up with the kind of home they deserved. Only, Dad was the handy one in the family and Mom couldn’t keep up with the repairs after he left. Rather than trying to pay someone she couldn’t afford to do the work, she moved the two of us into an apartment.
When I was fifteen, she took a second job. She never said why, never once complained, though I know she took on the extra work to pay for my driver’s ed classes and to start saving for my first car.
When I was sixteen, I got a job within walking distance from home so I could buy that car myself. I tried to help pay for other things around the house, but Mom wouldn’t take my money. Thankfully, I inherited my father’s stubborn streak and stocked the fridge anyway. Bought my own clothes so she wouldn’t have to. Picked up little extras I knew she wouldn’t buy herself.
When I was seventeen, she told me about the money she was saving for my college tuition and by the time I was eighteen, I’d earned a full ride so she could keep it for herself.
I swore I’d earn my degree and become so successful, she never had to struggle again. I’d build her a house and pay her bills and give her the life she deserved.
