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I nudged the door closed behind me and moved closer to him, but he sidestepped around me and reopened the door. “See you at dinner,” he said stiffly before escaping across the hall to his own room.
I stared after him, torn between feeling bad for his obvious discomfort and feeling annoyed at his petulance.
Before I could follow him and insist upon talking it through, my phone buzzed.
“Yeah,” I snapped.
Brantleigh’s familiar voice immediately reminded me to take a calming breath. “Dad. Hey. Are you picking me up or are you going to text me a location so I can get there myself?”
“A location?” I repeated. “I don’t understand. Are we meeting somewhere tonight? Didn’t we say we’d talk first thing tomorrow? You got the schedule of events January forwarded you, yes?”
“I did. But I thought… I mean, I’m working for you now, right? I figured you’d get me a room wherever you’re staying. God knows there’s no Four Seasons anywhere near this backwater, but I’m not picky. I could make do with a Marriott.”
I literally shook my head like I was trying to clear away buzzing mosquitos. “I’m not at a hotel, and from what I gather, all the hotels in the area are at capacity because of the festival. I’m staying with the Wellbridges. So are Layla and, obviously, Reagan.”
“Oh.” Brant paused a beat. “Then I’ll meet you at Patricia’s?”
I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “I thought you already had a place to stay.”
“I’m booked at the retreat for another week, yeah, but… Dad, they turn the electricity off every night at eleven so the molecules won’t disrupt your sleep. My phone hasn’t been fully charged in a week. And the internet is too weak to stream anything.” He sounded pained. “If I’m working for you, don’t I get treated like any other employee?”
“You do,” I informed him. “Which in this case means finding whatever accommodations you can. Remember, I’ve been sleeping in the bus for a week, and now I’m staying in JT’s old room since all the Wellbridges’ guest rooms are full. That’s simply how things are right now.”
“But if you asked?—”
“I won’t,” I interrupted. “Not when you have a perfectly fine place to stay… and not after what happened last time you stayed with Patricia and Trent.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Brant groaned. “You think they’re still pissy about last summer? I told everyone it was all a joke! People took it way too seriously and turned it into a whole thing, but you made me apologize. Like, get over it already.”
“Apologizing doesn’t mean a guarantee of forgiveness or that there won’t be consequences,” I said sharply. “One of the consequences in this case is that you’ll have to stay where you are. Understand?”
After a moment, Brant sighed. “Yeah. Whatever.”
He sounded a bit unhappy, but frankly, I’d expected a lot more pushback and to offer a lot more bribes to make Brantleigh accept the situation—which was not because I’d taken ownership of his life, as certain people had incorrectly suggested, thank you very much, but because I’d given in too often and spoiled him too much.
“So what time did you want to meet tomorrow?” he asked again. “And when do I fill out the paperwork to get paid and stuff?”
“I’ll have HR call you tomorrow morning.” I sat on the edge of the bed and smiled a bit for the first time since Reagan had walked out. “You’re eager to get to work, huh? Like father, like son,” I teased.
“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Definitely. I have some ideas about my job title and whatnot. But first, I’m gonna need to get some decent clothes. Not sure there’s anything designer in a hundred-mile radius, but there have to be some boutiques in Portland?—”
“Whatever you have is fine, and I have a bunch of Elustre samples I can give you, too. Send January your sizes, and I’ll have her send you more. That way, we can post your picture to the company Instagram, if you’re okay with that?—”
“Hell yeah. That would be sick,” he agreed. “You can tag me, too.”
I chuckled. “Great. You know, I’m really pleased that you’re so enthusiastic about this job. Just promise you won’t go too far overboard and become a workaholic like your old man,” I joked. “Balance is the key.”
He snorted. “Like you know any damn thing about balance.”
“Hey! I know plenty, even if I don’t always put it into practice. Focusing too much on work and making it your only purpose is almost as bad as not having any purpose at all. It can prevent you from having relationships with the people in your life who matter.” I cleared my throat. “I never wanted that for you.”
I wasn’t sure when I’d started wanting it for myself.
An image of Reagan surfaced in my mind, as it did so often these days, and I wondered what balance would look like with him in my life. Though I’d never been the type to sit on a couch and watch the snow fall, or stroll Central Park in spring sunshine, or cut out of work early for a long summer weekend, it was shockingly easy to picture myself doing all of those things as long as a pair of aquamarine eyes were at my side, warm and teasing and steady.
But that was just a fantasy. In reality, critical eyes would follow us anytime we strolled together, noting the difference in our ages. People at work would whisper when Reagan took time off to vacation with the boss. The media would have a field day as the Billionaire Dates Politician Friend’s Son headlines wrote themselves. And what were the chances Reagan wanted to curl up on a sofa when he could be out with younger, non-workaholic friends, doing Instagrammable things?
“So, tomorrow,” Brant said, bringing my attention back to the call. “Meet at twelve or twelve thirty? Maybe at that Tavern place with the cute bartender?”
