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His guests are here for the atmosphere—for the bragging rights of being associated with Silas Anderson—but they’re really here because, at some point, my father decided they were a threat.
I’m expected to mingle during these parties, but unlike the woman I can’t get off my mind, I’m not much for socializing.
After our interaction at the office on Tuesday, we’ve kept our distance. Tiptoeing around each other like we’re walking on eggshells. Though, I’d argue it was more like landmines.
Penelope may not approve of my life choices, but at least I’m living my truth instead of lying about it like she is.
Dad’s gestures at the deck below to a woman named Ellen Mays, the founder of a sustainable energy solutions company called SunGro Technologies.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he says, drinking the last sip of scotch from his glass.
When she reached out to us last year, he was immediately against the idea of a partnership, opting to join forces with big name property investor, Nathan Reid. But I never understood why he had such strong disdain for Mays’s company. Although new to the area, they’ve been developing eco-friendly advancements that are helping sustain the island’s natural environment. Unlike Reid, who’s earned a reputation for cutting corners and actively lobbying against sustainability-focused regulations.
After placing his glass on the table behind us, he reaches inside his suit pocket for a cigarette, and when he lights the tip, the acrid tar- and mint-scented smoke swirls inside my nose.
It’s been years since I’ve had the urge to pick one up and feel that searing bite digging into my flesh. A temporary relief from the burden of being a failure. Relief from trying so fucking hard to be the son he wanted me to be, while continuously missing the mark.
But once I set off for college, the urges subsided, quieting to a manageable whisper, and the harder I worked toward my business degree, the more the disagreements between us subsided, too.
Tonight, however, those urges brush against my legs, torso, and neck like the delicate sweep of a cat’s tail, and a cold sweat breaks across my forehead.
Taking a slow drag from the Marlboro between his lips, he rests his forearms on the railing beside me. “What’s this I hear about you having an assistant?”
I stare at the burning red tip of the cigarette, blood running as cold as the menthol expanding his lungs.
At my hesitation, he laughs, fogging the salt-heavy air with a thick cloud of smoke. “You’re surprised. Why?”
“I’m not.” I clear my throat, struggling for recovery. “Just impressed by how fast word travels.”
His response is to take another puff, and when he exhales, I deliberately take a sip of the warm champagne I’ve been nursing for the last hour.
“Curious. I didn’t see anyone added to your payroll.”
“I haven’t completed the paperwork to give to Human Resources.” My pulse quickens as I let not one, but two lies slide off my tongue. “I’ll do it first thing Monday morning.”
“Relax,” he says. “I know I’ve thrown some curveballs at you lately. So, if you’re wondering if I approve, I do.”
The validation gradually unravels the tension in my shoulders. Of course that’s what I’m wondering, and that cocky grin tells me he knows it, too.
Champagne sours in my mouth as I recall my conversation with Pen, earlier this week, after we left Adventure Park. She’s wrong. My relationship with him has never been stronger. He’s trusting me with bigger tasks with our companies and giving me ownership of Summit Estates was a huge test of that trust.
One I refuse to fail.
“The position is temporary,” I assure him, listening to the sounds of merriment mingling with the distant waves splashing against the hull.
“I don’t know. You may want to hold on to her if she’s as good as George says she is.”
There’s no concealing my surprise this time. “When did you speak with him?”
“He called me yesterday afternoon to say how impressed he was with you and mentioned your persuasive assistant.” A sly smile flashes, making my palms sweat and the hair at the back of my neck bristle. “You’re not sleeping with her, are you?”
He’s kidding, but I don’t like the insinuation that Penelope is some hired whore. “No, I’m not fucking my assistant, Dad.”
Though visions of that wild woman giving in to my touch while parting her knees paired with the silken feel of her hair in my hands and her rich honey scent have me taking another long drink.
“You did good, son.”
His satisfaction calms my wild nerves, but not entirely. The last thing I need is him keeping a closer eye on me. As unpredictable as he can be, I can’t risk him finding out Penelope works for me.
