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Maddy snorted. “Yeah, in one way, but what about the other? I’m broke, Preston. Or I will be once I handle my bills and rent this month. My lease isn’t up for another eight months, and if I break it early, I’ll owe my landlord thousands.” She continued to fret until the waiter came over to take her order. As she struggled with remembering the name, I interrupted.
“She’ll have the beef bourguignon with your Chateau Musar 2011 Jeune Rouge. Bring the bottle.”
Maddy finally seemed to relax some at the promise of wine. Or at least, she did until the waiter turned to me and asked, “And for the lady’s date?”
I laughed. It wasn’t meant to offend Maddy, but I could see her cheeks flush. I waved my hand. “No, no. We’re not… she’s my sister. Well, she will be, anyway.”
“I see,” the waiter said. “My apologies. What can I get for you, Mr. Harvey?”
“The twelve-ounce Wagyu A5 Kobe, served New York strip-style,” I said. It was one of my favorites. Most people were told to order a day in advance, but I wasn’t most people. “With the regular sides.”
“Very good, Mr. Harvey,” he said. It seemed strange that he knew my name but I couldn’t remember his face, let alone anything else about him. The hostess probably tipped him off. That’s just good service. The waiter took our menus and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen while I turned my gaze back on Madison.
“Where were we?”
She blinked. “You were ordering five hundred dollars in beef, and I was telling you about how broke I am.”
I winced. “Right. Uh. Go on.”
She sighed, slumping back in her chair and tucking a strand of her chocolate brown hair behind her ear. I liked the way her nose twitched when she brushed the lock away from her face. It made the light dusting of freckles over the bridge of it dance.
“It wasn’t just stuff like that, though. There were other things that happened there. A lot of harassment, sexual and otherwise.” She didn’t look at me when she said the words, like she was ashamed of something that had been done to her by people outside of her control. “What kind of place lets their managers call their administrative assistant a cunt right to her face, just because she disagrees with him about a decision?”
I almost choked on my water. I glanced around to see if anyone else had heard my stepsister utter the dreaded c-word. “Christ. Didn’t you tell HR?”
“Of course I did,” she answered. “But what do you expect them to do about it? It’s my word against a supervisor’s, and as I understand it, that supervisor and the HR director are very good friends.”
“So… I don’t know, go over her head. Write the CEO, if you have to.”
She laughed. “Right. The CEO who doesn’t know my name, who makes more money in a day than I do in a year. He’s going to come fight my battles? I’d ask if you’d been drinking, but they haven’t even brought the wine yet.”
“There has to be something,” I insisted. I could feel my blood rushing now, boiling, burning in my chest. I didn’t get worked up about a lot of things, but for some reason the idea of someone hurting Maddy had me seeing red. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, Madison. Not by anyone. Ever.”
She looked at me for a long time, silent and wide-eyed. There was something scrutinizing about her gaze, like she was searching my eyes for some kind of answer. By the time her lips parted, the waiter had returned and set the bottle of wine on the table between us.
“Shall I pour?” he asked me.
I tore my gaze away from Maddy. “No. I think we’ve got it.”
Although he let us be, the moment—whatever it was—was now gone. Maddy was now more interested in the wine than whatever she’d been on the cusp of saying, and I didn’t know how to ask her what exactly had been on her mind. I didn’t want to push things with her. After all, this was the first real conversation we’d ever had, and I worried that prying too hard would be a recipe for disaster.
But the more I thought about her predicament—her job, her finances, the cold-hearted bitch her mother was—the more I realized that I did, in fact, have an answer. It was the answer to the question she hadn’t asked, the question that maybe she was too proud to. But I had it all the same, and now that I understood what her silence had meant, I knew what I had to do.
I was going to change Madison Hearst’s life forever. She just didn’t know it yet.
And maybe, just maybe, I could kill two birds with one stone.
Chapter 4
To my utter shock, lunch with my brother-to-be wasn’t the disaster I’d imagined.
Preston was a spoiled brat. I’d gleaned that much on the first day I’d met him. He’d rolled up late to a family dinner in a shiny new Tesla with a devil-may-care grin and lipstick stains on his collar. I immediately knew everything I needed to know about him from that point on—or so I’d thought.
The man sitting in front of me in the restaurant was a completely different guy. He was genuinely concerned about me, my job, and my future. He made me laugh and didn’t make me feel ashamed for crying. I was starting to think maybe I hadn’t given him a fair chance. Sure, he’d always be the rich kid and I’d always be the poor one, but there was no reason we couldn’t be civil.
By the time we left the restaurant, I was feeling better. I still didn’t have a game plan, but at least it felt like someone was on my side in spirit. That meant a lot, not feeling alone.
&nbs
p; “Do you have a car?” he asked me.
Slowly, I shook my head. The daylight was a little disorienting after spending over an hour in the dimly-lit café. “No. I take the bus wherever I need to go.”
Preston wrinkled his nose at me. “Seriously? What about when you need groceries?”
I shrugged. “Not all of us can afford eighty-five thousand dollar cars, Preston.” And then, in an effort to be less defensive, I added: “It’s only me, so I try to only get a little at a time. Lightweight stuff. Then I carry it back on the bus with me. It’s better if you use those reusable bags. They don’t break like the plastic ones do.”
He stared at me like I was from some other world. Maybe to him, I was. All he’d ever known were luxury vehicles, grand manses and summer homes, penthouse suites and personal chefs. He’d never wanted for anything a day in his life, and I sincerely doubted that Preston Harvey ever took the bus—even to school.
But he didn’t say anything. He kept his face a slate as he offered, “Well, you can’t walk home in those.” He nodded to my shoes. “I’ll drive you.”
I raised my brows. “Really? You want to spend more time with your stepsister?”
He smiled and shrugged, his buff shoulders rippling underneath his button-down. He had the blazer draped over his arm, and I didn’t blame him. It was warm out.
“You’re not all that bad,” he informed me. When I pursed my lips, he chuckled again. “Hopefully you can say the same for me.”
“Maybe,” I relented. “I’ll say this for you: you’re definitely not who I’d expected you’d be.”
Now it was Preston’s turn to arch an eyebrow. “And who were you expecting?”
“The guy who showed up late to dinner,” I said. “The one who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed with a woman. You know. A playboy. An elitist fuck.”
Preston grinned from ear to ear, one of those shit-eating grins that would have looked infuriating on anyone else. And it did look infuriating on him, too. Just not in the way I had anticipated. Beneath my annoyance was amusement, though I was loath to let it show. There was something about him, something I couldn’t quite place, but the more I was in his company, the less irritating he seemed.
