Actually, recalling the feeling of her hands on my chest, I’m thinking I’d like to do more than just shake her hand. Perhaps I’m not so much better than Bryce after all. I’m just better at avoiding messy situations.
And cleaning up after other people’s messes.
I push all thoughts of the feisty, sparky woman out of my mind. Back to business. What a mistake it had been to let Bryce stay in the warehouse lofts after he broke up with his wife. He’d offered to “keep an eye on construction” and “make sure things stay on track.”
Instead, he’d nearly derailed the entire project.
“Did you bring the laptop and the company phone?” I ask.
Bryce shakes his head. “No point in bringing that stuff. I told my assistant to leave everything at the loft for you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a key ring with a key card and a small, electronic fob. “This fob will get you into the parking garage and the elevator. The key card will open the door to the loft. There’s a binder on the kitchen counter with all the information you’ll need for the coffeemaker, the Jacuzzi, and the security system, etcetera. You’ll love the glass-fronted Jacuzzis. I had them installed in the two model units.” He looks so pleased with himself as he talks about his completely unauthorized design whim.
“Thanks,” I say and pocket the key. I rub my temples in an attempt to ward off the tension headache that’s looming. Those damned Jacuzzis. We’ll never recoup the money and the additional time spent getting permits and moderations together that were done to make sure they were installed to code. By the time I found out about it all, it was too late to turn back.
What’s done is done. Tomorrow is a brand-new day. A day when I won’t have to worry about any more of Bryce’s questionable business decisions. No more Johnny-on-the-spot overstepping his bounds.
The real estate side of our family business is my area, and it’s up to me to get things back on track. Hudson to the rescue.
“Still planning to set sail on your little rumspringa tomorrow?” I ask.
Bryce puts the ice cup down and runs a finger along his tender jaw, grimacing then smirking. He seems to think he has the right to gloat about this trip. “Yeah, that’s the plan. My driver will take me back to my place in Seattle tonight. I’m flying out in the morning, and I’ll meet up with Dad in Bora Bora.”
“Sounds super,” I say tightly, doing little to hide my disapproval.
Nothing like a little father/son yacht time to celebrate Bryce’s latest fuck up.Good thing I’m here to clean up the mess while they take their extended bachelor trip.
“Is there anything else I need to know about? Any other surprise ‘executive’ decisions you’ve made? You left me the contact info for the foreman and copies of all the documents for the permits?” I ask.
The warehouse conversion was already well underway when Bryce moved into the model unit, but finishing is often the trickiest part, I know, and it’s where budgets can spiral out of control.
Bryce waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. The lawyer’s got all that info. And I’ll bill you for my design input.”
“The hell you will.” I snort.
“Gotcha.” Bryce smirks and points his finger at me, imitating firing a gun.
“What about the Feed Co. building?” The original HQ of the Farm & Holm empire has been leased out to local merchants for the past couple of decades and is long overdue for renovation. It’s up next, as soon as we finish the warehouse conversion. “Anything happening that I need to know about over there? Any blowback from the rent hike notices that went out today?”
“No clue, dude.” Bryce shrugs. “I never go over there, to be honest. People see me and they act like I’m supposed to fix their Wi-Fi and pipes and stuff. Not my problem. I leave that stuff to the management company, and I guess to you. You’re the big, important real estate dude, right?”
“Right.” I nod. Why should Bryce give a shit about preserving the historic HQ, the building that our family empire was founded in? There are no Jacuzzis or dedicated parking spots for his Ferrari there. The comment about the pipes is a bit worrisome, though. I make a note to follow up with the tenants as soon as I’m settled.
“Well, that’s it, then,” I say, standing up and offering Bryce a handshake. “Give Walker my regards, and safe travels to you both.”
“You’re not even going to stay for dinner?” Bryce asks petulantly. He feigns being wounded. He’s not above playing the wounded orphan card, even with me. Both of Bryce’s biological parents abandoned him. First his father and then his mom, after she left my father. But despite this early abandonment, Bryce spent his entire childhood in Ephron. He’s the one who got to grow up in my house. He’s the one who calls my father “dad,” while I struggle to bring myself to call the man anything but “Walker.”
Bryce doesn’t feel like he’s got anything to prove. Quite the opposite. He seems quite cocksure that no matter how much he screws up, he’ll continue to be blessed and accepted, just as he is.
My stepbrother is the one who was actually abandoned by his parents yet somehow, I’m the one with the abandonment issues.
Rather uncharitably, I console myself with the knowledge that Bryce doesn’t have any blood relatives around who’d be willing to give him a kidney. I’m pretty sure that Walker would come through for me on that count, if push came to shove. At least there’s that. I’ve come through enough times that I’ve earned it.
“I’m sorry, man. I’ve actually got the cat in the car,” I explain. “I want to get him settled in the loft and have a look through that binder you left me before it gets too late. And you probably want to get on the road back to Seattle, too, right?”
“Right.” Bryce nods. “Hey, I’ll send you a selfie when I get to the yacht.”
“Be good, bro.” I clap him on the back in a halfhearted half hug. It’s all I got.
“I won’t be.” He laughs. And he probably won’t. At least he’s being honest.
