“Besides, your father’s ranch has hundreds of rooms. We probably won’t even see him.” I don’t believe Lionel deserves his son’s forgiveness, but I’d like to see Lennox fulfill the promise he made with his mother on her deathbed. He can’t do that if he isn’t willing to step outside of his comfort zone, though, so that’s where I have to come in.
It is my role as his best friend.
“Come on, Lennox,” I encourage when silence is the only thing that teems between us for the next three miles. I’m flattered he’s concerned, but if he were honest with himself, he’d know his father would never see me as his competition. My breasts only just fill a C cup, my backside is a little too large, and the only time my hair isn’t in a messy bun is when I’m washing it. I’m no one’s type, much less a big shot soon-to-be Hall of Famer. “This is also the perfect opportunity for you to schmooze the who’s who of baseball before the summer leg.”
“I don’t want to use my father’s name for a step up.”
“Duh,” I push back, my voice giving no indication his curt tone mortally wounded me. “That’s why you go by your mother’s maiden name, both now and during the gala.” I stroke his ego like all best friends do when the other half of their duo is having a bad day. “And it isn’t your name that opens doors. It’s your skill. You’re the best pitcher in the country, Lenigan69. Quite possibly the world.”
He nudges me with his shoulder, his expression nowhere near as sour as it was only moments ago. “You’re only saying that because you want to eat canapes around a two-million-dollar grotto pool.”
“Duh,” I repeat, successfully hiding my shock a pool could cost that much. “And let’s not forget the possibility of meeting my future investment banker husband. Who knows, perhaps this event could upgrade me from a hedge fund portfolio schmuck to one who dabbles in foreign exchange.”
Lennox’s growl sets my pulse racing, but it isn’t dangerous enough to veer Cubie away from the entrance ramp of the jampacked US-60 E freeway. It’s time for Lennox to uphold the pledge he made with his mother, and I’m tickled pink I get to be a part of it.
5
Lennox
“Holy shit cakes,” Summer murmurs when I steer her car down the long driveway of my father’s Nashville ranch. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. There isn’t a bull or a cowboy in sight. My father bought this propertysolelyso he’d have the land to build a monstrosity of a house with a grotto pool bigger than any resort in the southern hemisphere. “Is the valet just for the gala, or are they here all the time?”
My groan answers Summer’s question. It also doubles the rise and fall of her chest. She knows of my father’s wealth and why I refuse to benefit from it, but she had no clue it extended this far. No one ever anticipates this type of wealth, especially when you learn how it was achieved. Yeah, he played baseball for the majors. He was a decent player, but his antics off the field yielded him most of his money.
Tabloids vie for exclusive interviews when you have two children outside of your marriage within the first year. When those interviews rate higher than shows that cost millions of dollars to produce, endorsement deals flood your inbox. Add those to the fact my father put his name on every business he could in the southern half of the country, an average catcher soon became a billionaire entity.
He’s rolling in money, but instead of sharing it with my mother when he filed for divorce so he could wed my high school girlfriend, he dragged her through a long two-year court battle. He knew she didn’t have the funds to go against him and his army of lawyers, and he fought her for his fortune until the very end.
She died the month before the judge made his ruling. My father allegedly called off the wedding to Eliza as a mark of respect. It was a little late as far as I am concerned, but my father is as arrogant as he is boastful.
“Store it in the closest garage in case we need to leave early,” I instruct the valet before jogging around to the passenger side to help Summer out. She’s wrangling her backpack like her father snuck in more than the hundred dollars he did when he told her to check the oil before we recommenced our two-thousand-mile journey.
Summer isn’t surprised when I take her backpack. I carry her books to her sorority house every Friday night before we head out for the latest shindig. But she is shocked when I clamp my hand around hers like we’re more than friends.
On the drive here, I was torn between acting as if we don’t know each other and bribing her to pretend she’s my girlfriend. I had planned to go with the stranger ruse, confident it would keep my father out of sniffing distance, but it went to shit when I spotted Tweedledum One and Two peeling out of the sportscars my father purchased for them to make up for the lack of ‘equipment’ between their legs.
I didn’t get my brains from my father nor the girth between my legs.
That’s all from my mom’s side of the family.
“Summer, this is Adam and Mark. Adam and Mark, this is Summer, my…”
“Hi, y’all. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Summer jumps in when I leave my introduction hanging. Before my half-brothers can accept her offer of a handshake, the brutal crunch of Cubie’s gearstick shifting from neutral to first steals her focus. “You need to double pump the clutch.” When the valet gestures that he can’t hear her, she yanks her hand out of my grasp before galloping down the over-the-top marble staircase. “Double pump the clutch!”
I stop watching her mime instructions through the tinted windows of her car when Adam snickers under his breath. “Well fucking played, Lenny.” I want to punch him for an entirely different reason than using a nickname I hate when he adds, “You brought the ultimate cockblock to Dad’s event. I wish I were that smart.” After beckoning a busty blonde to his side with a degrading click of his fingers, he mutters with a sneer, “Now I’ll have to keep Marcelle on a short leash.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I bark out, my tone indicating my fuse is extremely short. I don’t play fair in general, but I break even more rules when Summer’s feelings are tossed into the blender. It’s been that way since day one. It started right around the time a drunken idiot tried to proposition her outside of Books N Bites. My knuckles got bruised that night, and I see them doing the same today.
Like the dumb idiot he is, Mark chuckles out, “Don’t act like you’re unaware your girls are Dad’s favorites.” He nudges his head to Summer, who’s coaching the valet how to drive Cubie. “You won’t have to worry with her, though. Where did you pick that fugly up from? The swamp?”
I fist his shirt before bringing him to within an inch of my face. “If you want to keep your teeth, I suggest you keep your thoughts inside your fucking head. Do you understand me? Or do I need to speak slower since you’re clearly fucking stupid?” I’m not solely referencing how I kicked his ass both on and off the ball field last year. I am also hinting at his inability to see past the exterior Summer wears to protect herself.
“Woah, man, hey. Chill the fuck out,” Adam pleads, confident Mark and I are about to come to blows for the second time in the past six months.
Since this scuffle isn’t out on the mound, I won’t have to stop like the referee forced me to do last season, and since it concerns Summer, I’ll belt into him even harder than I did back then. I didn’t hold back when a dumbass wide receiver tried to boot Summer out of a frat party at his girlfriend’s request two and a half years ago, and I won’t now even when the punk badgering me shares some of my blood.
When I spot Summer’s cautious approach, I plop Mark back onto his feet before whispering, “When Summer gets back here, you better treat her real fucking nice.” He rapidly bobs his head, but it does little to weaken the anger incinerating my veins. “And I don’t mean the way you treat her,” I nudge my head to the ditzy brunette that has the ‘Cabarello’ trademark all over her neck and torso. “I mean like the lady she is.”
I take in his nod for another two seconds before pushing him away from me.
