I slide my hands into the pockets of my dress pants, fighting the urge to tell him to fuck himself. “You want me to give your daughter?—”
“And your niece,” he cuts in, but I continue.
“—a job when she is vastly unqualified and inexperienced?”
“She has a degree in marketing,” Thatcher hisses. “She is perfectly qualified to work at your agency.”
“That means she’s perfectly capable of working for another marketing firm,” I say with disinterest, eyes surveying the crowded room. I’ve only recently relocated to Ashland. This branch of Reynolds & Media Co. is smaller than I am used to, but it has real potential for growth.
I can’t say it was a hardship to get out of New York and the societal obligations and responsibilities that hounded me there. It has been a nice change of pace, knowing my work day ends when I leave the office and won’t follow me home—for the most part.
Thatcher steps into my field of view, his face red. “She wanted a chance to work with her uncle?—”
Rolling my eyes at that load of bullshit, I shake myhead. “I don’t have any internships for her.” I smile in greeting as the creative director, Marsh Copeland, walks past with a glass of red wine in her hand. When she’s out of earshot, I look back at my brother. “She’ll have to apply in May.”
Thatcher looks aghast. “She has toapplyfor an internship?” He rakes a hand through his dark hair, frustration glimmering in his eyes. “Graft, she’s family. That should count for something.”
“Why?” I ask simply.
“Why?” he chokes out. “I thought family took care of each other.” There’s a bitterness coating his words that has me fighting back the urge to roll my eyes again.
“Our family has,” I say reasonably. “You just said you earn enough money on your trust fund, right? That’s how Angelica got her degree, after all.”
Shock flares his eyes before he tamps it down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, Thatch,” I return dryly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to circulate. You can see yourself out, I’m sure.”
He pins one last glare on me. “You’re an asshole, Grafton. Hope you know that.”
“And your opinion stopped mattering to me a long time ago,” I murmur. “Probably around the time you decided that getting your dick wet was more important than me being your brother.”
He’s always held an unnecessary sense of competition between us, believing that we’re in some sort of game where he “wins” every time he steals a woman from me. It backfired when he went after someone he believed I was interested in—in reality, I only spoke to her twice—and ended up knocking her up with Angelica.
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t have anything to sayto that. Instead, he shoots one last glare my way before spinning on his heel and storming off. I watch him go with amusement, but just as he crashes through the ballroom doors, my eyes catch on a flash of green.
My brows furrow as my eyes lock on a woman standing by herself at the bottom of the opulent Christmas tree. Her head is tilted back, dark hair cascading down her back, the lights of the tree dancing over her profile.
The silky green dress she’s wearing highlights the red undertones in her hair, hugging the curves of her lithe frame, but it’s her face that I’m locked in on. I can’t see the color of her eyes, and it’s maddening, how strong the urge is to march over there and find out. But I can see the way her cheek pulls up in a soft, wistful smile as she stares at the Christmas tree—like it holds all the answers she’s looking for.
I want her to look at me like that.
The thought startles me, my breath catching in my chest as I finally drag my eyes away from her, feeling like someone’s just shoved me off a cliff.
“Grafton.” My assistant appears at my side, a glass of wine in one hand and a whiskey in the other. “I thought you might need this after Thatcher’s impromptu visit.”
“Thank you, Judith,” I murmur, taking the glass from her, immediately taking a healthy swallow. “Do you know who that is?”
“Who?” She follows my line of sight curiously. “Hmm…no, she doesn’t look familiar. But I’m still getting to know everyone.”
Judith decided to follow me from New York, with the incentive of a handsome bonus and raise, and I was eternally grateful for it. I’m not sure I would ever manage to cope without her. It proved to be good timing. Her husbandhas taken the opportunity to retire, spending most of his time woodworking in their garden shed.
“I’ve confirmed that Thatcher left,” she tells me quietly. “I had security discreetly follow him out.” Her mouth looks like she’s just sucked on a lemon.
I grin at her. “Thank you. You’re always a step ahead of me.”
“It’s why you pay me the big bucks,” she quips, and I chuckle before my eyes find their way back to the woman, like they’ve been yanked by a magnet.
“How is the rest of the evening?” I murmur, and Judith shifts at my side.
