Page 5 of On One Condition

“Ha. But now with your Rolex and designer shoes, you’re too good for it?”

“Wouldn’t this project be better suited to one of you who knows the . . . less urban areas better?” Christ. Please save me from this proposed misery. Sure, the past is the past, but it’s not a place I want to revisit. Was it great as a teen? Yes. Is it even better for our clientele looking for this kind of retreat? Of course, it is. That’s why we bought the property.

But it’s definitely not what I like now.

The past is the last thing I want to dig up, regardless of whether Asher Wells is long gone or not.

“What’s the problem?” Callahan asks as he pops a grape from the fruit platter in the middle of the table into his mouth. “Is spending two months in Montana not on the Ledger-approved ten-year plan?”

Ford stifles a snicker as he looks at Callahan and says, “I’m sure we could squeeze it right between the bullet points of ‘I’m not getting married until I’m forty’ and ‘I want an article solely about me in Forbes Magazine.’”

“To think he doesn’t want us in that article.” Callahan sighs and shakes his head in mock sadness, clearly enjoying himself at my expense. “You still have a ten-year plan, don’t you?”

“Of course, he does,” Ford says.

“I was just checking. I wasn’t sure if he’d moved on to making mood boards or whatever the in thing is called these days.”

“Vision boards, Callahan. Keep up with the times.” Ford chuckles.

“You guys are assholes,” I mutter, but I’m secretly enjoying their banter. It was less than fifteen months ago that the three of us were in a different place, a different headspace, where Ford and I were at complete odds with Callahan. Disappointment. Anger. Resentment. Unresolved feelings that arose after our father’s death threatened to tear us apart.

But look at us now. Now we can call each other assholes and fuckers, laughing while we do it, knowing our bond is stronger than ever.

“Yes. Right. We’re assholes,” Callahan scoffs as he turns to me, humor etching the lines of his face. “Have you progressed from your bullet-point planning to making vision boards now?”

“Fuck the both of you,” I say while fighting a smile.

“He hasn’t denied it,” Ford says.

“Not once,” Callahan continues.

“There is no vision board,” I assert.

“But there is still a ten-year plan somewhere, right? Complete with goals and dreams laid out in spectacular fashion or some shit like that?” Ford asks. “Are there bullet points or is it a tiered outline? Or have you made posters of each item and have them plastered on the walls of your home office?”

“I’m voting the poster route. Laminated. Glossy and—”

“If that’s the only thing you guys can razz me about, then so be it,” I say while flipping them off again.

“It’s not the only thing,” Callahan says. “We’re going to have even more fun watching you get used to the slow-paced country life of Montana.”

“Sixty days.” Ford draws out the two words. “That’s a long time for you to be outside of the concrete jungle and off the structure-approved plan.”

Sixty days.

Fuck.

That’s forever in my world.

CHAPTER TWO

Asher

He draws my attention the minute he walks into Hank’s.

Draws?

Hell, more like he commands it.