Page 257 of Manhattan Bossholes

Her words caught me off guard. I’d never considered Trent to be the kind of person to struggle like that. “Can I ask what happened? With his parents?”

Sheila reclined in the chair, crossing her legs. “He hasn’t told you?”

“Only in passing,” I lied. I didn’t want it to seem like Trent didn’t confide in his girlfriend. “I mean, I’ve read the press releases, obviously.” And I had, the moment I’d left Dee’s place after Trent offered me the job. I’d immediately Googled the company, reading up on everything I could. “I know the official narrative, but it’s clear there was a lot more going on.”

Sheila glanced at the door, like she was worried someone might overhear her gossiping. Satisfied that no one was hanging around, she sighed, shaking her head before diving in. “I guess it really boils down to the divorce. When Conrad and Lara announced that they were done, I can’t say anyone was surprised. Anyone in this building with a pulse knew they were having problems in their marriage—and it had started to spill over into their work in a very toxic way.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. There were fights at the board meetings, contradicting email chains, entire furniture lines that had to be shelved because someone wasn’t on board with…whatever.” She waved her hand. “In a way, a lot of us were relieved to see the relationship end. They were so focused on tearing each other down they didn’t care if they tore the company down too.” She winced, like she thought she’d said too much. “I mean, it was an emotional time for them. They weren’t thinking clearly. And it all just kept escalating until it got past the point where it was even an option to try to walk it back. It was very messy by the end.”

“Sounds like it was a tough situation for everyone.”

She nodded. “We weren’t sure who was in charge of what anymore, or who we should be taking orders from, or escalating problems to. They’d run the company together for years, but they reached a point where they couldn’t get on the same page. All of us felt stuck in the middle, unable to do our jobs.” Sheila shrugged. “In the end, the only thing the board could do was bring Trent in. He hated the idea at first. His parents hadn’t always been the most present while he was growing up, and he wasn’t at all impressed with their behavior. He wasn’t part of the business back then—he was off doing his own thing. But he stepped up when Dee asked him to.”

I forced a smile. It sounded like an awkward situation all around. If Trent had never been close to his parents, had been unhappy with the way they’d handled the divorce, and had resented being dragged into the family business when he’d wanted to do other things, that gave some context to why his interactions with them were so harsh. I could sort of see where he was coming from.

But that didn’t mean I agreed with his choices.

There was nothing I wouldn’t give for more time with my parents. And even if he didn’t have the same kind of relationship with his that I’d had with mine, I had to think he’d regret it if he kept freezing them out. You can’t take family for granted. Especially not when it seemed like he was judging his parents by unfair standards, blaming them for bad behavior during what had clearly been an incredibly difficult time for them. He could maybe afford to give them a little more grace.

“Anyway,” Sheila continued, “I do think Trent foresaw completely different things for his life. So, the fact that he’s here, running the company, couldn’t have been easy for him. And now with Dee’s diagnosis…I’m just glad he has you.” She winked at me. “I’ll let you get back to work. Talk later?”

“Sure,” I said, twisting back around as she disappeared, facing that scandalous sketch of me and dream-Trent. My phone beeped, and I looked down to find a notification from 1stDibs. I usually ignored these messages until I was back home, but I needed something to clear my head.

I opened it, grateful for the distraction as I scanned the message.

Good day, I’m looking for something one-of-a-kind. Would you be able to design me some pieces that reflect…

My heart sank.

I stopped reading. This was a new client, but it sounded an awful lot like the jerk customer that liked to commission a piece, make me waste hours of work, and then ghost me. Even the wording was familiar. One-of-a-kind my ass! I deleted the message without responding and closed the application, irritated. I didn’t need to waste my time drafting things for someone who was never going to end up buying my work.

I huffed, finally crumpling the sketch of the chaise and throwing it away. The last thing I needed was anyone else seeing it. Sheila might have thought I was good for Trent, but that was because she thought we had a relationship that didn’t exist. I was here for the paycheck, nothing more. And I needed to remember that.

10

TRENT

The U-Haul rumbled beneath me, and I gritted my teeth, tightening my hands on the steering wheel. It felt like I’d sat my ass in the middle of an earthquake. I fully expected this absolute garbage excuse for a vehicle to crap out in the middle of the road any second. The guy behind the desk at the rental place had assured me it was a reliable box truck, but every time I checked one of the mirrors, I expected to see a plume of black smoke gushing from the exhaust. The last time I’d rented a U-Haul, I’d been moving into my apartment after college. Never in my life did I think I’d be doing this again. I tightened my grip, cranking the wheel hard to make the turn at the next traffic light.

Why the hell was the wheel so sticky?

I rounded the corner and honked at a couple of pedestrians that went darting out in front of me. This was not the vehicle to be playing chicken with, and I was not in the mood. The company I’d hired to deliver the old church materials Natasha had selected to her workshop had gotten their dates mixed up, and with no trucks available this weekend, I’d opted just to make the delivery myself. I could have called around for another company or waited for the movers to give me their next availability, but this was for Nana Dee, and I wanted to get the materials to Natasha as soon as possible.

The truck trundled down the road into a neighborhood of tall brownstones and streets lined with trees, some of the leaves already yellowing in the early October weather. It would be a lovely image, if the truck wasn’t sputtering so damn bad and I wasn’t trying to keep the wheel from pulling left and veering into a parked car.

At the next four-way stop, I dialed Jimmy, putting the phone on speaker and listening to it ring as I drove across the intersection. I figured it was best to keep both hands on the wheel.

“C’mon, little brother,” I muttered, looking at the house numbers. “Pick up.”

I shook my head when it went through to voicemail. “You’ve reached Jimmy Saunders. Catch you at the beep!”

“Hey, it’s me,” I said. “Again.” I let a little annoyance seep into my tone. “I’ve tried to reach you a few times over the past couple of days. Not sure if you’re just out or what, but call me back when you get this. I just want to hear how it’s going.”

With Jimmy away at Princeton, I wanted to make sure everything was all right. I knew the transition had been tough, and I was hoping to hear that he was finally settling in. I hung up the phone, spotting Natasha’s building. I pulled along the side of the street, wincing as the tires bumped along the curb. God, I hated this truck.

I cut the ignition and hopped out, heading around to the back of the U-Haul to lift the roll-up door. As I did, Natasha appeared wearing ripped jeans and a plaid shirt. She came hurrying up a short set of stairs, slowing as she spotted me. Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun, a couple stray curls falling down into her face. A pair of safety glasses had been wedged into the bun—it was disarmingly sexy. She leaned against a black railing, crossing her arms.