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Cory felt the bile rising in his throat. Not run Value Hardware? Was his father serious?
“When we speak again, I expect this to no longer be an issue. And trust me, we will be speaking again, Cory. Soon.” With an air of finality, Raymond shifted toward his wife and traded his glower for a smile. “Mark Pendergast keeps trying to flag us down. Shall we go see what he wants?”
Shocked into silence, Cory looked away from his mom’s sympathetic glance as she and his stepfather headed over to speak to Mark, one of the charity’s biggest benefactors.
Un-freaking-real.
Phone in hand, he marched outside into the balmy late-summer night, determined not to let lack of cell service, publicity snafus, or familial interference further ruin his mood. He wasn’t about to lose his temper in public, so it was better that he get some air.
Lots and lots of air.
His parents were going to drive him mad and he’d just have to accept that fact. With one son paired off, they would redouble their efforts to matchmake the other.
But to issue a directive? That was crossing the line.
He was successful alone. Content. Why didn’t they get that?
They had no reason to question his methods. Business was good. Profits were up, and plans for the next two new Value Hardwares slated to open beyond their home base of Haven, Pennsylvania, by next spring were progressing on schedule. Simply Home, the magazine that would further brand his parents’ chain of stores as the full-service home beautification centers he’d always envisioned, was his brainchild.
His parents’ retirement was looming on the horizon. Soon he would be able to steer the company he’d been the de facto CEO of for the past few years in the direction that best fit his vision. Dillon would share in the plans, of course, and his parents would always keep their fingers in the pot, but once they were shipped off to Arizona, God bless them, he’d be the captain of his domain.
Finally.
Directive, his ass. No one was keeping that from him.
He checked his phone. Still no bars. He’d have to try calling the photographer from the road.
Besides, the banquet was basically over. He’d made it this far, why not keep going? He had plenty of work to do and the only way he could be sure of maintaining his cool was leaving altogether.
His car was parked on the side street, the perfect spot for his earlier entrance and now exit. His escape was in sight. If his parents questioned why he’d left so soon, he’d tell them he’d decided to go home and cozy up with eHarmony.com. Why put off his chance for true love? Might as well start the search tonight, since he forecast it would take approximately half a lifetime to find a suitable candidate. Maybe longer. The chances of him finding someone who could tolerate his insane work schedule were slim to none. At least, he hadn’t met anyone so far who’d been willing to accommodate it.
He walked across the concrete portico toward the beckoning darkness of the well-manicured grounds that surrounded the banquet hall. The last thing he cared to dwell on tonight was his lack of a love life. If there was anything that would settle his mind—other than telling off his worthless photographer—it was recounting his successes. There were many, and there would be more. Dissatisfaction with his life surfaced occasionally. He was only human. But he didn’t long for anything he couldn’t satisfy within the columns of a profit-and-loss sheet.
Dillon was different, and he’d found someone to complement him. He and Alexa would be happy—at least until the inevitable squabbling and monotony of a long-term relationship set in—and Cory had done his part to help them along, in the form of paying off some of Alexa’s overdue bills. Money cured most ills, if one knew who to pay and had the wherewithal to do so. And he did.
Noises carried on the wind, laughter and conversation and the subtle clink of champagne glasses. The sounds faded the closer he grew to the property’s back exit, his expensive shoes whispering over grass damp from the sprinkler system. Earthy scents filled the air. The minty scent of wild bergamot, soil, and green things growing. Things that Dillon and Alexa would know how to nurture, whereas he only knew how to prolong their deaths. He’d never figured out to how keep a plant alive for more than a few months. The only green he knew how to take care of fattened his bank account.
At the back of the grounds stood a small gazebo, bordered on three sides by a thick hedgerow broken only by a quaint gate that led to the side street. He’d used that gate earlier to slip in undetected. Although given his family’s prestige, he never remained undetected anywhere for long. But he never stopped searching for the security provided by anonymity. Luckily his spotlight-hogging brother usually took up the bulk of the glare, and tonight was no exception. Dillon’s new romance would keep the local gossip hounds busy for weeks. And if that picked up the foot traffic in the store, so much the better.
He just wished he’d gotten pictures.
Ah well. The important thing was to focus on his priorities.
On his way past the gazebo, he glimpsed a slim figure leaning against the railing. He couldn’t make out many details in the dark, other than she had long, blond hair cascading down her bare back. The closer he got, the more he was able to discern. She wore what looked like a glittery gold scarf, except that scarf happened to wrap low on her back to cover her ass and upper thighs. Just barely. It probably counted as a dress in some obscure usage of the word.
He picked up his pace, intending to continue on, until he heard her voice. It was like silken honey, layering over his senses. His knees locked, halting his forward progress. He knew that voice.
Victoria, his interior designer and magazine consultant on Simply Home. As much as she annoyed him, she was also scarily efficient and had more creative ideas in one gold-toned fingernail than he had in his entire body. Hence why he hired her.
The annoying thing? He’d known Victoria since high school and they’d clashed numerous times. Pretty much every time they spoke. Their combative style of communication probably wouldn’t have worked for others, but it suited them just fine.
“You’re sure you’re okay, Bry? No, I know. Yeah.” The pause that followed was broken up by her continuous fidgeting. She played with her caramel-colored hair, stuck out her hip, even bent from the waist to stretch, accentuating the swells of her barely concealed ass.
Cory glanced away, but not before his stolen glance at that curvaceous part of her anatomy made him so hard so fast he didn’t even have time to curse. Jesus. Victoria didn’t make him aroused. Ever. That was statistically impossible.
He was overtired, that’s all. Too consumed by the conversation he’d just had with his parents, and his no-show photographer—
Speaking of the photographer, if Victoria could get service, he should be able to now as well. Cory whipped out his phone. Voilà. Actual bars.
