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George’s eyes go soft. “So let’s do it. Let’s get Greer on board and honor Lizzie’s memory. Maybe your dad caves, maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s a win for you and for our sisters.”
My heart dips again. Our sisters.
George has always been a great brother to Greer. He’s been supportive without smothering her spirit. Attentive without being overbearing. Kind without being patronizing.
I still feel like I failed somehow as a brother. I should’ve checked in more. Wish I’d had the courage to ask uncomfortable questions and deal with inconvenient answers.
But I can’t change the past. All I can do is make a better future. One where girls like Lizzie don’t get lost or left behind.
Excitement blooms in my chest. I know I can do this. I have money. I have friends, and they have money too. Big hearts as well. I can definitely raise a good chunk of change if I put my mind to it.
And I know, in my heart, that even if my parents aren’t ready to talk about Lizzie in public, they’ll show up for me. If only to save face.
It’s not a guarantee that this will keep Dad from kicking Drury Lane out of our building. But it’s a start. If I can get Dad to open up even a tiny bit—if I can show him how much the women in my life mean to me—maybe he’ll hesitate to push the detonate button.
Maybe he’ll actually give Greer and me a chance.
“Y’all ready to open your wallets?” I ask.
Theo grins. “For you and the muffin girl? Hell yes.”
“Good. Now I just need to figure out how to set up a foundation.”
“You need a lawyer,” George says. “A good one.”
Another spark.
“I think I have just the woman for the job.”
@WSBathroom 6/1
IT’S CONFIRMED! Hearts broke on trading floors everywhere this morning when it was reported our Erotic Einstein is indeed dating Greer Fieldstone. AKA girl boss, kickass entrepreneur, and baked goods badass #LetsGoGirls
@WSBathroom 6/1
Love is in the air at A&T. Last year, another boss babe, Nora Frasier, paired off with hotshot trader Theo Morgan. They are expecting their first child.
@WSBathroom 6/1
We are thrilled for Einstein & Baked Goods Badass, even while we mourn the loss of one of the few *true* stallions in finance. Forget bulls and bears. We want ’em hung like a horse #rideit #mypony
@WSBathroom 6/1
Which begs the question . . . who’s next to pair off? Our money is on another power couple.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
GREER
I wish I could say I wasn’t nervous about meeting Brooks’s friend Margaux. But that would be a lie.
I shift in my seat as we pull into the parking lot outside Toscana, a cute little Italian place famous for its pasta Alla Buttera—rigatoni with creamy red sauce, sausage, and peas. It’s insane.
So is the fact that I’m about to have lunch with the girl my boyfriend’s dad wanted him to date.
Brooks uses one hand to guide the Range Rover into a narrow parking spot. “You all right?”
I know Brooks isn’t into this chick. He’s told me. I’ve told myself. But this is still weird.
“I’ll be okay. I’m excited for you. And for Lizzie.”
He shuts off the engine and reaches for my hand. “You’re a part of this too you know.”
“I’m honored.” I mean it.
Sunlight pours through the moonroof, allowing me to see Brooks’s eyes through the lenses of his sunglasses. They’re serious. Sweet. His stubble looks especially blond in this light. His lips look especially full.
My insides dissolve into a swarm of butterflies.
I still can’t believe this man is mine. That I got to wake up next to him this morning in his big, cozy bed. That he murmured hi into my ear before slipping inside me from behind. I played with my clit and he played with my breasts, and I came in no time at all.
I came again an hour later over coffee. This time on the kitchen counter.
I hope to come again after lunch.
I’m so glad I had Dustin and Hannah take the Saturday shift at the bakery.
“I’m jealous of the eye fucking thing y’all got going on right now,” Ian says from the backseat. “But we do have work to do.”
I smile. “Sorry.”
“I’m not,” Brooks replies.
Brooks asked Ian Holland to tag along today because he’s the as-yet-to-be-named foundation’s very first donor (other than Brooks, of course). I knew Brooks rubbed elbows with well-connected people, but I had no idea he was good friends with a Holland. They’re North Carolina royalty; back in the thirties, Ian’s great-grandfather opened the first Holland department store right here in Charlotte. Now there are over forty Hollands all across the southeast.
Margaux is already at the table when we walk into the restaurant.
She’s gorgeous. Long dark hair, tasteful makeup. She’s wearing a pretty poplin shirt dress and espadrilles, diamond studs winking from her ears.
She greets us with a wide, Julia Roberts-like smile. Beside me, Ian draws an audible breath.
