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His words grate me, the way he callously refers to Bree like she’s something of insignificance when she means so much more to me than that.
I release a calming breath. “She’s not just pussy,” I tell him, needing him to understand. Wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I care about her. She’s become someone important to me. She’s not going to sell, and I’m not going to ask her to. We need to figure out another option.”
His eyes widen fractionally before he schools his features, shaking his head. “How the hell do you expect to run a company when you can’t separate business from pleasure?” He stands, towering over me. “Either you convince her to sign over that goddamn lease, or you can kiss that CEO title goodbye.”
I stare at him, wondering how in the hell I was raised by someone so emotionally detached. His son, his flesh and blood, just told him he cares about someone, and his only response is to threaten me.
“I quit.” The words are out before I even realize what I’m saying, but I don’t regret them. For years, I’ve given this man every damn part of me, but it’s never enough. It’s never going to be enough.
“You don’t mean that,” he says, looking stricken like he never imagined I could say such a thing.
“I do.” I stand, ready to be done with this conversation. “I quit. Gretchen can have the CEO title.”
As I’m heading toward the door, he calls out, “You’re making a big mistake. Think about what you’re doing. Take some time off to rethink this. You’re about to throw away your entire future for a woman.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I tell him. “And she’s not just a woman. She’s the woman I can see spending my life with. Goodbye, Dad.”
After saying bye to my mom, I take off. I don’t call Bree, knowing she won’t answer. Instead, I go home so I can talk to Brody, and we can figure this out together. When I walk through the door, he’s pacing the floor. He looks up at me. “How’d it go?”
“I’m unemployed.” I chuckle humorlessly.
His eyes widen. “He fired you?”
“Nah, I quit after he told me to stop choosing pussy over business, even after I told him I care about Bree. Fuck him.”
“You don’t need him,” he agrees. “You only worked for him because of familial obligations. Now you can come work with me.” He grins, and I shake my head. On several occasions, Brody’s asked me to come work with him, but he’s right. I felt like I owed it to my dad, to my family, to work for the family business, even though he never appreciated me. I kept hoping if he could let go of the reins, I could take over and turn it into a place I wanted to work at.
“We’ll see,” I say with a smirk. “I think I’m going to take a few weeks off. Use that paid vacation I never fucking use.”
Brody chuckles. “Makes sense. And while you’re off, you can beg Bree to take us back.”
“Us?”
“I tried calling and texting, and she sent my ass to voicemail and didn’t respond to my messages. She’s lumping me into this shit, and you need to fix it.”
“She asked if you knew. I didn’t confirm, but I think she put it together since we’re close. I’m sorry, man.” I clasp his shoulder. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make this right.”
The first thing I do is text Bree, asking to talk, hoping maybe she’s calmed a little. When she doesn’t reply, I look up a common “I’m sorry” flower and then order a bouquet of blue hyacinths to be sent to her immediately.
Since I know that won’t be enough, I wait for the confirmation that she received them, and then I go over to her place since I know she’s home. I slip in with someone else so she can’t deny me access and then knock on her door.
Without asking who it is, she swings the door open, her eyes widening in shock, telling me she was expecting someone else.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says, ready to slam the door in my face.
“Please, just give me a few minutes.”
“I don’t have a few minutes,” she says, sniffling. “I thought you were the car service.”
“Car service to where?” My heart beats like a drum in my chest. Where the hell would she be going?
“To the airport,” she answers robotically. “I’m going to visit my kids for a few days. I miss them.”
She’s running. This isn’t good.
“Please don’t do this,” I say, stepping toward her.
She takes a step back. “Go visit my kids?”
“No, run. I fucked up. I know I did. But Brody wasn’t a part of this.”
“He knew and didn’t say a word. He’s guilty by association.” She grabs the handle on her suitcase and pops it up. “I gotta go.”
