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“Thanks.” But I felt miserable. I’d never been someone who wanted a lot of attention. Seeing myself on the news was basically a nightmare.
Jake turned back to Bryce. “You, on the other hand, are going to have some explaining to do. Dad’s not going to like what you said.”
“He’ll be fine.” Bryce shrugged.
“Uh, maybe not.” Colby held up his phone. “He said he wants us to come over for a meeting.Now.”
“Fine.” Bryce sounded resigned.
We stood to go, but Noah stayed on the floor and played with the puppy. “I’m not included in that.”
Colby nodded at him. “Good for you, kid. Good for you.”
TWENTY-THREE
relatable
We drovethe golf carts over to Gene Windsor’s estate in silence. “Are you nervous?” I asked Bryce when we parked.
“Not at all. I told him ahead of time what I’d be saying. Those answers were vetted and prepared—it’s fine.” He reached for my hand, and I followed him into Gene’s cavernous house.
“Hi there.” A maid greeted us at the door. “Mr. Windsor’s just in the study with Ms. Jensen. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Um, this is my house,” Daphne called, but the maid had already disappeared.
After a moment, Olivia Jensen hustled out. “Gene’s ready for you guys. Come on.” She clicked down the hall, and I wondered how she still had so much spring in her step after almost twelve hours straight in spiked heels. “We watched the interview. You handled the questions well,” she told Bryce and me. “Your father’s coming to terms with it.”
“Then why do I have an impending sense of doom?” Bryce looked grim, and for a good reason. The atmosphere turned heavy as soon as we entered his father’s study.
Gene Windsor paced the room, clutching a colossal bourbon. “Nice of you to finally join us. Youdoremember who’s writing the checks, don’t you? Or did you all forget while you were out frolicking at the pool on my dime?”
His watery eyes flickered over us, coming to rest on Bryce. “Ah, my oldest son. The man who would be king. I saw your interview. Think you’re taking the reins already, eh?”
He chugged his drink, and Daphne went to his side. “Easy, dear.” She rubbed his back. “Bryce’s answers were pre-screened. Even Olivia said he did well.”
“Since when did you defend him? He’s always been a thorn in your side. Or…wait a minute.” Gene’s tone turned nasty, and I could tell his half-empty drink wasn’t his first. “Are you planning on sleeping with him next?”
Daphne straightened her shoulders. “Wasn’t there some stipulation in our new agreement that you wouldn’t be a dickhead? No? Remind me to call my lawyers in the morning.” She headed for the door. “Goodnight, everyone but my husband. I had a lovely day.”
“Goodnight, dear.” Gene raised his glass to where his wife had been standing, then turned to his sons. “Perhaps Daphne’s done me a real favor by sticking around. She’s making prison look good.” He laughed, but when the rest of us just stood there, obviously uncomfortable, he scowled. “What’s with the sour mood? I thought you’d all be celebrating yourselves, as usual.”
“Why’d you call us over here, Dad?” Colby helped himself to the bourbon. “Did you just want to soft-launch your prison humor? Or were you looking for someone to drink with?”
“Both.” Gene scrubbed a hand across his face. “You know Colby, if and when you get your life together, I’ll give you the company. You’re the only one who’s nice to me.”
“Aw, thanks, Dad.” Colby patted him on the shoulder. “But you shouldn’t take it personally. I’m nice to everyone.”
Gene looked a little confused, so Olivia Jensen took the opportunity to speak. “Your father and I just watched the interview. Like I said, Bryce, you did well. You came across as strong but supportive.”
Gene scowled, but she ignored him. “I think the interesting thing,” Olivia continued, “was how Chloe came across in the piece.”
She turned to me. “You looked great, of course. But I also thought you were very relatable. Initial polling indicates that you scored well with females in the lower economic echelon of viewers, which our partners really like. That segment is a hot target for ad space. So I’m thinking that we could use you more.”
“I’m sorry?” I scooted a little behind Bryce as though he could shield me from whatever she was saying, along with the nasty stare Gene Windsor was shooting in my direction.
“Sorry—sometimes I lapse into PR-speak,” Olivia said. “What I meant was, the audience liked you. Particularly young mothers and working-class women. You polled well with them.”
“How do you know that?” I asked. “The interview only aired a half-hour ago.”
