by Lauren Runow
I look down at his hand on my jacket. He was an affectionate man when we were younger, but I can’t recall a time in the past ten years when he’s ever been endearing toward me. This entire situation feels foreign.
He continues, “The point you’re missing is that Missy isn’t trying to take anything away from us. She and I, we want to get out while we’re at the top. Seize the rewards of everything we have all worked so hard for. We’re not trying to destroy your mother’s memory. We want to engrave it in history.”
His arm that’s on my shoulder makes its way around my shoulders. He pulls me in, and I let him.
We’re looking out the back window, out at the bay and bridge, as he speaks toward the great unknown, “Do you really like working around the clock just to … what? Keep the family business going? It’s time you let go, Bryce. There’s a whole world out there. Places to travel, cigars to smoke, whiskey to drink … and women to dance with. Or maybe you want to settle down and have a family of your own. This is your moment. It’s time. It’s my time. It’s Tanner’s time. It’s your time.”
I hate that he’s my father. I hate that he knows so much about me.
He was there when I announced to my family that I took a job as a photojournalist and was embarking on my around-the-world adventure. He was the one who bought my new camera as a graduation gift.
He was also there when I tore up my ticket and took a job behind the desk to keep the family business alive. He knows what I gave up to be here. What he doesn’t understand is why I did it.
He’s changed so much in eight years. At first, he stopped coming to the office. That was when I realized he’d never actually done anything here. While he was the face of the company, my mother had done everything. He just dropped the facade and stopped coming to work completely.
Then, he married Missy, and the two have been traveling and attending parties galore. Something happened in the last few years that’s really changed him. He’s suddenly become obsessed with selling the company, and most recently, he gave half of his shares to Missy.
His distance from the man he once was is striking. Right down to the fact that he came here to deliver me the news like a victory. Only I’m about to call his bluff.
“Tanner didn’t agree to the sale, did he?”
He lifts his chin. “It’s his idea. Of course he agrees.”
I shake my head, pulling myself away from him. “He hasn’t signed anything. And he won’t.”
“Why are you so damn stubborn?”
I walk to the door and turn at the exit. “I guess I take after my mother that way.”
I march down to my office. Jalynn stands when I pass her desk, but I don’t acknowledge her presence. I walk straight to my office and pick up my cell phone to FaceTime my brother.
Tanner answers on the third ring. “What’s up?”
The phone is facing upward, so I can see his chin while he appears to be walking outside. “Dad just paid me a surprise visit.”
Tanner stops walking and looks down at the phone. “You’re about to yell at me, aren’t you?”
I clench my eyes tight and roll my head back.
“All right, all right. Before you chew my ass out, let me get into my apartment, so I can at least start drinking,” he says.
The phone gets maneuvered in various directions while he takes his keys out of his pocket and lets himself into the lobby of his building. I can see the marble floor of the foyer as he walks into the elevator and hits the button for his floor.
He holds the phone up. “You still there?”
“Still here,” I groan.
Only my baby brother can actually pause me from yelling at him. If this were Austin, I’d be losing my shit already.
Tanner unlocks his front door, walks to the fridge to grab a beer, and then sits on his couch. He looks to be propping me on the coffee table and then leans back, so he’s in full screen. “Okay, let me have it,” he says.
I’m about to yell, but I’m blinded by the fact he’s wearing cargo shorts, a tank top, and still sporting the man bun we’ve been ridiculing him about for years. “I thought you were gonna get a haircut.”
He leans forward, his face taking over the full screen. “Did you really call to ask me why I haven’t cut my hair?”
“No. I called to ask you why the hell you told our father to split the company into two.”
“Because it’s a smart idea,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“Not when he’s trying to sell the company.”
Tanner takes a long swig of his beer. “Yeah, about that.”
“Yeah, about that,” I repeat. “Are you seriously thinking of siding with them?”
“It’s not about siding with anyone. Dad and Missy don’t want the company. You and Austin have this intense hold on it like, if you lose it, you’ll lose Mom. Maybe selling will set everyone free.”
Set everyone free? “Are you fucking high?”
“Thanks for the confidence, asshole. I’m just trying to be logical. Dad said you and Austin are miserable working there.”
“You believe him? We’re only miserable because he and his second wife keep undermining everything we do.”
Tanner looks confused. “So, you want to keep the company the way it is?”
“Yes,” I answer quickly. “You know this.”
He nods his head. “I do. I just hear these stories from Dad and Missy. They want to sell so bad, and sometimes, I just wonder if it’s worth the aggravation.” Tanner rests his elbows on his knees and clenches his hands together. “Listen, Bryce, I don’t know if you know this, but Dad and Missy are really passionate about this sale. If I don’t sign away my shares, they’re going to go after you and Austin. They’re …” He pauses like it pains him to say it. “They’re gonna use Mom’s clause against you.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “Missy has already threatened us. Austin with racing and me with my assistants.”
“You mean the one who just quit?” he asks with a twisted brow.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Austin and I have to walk a tight rope around here.”
He sighs heavily. “Is it worth it? All this?”
I glance over to the money tree, the one my mother gave me years ago. “Yes. We’ll figure a way to make this right. Until then, I need you to hold off on signing. Promise me.”
“Definitely. I won’t do anything unless everyone is on board.”
“Thanks, man.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now, go get a haircut.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oh, Bryce, do you have Mom’s copy of The Great Gatsby?”
“I do.”
“Give it a read. I think it’ll help clear your head.”
“You need to stop smoking.”
“Very funny. Night, bro.”
“Good afternoon … bro.” I hang up with him and toss the phone on my desk.
This is my life. Not only do I have an insane amount of work to do, but also, in the course of an hour, I am being threatened by my father and then pleading with my brother. Dealing with the Sextons is a full-time job.
I lift Jalynn’s article again and go back to reading. I have fifteen minutes until my conference call and don’t know if I’ll be able to read it before she goes home for the night.
My cell phone vibrates, pulling my attention away from the article. Thinking it’s Tanner calling me back, I look at the screen and see a number I don’t recognize.
Thanks for the tree.
A text from Tessa is the last thing I expected to see on my phone.
You’re welcome.
How did you get my number?
The text bubble appears and then disappears.
I called the number listed on your card. Your assistant gave it to me.
I have to remember to give that girl a raise.
Who’s the stalker now?
I just wanted to say thanks for the luck. I won a scratch-off, got a fifty-dollar tip from a clien
t, and found out that they’re remaking The Nanny. It’s been a good few days.
A smile crosses my face as I lean back in my leather chair and respond.
I would never have taken you as a Fran Drescher fan.
There’s so much you don’t know about me.
I’d like to know more.
Truth or dare?
Truth.
What made you finally text me?
Every time I see the tree, I think of the first time we met.
I’d give you the entire Living Wall if I could.
I’ll take a dare.
Send me a picture.
What if I’m naked in the shower?
It’s four in the afternoon, and you’re a workaholic.
I’ve never taken a selfie before. I hit the Camera icon on my phone and hold it away to take a picture of myself. There’s a glare coming from the window, so I spin around and take a picture of myself with my office in the background.
When I check it, I notice I have a smile on my face. It looks too excited. I take another with a scowl. That doesn’t work either. I try a third with a small smirk on my face. I look like a damn fool. I try one more with a half-smile. Does everyone have this much trouble taking a picture of themselves?
I walk out of my office and up to Jalynn. She seems startled by my quick approach. I hold the phone out to her. “Pick one.”
With cautious hands, she takes the phone and questioningly looks up at me.
“I took a selfie. Which one should I send to”—I pause—“a friend?”
She bites her lip to hide her laugh and then regains her composure to be as professional as possible. She looks at the pictures and settles on one. “This one,” she says, handing back my phone.
She picked the first one where I’m smiling.
“This one?” I ask in confirmation.
“You have a nice smile. You should use it more often.” Her answer is matter-of-fact.
I walk back into my office and send the picture.
My coworker says you look like Henry Cavill.
Is that a good thing?
She pauses way too long before answering.
It’s a very good thing.
I’m finally settled in my bad after the longest day I’ve had in a while. Because of my dad’s impromptu visit, followed by a call with Tanner and then a text session with Tessa, I ran way behind. The surprise call I had with my editors in Chicago didn’t help my schedule, as I had to convince them the company was not being split in two or sold and everything they’d been told were all rumors.
I need to come up with a solution to my father and Missy soon because I don’t know how long I can keep this up. I want this company more than I want anything in this world. I know Austin does, too. All he has to do is walk the straight and narrow and stay away from race cars, and everything will be okay.
My contacts are out, and I have my glasses on as I lie in the bed and read the financial report that came in today. When I’m done, I look through Jalynn’s research for the latter half of her article. There are a few facts here that surprise me. I want to share them with someone, and I know the perfect person to do so with. I text Tessa.
Did you know James Dean might not have been driving the Porsche when he died?
It only takes her a few minutes to reply.
Well, no, I didn’t know that. So, the Rebel Without a Cause wasn’t as much of a rebel as people might have thought.
I laugh and take my glasses off to rub my eyes. When I place them back on my face, I look back at her text message.
Do you want to know what I learned today?
I’d love to.
What a sextillion is.
Excuse me?
Get your mind out of the gutter.
In the US, it’s a cardinal number equal to 1 followed by 21 zeros.
Interesting …
It would also make a great name for your …
A hard laugh escapes my lips.
You really think I’d call it that?
Well, your name is Sexton. I guess it kind of fits.
I fall asleep with my phone in my hand and a grin on my face.
As I wake up, it’s with the same rush as usual. I get in a five-mile run on the treadmill before a quick shower, and I’m in the car before six thirty.
My day consists of meeting after meeting, trying my damnedest to pay attention but nothing is working. I can’t stop thinking about Tessa.
I’m having lunch with the owners of the Seattle Gazette again, and I’m doing everything I can to get this sale done before my father and Missy put a stop to it.
I’m rummaging through my briefcase in the back of the SUV, looking for the report Jalynn bound for me, and then shift in my seat. I pick up my phone, dying for the millionth time today to text Tessa.
Brantley looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Everything okay, sir?”
I sit up taller in my seat and run my hands through my hair. “Yeah, just a little out of it today.”
“Most thirty-year-old men are out partying and picking up pretty girls. Not trying to run the world.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose as I laugh. “I never aimed to be typical.”
“Good. The millenials these days are a bunch of morons. Everything is hashtag this and hashtag that. They don’t even know it as a pound sign. If I used the word octotroph, their heads would spin,” he says, animated.
I’m a pretty smart guy, but he’s got me there.
“What’s an octotroph?”
“Color me surprised. I know something Bryce Sexton doesn’t know.”
I kick the back of his seat. “You know a lot I don’t, old man.”
“An octotroph is a pound sign or a hashtag. God, I hate that term.”
My shoulders bounce with my laugh, and I look down at my phone, excited to share this newfound information with Tessa.
To my surprise, she replies instantly.
#Interesting
#IThoughtYoudThinkSo
#IsThisWhatYouDoAllDay
#ThinkOfRandomFacts
#IfItGetsYouToTalkToMe
#Yes
10
TESSA
“All right, you, get in bed.” I usher Charlie into his room with a stern face. It’s a motherly front I put on to make it seem like I mean business when, really, I want to snuggle with him on the couch.
“Can I please stay up just a little bit longer?” he begs.
I pull down his Superman bedspread. “It’s already an hour past your bedtime.”
“Grandma and Grandpa Mason let me stay up till nine,” he says as he crawls into bed.
I tuck the covers around him. “Why am I not surprised?”
Running my hand through his hair, I appraise my beautiful boy. Big blue eyes and a smattering of freckles on his cheeks, he looks like his dad, minus the red hair. That he gets from my mom before she let it go gray. Still, he is a Mason even though he has the Clarke last name.
“You really love them, don’t you?”
“Grandpa used to be a pilot!”
“I know.”
“And Grandma was a schoolteacher,” he states proudly.
“I know.”
“And Daddy is a world traveler.”
“Oh, Charlie.” I run my hand along his cheek and lay it on his heart. “I’m so happy you and the Masons are enjoying each other, but I don’t want you to get too attached to the idea your father is coming home.”
His little face curves in confusion as his lips jut out. “Is Daddy a bad man?”
“No.” My other hand tucks the tendrils over his ear.
It would be so easy to steer him away from idolizing Ashton, to taint his mind with all the negatives, but no matter how much I can’t stand the man who begged me to end my pregnancy, I know Charlie is better off with a positive view of his father. I don’t try to sugarcoat anything. I just don’t want him to ever grow up, feeling unwanted.
“No. Your dad … he’s a good guy. He’s …�
� I twist my lips as I think back to all the reasons I liked him once upon a time. “He’s funny. He can tell stories—big, animated stories. There was this comedy club in Los Angeles—” I pause for a second when Charlie’s face scrunches in. “It’s a place with a stage where people get up and tell jokes. Your dad liked to go on the stage and perform for a room full of people. He wasn’t a comedian. He just decided one day he wanted to give it a try. That’s the kind of guy he is. He’ll wake up one day and say he wants to climb Mt. Everest or learn how to surf in Kauai”—this is all way over Charlie’s head—“or work as a hot-dog vendor in New York.”
“I love hot dogs!”
I hang my head with a laugh. “I know, honey. What I’m trying to say is”—God, what am I trying to say?—“people say you should live life to the fullest. Your dad certainly knows how to do that. It might not be the way I want to live my life, but I suppose it’s really great that he’s living his best life.”
“I think I understand. Do you miss him?”
I inhale my surprise and exhale slowly. “No, honey, I don’t. Your dad has many great traits, but he’s not the best daddy. Does that make sense?”
He looks down and thinks about this for a moment. “Mrs. O’Leary says a good dad doesn’t have to be your father.” He sounds wise beyond his years. Until he asks with a silly eye roll, “What does that even mean?”
I kiss his forehead. “Gosh, you’re cute.” I try to think about how to explain this to a five-year-old. “What she means is, there are many people in your life who can do the dad stuff with you. Like me.”
