Playing Mr. Perfect (The Bradens at Ridgeport #1)

Clay

Tuesday morning, I’m in Seth’s Manhattan office talking with him and my father, who’s joining us via video chat. I’ve just told them about Ben and his family and explained the concept for the foundation to help families of lower-income athletes who receive sports scholarships. “My legal and financial teams are ready to move forward, but before I proceed, I’d like to know what you think about the idea.”

My father’s brows pinch, his keen eyes serious behind his glasses. He’s always been a strong influence in my life. He’s patient, methodical, and supportive, and he thinks everything through before reacting, just like Seth. They are almost mirror images, except my father’s thick, wavy hair was more salt than pepper, and he has better fashion sense than Seth. As proven by his blue button-down versus Seth’s dark brown patterned sweater over a blue plaid shirt.

Seth sits forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers steepled. His gaze moves between me and my father, and he drums his fingertips. I know he’s waiting for my father’s response.