32. Now
THIRTY-TWO
now
“Okay.”
On the barstool next to mine, Graham Everett hikes up both legs of his purple pinstriped pants and leans over his single malt scotch, staring at me sideways. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
For Gray, for always .
I down half of my gin and tonic in one gulp. “It’s been a long week.”
He scowls at me. “Made even longer by you moping during happy hour. It’s Friday. Time to move on. ”
Graham is the worst under normal circumstances, but he becomes particularly insufferable when he’s right.
A group of young college girls eye us on their way past the bar, underlining his point. Women are always drawn to the pair of us. Back in college, when our fraternity held mixers, we quickly realized we scored more girls as a set.
He still uses it to his advantage. Especially now that he’s a third-generation broker—the long hours and stress leave him looking haggard and lean under his lavish suits.
“Where’s Daniel?” he asks, his eyes following the girls to their table. “He’ll be my wingman if you won’t.”
I snort. True .
Because I invited him myself, I can’t complain about Daniel coming along. But after a long day at the office, shooting emails back and forth, I really don’t want to talk to him anymore.
“Probably busy swindling some forty-year mom-and-pop shop out of their mortgage because they can’t make the payments he inflated,” I mutter.
Graham shakes his head in mock sorrow. “Success has made you bitter.” He finishes his drink and signals for another. “What’s the big issue? Your dad hired him to be in charge of acquisitions and put him on commission. He gets to be the Other Stryker; you guys get good real estate on the cheap, and you have extra time for your architecture projects. I don’t see the problem.”
Once again, I don’t have an answer for him. Truth is, Daniel and I were never close . Back when we both went to Columbia, he had a habit of piggybacking off our name. It wouldn’t have bothered me if Daniel’s father hadn’t embezzled money from Stryker Daniel crushes every obstacle in his path.
For almost three years, they’ve actually been helpful. As good as me, surely. Maybe even better, in Daniel’s case.
I like to tell myself it all comes down to his utter ruthlessness. That he isn’t actually way better at business than me. He just doesn’t give a fuck about appeasing unions, employee morale, or artistic integrity. And that gives him a level of freedom I doubt I’ll ever achieve.
It isn’t fair to him. He follows the law, upholds our company policies, and defers to me without question. Which, Graham frequently reminds me, is very big of Danny, considering he’s the elder Stryker son and, originally, first in line for my job.
My mother once suggested any residual resentment I felt for him might actually be embarrassment. When all my shit hit the fan three years ago, he was there. He witnessed my one true breakdown. And now that I have to be his boss, I can’t take any of it back.
In a lot of ways, I owe him. He didn’t abandon ship after learning my sorry ass would be the captain. And he stuck by me through the whole breakup process, offering countless bottles of liquor and the phone numbers for some of the sluttiest chicks in Manhattan…
A second later, Daniel appears, dropping into the barstool at my other side. “Oh God,” he snickers, giving me a once-over while beckoning the bartender by waving a hundred-dollar bill. “Grayson’s on his period again.”
Graham snorts. “Not yet. He’s still PMS.”
After placing his order and flinging his money at the server, Daniel rolls his eyes at me. “What’s your beef with this place, anyway? You’re a sad sack every time we come here.”
Images of Ellie grinning at me over the same polished bar top swim through my head. Ice knocks my front teeth while I polish off my gin.
For Gray, for always .
“If you’re both so worried about my fucking mood, why don’t one of you suggest a girl for this thing we have to go to next week? If I don’t find a proper date, I have to sit next to Olivia Twats. And I haven’t gotten laid since July.”
Not that I’ll even be able to if last night is any indication.
Graham balks. “Are you kidding me ? No wonder you’ve been such a dick all summer.” He spins his phone in his hand, already fast at work. “Easily remedied.”
Daniel doesn’t seem surprised. We work together, attend all company functions together, and both live in the new Stryker I’ll deliver them in person.”
Witnessing my cousin work the room always provides a good distraction. He seems to have a way with women. Truly a master negotiator. Even when we’re sure he’ll strike out, he usually manages to turn it around in the end.
Graham shakes his head while we watch him carry drinks over to the girls. “I don’t get it,” he says. “What does he have that we don’t?”
I’m not sure I understand women well enough to judge who they generally find more attractive. But Danny and I don’t look related at all. I inherited my mom’s Mediterranean coloring and green eyes, while he got his dad’s blonde hair and brown eyes. Also like his father, Daniel falls on the shorter side, his build more rounded than square.
Of the two of us, he must be better-looking, though. His results speak for themselves.
“Girls love him,” I muse. “He’s a confident guy. ”
Graham glowers, gesturing to his purple ensemble, presenting it as evidence. “ Look at me. And you’re literally a billionaire. Any other theories?”
“Big dick?”
He considers that for a moment. “We all have those.”
I don’t want to know how he knows that. “Maybe it’s the money. God knows he waves more cash around than I do.”
Graham shrugs, still not convinced but losing interest. He turns back to his phone. “So, Sara—yes or no?”
I haven’t even met her, and I’m already bored with her. The thought of spending a night with Sara-No-H sounds less enticing than a night with Stryker & Sons personnel spreadsheets. Or even—God help me—Olivia Twats.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, sending a charge down my spine. A sick thrill swells in my stomach when I see Amir’s text on my screen, along with an attached document.
My blood runs ice cold, then suddenly heats to boiling. It thickens, pounding loudly through my ears.
TEXT MESSAGE Found her , it says. Ella Callahan: 99 Gold Street, Brooklyn, NY. (410) 555-2394 .