2. No “Sir” For You
2
No “Sir” For You
ALICE
The soft hum of after-class conversations picked up while I rolled my mat into a tight little tube Saturday evening. My younger sister, Leighton, nudged my elbow when I sidled up beside her, grinning over her tan bare shoulder, her frizzy, nearly black hair tamed into a long fishtail braid down her back.
“You wanna go grab drinks with the girls after we both shower?”
“You know, a bubble bath is calling my name,” I answered, shaking my head.
She gave me a knowing look of sympathy, head cocked like a puppy. “Still stressed?”
“A bit,” I admitted. “Relieved too, though. I can survive anything for ten days.” Ten more workdays. Ten more days until I would walk away from the illustrious corporate career I’d always thought I wanted.
“You really want to head back to Mistyvale?” she asked as we walked between the other women in our Pilates class.
Shaking my head, I replied, “No, not really. I love it here. The sun, the beach, the?—”
“Lack of snow,” she guessed, grinning as we both fetched our bags from the cubbies against the far wall, moving on muscle memory. This little fitness studio had been my one haven in these last few years, if only because our phones were required to be turned off when I came in the door.
“Yes,” I admitted, lolling my head back with a groan.
“Can’t fault you there,” she said, rushing ahead to push open the door for me, the heat of a Southern California spring instantly embracing us. Leighton and her twin, Kaia, had come down the first winter after I moved to Emerald Bay. Kaia would pop in every winter and wait out the worst of our Alaskan weather, but Leighton never left. She fell in love with the boardwalks and collision of cultures, just like I did. And truthfully, I didn’t mind the company. Growing up as the eighth of twelve siblings, chaos had been an omnipresent vein of my existence, marbling through every childhood memory. Between our litter of kids, a plethora of cousins, and a prominent line of respected fishing captains, there wasn’t a citizen of Mistyvale who didn’t know the Rhodes name.
In the months I’d been here alone—save for the spontaneous drop-in visit from my nomadic siblings and friends—I’d missed the chatter of voices, the huddle around the coffee pot first thing in the morning, the support during trials, and even the ceaseless ribbing. Big family dynamics seemed synonymous with sarcasm as a love language, but I’d grown to love it. Missed it desperately when my only company came in the form of a snake plant. I would have loved a dog if my schedule would responsibly allow one. Maybe I’d finally get myself that Morkie I’d always wanted.
But their constant banter was why I didn’t bother to pull out my phone as it vibrated in my bag on an endless loop. Between Greyson and his bottomless list of needs and our siblings and their spouses’ constant chatter, my notification list was in a perpetual state of overwhelm. The obnoxious orange message count would send me into a spiral if I opened the screen now—the expectation of responding to all of them exhausting just to think about. It could wait.
“Do you think he’s bluffing? Wouldn’t hiring someone from the inside of a competitor’s organization be an asset?” I asked as we started walking down the street, the quiet hum of traffic now mindless background noise.
“I mean, you signed an NDA, so it’s not like you can run around swapping trade secrets. I can’t see why your perspective wouldn’t be considered an asset.”
“Maybe that’s the conflict—that I could get into trouble if I said the wrong thing?”
When silence was my answer, I looked up from where my eyes had fallen to the sidewalk, only to come to an abrupt halt when Leighton wasn’t beside me. Whirling, I found her gaping down at the phone in her palm. “Did you know about this?” She breathed.
“Know about what?” I demanded, panic slicing through what little Zen our class had just spent sixty minutes instilling in me.
“Sissy, look at your phone.”
“Leigh, what the hell is going on?” When I pulled it from my bag, I did see an astronomical count in that little orange bubble, but when I opened the messages app, it was ninety percent the Rhodes Family text thread. “Is this some kind of joke?” I demanded as heat coursed through me, my temper flaring behind my eyes as I scoured through my siblings’ sequential freakouts.
Jameson
Pax, my man. Congratulations on the trade.
Maverick
Hell yeah.
But also, can you please stop setting impossible expectations? My coach thinks just because I’m your brother, I’ll walk on water or some shit.
Finn
Woah, man. Congratulations. That’s an enormous change, though. You ready to leave your guys?
Rhyett
Warm weather, Alice and Leigh in town, and two hundred and fifty million on a five-year contract sounds like a fucking deal to me.
Elora
Already ordered Emerald Bay Bombers jerseys for Brod and me. Family reunion for Pax’s first game?
Heart in my throat, beating a drum of denial inside my arteries, I panic-scrolled up to the top of this chaos, where Elora had nonchalantly dropped an article into the thread with a colorful ‘Congratulations’ gif. Hand flying to my mouth, I blinked down at the headline before clicking the icon to follow it.
Sure enough, national news was blasting Paxton’s name like some kind of sports messiah, Bombers fans celebrating like just Paxton’s presence would magically restore the team to its former glory.
I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Greyson’s parting words from last night planted in my chest as fury burned in my veins. He knew I was about to get more family in town when I’d told him so confidently nothing was holding me in the city. Fucking bastard.
Pax wasn’t just family; he was my friend. My closest big brother. Only two years older than me, he’d been Hadlee’s and my protector growing up and the only reason bullies ever backed off. Despite being showered in fame for the last decade or so, he hadn’t turned into a colossal asshole. Aside from Elora, he’d made the most effort of my siblings to check in, to follow my career, and to have my back on days when Hartless pulled his usual bullshit. He visited often in the off-season and video chatted when he couldn’t. And they’d just traded him from his home of the last eight years.
Ollie and Hartless now owned my brother’s career.
I glanced back to the screen as the thread auto-scrolled to accommodate the deluge of messages.
Jameson
Jesus, that’s a hell of a number. Don’t blow it all in one place.
Paxton:
Can you imagine?
Hadlee
A castle in the Scottish highlands.
Maverick
I was thinking a San Diego mansion, and an endless parade of punt bunnies.
Elora
Maverick Rhodes, you kiss our mother with that mouth?
Maverick
Oh please, sis. Like you don’t know what guys talk about in locker rooms.
Axel
Holy fucking shit, bro. Congratulations.
On the trade and the punt bunnies *winking emoji*
Elora
Boys.
Hadlee
Honestly, there are ladies in this chat.
Axel
Really? I can’t see any. Let me know if you find them, and I’ll mind my manners.
Paxton
Fuck that.
Maverick
I think that’s what El is discouraging.
Paxton
No, smart ass. I ducked out of the ‘punt bunny’ scene in college. Too much drama. If you’re smart, you’ll do the same thing.
Maverick
Coach picked me up for my speed, not my brains.
Kaia
Oh, we know.
Alice
Were you planning to tell me about this before or after you came to town?
Maverick
Ouch, Kai. Ouch.
Paxton
Nothing is official until it gets signed, sis. Didn’t want to get your hopes up if it was going to fall through.
Jameson
You retiring at the end of this?
Paxton
That’s the plan. One last big swing. Bow out before my body breaks.
Rhyett
As someone who’s about to hit thirty-eight, I’m worried you’re over-anticipating what your body will do by thirty-five.
Elora
Bullshit, you big baby. Keep up your supplements, PT, and yoga, and you’ll be fine, Pax.
Alice
Please call me in a bit.
Deep claws of overwhelm made my vision go foggy, my head throbbing as I forced myself not to panic. This was fine. This didn’t actually change anything. Yes, it would be nice to live within driving distance of my favorite brother. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, but I couldn’t help it. That didn’t mean I needed to stay trapped with Hart Investments . Greyson was bluffing. Throwing a tantrum like a toddler, trying to manipulate me into staying.
Your name has become synonymous with mine, Ms. Rhodes.
The asshole didn’t own me. I wasn’t his, and with a resume like mine and carefully honed interview skills, I’d land a solid position in no time. I’d just put Ollie down as my reference—he’d vouch for me.
Hell, how many women had two bachelor’s degrees under their belt?
Damn his name. Damn him for thinking my brother’s position would change my mind. Had he drafted Pax in some ploy to keep me under his thumb? To ensure loyalty the way that banks and employers kept people indentured with long loans as an indicator of stability? Like if I had something important entangled with the company, my loyalty would be stronger?
Leighton and I made the walk to the bar in a thick silence as my brain ran in circles and my temper grew, but when I made to drop her at the door, she grabbed my hand. I tried to hide that I was shaking. “You sure you don’t want to come in? I’ll buy you nachos?” she asked hopefully.
“Thanks, but I’m good. I want to pretend my boss didn’t just purchase our big brother and hide in a rom-com for the next twelve hours until I have to go in and face the music.”
“Alright. I’ll see you in a bit?”
Nodding, I gave her arm a little squeeze and promised, “See you soon.”
“Love you,” she added, pulling me in for a hug.
“I swear I’m fine,” I said with a laugh, squeezing her back. “This changes nothing.”
“Okay.”
“Okay! Love you, too, you weirdo.” Even as I turned away, it didn’t look like she believed me. I wasn’t so sure I believed me, either.
The navy embrace of night had wrapped around the city by the time I made it back to my apartment building. I hustled up the stairs and into my home, relieved for once that it was empty. I’d never lived in a space this beautiful before—the condo had been my gift to myself a year into my position under Greyson, and it was perfect.
Walking distance to both my gym and the beach, modern in design with sleek lines and glass windows, it was exactly what I’d always pictured when I thought of life in the city. Could I even afford this place with a job outside the corporate world? Did I want to? Or was it time to refocus on my roots and start fresh somewhere new, with something humbler and more reminiscent of my coastal upbringing?
Glowering at the margarita mix I kept in a pretty glass canister on the counter against the slate backsplash, I went to the cabinet and pulled out my favorite authentic tequila—something we stocked up on whenever we made it over the border. Too lazy to pull out the blender, I just poured myself a shot and knocked it back. The second went down smoother, and I curled my lips as I set down the glass.
This changed nothing.
The heat of tequila crashed into the frustration in my veins, and I snatched my phone. Before I could think better of it, I pulled up my thread to Greyson—something I’d never electively initiated.
Alice:
Were you planning to tell me we drafted my brother?
Three dots appeared and vanished, and I paced around the island before the text finally bounced into my inbox.
Greyson
Good evening, Alessandra. It was scheduled to come up in our weekly briefing tomorrow as a courtesy.
Alice
This is why you were so certain I wouldn’t want to leave my position.
Greyson
I thought it might be an incentive to stay. Yes.
Alice
Is that why you drafted him?
Greyson
Oliver, Eli, and Coach Sartori oversee the team. And the term you’re looking for is traded, not drafted.
Alice
So, this has nothing to do with my position working for Hart Investments?
Bubbles appeared and vanished, but my mouth popped open when Greyson Hart calling appeared on my screen.
Figuring that I wouldn’t be his employee for long, I slid the button to answer. “Good evening, Mr. Hart. I didn’t expect a phone call.”
“I didn’t expect a text from you.”
“Yes, well, I was a little caught off guard by the news. Truthfully, I would assume you would share information like that directly, as you prefer to be in front of any potential fallout.”
“Potential fallout?” he asked skeptically.
“You can’t assume I’m particularly comfortable with this.”
“On the contrary, I thought your brother’s presence in the city would be of comfort to you. Congratulations to your family, by the way. You must be so proud.”
God, that patronizing tone made me want to stab something. Preferably that obnoxiously pretty face. “Yes, thank you,” I said flippantly, rolling my eyes. Before I could ask my questions, he was speaking again.
“I was calling for clarification, as tone cannot be conveyed via text. Your last message could be interpreted in a few ways, and I wanted to see which you meant it in.”
I pulled in a long breath, trying to decide how to navigate this. “I just wanted to make sure his position isn’t compromised by my leaving the company.”
“The two events are unrelated.”
“Okay. So, this trade didn’t have anything to do with ensuring my loyalty to Hart Investments ?”
A dark chuckle rumbled over the line, dripping in condescension that perfectly foreshadowed the next words from his mouth. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess.” Before I could balk at his use of the word princess , he went on to add, “Paxton Rhodes is the winningest quarterback in NFL history. His accuracy is unprecedented, his players worship the ground he walks on, he just led his team to his second Super Bowl win, and Oliver has been biding his time waiting for the Wolves to max their cap so he could add him to our lineup for years now. I assure you, it’s entirely coincidental that his little sister has been fetching my coffee .”
My mouth fell open as I blinked into the starless void through my windows. It was an accurate representation of how efficiently he’d just emptied my chest of any trace of confidence.
Fetching. His. Coffee.
Don’t flatter yourself.
Well. The man certainly could remind the peasants of their place in fifteen seconds or less. I managed to keep my voice steady enough to utter a two-word response. “I see.”
“I had intended to share congratulations tomorrow morning as a courtesy of our working relationship, but the vultures in the press somehow got their hands on the briefing before it should have posted. Mr. Rhodes signs the papers tomorrow afternoon.” When his statement met a wall of silence, he cleared his throat. “You’re quiet. Is there something else you want to say, Ms. Rhodes?”
Go fuck yourself? Deeming that unprofessional, I swallowed and said, “No. Thank you for the clarification. I’ll see you at the weekly briefing.” No “sir” for you . So be it if my only form of vengeance could be enjoying stripping the formality from our dynamic.
“Have a good evening, Alessandra.”
With the subtle click of the line disconnecting, I slowly lowered my cell to the counter.
June could not come fast enough.
Greyson
I stared at my phone for a beat before muttering, “Fuck, Greyson,” then sighed and slid it into my pocket.
I’d gone too far. I knew it the moment the words were out of my mouth, but my irritation with the accusation in her tone got the better of me.
From the beginning, I’d decided that pushing her away was the only option. Had always been the only option. I couldn’t afford to like a woman that beautiful, lest she become a more glaring distraction. Liking her would complicate things. Liking her would compromise her.
Confused about the vernacular or not, Mattie hit the nail on the head when she called the woman my protégé. I’d certainly intended for her to fill my shoes someday. I needed her to familiarize herself with the ins and outs of the business in order to look after them once I turned my attention to more pressing ventures or was taken out of commission. Alessandra’s workload was heavy because I needed her to feel the burden of it before she actually assumed the role I’d planned to offer her in a few short months.
Obviously, the approach backfired miserably. A fact that was more disappointing than it had a right to be.
Perhaps that played into my frustration tonight. Knowing that the most valuable asset in my arsenal was about to walk away, and I’d be back at ground zero, hunting for a mind sharp enough to step into our COO’s shoes—losing Tiffany was bad enough, but to lose her and Alessandra within months had a headache forming with the promise of many hours of tension.
I was still rubbing at my temples, wishing I could go back five minutes in time, when an elated squeal and blur of purple caught my attention. “Uncle Grey!! You came!”
Plastering a smile on like I didn’t just shoot myself in the foot, I turned to face a beautiful, beaming Mattie as she sprinted for me. She might only come up to my ribs, but my niece took up space like the heiress she was born to be.
Wearing a fitted light purple costume and pink tights, hair wrestled into one of those military-tight buns with some little flower thing wreathing it, she hurdled for me. I’d just knelt, arms wide, when she collided with the force of a tiny train. This was her fourth year in the Emerald Bay Ballet, and while Ollie and his ex, Carly, had initially signed her up, hoping she’d gain balance and coordination, she’d really learned to love dance.
I just loved that it made her happy. She was a tricky kid to keep that way.
“ Of course , I came. Did you think I’d forget?”
She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “You had that art thing, too,” she explained with more understanding than any ten-year-old should have.
“Wouldn’t miss it, kiddo.” I resisted ruffling her hair, reminding myself she had yet to step out on that stage. Although it appeared to be waxed to her head, so maybe it would’ve been fine.
Mattie’s bright, beaming face made up for the irritation on my Uncle Reggie’s when I told him I would also not be making it to the Art Museum’s gala tonight. “She’s ten. She won’t even remember these childish recital things once she takes her place here,” he’d grumbled.
But I remembered.
So did Ollie.
And Mattie had twice the brain I ever did as a kid.
Reginald Hart was…old fashioned, to put it lightly. Quick to please but just as easy to anger, he’d stepped in to guide Ollie and my unexpected transition into leadership when Dad was killed in that accident.
To my chagrin, he was currently our acting Chairman of The Board despite attempting to hold the position from the sidelines. As the senior member of our family, Reggie expected our generation to hold ourselves to the same scrupulous standards he and my dad had been held to, our feet forever to the fire.
Growing up, I would have killed to have either of them show up to support me at a single football game or hockey match. Ollie and I both vowed to be different for his little ballerina, even if it killed us.
When Beau was big enough for hobbies, we’d have his back too, whenever humanly possible. But if we could both buck up and take our spaces in a company we never wanted for the little girl that changed both our lives, we could certainly carve out three hours on a Saturday evening.
It was with that end in mind that I crushed her against me as she giggled, throwing her head back as she attempted to wriggle free. “Good luck out there tonight. I’ll be the one whistling.”
“Uncle Grey!” she scolded. Her next words were rapidly hissed, “You can’t say good luck the night of a performance!”
“What? I thought that was just theater.”
“We are in a theater,” she pointed out as if it were obvious.
“My bad. Break a leg, or tear a tutu, or whatever you say in dance.”
“ Merde !” Oliver’s voice had me glancing up to where he was standing with our little bruiser on his hip. Beau was—fittingly enough—the perfect image of his namesake. Dark, tousled curls sat over olive skin and glacial blue eyes. He was built like a little tank, still holding onto that squishy toddler look.
“Fun fact. Merde means shit in French. But the ballet uses it to ward off bad luck,” Mattie stated sagely, not noticing as my brow arched.
Glaring at my brother, I muttered, “And you wonder where she gets her mouth.” Like it wasn’t bad enough that she swore in one language, Ollie taught her in at least two.
“Oh, I don’t wonder anything,” he argued, leaning forward with a bright smile to wrap me in a hug, which I returned quickly. Giggling ballerinas sprinted past us in a cloud of hairspray and glitter as some woman came over the speakers to usher our dancers back to their teachers.
“Hey, big man!” I said as I straightened, giving Beau a squeeze.
“Hey, Unca’ Grey.”
“Beau is very excited to see sister dance,” Oliver supplied with a smirk, though my nephew already looked too exhausted to be here. Me too, kid. Me too.
We walked Mattie to her room and then quickly found and filed into our chairs in the amphitheater, where Beau immediately began bouncing on the spring-loaded seat. Kid couldn’t hold still if his life depended on it.
Glancing around, I sighed when I didn’t spot that ridiculous black-and-white hair. My brother’s ex had one chunk of her onyx hair bleached nearly silver. I didn’t understand the statement, but it made her easy to spot. “No sign of Cruella ?”
“And there won’t be,” Oliver muttered, elbowing me in the ribs. His go-to way of telling me to shut the hell up. But Beau wasn’t paying us any mind at the moment. “Spa week,” he added in explanation, though it only made me loathe her more. Some humans shouldn’t have a right to procreate. Mrs. Hitler, for example, probably should have just swallowed.
Carly was another one. If it didn’t help Carly, it didn’t happen. End of story.
I could never regret her swindling Ollie into her life because it gave us these two, but they deserved so much more than she would ever give them. Deserved more than a couple of brothers who could wield keyboards like weapons but had no clue how to raise half-decent humans.
“Can’t say I’m shocked,” I muttered, crossing an ankle over my knee as I leaned back in my chair to examine the recital program. A moment later, the lights dimmed, and the music began as the director of the academy took her spot at center stage, and the evening began.
When Matilda’s class finally took their turn, I found myself more emotional than any man should be while watching ten-year-olds spin and leap across a stage. But that little girl, putting her whole heart into her first solo, was solely responsible for my being here to witness it in the first place.
In the months after the accident that flipped my world upside down, her big, expectant eyes, quirky kindergarten anecdotes, and absolutely absurd knock-knock jokes made me remember how to smile.
As she leaped over the center of the stage with her little chin lifted and hands outstretched like a proud purple bird, I remembered her leaping in front of me before spinning to grin back with that cherub’s face. Egging me on—first in that damn wheelchair, then on the crutches. Hell, it was Mattie who decided it was a game to keep my cane just out of reach, forcing me to move my rickety ass between PT appointments. Not even her daddy could’ve kept me on this side of death like she did.
I wasn’t Nona—not a Sunday mass kind of man, to her devastation—but Mattie made me wonder if there really was a god out there. A god that knew Ollie needed a reason to get his shit together and that I would forget how to smile and need someone to teach me again. Some benevolent being that sent us Mattie.
By the time she pranced off the stage, my eyes were a little misty, and I frankly jumped at the opportunity to excuse myself into the hallway when my phone started buzzing.
Jackson Reynolds calling…
My old captain called for three reasons, but only one of them was good.
Nerves clipping my voice, I answered, “How’d it go?”
“How the hell are you too, asshole?”
“I’m at a ballet recital, dick.” Honestly, where we came from, these were endearments between brothers.
“Say hi to Oliver.”
“Will do. You gonna answer my question?”
“We fucking did it, Commander.” Jax was the only motherfucker allowed to call me that these days. He seemed to enjoy needling me with it at any opportunity.
My heart ratcheted up. When you lose the ability to do the saving yourself, living through your guys is the only way to keep your sanity. Or at least, it was for me. Glancing around the mostly abandoned brick corridor, I asked, “Yeah?!”
“Everybody’s home safe.” His words had me blowing out a breath I’d been holding since his name popped up on my screen. Every face of every man who put themselves on the line for our cause flashed through my mind. Home safe. My shoulders relaxed, and I leaned into the nearest cement block wall.
“How many?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, my chest constricting as I processed that.
Twenty-two lives. Twenty-two victims saved. At least not everything about being a Hart was a nightmare. Our resources, at the very least, could make an impact. Feeling lighter and not wanting to be missing when all the dancers came out to bow, I managed a curt, “Thanks for the call, Jax.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Anytime.”