Chapter 9
WREN
D arcy looks wrecked when I arrive for work on Monday, which makes me curious about what his weekends are like. I swear the man never stops. It both intrigues me and terrifies me. Because if anything happens to him, I’m supposed to step into his role.
I know it’s only been a week, but I don’t think I could ever be ready to take over, and I’m not sure I’d want to. There has to be a way around the legality of ownership being passed down from heir to heir. We’re not royalty.
I’m sure it probably has something to do with owning majority shares or whatever, and I’m sure I learned all about it in my business degree that I’ve forgotten.
Or maybe that stuff is learned if you get an MBA.
Either way, I’m sure I’m not the right fit for this job.
If I’d been raised with the Ritchersons, I would be, but you can’t train someone all this stuff in a mere couple of months.
I’m more equipped for this: knocking on the boss’s door with coffee in my hand. “Rough weekend?” I enter his office and slide over a coffee for him. “Let me guess, all work and no play.”
Darcy rubs his palms into his eye sockets. “All play and all regret.”
“Ah, the walk of shame? Who was he?”
His gray eyes meet mine, narrowing with finality. “We are not discussing that.”
I wince. “He was that ugly, huh? Ugly people deserve love too.”
Darcy sips his coffee and lets out a sound that’s part hungoverness and part starving. “He was … adequate.”
“He was adequate,” I mock.
He snaps his fingers. “Hey, there’s something else that you missed out on. The Ritcherson family accent. Yours is appalling.”
“So sorry I didn’t go to private school in England.”
His amusement dies. “I probably shouldn’t have brought that up, should I?”
“I mean, I don’t care that I’ve never been to England.”
I can’t deny that I might not know who I was supposed to be, who I would’ve been if things were different, but after our conversation last week, I think I’m at a point where I can accept it can’t change.
Not the past anyway. My future is up to me.
I could walk away from all this at any moment, but there’s something tethering me to this company.
Or maybe it’s Darcy that’s keeping me here. At least for now.
There’s a connection there that isn’t with my other half brothers.
That might have something to do with the death glares they give me whenever I appear, whereas Darcy actually treats me like a human.
Not going to lie, the brothers’ hatred for me makes my ire wane.
I like that I piss them off. Because them being mad means they see me as an actual threat.
It would be worse if they were pretending I didn’t exist.
“So this is all exhausted seediness from getting laid?” I ask. “I think you’re doing it wrong.”
“Not. Talking. About. It.” His cheeks go red, which only makes me want to embarrass him more.
“Need some pointers? Guess you can’t ask our other brothers about that stuff, seeing as they’re straight and all.”
“Even if they were queer, I wouldn’t discuss this with them.”
“Because they’re uptight assholes?”
Darcy tries not to smile, but he fails. “Because we’re brothers. Sex is something you don’t talk about with siblings. It’s like a rule.”
“Weird rule, but okay.”
“I know you’re not used to having brothers, but trust me. It’s not a thing.”
“I might not have brothers, but I do have Remy, and we talk about everything. I know he likes a little choking.”
Darcy closes his eyes. “And now when I see him, I’ll be thinking of that.”
“Eww, do you have a thing for our cousin? I know you Ritchersons pretend to be royalty with all your heir shit, but having sex with your cousin is too far.”
“Ah, but he’s your cousin. Not mine.”
I think about that a moment, trying to draw out our fucked-up family tree. Remy is my cousin on my mom’s side. Darcy is my brother on my dad’s side. Technically, I guess they aren’t related. Weird.
“What are you doing?”
“Family math. It hurts my head.”
Darcy snorts. “You ready to get to work?”
Ugh. No. “I’d rather keep talking about your weekend.”
“I’m good. You don’t see me asking about your last hookup.”
It was so long ago, I’d have to think about it.
I’m not a hookup kind of guy, but it’s not like I’m a boyfriend kind of guy either.
“Ooh, it was this big, buff dude who wanted to manhandle me and have me call him Daddy. Considering my long list of Daddy issues, you’d think I’d be into it.
You would be wrong. I’m not a dom, but I like being the one in control. ”
Darcy whines. “Please, can we not … no. Just no.” There he goes, turning red again.
It figures someone as uptight as Darcy is also uptight when it comes to sex. I’m actually surprised he is the hookup type. I can’t picture him out at a club, getting loose enough to, you know, get loose .
Would he be the kind of guy to call someone Daddy? Or is he as in control in bed as he is for every other part of his life?
Hmm … he’s probably right. That’s not something most people know about their brother. It’s probably something I shouldn’t be interested in. Yet, I am anyway.
“Okay, I’ll stop. I promise.”
I’m so not going to stop.
* * *
I finally drop it around lunchtime after Darcy’s fifth threat to fire me.
I’m becoming more relaxed around him, and my resentment toward him fades with each minute that passes.
Under different circumstances, I think we’d be close.
Maybe the kind of close where we did tell each other everything. Even the sex stuff.
There’s a knock on Darcy’s office door, and the resentment is back when Junior and Tobias walk in.
It’s like they bring it with them.
“Lunch meeting,” Junior says.
“With who?” Darcy asks. “Avery didn’t tell me?—”
“With us.” Junior looks at me. “All of us.”
I narrow my gaze but glance out the side of my eye at Darcy, who seems as suspicious as I am.
“All four of us?” Darcy’s sure to clarify.
Junior nods. “Toby and I have agreed that we need to put in an effort to get to know our brother. Like Dad wanted.”
“Who are you, and where are the real Junior and Toby?” Darcy might sound like he’s joking, but I get the impression he’s not.
They laugh.
I don’t.
I sense a trap.
“It’s up to you,” Darcy says to me in a low voice.
“Sure. Why not?” Maybe if I give them a chance, they’ll surprise me like Darcy has.
I don’t have that anger at our father holding me back anymore.
As we leave the office, Junior and Toby lead us the few blocks to some fancy restaurant. They must have a standing booking here because the restaurant host doesn’t even ask for a name, just walks us through.
Darcy had his tailor come in to the office last week, but while I don’t have the suits I ordered—on the business account because no fucking way was I spending five thousand on a suit—I at least have a blazer that fits. Even if I’m still in jeans.
Apparently, the Ritchersons didn’t get the memo that billionaires these days are all from start-up companies, and they’re allowed to wear sweats to work.
When I brought that up with Darcy, he looked at me derisively, and out came the posh, pretentious guy who rarely makes an appearance. “That’s new money. We’re old money.”
We don’t even make it to the table when my suspicions of the motives behind this lunch meeting come to fruition.
Because there, already seated, is none other than Fiona Ritcherson.
The wife to my mother’s mistress status.
She’s blonde, plastic, and I choose to believe it’s impossible for her to smile because of how much Botox she’s had.
Underneath all the work she’s had done, I can see Darcy reflected in her eyes and her jawline. They have the same soft cheekbones, so I guess that’s one thing she hasn’t had work on.
I can already tell this is going to be a shitshow, but it’s not until after we order that I realize how much.
“We were looking into the phrasing of Dad’s will,” Junior starts.
Here we go.
Darcy gives me a sympathetic look. I want to believe he didn’t know anything about this, but while we’re getting along, I can’t say for sure. The trust at this point is thin.
“Because the business assets are tied into a bloodline clause, the controlling shares automatically roll over to the eldest living heir, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t sell said shares.
Which Dad did. Dad had been selling off shares until he only had fifty-one percent remaining.
Which rolled over to Darcy upon his death and would roll over to Wren in the instance of Darcy’s death. ”
“Planning to off me, brother?” Darcy tries to joke.
“They’re trying to make sure the controlling shares remain in the family,” Fiona says, making it extremely clear that I do not belong under the umbrella of family .
“What do you want me to sign?” I ask. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it because as much as this might be difficult for you all to understand, I’m not here to steal the company out from underneath any of you.”
Darcy’s hand lands on my forearm. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re not going to do that.”
“Darcy,” his mom says. “It’s for the best interest of the company and your brothers. Your real brothers.”
Wow.
I get it. Those three share full DNA. They were raised together.
But still …
Darcy stands. “The only reason Wren hasn’t been part of this family, where he has every right to be, is because of decisions you and Father made for him. For all of us. And if we’re going by birthright?—”
Fiona’s eyes widen, and she cuts in. “Darcy, we’re willing to be extremely generous here. It’s more money than he would ever be able to dream of.”
Darcy shakes his head. “When will you learn that money isn’t everything? Father wanted us to embrace family because he regretted his choices. Don’t let being his consolation prize make you bitter, Mother. There’s not enough collagen in the world to make those wrinkles disappear.”
Everyone at the table stares, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Even me.
Holy shit.
I never pegged Darcy as the kind of man who would stand up to his mother. Especially after he already said he was willing to marry a man he didn’t love because his parents asked him to.
And he did it … for me.
It would be really wrong to point out how attractive I find him in this moment, wouldn’t it?
Eww, he’s my brother.
But no one has ever done that for me, and maybe I’m realizing that having someone in my corner is what I’ve always wanted. I just wish it was from someone other than my half brother.
I shudder at the thought.
“Let’s get out of here,” Darcy says to me.
“Gladly.” I stand.
Darcy tips our waiter with a crisp hundred on the way out, apologizing profusely about having to cancel two of the meals we’d already ordered, and as soon as we hit outside, I … have no words.
We walk back toward the office, but it seems I’m not the only one lost for words.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know they were going to do that.”
“Thank you. For standing up for me. You really didn’t have to. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I’m not great at the business stuff. If something were to happen to you, the company should go to Junior.”
“No, it really shouldn’t. He’s selfish and would run the business that way. I think he has proved how unethical he can be.”
“I don’t understand why this is a big deal anyway. You’re not going anywhere. Unless you have some terminal illness you’re not telling us about.”
We reach a crosswalk, and Darcy hits the button. While we wait, he turns to me.
Wariness wars in his eyes, hesitance on his lips, and I want to urge him to tell me what’s really going on. Why this seems to be a focal point. Our father and Darcy were adamant about bringing me in, but why? I don’t understand.
Is he sick?
“Our father is proof that anything can change. In a month, in a week, in a day. Life is fragile, and the family’s position in the world isn’t guaranteed. Nothing is ever guaranteed. Please tell me you won’t sign anything they ask of you. Please.”
I still don’t understand, but I also don’t need to because the rocky trust I had in Darcy? It just solidified. “I promise.”