Chapter 4 #3
Their father cut into a scallop before continuing, seemingly intent on continuing his monologue. “Sydney was a good match for you. Her publicity was good for the company, and being attached to her worked at the time. Marrying Brynn is a better match,” Tripp said, nodding toward Grant.
She hated her brother’s smarmy grin at the praise he got for acting like a dog.
“Are you kidding me?” Reese couldn’t hide the bite in her words. Her father was fine with Grant being a philandering asshole as long as he, and The Devereux Group, came out better at the end of it.
Tripp pointed his knife at Reese. “You’ll bring Sydney tomorrow. We’ve hardly spent enough time with her over the years, what with her busy travel schedule. She’s retired from tennis now, I think I heard?”
Reese wiped her mouth with a linen napkin. A date to a wedding was one thing, but forced attendance at a myriad of Devereux family events wasn’t the outcome either of them had been searching for when this particular wheel had started spinning .
Karma really was working in mysterious ways.
Reese nodded. “I’ll see if she’s available.”
“Perfect,” Tripp said, smiling broadly before he turned his focus to Grant. “You will be cordial as the son of the host. I will not hear a single negative word out of your mouth about your sister or her girlfriend.”
He didn’t ask if Grant understood this time. In their father’s eyes, it was a requirement, not a request.
“Anyway,” Sharon said in a voice that was artificially high, trying to course-correct from whatever turn their dinner had taken, “hors d'oeuvres will be served on the patio at three p.m. sharp, and the dress code is coastal cocktail.”
Of course the dress code was ‘coastal cocktail.’ As if her family wasn’t already pretentious enough.
It wasn’t like they were the Rockefellers.
The Devereux family owned fifteen properties in the New England region, though they’d never expanded outside of the area.
Whether that was intentional or not, Reese didn’t know, given that she had never been privy to that type of business information.
The reality was, for her pride in her father’s accomplishments with The Devereux Group, he’d been given his start by Grant Devereux II, who’d made his millions as an investment banker. Failure would have been unlikely, if not downright impressive.
The housekeeper came to take away their plates, at which point Tripp stood and picked up his newly refilled glass of wine. “Grant, care to join me in my office? I’d like to discuss a few things with you ahead of tomorrow.”
Over the last forty-five minutes, all of the wind from Grant’s sails had deflated.
Tripp walked around the table and placed a quick kiss on Reese’s head. “It’s always good to see you, honey. Congrats on the acquisition by the way.”
Her father was a real Sourpatch Kid as far as Reese was concerned, which was the most euphemistic descriptor she could find, and still, she hated the way she preened at the praise.
What Reese wouldn’t have given to be the one asked to go into his office and talk shop. To discuss the intricacies of the hotel world in general, the changing markets and the influx of foreign money that had been littering the space for the last five years.
All she’d ever wanted was to learn from him, to sit at his feet, work by his side, and understand how to build something that would last.
But it hadn’t happened up until this point, and it sure wasn’t going to happen now.
Not when her father was dead set on The Devereux Group’s future riding on the back of a man who Reese knew for a fact had gotten a tribal tattoo across his shoulder blades at the age of twenty, something he’d somehow managed to keep from their parents all these years.
Her mother poured herself another glass of wine, and Reese held her hand over the top of hers. “Your father’s under a lot of stress, Reese.”
“ Life is a lot of stress, Mom. For everyone. I don’t think he should be given a special award for wanting to be in a position of power and then taking the responsibility out on other people.”
Her mother leaned closer, like she was sharing a secret. “You know your brother is challenging.”
“Yeah, and water’s wet,” Reese said with a sarcastic laugh. “It was his choice to groom Grant as his successor. This was the future he wanted.”
“Your father’s just old-fashioned.”
As if that made it any better. Tripp Devereux wasn’t too old-fashioned to keep up with the changes in technology and travel expectations, but ask him to support a woman in a position of power and suddenly he was Barney Fife, looking down at his shoes all ‘golly wiz, shucks.’
“But you’ll come tomorrow?” Sharon asked, squeezing Reese’s hand.
For the first time that night, Reese really looked at her mom. She seemed… tired. Her makeup was done flawlessly, bu t her shoulders sagged now that they were alone, and there was a dullness in her eyes that tugged uncomfortably at Reese’s heart.
For all the difficulties with her family, Reese was the one who’d stepped away from her mother, not the other way around. “Are you doing okay, Mom? I’m sorry that Grant and I got into it at dinner. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Sharon waved her off and stood up, breaking the intimacy of the moment. “You know me, sweetie. Always another event to chair or fundraiser to organize. Add in Grant’s wedding, and there aren’t enough hours in the day.”
Reese cocked her head to the side. “Why are we hosting the wedding events? Doesn’t the bride usually do that?”
“Your father insisted.” Sharon rolled her eyes as if to say, ‘You know men.’ “He wants to make a good impression on Stan Fitzpatrick.”
“If it’s his choice, why are you doing all the work?” Reese asked.
Another wave from her mother’s perfectly manicured hand was the only answer she was going to get.
Reese stood up, too. It looked like the night was going to be blessedly short, though tomorrow was going to come too soon. “Well, just make sure you’re taking time for yourself.”
“I will.” Her mother walked her to the door. “You were always so driven. I’m sorry that your father doesn’t look at it the same because you’re his daughter.”
“Too much business is done in cigar bars and on golf courses,” Reese said, mocking her dad’s matter-of-fact tone when he said misogynistic statements like they were facts instead of opinions.
Her mother took both of Reese’s hands within her own.
There was a whole extra level of physical closeness in the Devereux household tonight.
“I’m proud of you. I know I don’t say it enough, and god knows I don’t understand half of what your software did, but I’m really proud of you, honey.
And it’ll be nice to see Sydney again. I’m glad you’re bringing her tomorrow. ”
There it was again, that invisible hand that seemed to wrap itself around Reese’s heart and squeeze.
She gave her mother a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“On your best behavior,” Sharon said in a no-nonsense tone, slipping back into the person Reese had come to know over the last thirty-one years.
Reese waved back at her mom as she reached her car, not answering.