Chapter II Dog Tired （Brady）
II
Dog Tired
(Brady)
I wear responsibilities like an old scar, intimately familiar with the pressure.
They keep you moving as much as they keep you in line. They can be your biggest carrot or a stick that bludgeons you to death.
Today, they have me working on my laptop early in the morning, sitting at the long table in the old family library while a big lump of corgi dozes at my feet.
Charlie slept through the night, and he’s still tired. He’s also part of the reason why I’ve forced myself to become a morning person. You can’t fix the world’s pet food problems if you’re crashing out at 4 a.m. and rolling out of bed past noon.
Still, just because it’s necessary doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I take another pull off the huge mug of black coffee at my side. It’s already halfway down.
The latest report from the lab blurs together in front of my eyes. I’ve damn near needed a crash course in veterinary nutrition to make heads or tails of these things, but I’m getting there.
By my feet, Charlie finally groans, sits up, does a big stretch, and pads over to where Mom sits, reading the morning news on her tablet.
He yips.
Mom looks up over her glasses and smiles.
My mother’s at her best in the morning, before the day’s obligations come crashing in.
Later, she’ll put her contacts in and change into something more stylish. Kerrigan Pruitt’s image is her main commodity, and she’s all about being perfectly put together.
In her opinion, failing eyesight is an unacceptable weakness, and she’s already had laser surgery twice.
Charlie barks again, his fluffy rump wiggling as he bounces around Mom’s chair.
I swallow a laugh, happy as hell to see him gearing up to play.
I idly wonder if the latest stuff my people are coming up with would ever appeal to an energetic beast like Charlie. It might make him happier and healthier, but only if his owner can afford it.
There’s the fucking rub.
Mom saves me before I glue my eyes back to the screen. She puts down her iPad and laughs, reaching down so she can cup Charlie’s fox-like face in her hands.
I’m glad he’s a well-behaved boy and his antics aren’t pissing her off.
Yesterday, when I brought him to my parents’ place from the vet, she was delighted.
My father never let me have dogs, growing up, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t adore them.
Charlie was cute enough to warrant an overnight stay in my old room, which opens up to the spacious yard leading down to the summer shore of Lake Washington.
That’s the real reason I brought him here, rather than my place. High-rise condos aren’t much for a dog to run around. Plus, I didn’t want to risk overexerting him at a public park before he’s truly rested.
“Is he annoying you?” I ask, glancing at the time. “I’ll be taking him to the clinic soon.”
“Hardly, he’s a dear.” She smooths her hand over his head, smiling. “You should take a break and enjoy your morning. It isn’t every day you wake up with a puppy.”
I grunt reluctantly.
“I mean it, Brady. You’re an investor, not a scientist. You won’t magically conjure the world’s best organic dog food out of thin air by staring at reports until your eyes melt.”
“I’m the CEO, Mother.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s my money on the line and my responsibility to be on top of everything.”
“Careful. You sound like your father.” Goddamn, that stings. “Does that mean working yourself into an early grave?” She examines one hand, the one with the diamonds glinting on her ring finger.
My parents have been married for a long time now, but she’s never stopped staring at that ring.
They have their faults, sure, but there’s no denying they love each other.
That, or she just loves the way it sparkles in the light.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
“There’s a gap in the market, and we’re going to fill it. I’m sure we can bring the prices down. Keeping more pets healthy with the good stuff people can actually afford will make everyone happier.”
“Yes, darling, I’ve read your mission statement several times.” She glances back at her tablet and continues, already distracted as Charlie settles at her feet.
To her, my achievements aren’t the important thing and the details hardly matter. She’s too used to snapping her fingers and letting someone else make miracles happen.
But for me, that’s the entire point.
Principles are God.
Adopting a pet for life is fucking hard. Giving them what they need while you’re on a shoestring budget—especially in an expensive city like Seattle, where food and housing for people is a constant issue—that’s harder.
That’s also why someone needs to make it happen, and that someone is me.
I’ve done my market research. There’s space for high-quality, healthy food for dogs and cats that doesn’t bleed bank accounts if it’s just sourced right and formulated wisely.
I’m going to prove it’s possible, even if it makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes.
Hell, often.
Mom puts her iPad back down again with a sigh, looking at me over her glasses. “I know you have your heart set on this. But I wonder if dog food is really the right direction for you right now. You could always develop another app.”
“Been there, done that. Key word being done.”
I have to fight to keep from snarling.
Being a prisoner of your own success is too real.
My first start-up went terrifyingly well. So well, it’s left everyone who matters staring at me impatiently, waiting for me to work digital sorcery again.
“You have talent. We both know it,” she continues. “You could do something more exciting—and better for your image—than that dating app you sold last year.”
“Something better for your image, you mean?”
I know her real worry. I’m practically the face of Pruitt Brands, ever since my father couldn’t be.
“Well . . . dog food doesn’t have a whiff of scandal, but it’s simply not”—she pauses and catches herself—“not very dignified.”
My eyes bounce to the clock on my computer. Damn, it’s still not time to head to the clinic yet, which means I’m stuck in this conversation.
This must be the hundredth time she’s brought up my reputation. There’s no denying the app made money and proved I can live off more than the family name.
If it were just about money and success, she’d be thrilled.
In her own way, she is, I suppose. Success is one language my parents know by heart.
What she doesn’t like is that the app revolutionized online dating. As far as she’s concerned, it fuels the playboy sins the press won’t let me shake.
She’s not wrong.
Still, I couldn’t give a flying shit about my reputation as long as it doesn’t interfere with what I want to do.
The app was about getting serious and mastering business. The pet food project is about getting real.
Like everyone else with a pulse, I want to do something meaningful with my life. More than just coming up with new ways for horny young people to hook up. Unlike everyone else, I’ve got nine figures in my bank account to make it happen.
“If it’s a choice between dignity and meaningful action, you know what I’ll pick every time,” I say.
She purses her lips together as she pushes her glasses up her nose.
Then the door swings open and a human bull storms in. Dad just missed a conversation that would’ve left his face red.
Even in his motorized wheelchair, flanked by his nurse, he’s an imposing figure. He still dresses in a designer suit and tie daily, unchanged since his heart attack.
It takes him all of two seconds to look at Charlie and turn his nose up like he sees a ratty raccoon caught tracking mud into his house.
“Is this what you’re doing with your life now?” he demands, his voice quivering. “Blowing off family friends to pick up stray dogs?”
Fuck, here we go.
I slam the laptop shut. No point in trying to accomplish anything now.
My father never allows much room for multitasking. As far as he’s concerned, everything I do should require one hundred percent of my focus.
If that’s another conversation from hell, fine, I need to give him all my attention. I can already predict every word he’ll say, so I start the debunking.
“It made sense for me to bring him somewhere he could touch grass without a long trek down the elevator and two blocks to the nearest park. My penthouse isn’t the most comfortable place.” I shrug. “Also, Nancy’s parents aren’t ‘family friends.’”
No, they’re more like future in-laws I’m not remotely interested in having.
Ever since I had to take over Dad’s media footprint, my parents have been driving the marriage freight train full speed ahead, trying like hell to set me up with Nancy Loomer. Like it’s totally normal to behave like we’re eighteenth-century socialites who do arranged marriages.
You’d think the world would move past that shit.
“Well, you’re damned right about that. You’ve proven you’re not taking this seriously.” Dad leans back in his chair, his big hands folded on his lap, glaring with an energy his failing body lacks. “Nancy won’t wait around forever, you know. Neither will her folks. She’s a nice girl and high IQ.”
It hurts not to laugh in his face.
No one who gets to know this girl would ever describe her as nice. She isn’t particularly bright, either, but it doesn’t matter when Dad’s IQ assessments operate on image and ambition rather than real accomplishments.
“Alec,” Mom cuts in sharply. “Must we start the day like this?”
“We must, considering how he’s behaving. I need my son to think harder about his life instead of filling in for animal control.”
Prick.
Behind him, his burly nurse, Freddy, coughs awkwardly. Poor dude’s lived through enough Pruitt family spats to know what’s coming.
I inhale sharply. “We found a lost dog stranded outside with the shitty air. What was I supposed to do in your view, Dad? Leave him there to suffocate?”
“You could’ve left that stray at the vet. As far as I’m concerned, you went above and beyond simply by taking him there. Time is your greatest asset, Brady. Start acting like it.”