Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Oliver
“How the hell are we going to pull this off?” Holt plops a finger onto the set of plans spread out on the hood of his truck. “This project is a nightmare already. Leave it to Boone.”
“So we’re blaming this on Boone?” I ask.
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Hey, I’m not saying I’m ever against blaming shit on Boone,” I say with a shrug. “I just wanted to be clear.”
“Yes. We’re pinning this on him.”
“Cool.”
We exchange a smile.
Holt and I face a large dirt lot. We purchased this parcel from the Landry’s last year for a new retail area.
After some permit issues and a few tweaks to meet accepted green building methods—an agreement we made with the Landrys when we bought the property—we’re finally ready to approve the final design.
In theory. It’s not coming together.
Nothing is coming together these days.
My mind goes to Shaye immediately. It’s only vaguely left her all day. I’m not sure what I’m most frustrated by—the fact that she didn’t accept my offer or the fact that I offered her the job to start with?
It’s a bunch of fuckery either way.
“How far was the survey off?” Holt asks.
It takes a lot of effort to refocus my mind.
“The front of the property is about fifty yards narrower than we originally thought,” I say. “So instead of going to the east with this whole arm of the building like we planned, Wade had to go up and back with the design.”
“But it leaves all of this as wasted space.” He motions toward the edge of the property. “I mean, Wade didn’t have much to work with—I get that. But I don’t like it.”
I slide my sunglasses off. “Tell him that. Please.”
Holt chuckles.
I walk toward the property line, leaving my brother at the truck.
The boots that I changed into when we got here crunch against the earth. Puffs of dust billow at my feet and infiltrate my nose.
It’s honestly one of my favorite parts of our business.
Sure, sitting in an office with floor-to-ceiling windows is great.
The adrenaline of signing a multimillion-dollar deal is pretty damn awesome.
But getting outside, smelling the dirt, feeling the fresh air on my face, and knowing that I get to decide how to transform this space in the universe makes me feel like a kid again.
It reminds me of playing with Tonka trucks in the backyard. It’s what gets me up in the morning.
I stop walking and face Holt. “The entire vibe changes with the new design. It feels … crunched. It’s even more obvious being out here …”
Holt nods. “I’m with you. It’s worse than I thought. And now I see why Greg was saying we’re going to have to try to get permission from the property owner to the east to use their land, or some of it, for staging and ingress and egress.”
“That never ends well.”
“I know, but what else are we going to do?” Holt asks.
“Fuck if I know. We can’t come in from the west because of that damn neighborhood two miles down. Did we ever figure out what all that is about?”
“Apparently, someone who lives there is on the city council. There’s supposedly some shady shit that might get leaked before the next election cycle, and he’s going out of his way to make good with his constituents by keeping the noise and dust down,” Holt grumbles. “Fucking politics.”
“I hear ya.”
Holt walks across the property and stands next to me. We take in our surroundings.
“There’s a right-of-way over here,” Holt says, turning around and facing the property line. “Could that help us in any way?”
“It’s a gas company right-of-way, so no. We don’t want anything to do with that.”
The wind picks up as we take in the area. Tiny pieces of dirt and sand are tossed into the air. They dance around us, making Holt sneeze. Once. Not four times in a row.
I stifle a chuckle as a warmth erupts in my core.
Shaye.
I can’t decide if she’s a blessing or a curse.
She frazzles me. I can’t seem to figure out what to do with her, yet I feel a need to find an answer. She just sits in the back of my mind. She’s the elephant in my head.
I can’t put my finger on it. Yes, she’s gorgeous, but I meet a lot of beautiful women. Sure, she’s amusing, but since when is that my Achilles’ heel? I absolutely want to fuck her, but it’s more than that. I want to have dinner with her. Talk to her.
It’s almost as if I don’t have a choice. She keeps showing up in my life, and I keep doing things like offering her a job.
I rub my temple.
“You okay?” Holt asks.
“Yeah.”
“Liar. What’s wrong?”
I drop my hand. There’s no sense in lying to him. He can read me like a book.
“Do you know the girl who hit my car yesterday?” I ask.
He nods.
I bite the corner of my lip. “Guess who showed up in the office today?”
A slow, uneasy look sweeps across Holt’s face.
“It’s nothing like that,” I say. “She was answering Toni’s ad for EAs.”
“And you think that’s random?”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. I know when I tell him that I do think it was a coincidence, he’s going to think I’ve lost my marbles.
Hell, maybe I have.
“Shaye seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her,” I tell him.
He makes a face. “I don’t really like this, Ollie.”
I spin around to face him. “Why?”
He’s taken aback by the gusto in which I fired that question. So am I. But it’s already done. All I can do is ride with it and not overthink it.
He takes a step back. “Easy there, little brother.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like that.”
I sigh and look away again. I just don’t like you insinuating that she is setting me up.
He shifts his weight. I hear the pebbles crunch with the movement.
“You know that I trust your judgment more than anyone in the world,” Holt says. “So, if you think this is a random act of kindness by the universe, then I’ll buy it. I’m with you.”
My lips twitch.
“I mean, hell—I met a woman in the airport and then at a business meeting. What are the odds of that?” he asks, bumping my shoulder with his.
“Oh, the woman who won’t marry you?” I tease.
I wait for Holt’s explosion. It takes one-half of a second.
“If Blaire doesn’t give me a date soon, I swear that I’m going to set it my damn self.” Holt blows out an exasperated breath. “My patience is wearing thin.”
I laugh, relieved at the change in topics.
“What would she do if I just organized a wedding?” he asks, his face pink with irritation. “Mom would totally help me. I would just buy her a dress, hire a preacher, reserve a church, send out invitations, and tell her to be there. What would she do then?”
My laughter gets louder. “First of all, I’d go easy on bringing Mom into this. Second … I don’t know. I kind of like it. I mean, I’ve never imagined you as a wedding planner, but I’m game to watch this shit show.”
Holt misses the humor. “I’m serious. I don’t know what she’s dragging her feet about.”
He starts to walk, and I follow for the sake of conversation.
“Maybe she’s not dragging her feet,” I offer. “Maybe she just wants it to be perfect.”
“I’ll give her perfect. I’ll give her anything she fucking wants.”
I smirk. “What if she wants our family to have a private jet?”
Holt tosses me a sharp look, making me laugh.
“On a more serious note—no, I am serious about the jet. We need one,” I say. “But on another note, it might be hard for her to think about planning a wedding. Both of her parents are dead, right?”
He nods.
“And her siblings are where—in Indiana? Illinois? Iowa?” I pause. “Why do all the Midwestern states start with an I, anyway?”
“Illinois, and I see your point.” He chews on his bottom lip. “You know, I’ve always thought we’d get married here by default. But maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m an asshole for not thinking about that.”
He stops walking. I do too.
“It might be something to consider,” I say.
He hums as if he’s in the process of doing just that.
I look into the distance, settling my gaze on the top of a grove of trees.
Holt has always been my best friend. We’ve done absolutely everything together. From sports to clubs to college, I followed in his footsteps throughout my life. Now that he has Blaire, our lives aren’t on the same trajectory for the first time.
I’m not sure what to make of it. It’s a natural progression, I know, and I’m happy for him. He loves Blaire. But this is where our trajectory separates. It’s where his best friend is someone else, and sometimes … I feel alone.
I kick at a rock as Holt hums again. As he ponders future wedding locations, I let my mind wander to past engagement proposals—namely, mine.
Kendra Pickler was the only woman I ever considered making Mrs. Oliver Mason.
We met in college. She was a business major.
She was wickedly intelligent, fun to be with, and had lips made for blow jobs.
She hinted for months about getting married around our one-year anniversary—far too soon, by my estimation.
There were bridal magazines on the coffee table, only half hidden by Forbes.
Her email was left open with ads for jewelry stores.
Her best friend even dropped Kendra’s choice in gems—a princess cut diamond, preferably at least two carats—while pretending to be buzzed on mimosas.
I took the bait. Why not? It was probably love. I figured that my family liked her, and I couldn’t find anything too annoying or problematic about her. She adored me.
So I bought the diamond. Mom designed the setting on a gold band, just as the best friend ordered. I rented a boat, hired a caterer, and invited all of our friends for a sail at dusk.
Then—with said ring—she went and got knocked up by my dad’s business partner, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Holt clears his throat.
“What?” I ask, taking a deep breath to rid myself of thoughts of the past.
“Nothing. You just checked out for a minute.”
It’s my turn to hum. It’s better than admitting what I was thinking about.
I start to walk and, this time, it’s Holt that follows along.
“What did you do about what’s-her-name?” Holt asks.
“Shaye?”
“Yeah. Shaye. She showed up for an interview. What happened?”
“Well …” I lick my lips. “I offered her a job.”
Holt whistles through his teeth.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
“Again, I trust your judgment. But I’m going to ask it anyway—are you sure this is a good fucking idea?”
Fuck if I know.
“I mean, yesterday you were a little … To use a Siggy Mason word, smitten,” he says cheekily. “And today you’re offering her to be essentially your right fucking hand in our family business. Should you fuck where you feed?”
My head whips to the side, and I laugh. “What?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. It was supposed to be a play on shit where you eat, but it got lost in translation.”
“That it did.”
“You know what I mean, though.”
I do. I know exactly what he means.
The offer was purely based on her credentials.
I’m not totally out of my gourd. I scanned her resume while Toni went in to talk to her and recognized the name of her last employer.
Miles Monroe is an old family friend. He gave her a stunning reference filled with praise and said he was sad to have to part ways with her.
I didn’t have time to press the issue for details. Toni walked back out.
Offering Shaye the job was a game-time decision, but it wasn’t made on the fly. She has the experience. She has the recommendations. We have chemistry—something that is essential for an executive and his assistant.
But that’s the problem too. We have chemistry. And Holt suspects it.
“I’m not fucking anyone at the moment,” I tell him. “So fucking where I feed isn’t a problem.”
“And if that status changes?”
I blow out a hasty breath. “I don’t know, Holt. I don’t even know if she’s going to accept the offer. She said she’d think about it and let us know.”
We pause at a washout. The air is thick and heavy like it’s about to storm.
“What happens if she accepts?” Holt asks. “Do you think you can work with her and keep it professional?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I could hire her to work for me. And then—”
“No.” I shake my head. I know I answered too quickly but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “I can keep it under control. I got this.”
He looks me right in the eyes. “Do you really? Because your whole vibe about her is different than anyone since Kendra.”
I groan at the sound of her name.
“Nah, it’s even different than Kendra,” Holt says. “I don’t even think you liked her.”
“I did, actually.”
“Okay, maybe you liked her. But you didn’t love her.”
I look at him like he’s crazy. “How would you know who I loved and didn’t love?”
“Because you let her go.”
“She was having someone else’s baby, dumbass. Someone else, might I add, who caused our family a lot of fucking embarrassment.”
I clench my jaw and exhale.
“I think Dad enjoyed knocking out Charles Gamby,” Holt jokes. “And Mom was thrilled when they closed that cigar side business. She thought it was a waste of time for years.”
“Glad I could help.”
Holt clasps a hand around my shoulder. “Be honest with me. Weren’t you a little relieved when all of that happened with Kendra?”
I still. I’ve never admitted that to anyone, not even Holt. I’ve never said it aloud to anyone either. Not even the mirror. But a little part of me did feel a sense of relief the morning after Kendra told me the truth. I felt guilty about it, but relief was there in spades, too.
“I’m going to be honest with you, Oliver.
I think you knew that Kendra was fucking around, and you let it happen.
That’s what I meant. You put very little time into that relationship, and you couldn’t have been blind at events when she was talking up random men.
” He shrugs. “You don’t have to admit shit to me but just know I know. ”
I want to argue with him, but I can’t.
Holt drops his hand. “Hey, if you want to hire Shaye—do it. Just be clear minded about it. Family first. Always.”
“Always.”
We exchange a grin.
My shoulders sag, and I turn away from my brother, happy to have this conversation concluded. As I peer into the distance, I observe a dip in the trees that piques my curiosity.
“Hey,” I say, pointing toward the drop-off. “Is there a road out there? Or a driveway? Do you see that?”
Holt shrugs.
“Who owns that?” I ask.
He shrugs again. “I have no idea. Why?”
“Because,” I say, moving to try to get a better vantage point, “that’s another potential access point. Greg didn’t mention this.”
“Right. And if we owned this back chunk …” Holt says, his voice raising.
“Consider the redesign.” I use my hands to help explain. “Instead of going up because he can’t go east, Wade could expand north, and … the options are endless.”
“I wonder how many acres that is?”
I turn back toward the truck. “Let’s go take a look.”
Holt follows me, staying a few feet back.
I slip my phone from my pocket and take a quick glance at the screen. There’s one missed call … from Kelly.
I breathe a sigh that’s equally filled with relief and disappointment.