Chapter Eighteen
Oliver
“Dad. What are you wearing?”
I look at my tux then back at my mortified oldest child. “It was the only thing appropriate I had.” As a tour manager, I wore the usual black on black button up. I didn’t need a tie or tux.
“I wore this to your Aunt Posey’s wedding twelve years ago. I can’t believe it still fits.”
“It does?”
I straighten my arms and the fabric pulls at my shoulders. My kid might be right.
“So, you don’t think I should wear it tonight? The big boss will be there. That singer you girls like, Shannon Tryst? We might sign her tonight.”
“Dad! Shut up! Shaylyn Tryst?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I have got to write that down. Shaylyn not Shannon.”
Bryar tosses a pillow at me. “One does not need to write down the name of Shaylyn Tryst, her lady and majesty of all that is pop, Dad!” Her mouth hangs open when I have no response.
“Oh, my gosh. You’re going to blow this.
” She paces the living room, stopping to tug at my sleeves.
“It’s okay, we can figure this out. You have to sign Shaylyn, so you just have to not be you for one night. That’s all.”
I balk at my firstborn, who used to see me as the coolest guy around. The one who rushed to hug me before my foot stepped over the threshold at the end of a day’s work.
Guess I’m basic now. She circles me.
“Bry? What are you doing?”
“Figuring out a plan for all of—”
“That!” Lemon shrieks when she sees me from the landing. “What is that, Oliver?”
“See?” Bryar goads in triumph. “I told you it was a problem.”
“A huge problem.” Lemon bounds down the staircase. “You think Shaylyn Tryst is going to promenade around on your arm like that? You shouldn’t even let your arm wear that.”
“Poor arm,” Bryar agrees.
“Enough!” I throw my arms—which are apparently a hot topic—in the air, yanking off the ruffled suit jacket and tossing it. “What am I supposed to wear, then?”
Lemon rubs her temples. “You are the worst millionaire I’ve ever met. Have you even begun to conceptualize how much money you have at your disposal?”
“We’re millionaires?” Bryar gasps.
“Thanks.” I hang my head. “I wasn’t going to tell the girls quite like that.”
“Sorry.” She clicks her teeth together. “But better to rip the bandage off with news like this.” She kneels in front of my oldest. “Bryar, honey, you are fucking rich now, okay? How did Papa put this when I was little? Ah, yes! With great richness comes great…opportunity! Yeah, that’s about it.
” She shrugs. “See, she’s fine. Oh, and we need you to babysit while we sign the most famous singer of all time.
Can you do that?” She nudges me with a wink.
“Only for a couple hours until my besties get here. Shana and Dustin texted me earlier. They’re excited to practice parenting, if that’s all right with you. ”
She knew I was worried about tonight and had it covered without question, by my girls’ dance teacher, no less, someone I already know and trust. It’s both pleasant and unnatural to have someone else be the planner for once.
“We’re…millionaires?” Bryar’s eyes remain wide, and I’m finding it hard to tell the difference between her and the broken record player in the corner of the foyer. “Sh…Shaylyn Tryst?”
Lemon nods. “The culture shock can be a lot for noobs.” She ushers her up the stairs. “It’ll be all right, sweetie. Let’s order something nonsensical on your dad’s card, and it will all be fine.”
“Hey! That’s horrible advice.”
“Excuse me, are you now, or were you ever a millionaire’s teenage daughter?” Lemon scoffs, waving me off. “Just like a man to explain water to a river. Let me handle this. I’ll give her the babysitting rundown while I’m at it.”
Just as she reaches the top of the stairs, she spins around and steals my eyes. “I’ll sort out your fashion deficiencies next, Mr. Nashville.”
Now, why the Hell does that turn me on?
“You’re saying, your father is the billionaire who my father works for, and he made you come here because you basically got grounded? He can do that at your age?”
I hear Bryar and Lemon laughing as I come up the stairs.
“Well, he certainly thinks he can, but men think lots of things. Your most powerful weapon as a woman in this world is your own mind. Anyway, your father is not like that, trust me. My father and I have bigger fish to fry than a grounding.”
I’m on my way to my room when I’m stopped by Bryar’s response.
“Me and my dad have bigger fish to fry, too. He never trusts me. I bet this babysitting idea was yours and not even his, wasn’t it?”
She doesn’t answer, but my daughter’s smart enough to know that’s still an answer. It chips at my heart that she feels I’ll never trust her.
“So, what’s it like growing up rich?”
Lemon hums beneath her breath, twisting my daughter’s hair in a French braid. My heart feels heavy and light in one instance. Lauren knew how to do those fancy braids I could never master, and Lemon executes them so effortlessly.
And I’ll be damned if I believe in this stuff…
But Lauren did.
Coincidence, I’d say.
But she’d shake her head.
There is no such thing as a coincidence.
My arms tingle, a chill passing over my skin when I manage to sneak past without ruining their moment. I duck into my room, unseen, and as I click my door shut, I hear the final arrow to Cupid’s godforsaken bow.
“Lonely.” Lemon sighs. “It was lonely growing up like me. But it won’t be like that for you and your sisters. I won’t let it.”
“Promise?” my baby asks.
The words Lemon pierced through my heart only hours earlier now brand the inside of my mind while I listen.
I’m not a permanent person.
So, is what she tells my daughter next a lie or the truth?
“I promise.”