Chapter Two Evan
He’s twenty-seven minutes late.
I’ve started to realize that no matter how much I try to tell myself that I have to accept the things I have no control over, I will still find a reason to be stressed, and panic, and think the sky is falling over every minor inconvenience.
I didn’t ask to be born like this. But when you have a dad like mine, these things start to bug you more and more each time.
I love my dad. I think he’s great. The smartest businessman I know.
But he is never on time.
He could be told the time and date of an event a million times, and he will always find some reason to be late.
Like the launch event for the new summer line five years ago where he was an hour late because he took a nap.
Or the time he picked me up from the airport three hours after my flight landed because he got caught up talking to an old friend.
Or, my personal favorite, when he almost missed my high-school graduation because he spent the night getting drunk with his business partners.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he missed my birth.
To everyone else, he’s charming Calahan Branson, the single dad who’s managed it all. To me, he’s the guy who can’t take two seconds out of his time to text his son to say he’s going to be late to the lunch we have at the same time every two weeks.
As a result of this, I’ve always made it my priority to be on time. Well, that and to avoid the crippling anxiety I feel about being late.
I adjust the sleeves of my suit when I see my dad in the corner of my eye, greeting everyone on his way in.
Even still, I can’t help but admire him.
His tailored suit and polished shoes scream success, and my own outfit mirrors his.
We share the same blond hair, even though his is starting to gray a little.
The same cheekbones and facial structure.
The only thing that proves that my dad didn’t create me in a lab are the lined dimples I inherited from my mom.
Before my dad can even say hello, I lift my gaze to meet his, folding my arms against my chest. “You’re late.”
He grins. “Evan—”
“By twenty-seven minutes.” I check my watch as he slides off his blazer and hangs it over the chair beside him before sitting down.
He’s still grinning. “How do you even manage it? Every time without fail. Your office is quite literally inside this building. Wear a watch. You sell millions of them.”
He’s laughing now, and it’s getting harder to be serious. I’m a little annoyed, but I’m not that pissed. I enjoy the back and forth too much. The slight panic in his face when he thinks I’m going to get up and leave.
He takes a gulp of the tea that’s probably cold by now, smiling all the same as he leans back in his chair. “You know, everyone else just goes with it when I’m late, but here I have my own son counting down the minutes.”
“Someone has to make you take accountability.”
Dad laughs deeply, taking up a cookie and chewing while he talks. “You’ve always been like this. Even when you were a kid.”
“What? Punctual?”
“No, strict with me,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “I’m your dad, Evan. Let me be the strict one.”
“I don’t think you could if you tried,” I reply, almost laughing at the idea.
Dad opens his laptop and his smile drops slightly. He relaxes just enough that I can tell we’re slipping into work territory. I pull out my own laptop and my reading glasses, checking over what I’ve been working on over the weekend.
We slip easily into a conversation about Branson too worried about other expenses as inflation increases.
We’re still fairly big with elite niche communities, but we’re not hitting targets as our competitors are, with the younger and modern market.
There’s still a lot of work for us to do on that front.
Work I’m willing to put in to help us get back on track.
I open my laptop immediately. “Do you want to go over a different strategy? I’m sure I can—”
“No, I’ll handle it.” My dad closes my laptop, shaking his head. “I’ll handle all of it.”
I pause, my gaze roaming from his hand on the top of my computer to his dark-green eyes. “What do you mean?”
He takes in a deep breath, running a shaky hand through his hair. My heart beats loud in my chest, thrashing against my ribs in an uncomfortable rhythm.
“I’m worried about you,” he says.
I play off the tightness in my throat with a forced laugh. “That’s never a good sign.”
My dad sighs. “I’m being serious. The semester just started, and I’m worried you’re too focused on B&Co. You spend most of your free time at the office, and balancing all of this with your degree isn’t a good idea, son.”
I blink at him. “I’m focused because that’s my job.”
He scratches his jaw, his eyes drifting away from mine. “When I say focused, I mean . . . obsessed.”
Something in my chest burns. Tightens. The corners of my vision go blurry, and I try to show my dad that his words don’t mean anything to me because they’re not true. They can’t be.
“Dad, that’s not what this is,” I say, my voice a lot stronger than I feel.
“This is more than a job to you, Evan. I can see that. But I don’t want that for you.
Not at this age, and not right now with the way things are going.
” My ears start to ring, and I can only understand what he says next by reading his lips.
“I don’t want you to work at B&Co, Evan.
For this semester, I want you to focus on college.
Excel in your classes. Go to a party. Make friends. Just . . . be a kid for once.”
“I-I’m turning twenty-one in a couple of months,” I argue.
“Well, just be a . . . college kid, then.”
My neck starts to feel hot. Heat travels up the sides of my face and spills across my cheeks. “And I have friends, Dad.”
“You mean the two guys you live with that you hardly speak to?”
“Yes. I spent Christmas with them last year.”
“Reluctantly,” he tries to correct. “And you complained to me about it the second you got home.”
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s not wrong.