Connor dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. “You think he’s embezzling from the school?”
“I don’t have proof yet, but he’s dirty. I’d bet my life on it. How involved do you want to get in this?”
After surging to his feet, he groaned and pocketed his hands. “What are my options?”
“Do you think shit like this comes with a menu? All I need to know is if you want to keep your hands clean.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but he had to. “You’d have to tell me what that means.”
“Never mind.” Bradford sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Should I bother to tell you what else I learned?”
“You don’t have many friends, do you, Bradford?”
Bradford’s head snapped back, but he said nothing.
“You’ve got to learn how to talk nicer to people. Your little digs don’t bother me, but when you use them on Dylan they actually hurt his feelings. Is that what you want—to hurt people all the time? Wouldn’t it be more fun to sit around, shoot the shit, and laugh? That’s what I miss doing the most . . . hanging out with my buddies, sharing a case of beer, and doing nothing.”
“Sounds like a complete waste of time.”
“Or a little piece of heaven. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Life is about balance, Bradford. According to Aristotle that’s the secret to being a happy person.”
“You read Aristotle?”
Connor nodded toward the bookshelves. “I started reading more only recently. He has some interesting ideas. Moderation. A coward sees a building on fire and runs from it. A reckless fool rushes in and dies. A firefighter goes into the building in a balanced, prepared way with the tools needed to actually make a difference. Courage is intelligent action in the face of adversity.”
Bradford walked over to the bookshelf. “That actually sounds like a good read.”
Connor cleared his throat and dug the graphic novel version of Aristotle’s teachings out from beneath a pile of scripts and slapped it down on his desk. “It’s even better with pictures. The Greeks definitely knew how to party too. Nothing we do today would have shocked anyone back then.”
Rather than walking over to check on Connor’s suggestion, Bradford continued to study the books on the shelf. “The Billionaire Wins the Game. You have an interesting selection of books.”
“Kimmie introduced me to the author. I thought romance novels were just for women, but I binge read that whole series. Joseph Anderson has three single sons and he wants grandchildren . . .”
Bradford turned around and cocked an eyebrow.
Flashing a sheepish smile, Connor shrugged. “Hey, it’s helpful to know what women find sexy and Melody Anne writes a good story.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Bradford said, turning his back on the bookshelf. “So, anyway, your girlfriend got canned.”
Connor froze, all humor leaving him. “Angelina?”
As if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell, Bradford made his way over to Connor’s desk and picked up the comic version of Aristotle and flipped through it. “From what I could gather she took what you said to the soccer team to heart. She overheard Svete laying into his secretary and intervened. He tossed your girlfriend and her kid to the curb.”
Fists clenching, Connor fought a desire to hunt down Svete and unleash on him all the fury building inside him. “How did you hear about it?”
“Mrs. Tellier, the secretary. I bumped into her at the grocery store next to her house, and she had no problem telling me exactly how it all went down.”
Connor paced the room. “This is my fault.”
“It’s not and she’s probably better off. Now when his ship sinks she won’t go down with him.”
With a growl of frustration, Connor said, “People watch everything I do now. I can’t just go over there and punch him in the face. I need a plan.” He stopped. “What would you do?”
“You’re not me, Connor.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Connor conceded that fact to himself as well. He wasn’t some badass international spy. He wasn’t even that smart of a person. Neither had ever stopped him before. Yes, he needed to be careful now that his name was linked to the Barringtons . . .
The Barringtons.
That’s it.
“Sophie would know how to handle this.” He dug his phone out of his jacket breast pocket.
“You’re serious.”
The disbelief in his tone gave Connor a moment of pause. “I would call my sister, but she and the rest of the Barrington ladies are helping Claire gear up for the wedding. I don’t want to lay any of this at their door.”
“What do you expect Sophie to do?”
“She’ll probably call a family meeting.”
“Hang on. You honestly believe all you have to do is make a phone call and the Barringtons will drop everything they’re doing and rush to meet with you?”
“Yes. That’s what family does.” God, how was Bradford raised?
“This I have to see.”
With that, Connor called the matriarch of one of the country’s most powerful families.
She picked up immediately just as he knew she would. “Connor, Dale and I were just talking about you. Will we see you Sunday for game night?”
“Actually, I’m hoping you have time to see me before then.”
“Of course.” Her voice filled with concern. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, very wrong. Could you gather everyone? At least the men? I’m in need of advice.”
“Do you want us to come to you?”
“No, I can fly up.”
“Then get in the air. If you’re quick about it, we’ll have your favorite dinner waiting for you.”
“Carbonara,” Connor said with a good amount of yearning. He could almost taste pancetta and pasta dripping with a creamy parmigiano reggaino cheese sauce and a generous amount of pepper and garlic. Oh, yes. No, this isn’t about food. He shook his head to clear it. “You don’t have to do that, Sophie, but please don’t tell Viviana about this call. Or Claire. I don’t want them to worry.”
“Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“No, but I’m open to suggestions on how to keep it that way while addressing a certain situation.” Connor started pacing the room again. He was a spontaneous man by nature. Thinking things through had never been his strong suit, but there was no returning to the innocent time in his life where he could have run buck naked across a football field as a prank and shocked next to no one.
His blinders were off now.
His family needed him to think first, leap later—and keep his clothes on while he did both. He’d heard that talk more than once over the past year.
No more heavy drinking.
No more bar fights.
Sex only with women he knew the names of.
Being rich was not nearly as freeing as people made it sound. “A friend of mine has recently been unfairly terminated from her position. Bradford has been helping me with a project and thinks the situation might be complicated.”
“Ian’s Bradford?”
“The one and only.”