“Yeah, good luck with that. Also, I’d have paid money to watch Emma fire you.”
“We’re not discussing this.” Not the firing, and not the resulting kisses, which were currently in heavy rotation in his nighttime fantasies. “The partnership with Emma. Go.”
“You’re hangry, so I’m going to forgive the asshole alpha tone. I get it. But yes. I’m trying to tell you something. You know I’ve been looking for something I could take on that was separate from Armstrong Properties.”
“No, I didn’t know that. I thought you were happy there.”
“I am. I’m very happy there, and I love the work. But I’ve been needing something more. Something that’s just mine.”
“Makes sense.”
Alison smiled because she could always count on Simon to cut right to the chase and support her no matter what. “Emma and I are buying Paw Pals together. Gabby agreed to our terms, and with our blessing, she’s retired as of today, eager to be at home with her grandbabies. I’m in this fifty-fifty with Emma. She’s the face of the place and the day-to-day operations. I’m the behind-the-scenes, running-the-business side of things.”
This was hard to imagine. Alison didn’t stay behind the scenes for anyone. But he could admit, if he’d been the one starting a new business, his cousin would be the first person he’d want at his side, irritating or not. She was smart, fiercely loyal, and knew her stuff. But what he couldn’t see was her dealing with someone she didn’t like. “You’re going into business with someone you don’t trust.”
“Well, to be fair, I don’t trust anyone.”
“Why, Ali?” he pressed.
“Alison.” She dropped the smile. “Listen. Don’t take this the wrong way, okay? I don’t really want to talk about it, but I’ll say this—you and your dad . . . you’ve given me so much. And I was honest when I said I love my job. I do. But everything I have has been handed to me because you guys felt sorry for me.”
“That’s not even close to true,” Simon said, stunned that she felt this way and even more frustrated with himself that he’d never noticed. He opened the front door of the building and let them into the foyer. “Hey.”
She turned to look at him.
“You’re incredible at your job. You regularly increase profits, which Dad has always reflected in your year-end bonus. You’ve earned everything you have. I just want you to know that.”
She swallowed, nodded, and looked away, which he knew was because she was never comfortable realizing how much someone might care about her.
“You’re really doing this?”
“Yes. Because maybe I don’t always trust my own instincts, but I trust yours?” she said. “And you trust Emma.” She pointed at him. “You also like her, a whole lot, even if you were stupid enough to kiss her and then blow her off.”
“I didn’t blow her off.” He paused. “Wait. Is that what she thinks?”
“It’s what anyone with half a brain would think. You let her leave because your dad wanted blueberry pancakes. And if I didn’t need this to be all about me right now, I’d tell you how dumb you are. Look,” she said, softening. “My own believe-in-people barometer might be broken, but yours is solid.” She followed him as he went to the mail table, her smile fading when he slid off his sunglasses. “Wait.” She took off her own sunglasses and stared at him, eyes narrowed. “Shit. You almost fooled me. You’re not okay and you let me go on and on? What’s wrong?”
Was Alison right? Had he blown Emma off so they didn’t take things too far, to a place they couldn’t recover from? Because if he held her at arm’s length, then he couldn’t mess them up and she wouldn’t walk away from him?
Shit. He had. Which meant he was 100% fucked up. Simon grabbed their mail and walked to 1A, juggling the food and mail in one arm while he unlocked his front door.
“Slow the hell down,” Alison said breathlessly. “These heels look fantastic, but aren’t meant for high speed.”
He didn’t slow down.
She swore and kept up with him. “Okay, so you’re not a normal person,” she said, not telling him anything he didn’t know. “You’re remaining silent because you won’t lie and say nothing’s wrong when something is. Nor will you complain about it.”
He gave her a long look. “So you’re a shrink now?”
“Well, I’ve paid for enough of them over the years that I should be. Hold up a minute,” she said, putting her hand over his on the door handle before he could open it. “Talk to me.”
“Can’t. Jodie quit. Dad’s been alone for fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, shit. Why didn’t you call me?”
“You shouldn’t have to always come running when I’ve got a problem.”
“So I’m not part of this family?”
He took in the hurt in her gaze and felt like an ass. “You are. You know you are.”
“Then prove it by letting me be there.” She pushed ahead of him into the apartment. “Uncle Dale?”
The living room was neat and quiet. Simon moved past her to the kitchen, stopping short in relief when he found his dad standing at the sink, staring out the window. “Dad. Hey. How’s it going?”
“Shitty.”
Simon’s stomach sank. “I’m sorry Jodie had to leave early. Did something happen?”
“They moved Family Feud from four o’clock to three.”
“Okay.”
“Family Feud didn’t tell me.”
Simon looked at Alison, who shrugged. They both knew Dale loved Family Feud. Since the strokes, that love had turned slightly obsessive. He talked about Family Feud contestants as if they were close personal friends. Simon turned back to his dad as he set the bag on the counter and pulled out containers of food. “But three o’clock is still a good time, right? You’re always home at three.”
“But I didn’t know, so I missed it. I missed today’s show.”
“We’ll make sure you don’t miss tomorrow.”
Dale waved his hands and raised his voice. “But I missed a show! Family Feud never missed a day for me, I can’t miss one for her!”
“I’ll find it for you online. Don’t worry.”
“Come on, Uncle Dale,” Alison said gently, taking his hand. “Let’s go into the living room and sit down. I’ll get it on my phone and cast it to your TV. You can eat in front of the show. How’s that?”
Dale shrugged off her hand and stalked off in his halting way into the living room.
Simon walked to the fridge and took out two beers, handing one to Alison.
“So Jodie just up and quit on you?” she asked. “Who does that?”
“Her daughter was diagnosed with cancer, so she’s moving in with her to help with the baby.”
“Oh, no,” she breathed. “What are you going to do?”
Simon shrugged.
“I can take care of myself,” Dale yelled from the living room. “No one needs to do anything with me.”
Simon and Alison looked at each other. Then Simon took his dad’s dinner to him in the living room, setting him up with a tray. “It’s spaghetti squash lasagna from Kelly.” He opened the container and cut it all up before handing his dad a fork. “Eat up.”