I too would have chosen passion and love, fire and happiness, over the staunch bullshit she was otherwise destined for. Nelly Kincaid – Robertson, back then – saw what her future held. At only seventeen-years-old, she knew her options. She knew she could go left, and end up right where I am now. Or she could go right, and create the family that she did.
I think I fell in love with an entire clan last night, and it was done over a really long dining table while we ate delicious homemade food, prepared not by a chef, but a mom. Several moms.
And I wouldn’t know what that feels like.
“Madilyn, answer me!”
I shake my head and look back to my computer. “I will not. Because my private life is exactly that. I owe nobody an explanation.”
“You owe—” He blusters in a way that shows me a preview into life with him twenty years from now. Forty years. Fifty.
I have a chance to escape the reality that Nelly did. Because, like she was supposed to marry Shane Tosky so long ago, well, it doesn’t escape me that my family constantly pushes me toward Jackson. There’s a reason Jenna and I were pushed together. There’s a reason I was allowed to essentially live in her basement with her. There’s a reason why Jackson was ‘selected’ for me, as my prom date. And right now, as my father and his father leave my office, there’s a reason Jackson is allowed to remain behind – black eyes and all.
Because they expect him to ‘straighten me out’.
It’s handy being able to see the future. And if I’m not careful, mine is standing right in front of me in a business suit, with a bruised face, scabbed knuckles, and a problem with being told no.
“Please leave.” I flick a hand toward the door. “I have a lot of work to do, and I’m already…” I look at my watch, “half an hour late. I have to call a meeting with my staff at ten, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare.”
Despite my refusal to look into his eyes, he still makes it so he comes into my peripherals. He bends lower, lower, and snarls, “If I find out you left with Kincaid, there will be trouble.”
I shrug. “I asked you once, Jackson. Don’t make me ask you a second time.”
“You did!” he roars. “You fucking did!”
Instead of answering him, or jumping at his shout, I pick up my phone and pretend to call the front desk.
“Hey, can you have security sent up?” I meet Jackson’s eyes and grin. “Great. We’ll be waiting.”
There’s no way in hell I would call security on someone my father considers ‘approved’. Because that would look terrible on the family. But I guess Jackson doesn’t think that far through my actions, because he storms toward my door with a huff, swings it open so hard that sheets of loose paper flutter on my desk. Then he slams it shut again and makes the entire wall rattle on its hinges.
The Prices know how to make an exit.
“Jesus.” Allowing myself to exhale, my chest crumbles as I rest my tender elbows on the desk and my face in my hands. Loose strands of hair fall from my hastily done bun so they tickle my wrists and remind me I was in bed with Bry just two hours ago.
It’s my biggest secret. My loveliest memory.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
Why does it have to be so difficult?
Why can’t I just be a girl, and Bry a boy that I met somewhere completely random? Why can’t I be a normal girl with a normal family that, yes, may be a little overprotective, but not Tosky levels of weird?
My desk phone rings with an internal call. Drawing in a long breath, filling my lungs to capacity, then letting it out again, I close my eyes and blindly snatch up the phone. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Maddi. I have Harry Johnson on line one for you.”
“Harry?” My eyes open, but only so they can narrow as I think. “I don’t know anyone by that name.” I pause. “What am I forgetting?”
“Don’t know. He said you were expecting his call, but I could take a message if you like.”
“He said that?”
Frowning, I reach toward my phone, and sigh at the missed call. “It’s okay. I got it, thanks.”
As soon as my assistant hangs up, I hit line one and groan. “Harry Johnson. Really?”
Bry chuckles. “You get it? I’ve got a hairy johnson.”
“Are you twelve?” My voice says impatience, but my heart sighs as I sit back in my chair and settle in for a second. “What are you doing?”
“I’m about to start work for the day. Wanted to check in with you first.” His voice trails off. “You sound sad. You okay?”
“I’m fine. I was late, so I had to run through an obstacle course to get to my desk. Can I ask you a question?”
“Mm?”
“What do you do for work?”
He chuckles. “I’m offended you don’t know.”
“I don’t. I mean… I literally have no clue.”
“I fight, silly.”
“Yeah…” My brows furrow. “Like, on weekends and at tournaments and stuff. But what do you do to pay your bills?”
“I fight,” he repeats with a smile in his voice. “I work at my family’s gym. I train six or so hours a day.”
All I can manage is a grunt. “That explains your chest.”
He barks out a loud laugh. “I knew you were checking me out. I’ll do a few extra reps for you today. Then tonight, you can lick it and tell me how strong I am.”
He’s being silly, and yet, warmth pools somewhere near my crotch.
“I teach classes,” he adds quieter. “I work about ten hours a day in total, on me, on our contenders, and on kiddie classes.”
“You teach kids? Really?”
“Uh huh.” His voice is like a soothing balm after a day in the sun. A warm hug on a cold night. “I take a salary from the gym for those hours, and then Stacked Deck provides the big payday.”
“If you win.”
He chuckles. “When I win. What do you do for work?”
I snicker. “You know what I do. We’ve literally signed contracts that show you.”
“Mm.” His agreement is a melting grunt. “I get that you work on PR stuff, but explain it to me like I’m four.”
And so, I turn to my computer, and send an office memo that our ten o’clock meeting will be held at ten-thirty. “I pat asses, mostly.”
“Really? Because I saw a contract, but my ass remains Maddi-pat free. Though I’m fairly certain I have divots from your fingernails.”
I hate that I can see his smile in my mind. And right after that, I see us this morning. Bryan gliding over me, my legs splayed wide open and my nails digging into his ass to make him go faster, harder… more.
“I schmooze old people, mostly. Monaco wants their business, their allegiance, or their social proof. So my job is to facilitate that via dinner parties, events, auctions.” I think of Stacked Deck. “Promotional deals. Whatever it takes, my job is to talk shit, tell people they’re pretty, and then smile when they take out their checkbooks.”
“That sounds…” He considers. “Really fucking lame.”
I burst out in a loud laugh. “Yeah… I had bigger plans when I was at college. I thought I would schmooze, but maybe for good.”