Page 87 of Designed for Disaster

Dee reached up and pressed her hand to my cheek. “And I just know that this life holds wonderful things for you.”

27

TRENT

Istood in front of the Luxe Hotel, burying my hands in the pockets of my coat to keep the chill away. I had a reservation at the restaurant for noon—and I’d never wanted to cancel more.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, spotting Jimmy’s name on the screen. “Hey,” I answered.

“Hey…Did you go in yet?”

“Not yet.” I was still working up the nerve. Frankly, I’d rather spend the rest of the month in board meetings than walk through these doors, but I also knew this was the right decision. It was time.

“Are you sure you even want to do this?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m sure.” I’d been back from the High Point trade show for a few weeks now. The launch of the new sustainable, eco-focused line had gone well, and the few pieces we’d headlined with were well received, sparking a swell of new orders from interested buyers. The time away had given me the space and perspective to digest everything that had happened with thefight with my mother and the subsequent fallout with Natasha. I’d taken a step back, assessed the cracks in my relationships, and now it was time to start cleaning up that mess—starting with my parents. “Look, what I choose to do doesn’t have to affect your relationship with them. You know that, right? If it would make you more comfortable, I could leave you out of it. You do whatever you think is right for you. I’m still going to be here for you no matter what.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s not that. I still want you to speak for both of us today.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just…I wanted the opportunity to be there foryoufor once. I know you’re, like, old as hell?—”

“Ouch, thanks,” I said, laughing. “I’ll remember this when you hit your thirties.”

“I mean it, Trent. I just wish you’d let me be there to support you.” Jimmy huffed. “I can’t manage a lot, but I think I could have handled this.”

“You’re managing everything you need to. You keep your focus on school for these next few weeks, okay? You’ve got final exams coming up next month, and then you’ll be free. We’ll get you moved back home before Christmas, and then we can put a pause on things.”

Jimmy sighed. “What if I bomb these exams?”

“Then you bomb them,” I said, keeping my voice relaxed, trying to reassure him that we’d deal with whatever happened. “And we’ll figure out your next steps together.”

“Right. Thanks, Trent.”

“Anytime, Jimmy. I mean that.”

“I know you do. All right, well, call me back and let me know how everything goes.”

“I will. You go hit the books.” I hung up, walking through the revolving door and stepping into the Luxe’s polished lobby before I could change my mind. I’d chosen this particular place to meet my parents—a brand-new hotel in midtown—because it had no connection to the business, or to our family, or to the divorce. There’d been no birthdays or anniversaries celebrated here. No business meetings taken. No board members schmoozed.

It was neutral territory as far as I was concerned, and that was exactly what I needed. That said, I still had no idea if my parents would even show up. Neither of them had responded to the email invites Pam had sent. After how hard they usually worked to get in touch with me, it was difficult to imagine that they wouldn’t show, but I was done trying to figure them out or anticipate how they might react. If they showed up, great—I had something I was determined to say, and I wanted them to hear it. If they decided to leave me hanging, they’d get the news in a follow-up email tomorrow.

Either way, it would be done, once and for all.

“Good afternoon,” the hostess said, greeting me at the entrance of the restaurant. “Do you have a reservation?”

“It’s under Saunders,” I said. I’d had my secretary request a secluded table when she made the reservation.

“Right this way,” she said, leading me through. The space was classy and elegant, all crystal chandeliers and black accents.

“Thank you,” I said, spotting my mother at the table doing a fabulous job of ignoring my father who stood at the bar, chatting up the blonde bartender.

“Trent!” my father called, raising his hand in greeting, the other wrapped firmly around his scotch. He walked over to the table, my mother shooting him a look that said she was already annoyed. “What’re you drinking?”

“Nothing for me,” I said, waving off his question.

He sat down, and so did I. Christ, it had been forever since I’d sat with my parents like this. The closest we got was the board meetings, but during those, we were never alone. It was worlds away from comfortable, but I’d endured worse. And if I had my way, it wouldn’t last long. “Thank you both for coming,” I started.

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