Page 39 of Living on the Edge

He chuckles. “You obviously haven’t spent much time in boardrooms—we use some pretty colorful language.”

“Please, can’t you respect my decision?”

“You’re a fourth generation Hollingsworth. Your great grandfather had a different middle name, that’s why you’re not a fourth, but this is what our family does.”

“You started an amazing company,” I say sincerely, “but it’s too big now. You don’t represent the same things you did when you started. I know a lot of it is business, but you’ve lost your humanity—the collective you—and I don’t want people to look at me the way they look at Dad.”

I don’t want to say “both you and Dad” even though it would be true.

“And yet you can’t escape who you are. Who you were born to be. It’s caught up to you now. My attorney has been following the story and it’s not pretty, August. You have to have seen?—”

“I know that, dammit! I’m well-aware of the cluster-fuck my life has become.”

“So let us protect you.”

“I don’t need protection—I just need to be left alone.”

The silence is telling, and I immediately regret my words. I don’t mean that I don’t want a relationship with him, just that I want them to stop trying to pull me into the family business. Even if they didn’t use sketchy business tactics, I have no interest in the pharmaceutical industry. If I was going to work in the business world it would probably be in marketing, something where I could get creative.

Definitely not big pharma.

“Grandpa, I just want?—”

“I understand what you want. Take care of yourself, August.”

“Gramps, wait!”

But it’s too late.

He’s already disconnected.

Dammit.

I’ll give him a few days and then call back.

He needs a little time to think, and I need time to fix everything I’ve fucked up.

* * *

Sleep doesn’t comethat night, and I find myself at the bar, a glass of twenty-five-year-old Macallan in front of me. Since the guys aren’t around, I can drink the expensive shit without worrying about how much I spend.

It’s been a long-ass day.

I still feel bad about how the conversation with my grandfather ended, and even though we normally hang out on nights off, I haven’t heard from anyone in the band. They might not be mad but they haven’t forgiven me either.

And there isn’t shit I can do about it.

“Hey, there, handsome.” An attractive blond sinks onto the barstool next to mine, a flirtatious smile on her face.

“Hi.” I take a sip of scotch, averting my gaze.

“You’re Angus.” She has a predatory look on her face. “Or should I say… August?”

Things like this never end well.

“There a point to this?” I ask, downing the rest of my scotch and motioning for another.

“I just thought you might be lonely.” She puts a perfectly manicured hand on my arm.

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