Page 49 of The Fix Up

“Let’s just do our best to keep it professional, Ben. It feels like things are sorta even now, right?”

“Even?”

“You know. What happened at your place and then just now?—”

“You make it sound like a business merger instead of the best damn blowjob of my life.”

She’d laughed, giving him a playful swat as she stepped away. “Call me if you need any more public speaking tips between now and Friday. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

They were the last words she’d spoken to him, at least for now. He’d done his best not to call her, not even for a last-minute pep talk before the presentation.

But now that the presentation was over, surely it was okay to at least let her know? She was still his PR consultant, after all. There was no reason not to contact her.

He picked up his phone and typed out a quick text message.

Presentation went great. Thanks for all the tips! Couldn’t have done it without you.

Then he shrugged into his jacket and jogged to the elevator, not wanting to keep his dad waiting.

By the time he sat down at the table, Lyle was already halfway through his glass of Laphroig. Ben slid into the booth across from him, not sure whether to be annoyed or grateful his dad had ordered one for him, too.

“Cheers, boy!” Lyle said as he held up his glass. “Let’s hope the Kleinberger team makes the right decision.”

“Cheers,” Ben echoed, and picked up his own glass. He clinked it against his father’s, then took a sip of the smoky brew. God, he’d probably never get used to it. For his father’s sake, he wanted to like it, but he couldn’t help but think he’d rather swill drain cleaner.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Ben put his hand on it.

Holly.

His stupid pulse started to gallop, but Ben left his phone where it was. He wasn’t going to be that guy who checked messages while having a conversation with someone else. He owed his dad some undivided attention for at least the time it took to down a glass of Laphroig.

Ben looked down at his glass and scowled. It could be a while.

“Gotta love a good Irish whiskey,” Lyle said. “This is the fifteen-year, of course.”

Ben nodded and looked up at his dad. “Of course.”

“Sure as hell wish they’d get the eighteen-year-old stuff here, or even the twenty-five, but at least it’s not the ten.”

“Thank God for small blessings.”

He took another sip, relieved this one went down a little easier. He wondered if this was how normal fathers and sons interacted. Ben had no idea. His mom had died when he was at the age most boys were getting their driver’s license. Instead, Ben had been heading off to college. He thought he’d been well past the age when he urgently needed a mother’s snuggles or homemade cookies, but he’d craved those things anyway.

Lyle hadn’t been up for any of that, save the stiff, one-armed hug he’d given at the funeral.

“Buck up, boy,” Lyle had told him. “It’s just you and me, now.”

And it had been, for half of Ben’s life.

Ben took another sip of whiskey and looked at his father across the table. “So do you think we’ll get the Kleinberger deal?”

Lyle’s eyes lit up the way they always did when anyone brought up business deals. “Yeah, I think we stand a good chance.”

“And you think the presentation went well?”

Okay, fine, he was fishing. Was it so wrong to want approval from his father? Lyle leaned back against his seat and swirled the smoky liquid in his glass, staring down at it like it held the meaning of life. “It was good. ’Course, there’s something missing.”

“From the presentation? I covered all the bases. I thought the cost analysis was thorough without being overwhelming, and the?—”

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