Page 80 of Game Change

She looks at us, but she doesn’t smile. It’s bitter cold outside, and I resist the urge to button her coat and put the hat on her curly head like I did this morning. I look down at her black stilettos and worry she’ll fall, and I won’t be there to catch her.

“Brynne, did you change your mind about lunch? We can go to that place you like,” Uncle Milton says.

“Um, no. I’m actually running late to my appointment.” She walks to the door, opens it, and gestures for us to leave.

I grab my coat on the way to the lobby, and Uncle Milton does the same. She’s still waiting for the elevator when we arrive, and we share an awkward silence down to the lobby. I gesture for her to exit, and we follow her out the front door.

I almost stop when I see a tall, Black man standing outside the building. He looks out of place, dressed in jeans, work boots, and a cowboy hat. When he sees her, he smiles. I don’t move as I watch them. They shake hands, and it seems professional, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. He’s admiring her body a little too long, and the look on his face is not how you would look at a professional colleague.

And she did not mention this meeting or this man to me.

“Come on, Paddy,” Uncle Milton says as his driver pulls up to the front of our building.

Instead of going in the car, I walk to Brynne and say, “Where are you going, and who is this man?” I don’t bother to pull her aside to ask. I say it so that he can hear me too.

She looks around and says, “This is Sonny, and he’s the builder working on my house. We’re having lunch to go over a few things.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this last night or this morning?” I think my question shocks her, but it shouldn’t. As many questions as I’ve answered about Francesca and my past, the least she could have done was tell me about this Sonny.

“Because he called me about an hour ago,” she whispers. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me is that I see my girlfriend going out with a strange man. That’s what’s wrong.” And I’ll never admit it, but he’s handsome, looks successful, and doesn’t have the baggage I have with her. It would be easier for her to walk away from me and be with this guy.

She takes my arm and pulls me away from this Sonny. I also notice that Uncle Milton watches us instead of sitting in his car.

“What the hell?” she asks. The wind blows her hair all over her head. I stick my hand in her pocket, pull out her cute little hat, and put it on her head. “What are you doing?” she hisses.

“I don’t like how this guy is looking at you,” I say. I rub my thumb along her cheek.

“It’s business, Colin. I don’t have to clear my business dealings with you.”

“If I was getting in a car with a woman, you would have plenty to say, wouldn’t you?” I see her nostrils flare at my question. I already know the answer. She’d care, and she’d confront me.

“Okay.” She raises her hands. “But it’s business. Have I ever given you the impression that I would cheat on you with a man I’d invite to meet me at the office? Come on.”

“Where are you guys going?” I ask.

“Just two doors down to the food court.”

“If I have to go find you in that food court, I will make a scene.”

“You better not do any such thing. Go.” She points to the car, and as if it’s a reflex, I bend down and kiss her lips before walking away. She kisses me back but pulls away as if she just remembered we have an audience.

This Sonny is looking with his eyebrows raised, and Uncle Milton is also watching, but he remains expressionless. He’s always been the best poker player in our family.

“Did you just kiss me in front of Milton?” Brynne asks, outraged. She looks around me at him. He lifts his hand and waves at us. I wave back, but Brynne gasps and looks away. “He saw that,” she whispers.

“Well, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming,” Uncle Milton says when I slide into his warm, waiting car. “Have we not drilled it into your head about not getting involved with employees?”

“My mother was my father’s employee. Colin the First’s second wife worked for him, and I’m pretty sure one or two of your ex-wives also worked for you. I don’t want to hear it, Uncle Milton.” He, more than anyone, knows that no one in our family asks permission to do anything, and I’m not about to start. Not when it comes to being in a relationship with someone I care about. “And I’m a grown man. I don’t need permission to date.”

“Is it serious?” he asks.

“Yes,” is all I say. His eyebrows rise practically to his hairline at my declaration. Then he exhales as if in relief.

“Well, good. I thought it was your plan to get her to stay. That never works,” he insists. “But if real feelings are involved—” He lets the sentence hang.

“I’m not manipulating her into staying. I would never do that to her or anyone else. For the record, I met her while on vacation, but you blew that up with your little switcheroo scheme. It took me weeks to get her to believe I had nothing to do with it.” I look out the window while his driver maneuvers the car through the busy streets.

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