Page 94 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

“It’s a solid investment,” I said. “No matter what happens.”

Tom rolled back and forth in his chair, considering me. “You don’t need my permission, Nicky. That’s what being in charge means.”

“I know that, but this is how I want things to be. Us making the calls.”

He laughed. “That why you’re in my office looking like a kid asking for an extra helping of dessert?”

I sat down on the edge of his desk, scratching at my brow. “You think it’ll work?”

Tom dropped the professional tone and smirked at me. “You’re asking me for advice on a woman?”

A reflexive longing for one of Alex’s talks jabbed at my chest, but it was already duller. “I guess I am.”

He made a low whistle and crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. “Welp, I’ll say this. If buying a girl a house doesn’t work, I think you can safely say you’re doing something else wrong.”

He winked at me, and I shook my head. “Fuck you.”

He laughed. “Love you too, Nick.”

I had sacrificed my self-respect for the Donovan family name many times, but agreeing to play nice with Sean after everything that had happened was a sharp, rocky bottom.

My hands shook so hard I could barely hold my champagne flute as I followed my parents around the ballroom. Sean would be here any minute and the thought of seeing him and his snooty parents made my stomach feel like I’d eaten butterfly soup. I thought about my new plan, the things I had in the works for my own life, and gave myself a mental hype speech.You can do this, Brit. You’re not just the makeup-counter manager anymore. You’re a badass business owner.

Who currently looked like a zombie in this silk, flamingo-colored dress with the dramatic slit up the side. My eyes were red-rimmed and bagged, my hair had been professionally done—my mother insisted I ditch the strawberry part of the brunette for this—but I’d flattened the back of it in the town car, leaning dramatically against the window. My feet were killing me in these heels, so even my gait was half-dead. I missed my fake-shearling boots. I missed my Texas sweatshirt. I missed Nick’s hand on my lower back, guiding me through a crowd.

I still hadn’t returned his text. He hadn’t tried again. I was trying to convince myself that Meri was right, that he just needed the time he’d asked for, but no matter what happened, I knew this was the last night I was going to spend doing things like this. I felt like a houseplant that someone had left in a dark room, a tropical flower in the winter. I’d been withering since I got back here and getting out was a top priority.

Unfortunately, I had to dance with these demons before I could slay them.

I gulped my drink and set the empty glass on a waiter’s tray. My father worked the room with his easy smile and politician-style handshakes. Everyone here had something he wanted and he was a pro. I, on the other hand, had always been captain of the amateur team.

“Bridget, please try to look like you care to be here.” My mother placed a hand on the inside of my arm and smiled wide so that from afar, her critique would look like we were engaging in some mother–daughter bonding.Goodness, yes, Mother. Gardenias in the centerpieces were a wonderful touch.Gag.

“I do not care to be here,” I said in my most regal voice. “So I have no idea how to look like it.”

Her smile wavered. “Are you afraid to see Sean?”

I flicked a look at her. That almost sounded like a sincere question, but I knew better. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to.”

What I wanted to do was take this dress off and go over to Meri’s for a movie and pizza. Maybe cry into my pillow for another night in a row, then fall asleep and dream of being a boat on an ocean of sea-foam green.

If my father thought he could break me with this torture, he had no idea what I had the capacity to do to myself.

“Well, I think you look lovely now that your hair is a normal color,” Mom said. “So Sean can just eat crow.” She squeezed my arm, and I stood there a little dumbfounded. Besides the dig at my hair, that almost felt supportive.

“Ah, you’re here, son.” My father’s voice was joyous and I whipped my gaze over my shoulder to see him embracing Sean despite the fact that Sean was, in no way, his son.

“Wouldn’t miss it, sir.”

They both turned to me and a wave of nausea threatened to bring the champagne back up. Sean looked the same as the last time I’d seen him—tall, golf-course tan, well-pressed suit. His longish hair was slicked into place, showing off that wave my mother liked to point out would be wonderful for our babies to inherit. Not a cowlick in sight.

He took my hand and pasted on a perfect smile as if he expected a camera to capture this moment. That would be a priceless headline.Girl’s millionaire father ruins her life in the name of business. Because you never can have too much money.

I hatedbusiness. Business suits, business calls, business dinners. Business transactions that involved my heart.

“Bridget, it’s nice to see you again,” Sean said.

“I’m sure the pleasure is all yours.”

---