Page 35 of Tobias

“Working?” I ask.

He nods. I go to the bar to pour myself a drink.

“Do you need a refill?” I ask.

He responds by lifting his glass, eyes still on his phone.

The guy hardly works yet he always seems to be working on holidays. I don’t understand it.

My parents aren’t terrible people, they’re just… not Jack and Rebecca Pearson. I grew up knowing I had a purpose. I wasn’t born to be a child; I was born to be an heir, to keep my father’s company going—to keep the Beaumont name going. I’ve never really had feelings toward that—negative or positive. Not until now, when everything I’m going to fuck up if I change my mind about marriage is right in front of my face. It’s like dominoes. I make one change, and everything will fall down. One of my brothers will take over, but because they aren’t the oldest, it’s justnot the same,which I don’t understand. If they want it, and Preston most definitely wants it, just let him have it.

Before pouring myself a glass of Macallan and refilling my father’s, I quickly pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text. Best I do it now before I’m too drunk to be appropriate—or discreet.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I prepare the drinks, bringing them over to my father’s desk and taking a seat. I slide him his, and he grabs it without taking his eyes from his phone.

“Is there something I can help with?” I am the COO, after all. If he needs help, it’s likely I can.

“No.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I itch to pull it out and look at it, having a feeling I know who it is. Or, at least,hopewho it is.

“Thee-YO!”

I glance over my shoulder as my youngest brother walks into the room with a grin on his face. He's dressed impeccably, as usual, in a crisp blue suit.

“Preston,” I respond.

“Hey, Dad,” he says as he walks around the desk to give our father a hug.

“Hey, son,” he answers, putting his phone down on the desk and leaning back in his chair, to look up at Preston. “How was the drive?”

“Not bad.”

“Where’s Isobel?” Dad asks, looking toward the door, a smile on his face.

“With Mom, of course.”

“Do you want a drink?” I ask, getting up.

“Yeah, sure,” Preston says. “Is Michael here yet?”

“Not yet. Come on, let’s go find the girls,” Dad says, and they leave the room just as I finish pouring Preston his drink. I stare down at the amber liquid and shoot it back all in one go before following after them.

I press my back to the door after closing myself in the bathroom and lifting my eyes to the ceiling.

Just a few more hours.

Holidays were never my thing. Spending so much time with my family isn’t easy. They all seem to just get one another, while I feel like I don’t belong. It’s not something they’ve done or said. My parents tell me they love me as much as my brothers. They give me the same amount of gifts as my brothers. In fact, I tend to get more because I’m the oldest, but there’s just something in their tone. They treat me differently. Not in the way that I shouldn’t be here, but in the way that they’re harder on me. It's inferred, constantly, that I should know better. My father keeps his distance, making our relationship more business than familial. For some reason, it’s bothering me more today than it ever has before.

My phone vibrates in my pocket for the third time tonight and I scramble to pull it out. It's Tobias.

Happy Thanksgiving

How’s your day going?

Better than mine, I’m guessing, by lack of response.

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