Page 37 of Mister Rival

“Well, usually I do, but it was a good chance to let loose,” I say, heading to the huge oak dining table which is more like an antique in my 1930s original Hamptons estate. My property is on two acres, surrounded by mature sycamores. It’s also not shy on the vast number of oak trees lining the grounds. The house boasts seven bedrooms and seven well-appointed bathrooms with marble and stone features through-out. My favorite part is the two-story family room which has a full bar, my temperature-controlled wine cellar and an entertainment center. My private study adjoins with more sturdy oak furnishings, along with my luscious primary suite with tree-top views. I remodeled the bathroom myself; the spa-like marble bath with a free-standing tub and steam shower is second to none.

Blood, sweat and tears went into the property years ago after the divorce. Jon managed most of the renovation, but we still kept some of the original features like the reclaimed wooden beams up in the vaulted ceiling above us, the fireplace in the formal living room, and the bay windows which look out onto a huge majestic oak tree with sprawling branches that the entire front garden nestles under.

The place is probably too big for me these days, but it came in handy when the boys were all here when I shared custody with my ex-wife. Noah still lives here part-time when he’s not over at Joshua’s place; where he comes and goes as he pleases. He’s still looking for the perfect bachelor pad and I expect one day he’ll find one. It isn’t like we can’t afford it. My boys manage their money well, but nothing was handed to them. They had to earn it.

“Let loose?” Bradley scoffs at my comment as Joshua knocks the caps from the beers and passes one to his brother.

“You never let loose, Dad,” Joshua adds as if I didn’t already know it. Though it’s kind of unusual for him to back his brother up. They are often at opposite ends of the scale with just about everything.

“Word has it you did tequila shots at the bar with Ali Archer,” Noah says, strolling in and helping himself to one of the beers. Even when he’s just down the hallway, he still can’t manage to make a family gathering on time.

I walk back over to the stove top where I have the sauce simmering, the spaghetti cooking and the garlic bread in the oven. I hear Bradley and Joshua balk behind me.

“Alison Archer?” Joshua’s bemused tone isn’t lost on me.

“Are you serious?” Bradley chimes in.

“Good news travels fast,” I mutter.

“So it’s true?” Bradley takes a pull of his beer and leans on the island bench, while I juggle the pots and pans I have going all at once. I turn the oven off with a flick of my wrist and glance over my shoulder to all three of them staring at me. Noah pulls up a stool with an oh- so-smug smile on his face.

“She was there, yes.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “We went to the same high school.”

“And?” Bradley presses.

“And what?” I scoff. “We did some shots, her dick face ex showed up when he said he wasn’t going. I offered her a drink, end of story.”

“You did shots with Alison Archer?” Joshua can’t seem to get past the first part, and I can hardly blame him. He knows the rivalry between us over the years, they all do. The way I’ve poked the bear, more recently on the last deal we had together, isn’t lost on any of us.

“Is that so hard to believe?” I say, working quickly to grab the large ceramic bowl for the spaghetti, pulling it off the heat and into the drainer over the sink. A cloud of steam rises between me and my boys. “I can be civil when the time calls for it.”

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you enjoyed it.” Noah runs a hand over his dark, shaggy mane and clinks bottles with Joshua. “About time, I say.”

I ignore him and toss the spaghetti from the drainer into the large bowl and turn back to the stove for the sauce. Joshua walks around to grab the plates as I pour the contents over the spaghetti with a wooden spoon and finish it off with a few sprigs of basil. “Make yourself useful,” I say to Noah, “and put this on the table, would you?”

Noah reluctantly slides off his seat and grabs the huge steaming bowl of spaghetti and walks over to the table with some serving spoons while I grab the garlic bread out of the oven and slice it up.

“I can’t believe you were even seen at the same event with Alison. Don’t you two hate each other?” Bradley does his bit by grabbing the little dish of parmesan I prepared earlier and follows Noah over to the dining table.

“Not since the Anderson deal,” Joshua helpfully puts in. I notice he’s in a less serious mood than usual, maybe because he’s been hanging out with Noah all weekend. “You can thank me and Mason for that little dinner date stunt we pulled at Ruby’s. And I don’t wanna throw Lexi under the bus, but she had a hand in it, too.”

“It wasn’t a date,” I correct. “It was business. We got the deal, didn’t we?”

“You sure that’s the only deal you’re doing?” Bradley comes back to grab the garlic bread I’ve just laid out on two wooden chopping boards while I grab the bottle of red I uncorked earlier from my cellar of vintage classics.

“Why would it matter to you?” Noah intervenes as we all take a seat at the expansive table with eight Louis ghost armchairs surrounding it. A huge vase of peonies from the garden takes up the centerpiece and two large sandalwood and citrus candles burning either side of the flowers add a warm glow to the room. It’s simple but classy.

“Consorting with the enemy?” Bradley gives Noah a look before he turns back to me. “Is that how we’re doing deals now, Dad?”

I wave it off as I take a seat and pour myself an extra large glass of Shiraz. I feel like I’m going to need it. “No consorting. Trust me, she’s actually very different out of work,” I tell them. “Nothing like you’d expect.”

Noah is grinning from ear to ear like he knows something no one else does. He’s always been the fucking intuitive one out of my boys, he’s so much like his mother. It does make me wonder though how he knew about the tequila shots.

Bradley and Joshua share a glance, then both look at Noah.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” Noah holds his palms up in his own defense. “If Dad had some fun this weekend, I say we drink to it.” He holds up his glass with a wink in my direction as we all toast.

I give him athanks very muchsarcastic smile as he takes a long drag of his beer.

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