Page 21 of The Hang Up

“We’re having dinner Friday evening.”

“What about your son’s cute roommate?”

I decided to ignore him. But my phone buzzed again with an incoming text, and Mitch grinned. I could wait a few minutes—until Mitch wasn’t watching—to read Brock’s response. “If you want to lick the plate, go ahead,” I said, a smile slipping out at his answering eye-roll. I filled my coffee cup from the carafe on the table. “Otherwise, I’d like to go over those grant proposals.”

* * *

I wasfine until I was sitting at the Winehurst Country Club waiting for my son. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been this nervous about anything.

Joshua

What do I say?

Brock

Apologize?

Joshua

No. Too soon. He won’t believe me.

Brock

Just be sincere. Be yourself.

Brock

But a less reactive version of yourself.

Joshua

What’s that supposed to mean?

Brock

As if you didn’t know.

Joshua

Helpful.

I waited a few minutes and then sent the one text I’d wanted to send all this time.

Joshua

Can I call? After, I mean.

I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t respond. It was better this way. I didn’t need to think about Brock. We’d stuck to our agreement. Nothing more could happen between us without hindering Sean and Brock’s friendship and my progress with Sean. But I replayed those moments holding him and kissing him over and over. And then I felt guilty because Sean would definitely not be okay with this.

As Mitch said, this was my redemption tour. I hadn’t put my son first or even second when he was growing up. I’d focused on work. And keeping Victoria happy. Of course, she was happy as long as the money was coming in, and she could retain her status of being the wife of a billionaire and powerful CEO. But it hadn’t always been like that. My company taking off had changed everything. Was there something I could have done differently?

Now, putting Sean first was imperative. Fixing our relationship. But even if Sean wasn’t a factor, this thing between Brock and I wouldn’t work. He needed someone younger. Not a broken-down old man with control issues who apparently couldn’t get along with anyone. Except his assistant. His paid assistant.

But enough self-pity for one day.

I’d picked Winehurst because Sean had practically been raised here. I knew he wouldn’t be comfortable at the house. Too many not-so-great memories.

I’d arranged everything beforehand. The staff knew to watch for him, and I’d given them our orders beforehand. Sean was a creature of habit, even though he pretended he wasn’t, and I knew what he liked. One less thing he had to stress about.

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