Page 106 of Just The Way You Aren't

"But I'm a member of the Langley Enterprises board!" Alfred protests.

"And I'm sure that's very impressive elsewhere," Darlene says, standing. "Uncle Ben, would you please show Mr. Rothchild to the waiting area?"

Ben rises, gesturing to the door. "This way, Al."

“It’s Alfred.” He looks to me for support, but finds none. "This is outrageous!"

"No, Alfred," I say calmly. "What's outrageous is that I let you manipulate me for too long into believing I had to choosebetween my personal life and business success. I’ve put up with your childish interference with the board—my board. That ends today."

As Ben Walt leads a fuming Alfred from the room, Steven turns to me with a smile. "Now, I believe you have a family gathering to attend?"

"I do," I say, already reaching for my phone. "But what about?—"

"The contract is yours, Damien," Darlene assures me. "We'll finalize the details next week."

"But for now," Steven adds, "go get your girl."

I don't need to be told twice. Within minutes, I'm on the phone with my pilot, instructing him to prepare the company jet for immediate departure. Not to New York, but to a regional airport in the Catskills.

As I gather my things, I spot Alfred lingering in the reception area, tapping furiously on his phone. Probably complaining to anyone who will listen about my unprofessional behavior.

"Alfred," I call, unable to resist a parting shot, "you'll need to find your own way back to New York. Call Rhonda. Tell her I said she should book you a commercial flight. In coach."

His head snaps up, horror dawning on his face. "Commercial? Coach! But surely?—"

"Enjoy your weekend." I smile pleasantly while he continues to splutter incoherently. The last thing I see as the elevator doors close is Alfred's fish-like gaping and the Walts' standing behind him, all three of them struggling with barely contained laughter.

For the first time in my life, I've chosen something—someone—over business. And strangely, it feels like the most responsible decision I've ever made.

CHAPTER 34

WILLOW

"Aunt Willow! Watch this!"

I look up from the potato salad I'm mixing to see my seven-year-old niece Lizzy performing a wobbly cartwheel across the patchy grass of my parents' backyard. Her little sister Emma immediately attempts to copy her, resulting in more of a sideways tumble than a proper cartwheel.

"Amazing!" I cheer, setting down the wooden spoon to applaud. "Olympic gymnasts in training!"

The girls beam with pride before racing off to join their cousins, who are engaged in what appears to be a particularly chaotic game of tag around the ancient oak tree that’s stood in the backyard for generations. The squeals and laughter of children fill the air, a soundtrack to the Harper family gathering that's as familiar as the smell of my dad's burgers sizzling on the grill.

I glance around the backyard, taking in the scene. My father stands at his beloved charcoal grill, spatula in one hand, beer in the other, deep in conversation with my brother Cole. My sisters Summer and Maya are setting up the mismatchedcollection of folding tables and lawn chairs that have served our family gatherings for as long as I can remember. Harper—yes, Harper Harper—is arranging paper plates and plastic utensils while trying to keep her toddler son from eating the napkins.

It's chaotic and loud and perfect. Almost.

I pull my phone from my pocket, checking it for what must be the twentieth time this afternoon. No new messages since Damien's brief reply hours ago:Thanks for letting me know you arrived safely. In meetings now. Talk later.

I try not to feel disappointed. He's working. Solving a crisis. Doing exactly what someone in his position needs to do. I understand that, truly. But understanding doesn't stop the hollow feeling in my chest.

"Still nothing from Mr. Big Shot?"

I look up to find my sister Summer watching me, a knowing look on her face. At thirty-six, she's the oldest of us siblings and has always possessed an uncanny ability to read my mind.

"He's busy," I say, tucking my phone away. "Important business emergency."

"Uh-huh." Summer hands me a stack of napkins. "Hence the sad puppy eyes you've been sporting since you arrived."

"I do not have sad puppy eyes," I protest.

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