Page 36 of Beyond Question

Again.

I really am unrecognizable these days, even to myself. She’s consumed my thoughts, and my initial interest has grown into something akin to obsession.

I’m not too proud to admit that, though it does irk me to no end. And I get that obsession is a strong word. I’m nottrulyobsessed. I haven’t gone full Joe Goldberg and begun stalking her or showing up in random places to insert myself into her life.

But I havethoughtabout those things, which is probably just as bad.

Frankly, she was right when she asked if I wasn’t used to the wordno. Because I’m definitely not.

I am also not used to being ghosted or… ugh…blown off.

I’ve asked Rylan about her countless times, which has led me to absolutely no information that would help me win her over, just that she’s still single and vehemently hates rich, white, upper-class men. Probably even more vehemently now, though Rylan hasn’t exactly said that. Probably doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

But the worst part? Apparently, Paige hasn’t said a single word about me to Rylan.

Which doesn’t bode well for me, friends.

Lost in my pity party, I climb into the back of the Reed Enterprises limousine and slide down the long side seat to allow Cabot and Rylan space to sit in the back. After he helps his pregnant fiancée into the car, he closes the door and strides to the other side.

“Your face is going to stick like that,” she teases during the brief moment we’re alone.

I stick out my tongue, smiling genuinely when she laughs, then Cabot opens the back door and climbs in beside her, looking back and forth between the two of us.

“What’s so funny?”

I roll my eyes at his possessiveness and reach for the decanter to pour myself a glass of bourbon.

“Oh no,” Rylan murmurs. “He’s frowning again.”

If I’m frowning, it’s only because I was forced into being here and want to make it known.

Being Cabot Reed’s best friend and, for all intents and purposes, his right-hand man, means that I participate in these circle jerks of ego-stroking and bullshit whether I want to or not. (I don’t.) Be it lunch meetings with the good ol’ boys club I loathe, or becoming Chief Financial Officer of first Cabot’s publishing company, and then his entire massive empire—which we now run together as equal partners—I have suffered through galas and gatherings for years by his side, schmoozing and canoodling with the best of them even though I despise every moment.

I have a very low tolerance for lip service, and stroking egos is not something I am particularly good at. I can smell bullshit a mile away and am absolutely terrible at disingenuity.

Truthfully, I like numbers far more than I like people, present company excluded.

But back to the circle jerk that is New York’s publishing industry and why I am currently frowning in the back of a limousine while dressed like a penguin.

The Annual Quill Awards.

An event I am loath to attend, but not something Cabot will allow me to miss. He is adamant that we have to show our faces from time to time, schmooze with the best and brightest.

In the years prior to this one, I argued that as Reed Publishing’s CFO, there was no need for me to attend. While managing the financial actions of the publishing house, I had no hands-on experience with the manuscripts we acquired, and certainly nothing to do with whether they sank or swam.

This year, as CFO of theentiretyof the Reed Enterprises conglomerate, I arguably have even less involvement in the publishing arm of the business, but he insisted I attend.

My best friend is a sadist through and through, getting off on the pain he inflicts on others. Myself included, apparently.

And so I will scowl as much as I want to tonight, thank you very much.

“Travis,” Rylan says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I swivel my head toward her and give her a small smile. She fits perfectly there, tucked into his side, and I swear she’s never been more gorgeous than she is now, seven months pregnant. It’s an odd thought to have, seeing as how I've never had a pregnancy kink and can’t stand small humans. But while I look at her there beside Cabot, I’m struck once again by the way the two of them meld so effortlessly, like she was always the missing piece to his jagged-edged puzzle.

“Maybe you’d be in a better mood if you’d brought a date…”

Her words trail off as the smile falls from my face.

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