Page 48 of Terms Of Un-Endearment
“Not me!” Britta answers before her eyes dart to me. “Sorry, Arch. I’m worn out from traveling, and I’ve got to be at Frothed all day tomorrow catching things up.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to cook.” That’s a lie, and we all know it, but Dex and Britta are polite enough not to call me out on it. “We’ll get sushi from Kenzo. My treat.”
They love Kenzo even more than I do, so I know they won’t turn down my offer.
Dex swings his suitcase shut and zips it. “It’s always your treat; let me get this one. I’m not broke.”
“You’re notnotbroke,” I joke.
“I’ll buy,” he says firmly, and I realize I’ve sucker punched his ego. “If you’re leaving for Aus soon, this may be my last chance to treat you.”
“I’ve got no plans to leave. My house. My invite. My treat.” Too much has changed between us already. I’m not ready for Dex to be playing the one who’s in charge.
I hand Britta my finished box, then grab Dex’s suitcase and heft it off the bed before he can.
He snorts his frustration but lets me take it. “So, you talked to your dad? He’s letting you keep the house, then?” He asks as I wheel the suitcase to the door.
There’s a hopefulness in his voice that re-energizes me. I haven’t made a lot of progress with the plan I promised Dad, but I will. “I told him he either needed to let me tap into my trust fund to start Bombora, or else I’d sell the house to do it. He gave me two weeks to put together a business plan to present to him as proof that I’m ready to make a solid go of things.”
“That took some guts, mate. Good on ya.” Dex’s encouragement quickly dissolves into silence and his smile falls.“And, yeah. Your treat tomorrow I guess,” he says, finally. “I reckon it won’t be long before your finances look worse than mine.”
I scoff. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dex tips his head as though he’s re-considering what he’s said.
“Come on, mate. Out with it.”
He takes a breath and looks me square in the eye. “It means I think your dad is stringing you along. If you don’t do what he wants, he’ll freeze you out—same as he did with Frankie—and find a way to get the beach house from you to boot,” Dex says with enough certainty to make me nervous.
But I quickly brush the thought away. My business plan…proposalwill convince Dad. Besides, I’ve always got on better with him than Frankie has. I don’t blame her for dismissing Dad’s plan for her to marry Lachlan Reid, but she didn’t have to elope with someone else.
Frankie doesn’t just refuse to build bridges between her and Dad; she’s burned down every bridge they already had. She and I are completely different in that way. I know Dad is flawed, but I also think we’re on the same page in regard to my future. We both want me to make something of myself. He’s giving me the push I need, and I’m going to prove I can do it.
But I don’t expect anyone else to understand. Dad doesn’t have many fans among my friends who know some of the stuff he’s pulled in the past. I’m at fault there for complaining about the bad and leaving out the good. I reckon this time’s not the same as the others. Dad texted that he’d look at my draft. I’ve gotta believe that means I have a chance at changing his mind about letting me stay and turning over my trust fund.
The fact is, if I want my life to be my own, I have to make Bombora work, but I need more time to turn my rough business plan into a full-fledged, glossy-print, graph-heavy proposal.
I have two options for buying more time: Get Piper to see my vision and convince Cynthia to put pressure on Dad to settle for the ten million. She can get her own place closer to work, and I can use the house for the funding I need.
The other option is to cut my losses, sign the deed back to Dad, round up some investors and start Bombora completely on my own. In this scenario, I’m the one who leaves this situation, and I never have to see Piper again.
Well, I never have to see Piper again in either option.
I should feel good about that, especially after what Piper’s done to my hair.
So, why do I kinda loathe the idea of not seeing her again?
Chapter 17
Piper
When I walk into the kitchen the next morning, Archie is there, showered, dressed, and very,veryblond. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, so I’m actually relieved. I’d assumed he was avoiding me. I don’t know why I was bothered by that.
“I’m under orders to take you to Frothed this morning,” he says.
My eyes are stuck on his hair. Actually, my whole body is stuck. I’m too mesmerized to move. That, or I’m frozen with guilt for being the reason his beautiful red hair is gone.
“Are you ready to go?” He pulls on a beanie, and the spell is broken.
