Page 3 of Conflagration
Or so I thought.
I went twenty-one years never even thinking about seeing a copy of my birth certificate, not even batting an eye at needing to see it. Mom always did that kind of stuff. But knowing I was going to need a passport for when I graduated and started working for Dad, I decided to be proactive and apply for one. That’s when everything changed.
After finding my birth certificate with my mother’s maiden name, I immediately took it to her, wondering why the hell it was like that. Twenty-one years old and I’d never seen my birth certificate. Now, I knew why she had always been the one to fill out any paperwork I’d needed.
She spilled the whole story about how they’d had a summer fling and he’d already been back in college by the time she’d found out she was pregnant. It wasn’t until I was three months old that he’d come back to town and found out about me. He’d stepped up and married her, and the rest is history, she claimed. She waved it off because, in her words, they’d ended up in love and with a beautiful family, even if they’d started off in an unconventional way. I was shell-shocked, and even though I should’ve just left it alone, I headed straight for Dad’s office.
Now, I’m wishing I hadn’t.
He’s just finished telling Trevor Donahue, his CFO, of how he plans to make my middle brother, Knox, his successor. Knox Nathaniel Wellington the Third. The son of Knox Nathaniel Jr., our father.
Yes, even though I’m the firstborn, I don’t bear my father’s name. Something I’ve wondered about from time to time but never really gave much thought. There’s never been any indication that Knox is more important or more favored as a son. He isn’t treated any differently than Cohen or I am. My parents are pretty fair when it comes to their affections. So, even though it has crossed my mind over the years that he is the III and I’m not, it didn’t really matter.
At least I didn’t think so until this very moment when I suddenly realize how important the name apparently is.
The voices fade and I get lost in my own head as the anger builds inside me. I’ve worked too hard for this to be taken from me. Meanwhile, Knox fucked around and barely managed to graduate high school. Not to mention, he’s waitlisted for the University of Tennessee for the fall semester, while I’m on track to graduate summa cum laude next spring.
But according to dear old Dad, it’s not enough that any Wellington runs the company. No, it needs to be Knox. His namesake. He’d be the third generation Knox Nathaniel Wellington to run the business—apparently something my late grandfather wanted. As if I’d had any fucking say on what the hell they named me. Not to mention, I don’t recall Knox ever saying that he had any interest in running the company one day. I’ve spent twenty-one fucking years preparing for this, and my little brother is taking it from me all because of his name? I don’t fucking think so.
The longer I stew, the more fury ignites within me, and I have to fist my hands at my sides and steel my nerves before I unleash my anger and cause a scene. Part of me wants to confront him now, but I don’t know that I can keep my cool long enough to discuss it rationally, and the last thing I want to do is give him ammunition against me as to why I might not be fit for the position.
Inhaling deeply, I turn and walk away, barely resisting the urge to punch the wall just outside his office. I have to figure out a way to change Dad’s mind. To prove I’m the best man for the job. Truth be told, it shouldn’t be that hard, considering that Knox isn’t on track to having a business degree any time soon. Hell, by the time he even does earn one, I’ll have my master’s and I’ll show Dad and the board that I’m the perfect fit. Fuck my name. I’m still a Wellington. That should be all that matters.
My heart’s pounding as I make the drive to my apartment and my fury increases with every mile I put between me and the building where all my future plans were just pulled out from under me. As I throw my suit jacket on the back of the recliner, I loosen my tie and head to the bar, where I pour myself three fingers of bourbon in hopes that it’ll help take the edge off. And to drown out my father’s words, which are constantly playing on repeat in my mind. I swallow it in one gulp, enjoying the burning sensation as it slides down the back of my throat.
After I refill my glass, I’m about to lounge on the couch and lose myself in mindless television when I hear a knock on my door. Groaning, because the last thing in the world I want is company, I down the rest of my drink and move across the apartment.
As I open the door, I’m taken aback when I see Megan, Knox’s longtime high school girlfriend, standing on the other side. What the hell? She’s been here before with my brother, but she’s never come alone—and usually when they’re here, I’m not.
When I peer down at her, it looks like she’s been crying, and before I can say anything, she launches herself into my arms. Stumbling backwards, I slip one arm around her waist and pat her back with the other. Her hands take hold of my dress shirt, where she makes tiny fists as she presses her forehead against my chest. Tiny hiccups follow and her shoulders shake slightly.
I have no idea what the hell is going on or what the hell to say to make her feel better.
For most of their relationship, I’ve been a couple of hours away at school, spending only my summers in a company apartment in Nashville while I intern for Dad. I’m not exactly close with Megan, but she’s been nice enough whenever I’m around. Occasionally, she’s tried to flirt when Knox isn’t in the room, and I’d humor her, assuming it was just a teenage girl thing, because the rest of the time, she and Knox were inseparable.
So I’m somewhat confused as to why she’s landed on my doorstep, crying and clinging to my shirt for dear life.
I place my hands on her shoulders and gently push her back. She looks up at me with glistening eyes, and my heart falters. I really don’t feel like dealing with this shit right now, not after the day I’ve had, but I’ve always been a sucker for tears. Guiding her to the couch, I direct her to sit while I go and pour myself another drink. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. As I begin to cross the room, she blinks tears away and nods towards my glass.
“I could use one of those,” she says, her voice breaking, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I consider accommodating her.
Leaning against the wall, I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure supplying alcohol to my brother’s seventeen-year-old girlfriend is the best idea,” I tell her, and she scoffs.
“I turned eighteen three months ago, Branson.” She sighs and looks away for a moment before continuing. “And I’m not your brother’s girlfriend anymore.”
Well, that’s news to me. They were all over each other at Knox’s graduation party, and according to Mom, it’s only a matter of time before they take the next step and get engaged—something I find to be absolutely insane considering how young they are.
Feeling pity, I walk back to the bar and pour two fingers for her before bringing both glasses and the bottle with me. When I hand hers over, she smiles thankfully and I take a seat next to her.
“Well, I guess one couldn’t hurt, considering the circumstances. I’d ask what happened, but I don’t really understand why you’re here. Don’t you have girlfriends you could be talking to this about?”
She sighs, takes a long sip of the bourbon, and surprises me when she drinks it like a champ. Apparently, Megan Caldwell can handle her liquor. Leaning forward, she snatches up the bottle before I can stop her and refills her glass.
“That’s the thing, Branson. I don’t want to talk about it.”
My eyes narrow as she crosses the couch, and before I know what’s going on, she’s straddling my lap. Her finger comes up and she traces a line over my jaw. The sad, teary-eyed look is gone, and instead, I see desire flashing in her eyes.
“Knox and I are over, and I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first time you came home from school.”
