Page 111 of Fly Boy
“Wyatt, I don't think that’s the best response for anI love you,” Mason says. “Are you okay?”
Zipping up the bag, I carry it down to my hall, leaving it by the door. “She stormed out of my house, screaming that she was going to kill her father, and then called me her boyfriend. I’m great.”
“You Grant brothers are weird,” Mason mutters, and I hear scuffling down the line.
“And one day, hopefully, you’ll be a Grant,” Bowie says.
“Or you’ll be a Jury.”
“You’re taking my name, babe.”
“How is that fair?” Mason argues.
“People know who Bowie Grant is. No one’s gonna know who Bowie Jury is.”
“Excuse me, MasonJurywas on the cover of Forbes. Not Mason Grant.”
“Okay, guys,” I say, cutting in between their lovers’ quarrel. “As much as I’d love to keep listening to a hypothetical argument about when you get married, considering neither of you have proposed. I’m gonna hang up. I’ll be at your place in an hour.”
“Wy, do you think it’s a good idea to come with us?” Bowie questions hesitantly. “I mean, no offense bro, but your life’s a bit of a shitshow.”
“And that’s exactly why I need to come.”
Grabbing my car keys, I lock up my house and shove my case in the trunk of my car. “The woman I love thinks she has fucked over my life by getting me fired. I’d like to have some good news to give her after Worlds.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Fuuuck,” I growl again through clenched teeth, earning yet another stare from Dave. “Can you take me to my dad’s office, please?”
“Of course, Miss Cartwright.”
I seethe the entire way into the city, my foot tapping uncontrollably as I replay Wyatt’s words.
He loves me.
He’s in love with me.
And instead of saying it back, I said “fuck” and stormed out.
We pull into the underground parking garage, and I’m out before Dave’s turned off the engine. Running to the elevator banks, I punch the call button and wait an excruciatingly long time for it to arrive. The journey up to the top of the office tower is even longer as my anxiety and rage mix together, peaking at an all-time high.
I march past his assistant’s desk, ignoring how she shouts for me to wait, that he’s in a meeting, but I throw open the door, slamming it behind me.
At least my dad has the decency to look startled as he looks up from his laptop.
And why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t exactly know about you and Wyatt yet.
“Gentleman, I’ll need to rearrange this meeting. Apologies.” He ends the call and closes the lid, clasping his hands and placing them on top. “Pippa, what—”
“You fired Wyatt?”
“I see you’ve heard.” He sighs like he’s dealing with a petulant child.
“Hire him back. Now,” I demand, out of breath.
“Pippa, I understand that you liked him. But this goes beyond you. I can’t have employees who go behind my back and…”
I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, the harshthud, thud, thudtraveling up to my head, making it ache. “He didn’t go behind your back, Dad. I did.”
