Page 57 of Beauty
“You’re not to blame,” I say, suddenly drained of all fight.
“I’m heading back to my office,” Cortney says, pointing to the hallway. “Am I really trading Quinn?”
“Yes,” my brother hisses.
At the same time, Liv smacks the top of her desk and huffs out ano. Then she lifts her gaze and zeroes in on her husband. “You told me I was CEO of the Boston Revs. You already have a job.”
My breath catches. This is news to me. My father officially retired last year, and since then, Beckett has taken on his duties as acting CFO while also running the baseball team. I’ve considered offering to help a time or two over the last few months to ease the amount of work on his plate, but I’ve been hesitant to get involved in Langfield Corp, knowing that I may never get back out.
I don’t know how he manages all the work while still being as active in his kids’ lives as he is. This shake-up will help there, though if Liv is the new CEO, they’ve mostly just transferred heaps of work from his plate to hers.
Even so… “Congrats on the promotion.”
She smiles. “Thank you. That’s why we asked you to come in today.”
Confusion has me tilting my head. “Hmm?”
“So yes or no?” Cortney, who’s still hovering at the door, pleads.
With a growl, Beckett tips forward in his seat, staring his wife down. “I’ll agree not to meddle in anyone’s love life for the next month if you agree to trade Quinn.”
Lips twitching, Liv eyes Cortney for a heartbeat. When she zeroes in on her husband, she matches his stance, as if she’s going in for the kill. “Make it three months, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Forty-five days.” Beckett leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s the best I can do.”
Liv shakes her head. “You really want to trade Quinn?”
“Yes. From here on out, I only want team players.”
The negotiation goes on for another minute or two, each volley sending me looking from my brother to Liv and back again, like I’m watching a tennis match.
Eventually, Liv holds her hand out over her desk, and my brother shakes it. “You’ve got a deal.” With a glance at Cortney, she adds, “Make the trade.”
Just like that, the Revs are down a player.
It’s wild the way they argued like that and how quickly and decisively they made the deal. It almost…god, my body buzzes with an unexpected exhilaration as I replay it in my mind.
“Now,” Liv says, lacing her fingers in front of her and focusing in on me. “Onto the favor we need to ask of you.”
“As I was saying before, I’ll never forgive myself for what you’ve gone through,” Beckett adds.
“Beckett—” I shake my head, willing the tears pricking at my eyes to abate. If I relive it all again, if he apologizes again, there’s no way I won’t break down.
“It’s my fault that you hired Warren Financial to handle your investments. If I hadn’t referred you to Xander Warren, you wouldn’t have been caught up in his Ponzi scheme, and your company—your life’s work—wouldn’t be caught in this whole mess.”
I clench my jaw, fighting back emotion. It’s true. When my company went public, I was in need of a new financial adviser, and since Beckett funded my company after I’d asked my parents and they’d turned me down, I called him. His heart was in the right place. He thought he was helping me as well as a new family friend. But that friend turned out to be a thief.
It could have happened to anyone. Unfortunately it happened to a Langfield, and when a name like ours is involved, there’s always extra scrutiny. The people who had gone in on the company with me lost everything. Yet because my personal funds remained untouched—because they remained invested elsewhere—there was speculation that I colluded with the thief.
That’s when I made the deal to cover what they lost myself. If only that had been enough for them.
That last part is my secret. I won’t share that information with Beckett. I won’t make him feel worse than he already does. My brothers and my parents think my money is tied up while the investigation is still active and that I’m hiding from the fallout. They have no idea that the fallout includes the decimation of my entire life. That there are no assets left to recoup anymore.
I’m lost, like a stray piece of yarn fluttering in the wind. A loose thread I can’t even stitch back up because I’ve been forced to sign away my right to design ever again.
Fuck, my head hurts, and it’s got nothing on my heart.
“I really don’t want to do this again,” I tell them. “I don’t blame you. I just want to move on.”
