hand to my side. “You know what? I wasn’t.”
“Holton!”
“Well, I wasn’t. Because it’s just a temporary thing, Mom. I’m not marrying her.”
Oliver sits up. “You know, if you—”
“Shut up.” I glare at him before turning back to my mom. “She’s a friend of the Landrys. We’re just …”
We’re just what?
Fucking? Talking? Eating pizza in the middle of the night?
I don’t even know anymore.
Mom grins. “You are bringing her tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Oliver says. “You totally should.”
I ignore them both and mess with my tie instead.
I’d forgotten that tonight was our family outing. It must’ve slipped my mind. Now that Boone has told my mother all about Blaire, it’s no surprise Mom wants me to bring her. But if I do that, this whole thing between Blaire and me gets trickier.
I think.
Actually, fuck if I know.
“I’m not bringing her,” I say even though I’m not sure. Better to not get her hopes up. “Why do we keep having this conversation?”
“We haven’t had this conversion before, Holton.”
“No, but I’ve had it with everyone else, it seems.”
Mom looks offended. “Well, pardon me. I only want to get to know her. If she’s a friend of the Landrys … Wait. Which Landry?”
I sigh. “Does it matter?”
“Yes. If it’s Camilla or Sienna, that’s wonderful news. If it’s Lincoln, then I have reservations.”
“It’s Sienna,” Oliver chimes in.
“Great. Bring her. That’s an order, dear.” She flashes me one final, epic smile and heads to the door. “See you boys later. Love you tons.”
And with that, she’s gone.
Oliver gathers his things from the table. He keeps the corner of his eye trained on me as if he thinks I might bolt across the room and tackle him.
It’s not a terrible idea, really. It would definitely expend some of this energy that’s making it hard to stand still.
“Don’t forget to call Wade, okay?” Oliver asks, heading for the door.
“I’ll call him now.”
Oliver nods. He takes a breath and starts to speak but doesn’t. Instead, he blows the air out.
The moment reminds me of when we were kids. It was always Oliver and me. We’d fight. We’d get into stupid trouble that never amounted to anything serious. We’d skip school, sneak liquor from Dad’s cabinet, and blackmail Wade into doing our homework. But no matter what we did or who got caught, we always had each other’s backs. Without fail.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
“What for?”
“For picking up the slack around here.”
He shifts the papers from one hand to another. “I was giving you hell earlier, but I honestly am glad that you’re … doing whatever it is you’re doing.” He grins. “Does that work better? Does it make you more comfortable that I didn’t define it?”
“Yes.”
He laughs. “I don’t know what you’re doing in your private life, and I don’t really give a shit, either. I’m just happy to see you relaxing a little.” He opens the door. “But it’s totally self-centered on my behalf. If you relax, that means you won’t die of a heart attack anytime soon, and I don’t have to worry about running this place.”
I throw a pad of sticky notes at him as he ducks out the door. They hit the spot where his head was.
Chuckling, I sit down in my chair again and lean back.
I’m really lucky to have my family. As nosy and maddening as they are, they’re also generous and loving and loyal.
They’d love Blaire.
The thought comes easily. The idea of having Blaire around my siblings feels like the most natural thing in the world. I can imagine her conversing with Wade and blushing at Boone’s jokes. Oliver would adore her. Coy would try to charm her.
A ripple of uncertainty flows through my veins.
Great. Bring her. That’s an order, dear.
Do I? What would be the point?
“There wouldn’t be one,” I mumble and get back to work.
Twenty-Three
Blaire
“So that’s it?” I type out a few final notes from my conversation with Yancy. “There are no more loose ends?”
“No. Just the hearing for the Lawson case next week. If you aren’t back, Mr. Jameson said he would show up on your behalf.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be back even if I have to get a hotel room. Please send the updated files to my email.”
“I will do that as soon as we get off this call,” Yancy says. “They’re saying they’re on track for reopening the building by the end of the week. Fingers crossed.”
I start to say it back to her but stop. I’m afraid she’ll hear the reservation in my tone.
“Let’s hope they reopen