that's not what she's about to ask, but I have to hold firmly to the reminder I hate kids. I love my new baby sister—a little unsettling how much I do considering I did not see that coming. Harper's only three months, and I'm wrapped around her finger, but I still have no desire to ever have any of my own. Especially when I'm fifty-fucking-three years old. I don't know what the fuck these two were thinking.
"So, what is it?" I ask through gritted teeth as I finally get to the hangar. Dad is keeping quiet, looking over the new model, and I'm itching to hear what he thinks, while also dreading it.
"It's about Hanna." My head spins in Zara’s direction. Hanna?
"What about her?"
"She's going through a really hard time. I think she needs to get away for a few days. Maybe longer. I told her she can stay on Del Rey for a while."
Turning around, I glare at her. "So, you offered up my home?"
"Don't be like that."
"This is where I live and do business. It's not some rehab facility for your girlfriends."
"Nash," my dad barks at me. "Hanna is like family to us. Stop acting like that."
Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "Fine. She can take the guest house. I'm not going to bother her."
"Thank you," Zara replies.
“I thought you were rearranging the dash on this model?"
I clench my jaw, turning toward my dad as he climbs across the new two seat model and moves the collective to the side to inspect the spot where the additional instruments should be. "It didn't work with the electrical layout,” I answer curtly, hoping he’ll fucking drop it.
"How are things going with the acquisition? Did you get the lawyers to look it over again?"
"I have everything under control. Will you stop harping on me?" I run my hands through my hair. It’s getting too long, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My beard is growing thick too, more from neglect than a fashion choice.
"I'm just helping, Nash. It's a lot for one person."
"I tried to tell him," Zara adds in, and I snap.
"That's it. Will you two get the fuck out of here?"
She gives me a worried look as she ruffles my unkempt hair. I watch his reaction, wondering if these little touches between us bother him, but he doesn’t care; he doesn’t even look as he passes by.
“I called ahead to have lunch ready. Come relax, Nash,” Zara says, looping an arm through mine to pull me toward the house.
Sitting around the patio by the pool, the housekeeper brings us a pitcher of tea to go with our lunch. Feeling restless in my chair, I fight the itch to check my email again. I can’t sit here and do nothing, but I don’t want them to see this side of me. It’s a hard pass on the same old rhetoric about being a workaholic.
The manufacturer we're buying out isn't huge, but it's still a big deal. I can't tell them I don't fucking sleep anymore because they’re right. It is a lot for one person, and I know he was better at this, delegating tasks and utilizing the team of assistants and managers, but I can’t seem to hand over control. Every time I want to relax, my brain pipes up with some reminder about a document I didn't get signed or some clause I didn't check. There's too much to keep track of, and as much as I hate to admit it. I do need help. I just don't want his.
My dad will take over. He'll be all over it, ready to make it his own again. This is my goddamn company now. We’ve managed to patch things up fine since everything went to shit after Preston died. By some miracle, his plan to bring Zara in to help bring the two of us back from the brink of self-destruction actually worked. He actually started living his life, and I pulled myself out of my brother’s grave.
Leaning back in his chair, he assesses me through his dark aviators. His hand reaches mindlessly for Zara who laces her fingers with his. She’s scrolling through her phone, probably working on something for her dance studio.
It’s quiet until my dad finally starts talking, giving me all of his sage advice he’s so goddamn convinced I need. "I brought in a business consultant when we went through a similar acquisition a few years back. He was a