The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,148

from Eat!, right? What’s on your roster for tomorrow?”

“I won’t know until I go in this afternoon,” I tell her.

“Laryce told me she placed a huge order for morning delivery from our bakery yesterday. Obviously, we can’t refuse their business. That would be too public of a snub. I don’t want people to think I’m unkind.”

“Yes, it’s much more your style to talk about them in back rooms than to be upfront about how you feel,” Regan mutters and then grins at me. I don’t grin back. I don’t think it’s funny. Because it’s true. My mother is the queen of the whisper campaign and honestly, on the list of things that bothers me about her, it’s very close to the top.

My mother glares at her until Regan’s eyes drop to her coffee and her grin disappears. Then she turns to face me.

“Remington, when you make your delivery, you are not to linger. And you are in charge of making sure your brother doesn’t end up over there, too.”

“Why would I end up there?” Ty whines.

“Because, you’re girl crazy, and everyone knows it,” my mother retorts.

“True facts,” Regan chimes in. Tyson throws his toast at her.

“Please don’t behave like you were raised in a barn,” my mother snaps. “I have to get to the office. I want you both to please heed my warning.” She stands up and takes her mug over to the sink.

“You didn’t give me one,” Regan says dryly.

“You’re not good at making friends. You’ll be fine,” my mother says without even looking up from where she’s washing her hands.

Tyson sticks his tongue out and Regan gives him the middle finger.

“Please be productive today.” My mother dries her hands and leans back against the counter to survey us. She’s in one of what she calls her “nutcracker” pantsuits that she has a seemingly infinite supply of in her closet. Her hair is pulled back into a chignon, that streak of gray she refuses to color to match the raven-black curls she tames with her blow dryer and half a bottle of pomade every day. She looks like an army general and she runs this house like one.

“I know summer is just beginning and that you’ll all be tempted to come home and do nothing after you get off work, but I expect that list I gave you to be complete when I get back. And, Remi, no basketball until you’re done.”

“You and your fucking lists, Tina,” my grandfather’s deep rumble voice fills the room as he ambles into the kitchen.

“Oh, Liam. Your language,” she admonishes, but with an air of respect she never shows anyone but him. I used to think it was because he was our benefactor. We’ve lived in his home since my father died. But it’s not that, at all. He and my mother have been partners in the explosive growth Wilde World has experienced over the last fifteen years.

The respect they have for each other, and what they’ve built together, is soul deep. And he’s the only person she’s always nice to. Well, as nice as she’s capable of being, anyway.

“Morning, Pops,” I greet him with a smile and start to stand up and help him over when Regan beats me to it.

“I don’t need help,” he scowls at her when she takes ahold of his arm. His sky-blue eyes, a trait none of his grandchildren share, are clear and focused this morning.

“I know, Popsy, I just want to hold your hand.” She smiles sweetly at him. Regan doesn’t smile sweetly at anyone. In that way, she’s like my mother. But that’s where the similarities end. She’s got what I fondly call a Resting Fuck Off Face. Her lack of a smile is in complete contradiction to her sweet, affable nature.

My grandfather smiles warmly down at Regan, only she gets that smile from him, and lets her lead him to the chair at the head of the table. He lowers himself slowly into the chair and folds his still straight, big hands in front of him. “To what pleasure do I owe the company of all of my grandchildren this morning?”

“I suppose I should tell you, too. You’re out in the garden so much these days.” My mother walks back over to the table, this time sitting in her normal seat, beside him.

He had a minor stroke a month ago. His recovery has been slow, and he’s turned a lot of the day-to-day running of Wilde World to his executive team. He’s been