Serves Me Wright (Wright #9) - K.A. Linde Page 0,33

spent too many years locked away in an office. It was nice to be out in the open with Hollin, not worrying if my boss was going to come down on me…or my brother.

“What would you know?” I asked him. “You haven’t dated anyone longer than three dates the whole time I’ve known you.”

“No one interesting enough.”

I snorted. “Sure.”

“Three dates tell you all you need to know.”

“And what would it tell me about Jen?”

“Don’t know, man. I’m counting the entire weekend as date one. Get back to me on date three.”

I shook my head. “And you say I’m complicated when you have a fucking three-date rule.”

“It’s not a fucking rule, douche,” Hollin grumbled. “You just know by then.”

I arched an eyebrow skeptically. “If you say so.”

“Like, I knew after your first three dates that Ashleigh Sinclair was a fucking psychopath.”

I winced. “Low blow.”

“Not that you heard a word of it.”

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

“I know you don’t, but you need to move on. Jennifer is way cooler than Ashleigh ever was.”

I returned my attention to my computer. He wasn’t wrong. Jennifer was unlike anyone else I’d ever met. Whereas Ashleigh was exactly like every girl I’d ever dated back in Vancouver. Maybe that was why I’d stumbled into her open arms the second after my mom’s cancer cleared up. She was comfortable and convenient. And no matter how many times I said she was different with me than anyone else, it didn’t excuse her behavior. She was terrible to everyone in her warpath, and I let it pass until it couldn’t be ignored. Until she did something so incomprehensible that I had to walk away. It hadn’t made it easy.

“I have this video conference,” I reminded him.

“Fine. Change the subject.”

I tipped my head at him as I pulled up the conference software.

“Remind me, who are you talking to again?”

“The Dallas-based distribution company. They were here a few weeks ago doing that tasting of our wine. We’re in talks about getting us into stores and letting us sell wine off premises. Everything that we need to make actual money.”

“Right. Right. I’ll leave you to charm them. I’m going to go check on Alejandra.”

He clapped me on the back as he left the barn.

I shook out the nerves for the meeting. This was why Jordan had transferred all of the responsibilities to me while he worked on building the new Division II soccer complex on the north side of town for Wright Construction. He couldn’t handle both and still have time for Annie. It was all on my shoulders now.

I squared them and entered the meeting. Here it goes.

“Hey, bro. Heard the meeting with the distributor went well,” Jordan said, striding up to my Audi SUV in the soccer complex parking lot five days later.

Annie stood next to him in the red uniform for The Tacos—our recreational team started by her brother, Isaac. “Congrats! Is it a done deal?”

“Oh, not yet. They liked the wine. So, that’s good at least. We’re in negotiations now,” I told her. “There are a lot of hoops to jump through.”

Despite my apprehension, the meeting had gone as well as planned. They were eager to meet me at the gala event. Part of me was glad that Ashleigh had set it up so that I could meet these wine distributors in person without having to fly into Dallas for a face-to-face. The other part of me resented the fact that she had made this happen. One more obstacle to overcome without her.

I jerked my soccer bag out of the trunk and slammed it shut.

“Well, I think it’s only a matter of time,” another voice joined the conversation.

I stopped in surprise to find my mom stepping out of Jordan’s Tesla. I dropped my bag and rushed over to help her.

“Oh, stop that. I’m fine,” she said, shooing me away.

“How are you feeling?”

My mom crossed her arms. “I’d be doing better if you made more time to visit.”

I laughed, admonished. “You’re right. What are you doing after this?”

“Something with you,” she said with a wink.

I exchanged a glance with Jordan. He hadn’t told me that he was bringing Mom to the game. It was a blistering day, and there was no shade out on the pitch. I didn’t like this at all.

My mom had confided in us that despite all the treatments last go-round, her cancer had returned. She was starting chemo again next week to beat this thing once and for all. We’d moved to the