Straddling the Line - By Sarah M. Anderson Page 0,15

let the old man flounder was strong. Today, it was stronger than most days.

However, the moment he considered such a move, he heard his mother’s voice in his ear as she lay on her deathbed. “Keep the family together, Ben. You’re the only one who can.”

His mother’s voice had been weak, but he’d still felt the steel behind the order. His mother had been the only one who could keep the four Bolton men from killing each other, and Ben had promised that he wouldn’t let her down.

So this was him not letting Mom down.

“I know who’s in charge around here,” he grumbled to Dad. He’d keep the company in the black—barely, but still black—the hard way. It was the only way to keep the family together. It was the only way to honor his mother.

He went back to his office and closed the door, shutting out the shop noise. This was the one room in the building where it was quiet enough to think. Ben sat with his head in his hands, wondering how much longer he could keep the business afloat and the family in one piece. Every quarter it got that much harder.

Then the corner of the brochure for the Pine Ridge Charter School caught his eye, and Ben’s thoughts turned from stemming the hopeless Bolton tide to one Josette White Plume.

In the four days since Josey White Plume had kissed him and then disappeared, he’d found himself staring at the brochure on more than one occasion. He’d even checked out the website. Josey’s name had been listed, but it hadn’t seemed right to email [email protected] about nostrings-attached sex.

But if he had some tools to give her, well, that would be a different story. A perfectly aboveboard reason to make contact, to see if that heat was still there, if strings were still unattached. To see if she’d been level with him about coming for the music.

The problem with that plan was that Dad would never let the company donate tools. Hell, some of those machines down there were as old as Ben was.

Just when things didn’t seem like they could get any bleaker, Ben’s office door swung open.

“Ben! My man!” Bobby barged into Ben’s office.

Startled, Ben took the brochure he’d been looking at and shoved it under some paper. Great. His younger brother was back. Ben wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing or a really bad thing.

Bobby plopped down in the guest chair and loosened his tie. He was the only one who wore ties around here. Anything to be irritating. “How was my nine-thirty? I heard she was something sweet.”

Ben ignored him. Rex and Bobby were pretty friendly, so no doubt Bobby had heard about the kiss. The question was, would Bobby put the nine-thirty and the kiss together?

“The silent treatment, huh?” Bobby whistled in appreciation. “She must have been something. What did she want?”

Me, Ben thought. She wanted me. “Donations. And thanks a hell of a lot for dumping her on me. It was quarter-end, you know. I barely got the reports done in time.”

Bobby had the nerve to tsk him, as if Ben were some old fuddy-duddy to be pitied. “Come to New York with me next time.”

“What the hell for?”

“For starters, you need to get out more. When was the last time you got laid?”

The pounding between Ben’s eyes took on a dedicated rhythm. “None of your damn business.”

“Ouch—not even that groupie? Rex said she was a piece of work.” Bobby chuckled and slapped his hand on the desk. “Hard up, my man. Hard up.”

“Shove it and get out. Unlike some people, I have work to do.”

“Ben, that hurts.” Bobby made a sad face at him, somehow managing to look exactly like their mother when she was disappointed in him. “Come with me in a few weeks and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

“We can’t afford it.” Whatever “it” was, Ben was not footing the bill this time. Despite his best attempts, Bobby had not managed to do lasting harm to the company. Not yet, anyway. Ben couldn’t help but feel that the whole business was just one Bobby-based incident away from financial ruin, and it fell to Ben to contain the youngest Bolton.

“Boy, the camera is going to love you, big brother.” Bobby held up his hands like he was framing Ben for a shot. “Brooding, handsome, rich—”

Camera? Hell. Ben picked up the most recent bank statement—the one with all the charges from swanky New York hotels