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The guy who takes a chance, who walks the line between the known and unknown, who is unafraid of failure, will succeed.
–Gordon Parks
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MARC
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“CAN YOU HELP ME?”
“I’m not a shrink, Marc. I’m your IT girl.” Charlie is sitting in the chair across from my desk. It’s too high for her and she swings her legs like a kid.
“I’m not asking for mental help. What did you find?”
All of the company’s legal documents are encrypted and I had Charlie hack into them to see if dear old Dad had made any changes since I last had my hands on them.
I had to do it the shady way because I didn’t want him finding out.
It’s the Monday after Thanksgiving. I spent the whole weekend working, and thinking. Thinking way too much. About Gwen, about how she was able to leave her emotionally abusive relationship with her ex, and yet I’m still in mine.
“I’m also not an attorney,” she scolds me. “You know you could get me in trouble for all this snooping.”
“Charlie, I promise I will take the heat if there is any. And there’s no one else here I can talk to about this and trust that they won’t run to Daddy and tell on me.”
“From what I could find, everything is still the same and your dad has a hundred percent ownership interest.”
“Not surprising.” He likes to be in control of everything and everyone. “Is there anything in the contract about quitting?”
“The contract doesn’t have anything about a time limit for employment. You can quit any time you want.”
“Really?”
“That’s good news, right?”
“It is.” It means that I’m merely an employee. I have nothing to tie me here. Other than the money I make and what I’ve funneled into donations to the kids club. No to mention the people who work for my dad that I protect from his particular brand of crazy.
“You’re thinking about everyone else again,” Charlie says.
“How can I not?”
“It’s okay to be selfish sometimes.” She leans forward in the seat, her face earnest. “You do so much around here, but the world won’t end if you aren’t here.”
“Ouch.”
“Oh, don’t even try to tell me it’s an ego thing. What if you hire your own replacement before you leave? And don’t tell your dad. Your job entitles you to hire and fire employees, right? There’s nothing legally preventing you from quitting.”
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. “Gwen said pretty much the same thing.”
“Hot and smart. I love her.”
I roll my eyes. “I could do it.”
But then I still don’t know what I want to do out there in the real world. If I do this, there’s no coming back. I’ve always wanted to travel. Now’s my chance. But what comes after that? I need more of a purpose than backpacking around the world like some teenager on a gap year. Don’t I? Do I? I guess I don’t need to work. Not really. My life has been nothing but slaving away for Dad and the company since I graduated from college. I could spend time enjoying my money instead of making it.
The thoughts are both thrilling and terrifying.
“You look like you might poop your pants.”
I chuckle. “It’s just . . . scary.”
“Oh, come on, Marc. You’re a trust-fund baby. You don’t have to do anything.”
It’s an echo of my own thoughts. But I need something to give my life purpose, right?
Which makes me think of Gwen and her dreams and ambitions.
I would follow her around the world.
I shake away the thought. She’s not mine to follow.
Two hours and a million tasks later, Dad strides into my office. “Marc, I need those marketing reports from yesterday.”
I don’t bother looking up at him. “I left them on your desk. Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”
“Glory broke up with me.”
That catches my attention. “I’m . . . sorry?”
“No you’re not.” He sits in the chair across from me. “The truth is that I’m not really sorry either.”
This is so weird. Are we having a real conversation about something?
“You know, if your grandfather were still alive, he’d be proud of how hard you work.”
I consider him, not really knowing how to respond. Does this mean he’s proud of me but he’s using my dead grandfather to try and pay me a compliment instead of telling me he’s proud of me himself? Or is this some kind of veiled insult? My grandpa was kind of a dick. Kind of like Dad, actually. Business always came first.
Wait, am I another version of them?
“Anyway, do you have any friends that might like to date an older gentleman with lots of money?”
And we’re back to being inappropriate. “No, Dad, I don’t.”
“I knew I should have asked Brent,” he mutters before getting up and walking out.
I get back to work. I’m leaving early because I promised Brent I would meet up with him later.
Ever since Thanksgiving, I’ve been avoiding my brother. It’s not hard to do since he’s barely home anyway.
But this week he’s on a bye and he’s harassed me into playing a pick-up game of basketball, just like we used to.
I want to ask him about Gwen. He mentioned before Thanksgiving that he wouldn’t mind if their relationship became more serious. Does he mean it? Does he want her? Is he going to pursue something?
There’s no denying my own feelings anymore. Gwen and I have kept up a fairly steady stream of texts since I dropped her off the other day. I told her about what Charlie and I discussed, and she sent me a Morpheus meme that said, What if I told you, you don’t have to wait until New Years to make positive changes in your life?
I sent one back with a little blonde girl in pigtails, her hands up, her expression confused. My reaction when someone asks me what I want to do with my life.
I can’t worry about Brent, I just need to ask him. Then I can talk to Gwen and see if she feels the same. I know she wants to leave the city. I know she doesn’t want a relationship. And maybe she’ll reject me, but this is stupid. I’m a grown-up. I can have a grown-up conversation with my brother about his fake girlfriend.
We’ve been playing for thirty minutes before I build up the nerve. I’m dribbling the ball at half-court, Brent in front of me waiting to block when I finally speak. “I need to talk to you.”
“I need to tell you something, too.”
“You first.” I fake to the left and dart to the right. The play works and I make my shot.
It bounces off the rim and Brent catches the rebound easily. “I think I’m going to ask Gwen to date me for real.”
My heart is already pounding with exertion and it skips a few beats with his words. “Really?” I don’t even try to steal the ball back. I stand there with my hands on my hips and my tongue stuck in a dry vise.
He shoots and the ball swishes through the net with ease. “Yeah. I really like her.”
The ball is bouncing next to me. I grab it and hold it in front of me, like it will prevent the rest of me from falling into the black hole of this conversation. “When?”
“Tonight. We have a date.” He eyes me speculatively. “You like her, right?”
Yes. And that’s exactly the problem.
But I know that’s not what he’s asking. He doesn’t think of it that way. He wouldn’t. I’m his scarred older brother who takes care of things, and the only women that ever want me just want to get to him. I’m not the one that dates supermodels and actresses. Why would he ever think otherwise?
“She’s a great girl,” I finally say.
Brent grins his megawatt, million-dollar grin. “She is. I haven’t felt this way about anyone since, well,” he lifts his brows, “you know who.”
Bella really effed him up. I would be so happy to see him happy with someone else. Anyone else.
And Gwen isn’t mine to covet. She never has been.
Why does it suddenly feel like my chest has been poked with a thousand tiny needles?
“Do you think she’ll be into it? I mean, does she act like she shares your feelings since this whole thing started?” Back at the half-court, I have the ball again. “She wants to leave New York, you know,” I add. Out of desperation maybe, but I try to keep my tone light.
This time, I don’t try to run the ball. I take a shot at half-court. It teeters on the rim before falling away.
I miss again.
He grabs up the ball as it bounces back toward us. “Yeah, but I travel a lot, too. And I have time in the off-season. I won’t really know until I ask.” He steps up to shoot and it swishes through the net.
He’s so nonchalant. He has nothing to worry about. Of course she’ll be into dating Brent. No woman in her right mind would turn him down. Well, except Bella. The thought gives me hope.
What am I thinking? I want my own brother to be happy, don’t I?
“So. Tonight huh?”
“Yep. Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t want to spook her. She’s a little skittish.”
More hope. She didn’t seem that skittish to me. Not when I was kissing her in the Hamiltons’ kitchen.
“Good luck, man.”
He runs over and grabs the ball from where it’s settled on the gym floor and passes it to me. “Your turn. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Oh. It was nothing.”
He frowns but doesn’t press the issue. Then his face breaks into a smirk. “You cool to come out with us on Friday? I have a hot date for you.”
I had nearly forgotten. Since it’s a bye, a bunch of Brent’s teammates plan on meeting up at some hot new club where they can sit in the VIP section and act like kings. Starlee suggested Brent and Gwen make an appearance, and Brent wanted me to come with them.
“Sure, that’s fine.” I take another shot from the top of the key and this time, the ball goes wide and curves next to the net. I’m not even close.
~*~
“HOW DO I LOOK?” BRENT stands in the doorway of my office at home and adjusts the tie around his neck.
“Good.”
“Yeah? I’m a little nervous. That’s a first.” He laughs.
“I’m sure it will all work out.” What I’m actually thinking is fuuuuuuuuuck.
Brent looks good. I mean, he always looks good, but all dressed up and in a new suit, he looks like he stepped out of a magazine ad. Kind of like Gwen.
This sucks.
“Don’t wait up. I’m taking her to the wine cellar at il Buco.” He flashes me one last bright white flash of teeth and then disappears from the doorway. “I’ll see you later, maybe,” he calls.
He leaves, whistling.
I throw a paper clip from my desk onto the floor, watching it land with no sound or effect on anything at all.
I’d make a terrible diva.
How is he going to bring it up, the whole I-want-more thing? What is she going to say?
This isn’t something I have control over. I need to divert my mind.
I spend an hour working on some reports and googling potential career changes. Then another hour watching TV, but nothing is derailing my thoughts and each hour feels like a full day.
What if she goes for it? Why wouldn’t she go for it?
Because maybe she really likes you.
The little voice in my head is an idiot.
Finally, around eleven I go back to my room instead of waiting around in the living room. What if they come back here together? I don’t want to see that.
When I finally hear the door click open after midnight, I listen intently.
Brent’s feet move down the hall with gentle taps into his room.
There’s only one set of steps.
He’s alone. With that thought comes a surge of relief. Whatever happened tonight, she’s not here with him. He’s not at her place either. He’s not removing her clothes or touching her body or kissing her the way I’ve been imagining for weeks.
Part of me wants to run into his room and jump on his bed and ask him what happened, but emulating a tween girl is a bit much, even for me.
There’s no choice but to wait until morning to find out.
Which is why I sleep like shit.
I’m making extra-strong coffee the next morning when Brent comes out of his room, not looking much better than I feel.
He sits at the counter, hunched over his phone, hair rumpled, eyes tired, mouth slightly downturned.
“Coffee.” I hand him the first cup with cream and sugar, just like he likes it, and then push the button to brew mine.
“Thanks,” he murmurs and takes a sip, eyes still focused on his phone, clicking buttons.
I bite my tongue, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to say something.
It isn’t until I’m drinking my own cup and checking my emails on my laptop, trying to ignore the urge to throw it at him, when he finally speaks.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
I meet his eyes. He’s more alert now, but there’s still a pinch to his mouth and concern tightening his eyes. “What do you mean something wrong with you? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”
“It’s just that,” he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, “the women who want me, I don’t want. And the ones I want, don’t want me. At some point, it’s not the world’s fault these things always happen to me, it’s mine, right?”
“Um.” I lean back in the chair and remove my hands from the keyboard. “I take it things didn’t go well with Gwen last night?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“That’s perfectly clear.”
“I . . . couldn’t say the words. I know, it’s stupid, but the signals she was sending were all wrong. So instead I made some moves. Subtle ones, you know, to see if she would reciprocate.”
“And?”
He sighs and his lips press into a thin line. “I couldn’t really tell. She’s super nice, but I feel like . . . I’ve been friend-zoned.”
I grimace. He’s not happy. Inside, I have to squelch the lightness spreading into my chest.
Everything inside me is at war.
I don’t want Brent to be unhappy, but if Gwen had returned his “moves,” whatever those are, no doubt something gorgeous flirty people understand more than us mere mortals, it would have broken my heart. Shit. I don’t want to be that guy, that jealous guy.
Outwardly I’m sure I could fake happiness, even if it did mean dying inside a little every day, but I’m so relieved, too.
I don’t know what to say.
“I’m sorry, man.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“How much longer do you have to fake date her?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Starlee. It might be a good idea to get some distance, but at the same time, I don’t want to lose my chance. You know what I mean? And we’ve got that double date coming up, Friday night. You’re still in, right?”
I nod.
“Maybe you can help me figure out what she’s thinking. Or maybe you can ask her some questions, something, you know, indirect to find out if she has feelings for someone else maybe? Or to find out what she thinks of me?” He laughs and shakes his head. “I sound like a middle-schooler. Marc, you have to help me. Please?”
I swallow. What else can I say? “I will.”
