Page 46 of Sealing the Deal

Something clicks. “So that’s why the board meeting was last minute,” I say. “Because he assumed you were in Denver and wouldn’t make it back in time.”

Grayson nods. “He now does his best to schedule them at the last minute, when he thinks we won’t be able to show. Tonight, Helena and I voted against him, and with our united presence, other board members followed suit. There are a small group of us on the board who want to see Ashborne Holdings change⁠—”

“We want our father out,” Helena says simply.

“They vote with us when they can. It doesn’t work every time, but today we were able to shut down a fifty-million-dollar deal that would’ve wiped out an entire fishing community on the Maine coast—privatizing the docks, selling off the processing plants, and forcing generations of family-run boats out of business.”

“And he still wants dinner with you?” I ask.

“He likes to play happy families when we’re all in town,” Helena replies. The venom in her voice says exactly what she thinks of that. Grayson shares a look with his sister. Both eyes are filled with anger and hurt. I see it in the tension rippling in the air that they’re both carrying the weight of something from their past.

I want to ask why they don’t both just walk away from their father and never speak to him again. Grayson must sense the question on my lips because he answers before I can speak. “If we cut him from our lives, it means walking away from our board seats at Ashborne Holdings, too. There’ll be no one to stop him from taking and destroying whatever the hell he likes. We stay on the board and we endure these dinners, and it means our father is effectively on a leash.”

“A leash that’s still far too long,” Helena adds as the elevator doors slide open.

Helena steps out first, already striding toward the waiting car. “That dress does suit you,” she tosses over her shoulder.

I’m caught off guard by the compliment after the frosty welcome, and murmur a “thanks” I don’t think she hears.

I turn to Grayson, expecting a quip about how different I look when I’m in my Stormhawks jersey or the black vest top I wear behind the bar, but there’s a familiar pinch between his brows, like he’s juggling three spreadsheets at once. He stares off into the distance, and I have to hurry forward to keep the elevator doors from closing on him.

My eyes draw to his hand, and I have the sudden urge to slip my fingers between his. To stand beside him. Not for the Stormhawks, or the fans, or Denver. Not because of the Sullivans. Not even because of myself and my bar. But because he needs someone in his corner tonight. And I’m starting to see that Donny was right. Grayson Ashborne doesn’t have many people to do that. An expensive dress isn’t going to change the fact that I’m out of place and everyone can see it. But if Grayson needs someone by his side tonight, I’ll be that. For him. Just this once, my circle can get a little bigger.

TWENTY

GRAYSON

DONNY: Pickleball tomorrow?

GRAYSON: Can’t. Sorry. I’m in New York.

DONNY: You OK? Need a wingman?

GRAYSON: Thanks. I got one.

I’m fucked.

My father knows I’m working with Flic, and when my mother sent a message on the plane about family dinner, she made it clear Flic was invited. Which meant my father was curious. And Charles Ashborne’s curiosity is a dangerous thing.

The entire point of bringing Flic with me tonight is simple. I want my father to see her and immediately dismiss her as irrelevant. Someone I work with. Maybe—at a stretch—a friend. I wanted him to see that Flic has no leverage and no angle, and nothing he can twist or use. But I can’t stop looking at her. Which is a problem.

Flic is beautiful in black jeans and a Stormhawks jersey or those cute vests she wears at the bar. I clocked that the first day I met her. But tonight she keeps stealing the breath clean out of my lungs. She sits beside me, legs crossed, the slit revealing a glimpse of smooth thigh I’m suddenly desperate to run my hand up. I wonder if she’d break my fingers or if she’d beg for more.

The want is low and insistent, chipping away at the resolve I’ve clung to for five years. The promise I made to myself after Ana. No relationships. No risks that end with someone’s life destroyed because they got too close to me.

Anger burns beneath my skin. My father has trapped me in this life. I’m stuck on the board of a company that destroys livelihoods and people just so I can keep him in check. I’m stuck playing a game I don’t want to play. Because if I don’t, people get hurt.

I hate him. I hate him for making me be someone who schemes and manipulates just to stay one step ahead of him. I hate the pain he’s caused to the people I love. If he sees the way my attention is locked on Flic. If he sees how I want Flic in a way that makes me feel alive and reckless, he’ll use it like a pressure point. And the thought of that does something ugly to me. Because if he tries to manipulate her, there will be no more careful control. If he even looks at her in a way I don’t like, I will set the world on fire.

“Grayson.” Helena singsongs my name. I look up to see an amused smile on my sister’s face. “You look like you’re plotting to kill someone.”

“I was,” I mutter.

“Happy families, remember.” I don’t miss the strain in Helena’s voice. Whatever it’s costing me to play our father’s game, it’s costing Helena more.

The memory rises uninvited in my thoughts. I remember the broken jaw. The three cracked ribs. And more bruises than I could count. All from that bastard ex-husband of hers.

It’s not your fault, Grayson.