Page 15 of Final Proposal

“Yes, so we’ve established.” I chuckle, appreciating his attempt to lighten the conversation that somehow turned more intense than I expected.

“What is it about being a woman? I’m sorry. Please finish what you were saying before I cut you off.”

“No. It’s okay.” Why does his apology for having manners fluster me? Because you’re not used to men treating you with respect, perhaps? “But it’s not so much being a woman per se. It’s constantly being undervalued that’s the problem. Is it so wrong to have the desire, the want, to build something that’s truly my own? To have the chance to fail? To maybe succeed?” I blow out a breath in frustration, and when I look back toward Ford, there’s clarity in his eyes, an understanding that makes me feel heard in a way I haven’t felt in forever. “In a family business, much like you alluded to with your brothers and whatever happened tonight, it’s easy to get lost in the grand scheme of it all. The company’s day-to-day and overall success. My brothers’ needs to impress my stepfather so they get the biggest prize or pat on the head or whatever it is they need from him. I’m sick of being part of the noise. I want to be the one who’s making it.”

“Then make it,” he says matter-of-factly.

“It’s not as easy as you think it is.”

“Nothing worth wanting ever is, Ellery.”

There’s something about the way he says my name in his deep, hushed tenor that has me pausing for a beat to quietly sink into the sound of it.

“Take your chance. Shoot your shot.” He taps his glass against mine. “You might never know what could be if you don’t put yourself out there.”

I worry my bottom lip through my teeth as I pour more wine into my glass. He’s right. I know he’s right. And yet . . . the question is how?

There was the overhaul of the Carlton Hotel that I spent hours grinding out the details only to have the project handed to one of my brothers because I was needed elsewhere. And that elsewhere was reorganizing our job files.

There were jobs I’d negotiated and won to later be told the owners preferred a man to be the one in charge. A preference I knew was bullshit and resulted from a boys’ night out where my brothers wined and dined the project lead with his weaknesses—strippers and Wagyu steaks. No amount of fighting would change his mind after they were chummy together.

Not to mention the underhanded crap my brothers pulled. Telling me the wrong location or time for a meeting so I’d look flustered and unprofessional when I showed up thirty minutes late. Deleted emails that they somehow handled for me. Screwing up a construction schedule to prove I didn’t know what I was doing when I did.

And on and on . . .

So how do I step outside of my world to prove my worth, while staying in it? How do I, and I alone, bring a unique opportunity to the table of Haywood Redesigns to prove my value that my brothers can’t?

Leaning back on the couch, I put my feet up on the table and stare at the ceiling as a comfortable silence falls between us.

“Why did you brave Frank?” he asks. Alcohol is the culprit of the giggle I emit.

“Fred?”

“Whatever. Fred. Frank. Phil.” He waves a hand. “Why were you out here?”

“A road trip.”

“Just because?”

“I needed to clear my head. Make some decisions. Like I said before, stuff.”

“Ah, yes. The elusive stuff.” He holds his glass out for me to tap mine against. “Here’s to dealing with the hard stuff. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I murmur and watch him above the rim of my glass as I take a sip. He follows suit and then rests his head on the back of the settee and closes his eyes.

“I’d kill for a real meal right now,” he murmurs.

“A cheeseburger and French fries sound like heaven right now.”

He groans at the thought. “Way better than the germ mix.”

“You’re right. It’s infinitely better.” I look around the room and notice since we’ve been talking, more people have nodded off. “This place is interesting.”

“How so?”

“It has serious potential, but it just seems like someone gave up on it.”

“People give up on a lot of things too easily, Celery Ellery.”