Page 74 of The Perfect Mistake

“Since I moved to England.”

“Living over there has completely warped your senses,” I say.

“Enhanced,” he says. “Perfected. And I work with Brits, you know. Every single day in our London office. It’s a good strategy to care about their interests.”

I shake my head at him. He just grins back, the picture of nonchalance. He’s always been that way. Everything just runs off him, like water off the back of a duck. As kids, we were always joined at the hip. Only two years apart, we’d competed about everything. Competed and fought and argued until we got old enough to leave all that behind and start working together instead.

“I’m going to have to recall you soon,” I tell him, “or we’ll lose you to the dark side entirely. Your home is New York.”

“Yes, sir,” he says.

Connie’s eyes narrow. “You’re not seriously thinking of staying over there, are you?”

“Con,” he says, “you know I don’t think further than two months in advance.”

That makes me scoff. “You’re the head of our European strategy, so you better.”

They both chuckle at that. I grab another sip of my beer and watch their ease with one another. It’s been a while since we all laughed together. For years, our interactions have been about work. Logistics. Dad. Holidays and expansion plans.

“Are you seeing anyone over there?” Connie asks.

“Again, you know me,” Nate says easily.

“So that’s a yes.”

I clear my throat. “I think that’s actually a no. Isn’t it, Nate?”

His gaze darts to me for a second before he shrugs. “You keep me busy with work,” he says and deflects to Connie. “So, where’s your traitorous husband tonight?”

Connie rolls her eyes. “You know, because it’s you, I can handle that comment. I know you don’t really mean it. He’s in Boston for a conference.”

“Taking notes for both companies?” Nate asks.

“No.” She turns to me across the table and her smile sobers. “You know we don’t discuss business at home.”

“I know,” I say. But I can’t help my frown. Is she saying she couldn’t have handled that comment from me?

“He’s not that bad, you know,” Nate tells me. “When you get to know him. I almost think he’s good enough for Con.”

“Almost,” I repeat. “I didn’t know you two hung out.”

“Not really,” Nate says with another shrug. “I was actually surprised that you joined us tonight.”

“Yeah. Not every day my brother’s home from London,” I say and twist my beer bottle around. It’s cold from the frothy liquid and somewhere in the sports bar another cheer rises up.

I don’t know when I was in a bar like this last. There had been times in college. The first few years back in the city after college, when I was just a junior marketing executive at Contron. My first year with Victoria.

Somewhere down the road, evenings like this had been filtered out, lost to memories of youth and free time. Being here means not working or being with my kids. It’s hard to justify that price.

“How’s Dad?” Nate asks.

Both of them look at me like I hold all the answers to that question. In a way, I suppose I always have. Dad calls me several times a week with opinions, thoughts, and advice on Contron. Things he’s read in the papers or heard on the golf course. Ways to intercept and interfere.

I clear my throat. “Good. I think he’s in Palm Beach this week. Told him you were back in New York for the weekend. He wanted to join, but…”

“But he didn’t,” Nate says with an easy smile. “Probably didn’t want to miss his tee time.”

“He’s talking about starting a new company.”

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