Page 20 of Drunk on You

I glance over at her, unsure if I should be pissed or in awe at how damn smart she is. I knew this though. The moment she stepped out of the town car and started to speak and when she was talking about my sister’s major, I knew there was more to this woman than a gold digger trying to make some easy money by playing the doting fiancée.

Her father’s talked about her over the years. She went to a private college and majored in business marketing, then went on to get her MBA in hospitality. Her dad would brag about how proud he was of her, and he even has a damn picture of her on his desk. She’s in her cap and gown, but I never paid close attention to it. I guess I should’ve though because I literally invited my biggest competition into my home.

Well, you know what they say: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. So, that’s what I’m about to do because there’s no way I’m going to give up my chance at becoming the next CEO. Anastasia might be his daughter, but I’ve given this company everything for the past twenty years, and I’ll be damned if that woman comes off the bench and tries to take over the game.

“Have you guys discussed wedding dates or venues yet?” Selene asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.

Anastasia’s hazel eyes, hidden under her thick lashes, meet mine, and her plump lips purse in annoyance before she looks back at her stepmom and plasters on a fake smile.

“We’re just taking it one day at a time,” she says. “With me about to start at Kingston and my dad retiring at the end of the year, I imagine we’ll be so busy with work that it’ll be a long engagement.”

Samuel’s brows furrow, and I know immediately the mistake Anastasia made before she does.

“It’s not because of work,” I add. “We just don’t want to add more stuff to everyone’s plate. It must be stressful, having to find a new CEO while planning your retirement.”

Everything out of my mouth is bullshit since we didn’t even know we were connected by her dad, but thankfully, Samuel nods, seeming to buy it.

“Please don’t pick your wedding date based on my retirement,” Samuel says. “I know firsthand what it’s like to be in love and to not want to wait to get married.”

He takes Selene’s hand in his and brings it up to his mouth for a kiss. I’m used to their PDA, so it doesn’t faze me, but I notice Anastasia suddenly looks uncomfortable, glancing around anywhere but at them.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” she says, setting her napkin on the table and standing abruptly. “I’m tired, and I’d like to get myself situated for tomorrow.”

“Of course,” her dad says.

Since he has an account here, we don’t have to wait for the waiter to bring the bill, so we all stand as well and follow Anastasia out.

When our vehicles are brought around, we say a quick goodbye, and then Anastasia and I get into my car. She’s quiet, and I could be wrong, but I don’t think it’s because of what went down between us.

I should probably mind my own business, but instead, I ask, “You okay?”

She flits her gaze toward me before she settles on staring out her window. “It’s just hard,” she whispers after a few beats. “He’s like a different man with her, and I can’t help but wonder why he couldn’t be like that with my mom.”

I nod in understanding. “I met your mom a few times,” I say, unsure why I feel the need to tell her this story, but I guess I’m hoping it will help in some way. “She was really sweet. I had just started working for your dad, and I was in over my head. She bought me lunch, and while we ate, she told me everything I needed to know about your dad to ensure he wouldn’t fire me. His likes, dislikes. Secrets nobody else would know.”

Anastasia blows out a harsh breath, and I can see through the reflection in the window that her eyes are glassy.

“She said the reason why he saw something in me was because he used to be me—broke, lost, and just trying to find his place in this world,” I continue. “She brought him lunch that day, too, but he was too busy to eat with her. She played it off like she didn’t care, like she was used to it. But every Wednesday, she came to the office and brought him lunch, and every week, he told her he was too busy. Eventually, she stopped coming.”

“When I was little, they used to have lunch every Wednesday. Dad used to say that he loved having lunch with us on Wednesdays because it helped him get through the rest of the week,” she chokes out.

I stop at a light and look at Anastasia. “When she passed away, every Wednesday for probably two years, maybe longer, he sat at the conference table by himself. When I joined him one day, he said, ‘If I could do one thing over again, it would be to have lunch with my wife on Wednesday one more time.’”

The tears spill over Anastasia’s lids, but before they slide down her cheeks, she looks away. The light turns green, and the rest of our drive is quiet until we pull into the garage.

“My mom loved him with everything she had, and he broke her heart over and over again. I’m sure he has a lot of regrets. But it doesn’t matter because she’s gone and we can’t rewind time.”

“That’s true. So, if you blame the company for everything, why is it so important for you to work there? I’d think it would be the last place you’d want to work.”

Anastasia chuckles humorlessly. “I should probably hate Kingston Limited because he always chose it over us, but instead, I find myself wanting to be a part of it because of that very same reason. I grew up there. My dad would let me sit in on meetings, and I learned of my love for numbers there. Every night when he would get home, he would continue to work in his office, and I would hang out with him. He would explain it all to me and promise that, one day, I would work alongside him.

“But then I became a surly teenager, and his absence made me lash out, wanting nothing to do with Kingston. I got into the college of my choice, but I damn near failed out my freshman year. If it wasn’t for my mom temporarily moving down there and reining me in, I probably would’ve failed out,” she admits.

“She told me that the business owned him and if I wanted a relationship with him, I’d need to be a part of that world. She begged me to let my dream of working for Kingston go, but I couldn’t do it.

“So, for the next few years, I busted my ass in school so I could go to work for him when I graduated.” She sighs and shakes her head. “But then Mom was killed by that drunk driver, and I blamed my dad and ran away, not wanting anything to do with him or the company he’d chosen over us.”

“And yet here you are, wanting to work for Kingston,” I say, trying to understand.

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