Page 36 of Negotiating Tactics

I shrugged. “Living on the road is getting old. But it’s also familiar. I may take a break and hang around here for a while and see what’s going on.”

It wasn’t lost on me that Alex was at the forefront of my thoughts, but not the only one.

That restlessness was real, and though I didn’t want to acknowledge it, the thought of spending more time with my brothers was more appealing than I’d ever imagined it would be.

But when I added Alex into the mix…

As far as I was concerned, we had unfinished business.

At the very least, I wouldn’t be going anywhere until that was settled.

What came after that…who knew?

“I haven’t decided, but I think I’ll stay at the townhouse longer if that’s okay with you,” I said, looking at Dominic.

“The place is yours as long as you want it,” he said with a decisive nod.

We went quiet, but some of the ease of before was gone.

My issues were with Prescott, but there was still uneasiness, if not outright tension, with my brothers.

I hated to acknowledge it, even to myself, but it was there.

Secretly, I worried that the minute I let myself get too close, they’d decide Prescott’s bastard was beneath them.

Then, they’d cut me out and pretend that I didn’t exist.

Just like our father had.

Dominic stood. “Why am I sitting here with you assholes when my woman is at home waiting for me?”

Beau looked at his watch. “And I have to get back to the office or Dana is going to make me take PTO,” he said.

I laughed. “Isn’t it your company?” I asked.

Beau stood and smiled. “We’re equal partners, but I know who’s in charge.” Then he turned serious. “We’ll see you around, right Noah?”

It was a loaded question, and I didn’t miss the depth of it, or the implications.

“I think you will,” I finally said.

Tried to pretend I wasn’t happy when both of my bothers smiled.

Eight

Alex

“I got you this time, Aunt Clem,” I said.

“You say that every time, dear,” she said sweetly, though her sharp brown eyes undercut the effect.

As I stared across the ancient card table at her I wasn’t worried. Because I believed—I knew—that this was finally my time.

After years of toil, I would finally slay my fiercest opponent—the hundred-pound septuagenarian currently wrapped in an afghan wearing fluffy pink slippers.

“Aunt Clem’s the winner,” Birdie said not more than five minutes later.

I leaned back in my chair and tossed the cards away. “I was so sure!”

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