Page 12 of Just My Fake Husband

Do I get a brief whiff of satisfaction knowing it takes several people cobbled together to do the job that I used to do on my own?

Maybe.

“The transfers are manual, so it’s easy to forget,” I remind. I don’t want to be annoying about it, but these groups count on our money. For our front-facing philanthropic endeavors, we have the big ones, the American Red Crosses. But these smallerorganizations? They’re local non-profits like a drug and alcohol awareness group for teens and an organization that provides supplemental weekend meals for elementary kids. Without our assistance, they’d be in real trouble in no time.

“Got it. I’m putting a reminder in my calendar right now,” Andrea from accounting assures me. She lowers her voice. “How are you holding up?”

“Enjoying the little break, actually.” Relaxing on the patio set, I watch the sun climb up over the tree line across the bowl that holds the resort. I don’t mention that I get hit at random times with a sickening fear that tells me I won’t ever be able to get back to Foundations.

Don’t say anything to my siblings, but Dad’s retiring in the next year or two and I’m the one who’s supposed to take over. As much as I keep telling myself this is only a minor complication in the grand scheme of things, I really don’t know. The board has cut all ties with me.

My phone vibrates in my hand. One of Dad’s assistants is calling.

Which is new. This animosity from Dad hurts. I’m not used to being on the receiving end of his ire, and I have no idea what to do with it.

For the first time in my life, I can see what my brothers have had to go through, and I don’t like it at all.

Mark doesn’t even say hello. “Your father has asked me to set up a call with you.”

“Okay. And when will that be?”

“In ten minutes.” Mark’s voice sounds bored.

I guess Dad’s trying to intimidate me. Instead of calling me up normally, like he has all my life, he has to schedule me in with his assistant.

“I’ll be available.”

“Very good,” Mark says before hanging up.

Did Dad already hear that I just reached out about our minor non-profits?

That seventy thousand I blew through in a matter of hours in Prague was going to be used to start my own non-profit. Dad had promised he’d match it when it reached a hundred thousand.

So, essentially, that one night has cost me almost two hundred grand. No wonder my father wants nothing to do with me. And those selfies of Todd and me surrounded by women? Shame flares up to heat the tips of my ears. Nothing happened with those women. It just looks bad.

I went from a responsible, wholesome teetotaler to a womanizing (by appearances), drinking gambler in less than twenty-four hours.

No wonder I’ve lost everything.

And now I’m stewing. Which is exactly what Dad had intended by having his assistant call first. He wants me to worry.

He’d started to change, to soften, especially with Mom’s lingering illness, or maybe it’s just due to his advancing age. We’d all noticed it.

And then I went and ruined it.

Finally, fifteen minutes after getting off the phone with Mark, Dad calls.

“You’re in Longdale. Did Sebastian offer you a job?”

“What? No.”

There’s a quiet sigh of relief. “Good.”

I’m not going to ask why that would be a good thing. “What did Sebastian tell you?”

“I had to pressure it out of him, if that makes you feel any better.”

It doesn’t. Much.

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