Page 28 of Plunge

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Fletcher

FAMILY MEETING TONIGHT at dad and ma’s place.

The text comes in from Archer like he’s not sitting across the table from me having a sandwich. I’ve moved into Opal’s place so I can actually get sleep for a few hours a day without my mother nagging me.

The whole downstairs smells like skunk, but I figure I’ll drown that out soon enough with my sweaty laundry.

“Dude,” I say, holding up the phone. “You could just tell me this out loud. I’m right here.”

“It’s a group text,” he says, sliding me half the sandwich from the wrapper. “This is one of Insomnia’s specialties, with the ham and the little pickles.”

I look at the sandwich. I was up all night with Louie and my hair is everywhere. I’m sure my eyes are bloodshot. I’m not actually sure what time of day it is, whether it should be sandwich time or breakfast time. “Pickles with ham?”

Archer nods, taking another big bite. “Butter, too. On fresh made bread. Trust me, man.”

I take a bit of the sandwich and my eyes go wide. He’s right. This is amazing. Or is it just that I’m in a sleep-deprived haze and anything would taste like heaven right about now?

“So look,” Archer says. “You haven’t submitted your tax stuff to me from last year.”

I frown at him. It’s barely January. I know I usually send him stuff right away, but this is pretty pushy. I’ve got a numbers guy on staff to handle the books for my business, but my personal taxes I always send to Archer. I mean, why wouldn’t I. Who am I going to trust more than my blood relatives?

I talk with my mouth full of the glorious sandwich. “I’ve been a little busy.”

He doesn’t say anything, just takes a few more bites of sandwich and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I guess he’s only gotten halfway domesticated since he’s been with Opal. Eventually, he leans back in his chair and says, “You usually hand me everything at Christmas, because you cover the same events every year and your expenses don’t fluctuate too much from year to year. And you’re also usually gone by now.”

“Jesus,” I say, crumping up the sandwich wrapper and throwing it at him. “Is this why you’re calling a family meeting? To hound me about why I’m taking my first extended work vacation in about a decade?”

He raises a brow at me and folds his arms over his chest. “I know you take vacations,” he says. “You just don’t come home for them. You prefer islands and you try to expense your bar tab if you meet up with anyone remotely associated with car engines.”

That’s a fair enough point. I shrug but continue scowling at him. I’m not really ready to talk about my work shit with my family, but I suspect Archer isn’t going anywhere until I give him something.

I sigh. “I’m having some work visa issues,” I tell him. “My assistant is supposed to be on it, but you know how things are with the government these days.”

Emily’s “blame the government” strategy works for the network execs. Maybe it’ll be enough for my family.

My brother Archer isn’t most people. “Visa issues? Your brother is a famous astronaut and you run a pretty damn successful international sports media production company. Sorry, dude. I don’t think ‘the government’ is hounding you.” His air quotes make me want to hit him.

I actually do pull my foot back to kick him under the table, but he leans over and pulls up a little paper bag.

“I brought us cookies from the bakery, too, you know.” I stare at him. He grins. “Tell me who you fucked over and I’ll share.”

I think for a few minutes about how much I want to share with him. He pulls out a huge cookie and breaks it in half and my eyes snap to the gooey chocolate drizzling out. My body has been craving sugar and fat lately since my sleep has been all jacked and since I’ve been doing so many flights of stairs with the baby strapped to my front. Fuck it.

“I didn’t fuck one of the female diplomats in the embassy in Abu Dhabi and this apparently pissed her off. A lot. Because apparently I’m known internationally for fucking basically everyone else.”

Archer ponders this, licking the chocolate from one of his fingers. “Just curious—what made you not fuck this woman?”

I don’t even know how to answer him. There’s no earthly reason why I shouldn’t have. She was beautiful and willing and right there. And I did kind of lead her on when I was trying to smooth over the situation with my staff and the booze. I shrug. “I’ve been kind of messed in the head since you said you were going to hire Thistle.”

I exhale all the breath I feel like I’ve been holding for months. Saying it out loud feels really good, actually. I reach for the cookie, ready to fight Archer if he tries to keep it from me, but he slides it toward me.

I feel the sugar hit my veins and I moan because it tastes so good. Almost enough to make me forget I convinced Thistle to fake marry me to try and get my travel privileges back.

“You should really talk to her,” Archer says, watching me inhale the cookie like a toddler. “I think it’ll be good for both of you. She’s really…” he pauses, like he’s not sure what to say next. “It’s been a lot for her, being here.”

Every time I take Louie for a walk through town, I see her sitting in Archer’s office window, pretending not to see me and hiding behind her computer monitor. If she wanted to talk about it, she’d come walk with me. I grunt, noncommittally. Archer changes the subject.

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