Page 21 of The Fix Up

“Okay, fine, brainiac,” Lyle interrupted. He was smiling at his son, but the smile had a hard edge to it. “You know what I meant.”

“So look, Dad—I think Holly and I had better get busy mingling, don’t you?”

This time, Holly didn’t resist Ben’s attempt at a rescue. Luckily, Lyle didn’t argue, either.

“Sure thing, my boy,” he said. “Holly, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

“Likewise, sir.”

“Have a good evening, Dad. You can leave some of the hobnobbing to me.”

Lyle chuckled and gave Ben an elbow to the ribs. “Get out there and hob some knobs, boy!” he said, tossing back the rest of his drink before ambling off.

Ben shook his head and turned back to Holly. “I’m pretty sure I owe you an apology for at least a dozen aspects of that conversation, but I’m not sure where to start.”

She extracted her hand from Ben’s back pocket, a little disappointed to break contact with him. “It’s okay. I wanted to talk to him.”

“Seriously?”

“Well, not for the pleasure of his conversation. More so I could see what you’re dealing with. What you’re hoping to become.”

Ben nodded, looking a little grim. “Right. There’s a depressing thought.”

“He wasn’t that bad,” she said, even though she knew damn well he was. “What on earth was he drinking?”

“Laphroaig. You could smell it?”

“The people in the next building could smell it. What on earth is it?”

“It’s a single-malt whiskey imported from Islay. Very smoky. My grandfather drank it, and his father before him, and?—”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Not good.” Ben shrugged and held up his glass. “I’m partial to craft beer.”

“Cheers to different tastes, then.” She took another sip of wine, feeling her shoulders relax now that Lyle had relocated himself across the room. “So does your mother work in the family business, too?”

Ben’s face clouded ever so slightly. “My mother passed away when I was sixteen.”

“Oh, Ben—I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm, embarrassed to have brought up such a tender subject when he was working hard to play it cool at the event.

But he just nodded, his gaze drifting across the room toward his father. “Thank you. She was an amazing woman. She’s one of the reasons I spent a year of grad school researching new developments in chemotherapy.”

“She died of cancer?”

He nodded. “Breast cancer. She found a lump, but my dad convinced her it was nothing.”

“That’s horrible!”

“It wasn’t like that, exactly. I mean, he wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I think he was in denial. He didn’t want anything to shake up this perfect little world he’d built, and my mom didn’t want to believe anything could be wrong, either. By the time she finally went to the doctor—” He stopped there and tore his gaze off his father. “Anyway, the chemo was terrible for her. I went with her to all her appointments, and I always thought there had to be a better way.”

“That must have been awful for you and your father.”

“My father,” he repeated, his voice brittle and clipped. She waited for him to say more, but the bitter look he was aiming at his dad told her more than any words could convey. He seemed to catch himself, and he turned back to her. “Anyway, I graduated early from high school right after that and started college at sixteen. I thought I might like to be a doctor, but engineering is where I ended up.”

“It seems like it suited you.”

“It did.Does.” He shrugged. “Mom always wished Dad would do more to expand the philanthropic arm of Langley Enterprises. As CEO, maybe I can make that happen.”

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