Page 79 of This

“Stalking my ex,” I say coolly.

Since she once again lives with the king of social media, her image floods my feeds. It irritated me at first, but now I scroll through, specifically looking for Marco’s posts. It’s what I was doing before I came inside. I consider it stockpiling potential material. If she’s going to insert herself into my dreams against my will, she can at least show up in the fucking sundress she wore a few days ago. Legs, hips, tits—none of which my dream self will touch.

“Moving on at its finest.” Chevy raises his bottle to be an asshole, but I drink to it anyway. Then, getting all the touchy subjects out of the way early tonight, he asks, “How’s the dad shit been going?”

I shrug, watching the redhead wrinkle her nose at his twin in either disgust or amusement. “On a scale of hugging and making up to murdering each other, I’d say we’re just shy of cutting the other’s brake lines.”

“I don’t know how you put up with it every day. Fuck, I don’t knowwhyyou put up with it. If I had to tolerate Bentley and his bullshit as often as you deal with your family’s, it would drive me mad.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I promised the old man I’d take over when he was gone.”

“Yeah, well…” He thinks it over a second and lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know if that would be enough for me.”

Lincoln strides over then, a smug grin on his face when he drops into the seat between us. “Well, I’m set for the night.” He tips his head, eyes squinting. “What about you?”

“What about me?” I glance at a chick walking past. Short black hair, long legs in skinny jeans.

She looks down long enough to smile and keeps going. When my attention returns to the twins, Lincoln’s arms are crossed over his chest.

“You come out with us at least twice a week,” he says, checking with his brother for backup. “You dodge women all night and leave alone. I think it’s about time you take your balls back from Lex and end the abstinence streak you have going.”

Chevy kicks his chair. “Maybe you should quit worrying about his dick and focus on your own.” He nods toward the woman Lincoln planned on leaving with, strolling out the door with another guy.

“Shit. It really feels like a redhead kind of night.” Lincoln strains his neck to see around people and jumps to his feet. “There’s another in the back. Wish me luck.”

“He has a point, you know,” Chevy says once he’s gone. “At some point, you need to let go. Lex is great, and I’ll rip the skin from anyone who tries to hurt her, but she needs to fix herself in a lot of ways. Waiting for it to happen is a dangerous game to play.”

I don’t respond, instead staring at my beer bottle. Then I decide fuck it and stand up. I head to the bar, to the chick with the legs. We talk; she laughs. I’ve always been good at saying the right thing and choosing the right moment to move closer. She has a steady job and a yearlong lease, and her life plan includes buying a house in the Phoenix area. She has a friend, so Chevy joins us soon. Lincoln comes over with his fourth redhead.

We stay until last call, all of us making plans to go somewhere else after.

“I’ll be right back,” I say into her ear.

She nods, and I hear her squeal, grabbing on to her friend’s arm as I walk away. I don’t know if she notices when I keep going, but Lincoln and Chevy do, both of them giving me a quick wave as I reach the door.

Next time,Chevy texts.

I reply,Yeah, for sure.

Then I check Instagram.

The Friday before Labor Day,everyone is getting ready to leave for a long weekend. I’ve been in meetings all day, my mind on the verge of numb. Greg caught Willis at dinner the other night and filled his head with ideas. I’ve been scurrying around to minimize the damage from that. Then, this morning, my father announced in the middle of an all-staff meeting that he was planning to start a competing business and would be hiring anyone who left Masters Financial with him.

I’m almost to the point that I’m ready to say screw what the lawyers advise and fire him. Publicly, if possible. Maybe I’ll have his company car towed from the employee lot just to hit it home.

My tolerance for him has been in steady decline, but today, I have less than usual. Probably because I slept at the office last night. I’ve slept here all week, showering at the gym and only stopping by the house long enough to grab a change of clothes.

Hell of a life you’ve got here, Masters.

I’m poring over audit reports, my elbows braced on the desk and the heels of my hands pressed into my forehead, with thoughts of what Chevy said—about whether it’s worth it—on the fringe of my consciousness when my door creaks open. I glance up long enough to see Aubrey strutting in. She has a popped bottle of champagne hugged to her chest and two flutes clutched in her other hand.

“What the hell is this?” I ask as she closes the door behind her.

Since the encounter at the house on my birthday, she’s been quiet. Respectful even. But, today, she’s wearing what I can only describe as her daddy issues. The electric-blue dress suffocates every curve, and if the hem slips any higher up her thighs, the entire office will know her waxing preference.

“We’re celebrating,” she says.

I’ve already gone back to the papers in front of me, but I lift my head when the lock clicks.

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