Page 46 of Seas the Dating Coach

It also allowed him to control the narrative. Reckless Finn, blowing off his family name and responsibilities. How disgraceful. Let’s not speak of it.

“And having contracts with the media so they can’t report on you? I always thought it was a little weird that your broken engagement didn’t end up in the news or tabloids when I’m reported on for which party I attend.”

“Dad is not best friends with the heads of several media franchises because he likes them,” I quip, steering around a tight corner.

My sister hums. “And no one knows who you really are? Like, nobody?”

I release a slow exhale. “Stipulations of the contract—I change my name, I lose my trust and any familial connections, and I tell no one.”

“This is so messed up.” She scoffs. “Even for Dad.”

A chuckle escapes me at her indignant tone. It’d been a burden keeping all this to myself over the years. The most I’ve let it slip was when I’d mentioned I had a sister to Vivian the other night. Even Alec doesn’t know I have a sister. When Cordelia calls, I tell him she’s an old girlfriend who can’t move on, using that excuse to also explain the clothing packages.

“Does Brody know the truth?”

My shoulders tighten until I can feel the muscles pulling at my collarbones. Cordelia mentioned a year ago that Brody had been showing an interest in her for the first time in her life. Though I suspect it’s largely due to Brody’s girlfriend’s influence, the more people in Cordelia’s corner, the better. She’s got friends, but they’re all superficial relationships, much like mine had been.

I open my mouth, not wanting to lie now that I’ve finally got everything in the open. Before I can answer, though, my left front tire blows. This time, I don’t censor my harsh curse.

“What is it?”

“I think I have a flat.”

The impending migraine behind my eye pulses like a drum beat. This narrow two-lane road has a steep drainage ditch on each side, making moving out of the way of traffic impossible. Fortunately, not many people are on this part of the road tonight.

“I’ll let you go. I need time to process all of this and scrub the toilet with Dad’s toothbrush.”

Despite the stress swirling around my skull, I grin. “Bye.”

My shirt is stained with sweat by the time I free my full-sized spare and prop my car on the jack, having figured out how to do that by watching a quick video tutorial. I’m loosening the lug nuts when my phone rings again. My hands are covered in grime, but I manage to open the call on speaker without smearing my screen.

“Alec, hey. I’ve—”

“What’s taking you so long? I’ve got these two ladies here, and I promised them that my friend is on his way.”

His words are already slurred, which means that if I join him, I’ll be taking care of his belligerent mess all night. The tension in my head doubles. Making sure Alec doesn’t punch another bar patron is my least favorite part of our friendship. It’s one of the many things I wish he would have outgrown over the years.

Alec was the first friend I made upon moving here, the son of two wealthy lawyers. He let me pay a decreased rent for a room in his penthouse apartment in downtown Virginia Beach if I agreed to be his permanent wingman. I feel a little ashamed of it now, but living in Alec’s apartment had been too close to my upbringing not to give up. It was professionally cleaned, the kitchen stocked and meals prepped and left in the refrigerator by their family chef, and the building had full amenities. Since I’d never known the cost of anything, it eased the transition.

Look, I know how that sounds. Poor billionaire baby doesn’t know how to do anything, but I didn’t. I was so lost the first time I entered a grocery store, let alone knowing how to navigate the deli counter. Shortly after that, I ran dry the Aston Martin I had my personal assistant purchase and send to the hotel before the fallout with my father. Everything had always been “handled” before, so I had no clue to watch the fuel gauge.

But I figured it out, just like I’ll have to do now with this flat.

“I blew a tire.”

“That sucks.” Ambient bar noise echoes over the line while the sweat on my brow begins to sting my eyes. “Get here as soon as you can,” he says before disconnecting the call.

I press my eyes closed before focusing on the nearby sorghum field. Tiny white butterflies flit between rows, darting in and out of the setting sunlight. It’d be breathtaking if I wasn’t in such a foul mood.

I’m halfway through loosening the lug nuts when a nondescript silver sedan slows behind me. I turn to wave it past, but the hazard lights flip on. A second later, Geneva marches from the car in heels and a tight sleeveless dress. Like at the boxing gym, she’s wearing head-to-toe black.

“You good?”

Like all our interactions, this seemingly kind question is barked in my general direction. Dark sunglasses cover most of her face as she scans the surrounding area.

“I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me.”

She shrugs, still surveying the fields. “Wasn’t sure you’d know how to change a tire.”

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