Page 55 of Tamed to Be Messy

Ireally wanted to tell Hannah the truth. That my date, as she called it, is actually a meeting with my financial advisor to discuss my latest proposal for the Turtle Patrol program—infrared solar cameras to monitor the nests and hatchlings. Even though my parents appointed Deb as my advisor, she’s been more of an advocate for me at times when I wanted to do something altruistic with my trust fund.

Like supporting the Turtle Patrol program. Most people don’t understand how important sea turtles are to the beach and coral reef ecosystems. So when I got wind that funding for the program might get pulled from the county budget, I wanted to help.

That required asking Zane if he could arrange a meeting between me and his former mentor, Mayor Stringer, since they go way back. However, that also meant I had to explain not just the ‘why’ but the ‘how’ as well. But I trust Zane with my life and have in the past during some intense rescues, so I knew I could trust him to keep my secret.

With Deb’s help, we arranged an anonymous fund to maintain the Turtle Patrol program. As far as the director and volunteers of the program know, I’m just another volunteerduring hatching season. And I prefer to keep it that way. When people find out you’re a trust fund kid, they jump to one conclusion—entitled brat.

That may have been true when I started law school—why am I hearing Hannah’s laughter in my head?—but I’d like to think I’m not that person anymore. Life got tough when I spit out that silver spoon, but I don’t regret it at all.

When I walk into Deb’s office, she’s standing by the receptionist’s desk. “Nick, good to see you. Come on back.”

Situated on the Intracoastal, her windows overlook the water—a view that gives me some much-needed peace at the moment. I take the chair in front of her desk as she sits down.

She shifts some things around before clasping her hands in front of her. Her expression is subtle, but I’ve known her long enough to read when she has less than good news for me.

I rub a hand over my mouth. “I’m guessing the numbers for this latest project aren’t working?”

“It’s not that, Nick. The money is there, it’s just…your parents have put a hold on your fund.”

“What? Why?”

“Your accident and injury have them concerned.”

I tip my head back. “Not this again. I told them I’m fine. I’ll be back at work in a few weeks. Just like before. Nothing’s changed.”

“In their minds, it has. They see your work as more of a risk than before. Like I said, they’re concerned.”

I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “But this program has nothing to do with my work.”

“I know. I think you’re going to have to sit down and make them understand.”

“You don’t make Cecilia and Tom Lawless understand anything. They only see things as they want to.” I fall back against the chair and empty my lungs in frustration.

She tilts her head and gives me a look that’s somewhat scolding yet filled with compassion. “A bit harsh, don’t you think?”

I hold my hands out. “Perhaps, but it’s the truth.”

She nods. “Still, talk to them. Maybe you can put their fears at ease.”

“Fears?”

“Nick, you were hurt in a rescue that could have been much worse. They may not be on board with your career choice, but they’re still your parents. I’m sure the incident scared them. How could it not? This is probably just their way of trying to make sure you’re safe.”

I snort. “By suspending my trust fund? I’m only trying to save turtles.”

“Money moves their world. That’s how they speak.”

I swallow the distaste in my mouth as I consider this perspective. I’ve always looked at my parents as controlling and demanding. I’ve never thought of them as protective, but Deb may have a point.

“Their anniversary party is next weekend. Maybe I can talk to them then.”

“Good. I think that’s a great idea. Then we can get this worked out and help those turtles.”

I rise to my feet. “Thanks, Deb. I’ll keep you posted.”

After we say our goodbyes, I sit in my truck, considering whether a phone conversation would suffice in convincing my parents that this is an important project, but I can’t bring myself to make the call because no matter how I try to phrase it in my head, it still feels like I’m being forced to pander to their demands.

When I get backto my place, there’s no key under the mat, so I try the door. Not locked, so I’m expecting to either find my place ransacked because someone found the key or that Hannah’s still here. My meeting with Deb didn’t last as long as I assumed it would—usually, when there are papers to sign, time moves at a snail’s pace—and I didn’t feel like stopping anywhere on my way home.

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