Page 7 of Mad Rivals
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What a difference forty-eight hours makes.
It turns out my boss wasn’t too happy with no notice, and maybe I should’ve been more careful about burning bridges, but if I’m going to work for my family business, it’s not like I need the reference.
I’m sitting on the couch at my mom’s favorite spa in Chicago with my feet perched on an ottoman across from me. Clem is beside me, and we’re in thick bathrobes with slippers on our feet, face masks on our faces, and our hair held back from our faces by terrycloth headbands. I’m drinking tea and munching on an assortment of mixed nuts as Clem chews on some dried fruit that was on the snack bar.
This is the life.
My father felt bad for us as he welcomed us back into the house yesterday, and he told us to take the rest of the week to get adjusted—includingadjustmentshere at the spa. Massages, facials, saunas, he got us the works, and it’s honestly the best welcome home gift I could’ve imagined.
And yet…
It comes with conditions, just like everything always does in the Van Buren household. He’s only doing this because he wants me to see how much better it is to live in their house and work in their office than it was to venture out on the scary streets of Chicago by myself.
Cue the eyeroll.
But the princess in me isn’t exactly going to turn down this sort of relaxation. Clem and I both deserve it after the less-than-ideal work and living situations we endured over the last few years in the name of independence.
Fuck independence. I’ll take these spa treatments and a cozy queen-size bed with a fluffy blanket any day of the week over the twin mattress I had at the apartment.
“Why didn’t we give in to this ages ago?” she asks.
I giggle, though in truth, the answer is less funny and more complicated. I didn’t want to give up my independence, sure, and I was being stubborn. I wanted to pursue my own passions rather than my dad’s.
But it was more than that. It was about me finding my own way without the pressure of the Van Buren name. It was aboutearning respect from people because of a job well done instead of a last name.
It was about proving myself—and provingtomyself that I could do it.
It was about not giving up.
And instead, it was a failure.Iam a failure.
Granted, the Swedish massage helped wrestle those feelings to the back of my mind, but once the glow of relaxation wears off, those feelings will rise right back to the surface.
In the back of my mind, I can’t help but think that there must be something I can do with my love of graphic design. There are plenty of graphics involved in the field of real estate development, from branding and logos to property visualizations and sales pitches.
But my father already invited me on a bid walk tomorrow, and I haven’t had the chance yet to discuss with him what my role will be at VBC.
Inviting me on a bid walk makes it pretty damn clear to me whathewants my role to be, though.
We’ll walk a property tomorrow with the other contractors putting in bids to develop the client’s land. It’s a huge deal, and my dad wants me there to watch the process. He had me do it during my internship before my senior year of college—the time in my life when I decided I wanted to pave my own path.
But things have changed. Life threw me some curveballs, and maybe this is where I’m meant to be after all. Definitely here at this spa, anyway.
CHAPTER 4: Madden Bradley
Half Plus a Few
I laugh as I shake my head at Clay. Between the two of us, we’ve gotten upwards of fifteen numbers tonight, but I won’t use any of them.
Not tonight, anyway. I’ve got a late morning flight back to Chicago tomorrow, and the last thing I want to do is worry about how to tell some girl I’ll never see again thanks for the night.
Still, the attention is nice. It’s welcome, even. It makes me feel like I’m going to fit into this city okay even though Chicago has been my town since the day I was born.
I’m drunker than I’ve been in a while, so even if I wanted to use one of the numbers I got tonight, I probably wouldn’t be able to focus enough to dial it.
I call it a night, and my thirty-five years come screaming loudly at me as I wake in the morning.
