Page 79 of Mad Rivals
My mother’s oblivious to everything, worrying instead about ridiculous things like gold facials and laser skin resurfacing, while my father continues to run VBC as he hands more and more responsibilities over to me. I continue to prove myself, and the more involved I become, the more I wish I would’ve started here out of college instead of asserting the independence I wound up giving up anyway. I might not have the same pressures on top of me if I would’ve just taken this position years ago.
Or I might have even more pressure. Who knows? I can’t change the past, so all I can really do is figure out how to navigate my current reality instead.
After the best sex of my life, we have dinner together at the small table by the window in our hotel room, and then he has to go.
“What time is your flight tomorrow morning?” I ask after I set my napkin on top of my plate.
“Seven.” He twists his lips, and I wish I could take that sadness away, but it’s hard since I feel it, too.
“Safe travels,” I say.
He presses his lips together. “When will I see you again?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been looking into some projects in California that’ll allow me to travel there more often as an excuse, but after my dad confronted me about that photograph of us leaving your hotel together, I have a feeling he’ll start to get suspicious. I keep thinking maybe we should just come clean.”
He shakes his head. “Would it be easier to come clean? Absolutely. But with SCS splitting the work between us, it becomes a conflict of interest if we’re together. We can’t have stakeholders wondering whether we’re making decisions based on what’s best for the project or what’s best for ourselves. And on top of that, if other developers figure out we’re together, they may assume we’re collaborating, and we could be seen as a threat to fair competition. Not to mention the threat of internal gossip with all the nepotism shit.”
I twist my lips. They’re all very good, very valid points. But it also tosses another concern into the conversation. “So does that mean we just…neverget to go public with this?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I don’t know, Ken,” he says, and it’s the first time he’s ever abbreviated my name. It’s a whisper, and it’s sort of sexy coming out of his mouth when I’ve never really cared much for the nickname that’s a male name. “It feels like things will fall into place at the right time just like they’re supposed to.”
I wish I shared that same sentiment, but as we say our goodbyes and I head toward the door, a feeling of dread pervades. It feels like this is the beginning of the end, but at the same time, it’s almost like we never really got a chance to get started.
He kisses me goodbye, and it’s deep and intimate as he holds me close and pushes his feelings into this simple connection.
It should give me a sense of relief. He’s in this. He told me so. He wants me to basically live with him when I’m in California.
But he’s going to San Diego, and I’m staying here. We have no real plans for what comes next.
And that’s scary as hell given how deep my feelings already run for him.
I head home, have a good cry with Clem for a bit, and then I pull myself together. I open my laptop and start researching development opportunities in California. I reach out to Oliver, the head of the LA office, with some different ideas I generate in my simple search, and I hope I found something he hasn’t already been working on—something I can show my father from Oliver that says how he’d love for me to come help with a new opportunity.
And then I wait for a reply.
I don’t get a reply from Oliver, but I do wake up to a text from my father.
Walter Van Buren:Come to my office when you get in.
Yes, I have my dad in my phone by his name. Not byDad. Not byFatherorPopsorDaddy. ByWalter.
It feels an awful lot like I’m getting called into the principal’s office, and I don’t like that sense of dread that accompanies it. I already had dread inside at the fact that Madden is currently on an airplane flying far away from me, but this just couples on top of all that.
Clem and I haven’t been carpooling since we leave the office at different times, but we do meet in the kitchen for breakfast each morning.
“What’s on today’s agenda?” she asks when she walks in. She grabs the box of Cheerios from the pantry and helps herself to a bowl while I pick at my yogurt and berries.
“My dad wants to see me in his office when I get in,” I mutter.
“And you’re feeling a certain way about that?”
“No,” I say, and I glance around the kitchen and lower my voice just in case my mom’s somewhere around, but it’s Friday morning, which is facial time, so I think I’m safe. “I’m feeling a certain way about Madden leaving.”
“That explains the crankiness,” she says lightly. She’s teasing, but I’m too cranky to give it a pass. Instead, she gets a glare.
“And you’re awfully chipper.”
“It’s Friday, but…” She glances around, too, and lowers her voice as well. “I finally broke Lance in. He asked me out via text last night, and we’re grabbing drinks after work tonight.”
