Page 50 of Billionaire's Sins
"Of course." The three of us turn to Sinclair who stares between us. "What?"
"You going to shift to a home office, as well?"
"I haven’t considered it," he rubs the back of his neck, "but it’s a possibility. I’ll need to discuss it with Summer."
The three of us look at each other, then I chuckle, "It’s heartwarming; it really is." I glance around at their faces. "You guys gladden my soul."
"What?" Saint scowls.
"Truly," I jerk my chin at Weston, "it’s incredible."
"Care to explain yourself, Father?" Saint drawls.
"Whoever said the Lord works in mysterious ways surely knew what they were talking about."
Sinclair arches an eyebrow. "If you think speaking in riddles will pique our attention?" He knocks his knuckles against the table. "Then you’re right. Out with it, Father."
"All of you assholes brought to heel by the love of a good woman." I raise my gaze heavenward, "Thank you, Lord."
There’s silence in the room, then Sinclair chuckles. "Well played, Father. You’d like us to believe that you are the last man standing, but as we all know, that’s not true."
"What’s not true?" Damian ambles in, his hair streaming about his shoulders. In jeans and sweatshirt, he’s the most casually dressed among us. Of course, if Baron were here, he’d probably give Damian a run for his money.
I push the thought from my head, turn to Damian. "Nothing," I say at the same time as Sinclair declares, "That Edward is the last bachelor of the Seven."
"Technically, he isn’t, considering we don’t know if Baron is married or not." Arpad strolls into the conference room, then shuts the door behind him.
Baron again. Why is there no getting away from the mention of his name right now? Why is he on my mind so much?
Saint barks out a laugh. "Baron? Married? Not likely."
"Hello pot, meet kettle?" I tilt my head at him. "You, Saint, would have been the last man I’d have pegged to get married, and yet—"
"It’s you who claims to be still standing strong, when we all know your heart is taken."
"By the One Above," I declare.
"Not that I am refuting that," Sinclair retorts, "but you are a man, after all. So, what if you decided to turn your back on everyday life and chose to become a priest? Underneath that calm demeanor is a man who, perhaps, feels more than any of us. The day you acknowledge it, the day you forgive yourself for what you’ve been through and stop punishing yourself for what you couldn’t change, is the day you realize that you don’t have to hide behind the persona of the calm man of the cloth."
I blink at him. "And here I thought I was the preacher."
"Can’t preach to the converted, Father." Sinclair’s lips twist. "You know everything I am talking about, but the day you acknowledge it is when things will begin to shift for you."
"You think I’m hiding from the world?" I scowl at him.
He meets my gaze with his unblinking one. I glance around the room, take in the expressions on the faces of all my friends. "Wow." I fold my arms across my chest, "Apparently, all of you think I am using my vocation as a crutch."
"Not a crutch…" Weston drums his fingers on his chest. "More like, you were taking your time to process your grief."
"You were the most stubborn of us, Ed. You needed to get your own way when we were boys." Damian widens his stance. "You were also the angriest."
"Angry? Me?" I laugh, "Are you sure you’re talking about me."
"Remember the time we came across the boys bullying one of the smaller kids in school? Who’s the one who jumped to his rescue?" Arpad asks.
"We all did," I mumble.
"Yes," Arpad nods, "but who started it?"
