Page 130 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“What?” When Thane is uncomfortable, his tone takes on a very harsh edge.
“Tone,” I whisper. It draws Weston’s attention, and his gaze flitters over mine for a fraction of a second.
“Are you nervous, Weston?” Thane’s not quite whispering, but I can tell he’s attempting to adjust his tone.
The boy lifts his head, stares at Thane, and I can almost hear him counting the seconds of eye contact before he breaks it again. “Yes, sir, but I’m going to work for you someday, and I’ll be invaluable to you.”
Weston doesn’t sound cocky in the slightest. He said those words as if every single one of them were fact.
“Is that so?” Thane says with a smile. He’s doing everything he can to be gentle for this child, and my heart overflows with love for him because of it.
“Yes.” Weston bobs his head emphatically. “I’m fourteen, I’m taking college courses, and sold my first app last week. Well, my Uncle Preston bought it, but he put in the contract that it wasn’t nepotism.”
“No way. Preston’s a prick. No nepo babies in our family.” A very handsome and somehow playful-looking man wearing a glittery bow tie steps between Winnie and Weston. “Colton Westbrook. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand to me, then Thane.
“Would that be the productivity tracker that the Westbrook Group announced last week?”
I stare a little in awe at Thane. Sometimes I forget that he’s at the top of the tech industry for a reason—he knows everything.
“Yes. Yes, that’s it. I did that.” Weston says, still not making eye contact but so freaking happy that my returning grin feels as though it’ll split my face.
“That’s very impressive.” Thane turns his body while still keeping me tucked into his side, toward Weston, essentially cutting the older Westbrooks out of the conversation.
I offer them an apologetic shrug, but they both seem content to stand back and allow their son to shine.
“This is truly a dream come true for him,” Winne whispers. “For Christmas, the only thing he wanted was to meet the Thane Wilder. Colton’s been buying tables to any and every event where he might attend in an attempt to make that happen.”
I know the Westbrook name. It’s nearly impossible to live in the United States and not know of them. From their businesses all over the country to their charitable endeavors, they’re basically American royalty.
“Yeah, and Thane Wilder isn’t someone you can just call up and make an appointment with. And trust me, all my brothers have tried.” Colton studies Weston with love filling his eyes. “I told him he could start any kind of company he wants. We would all back him financially until he was old enough to do it himself, but he’s insistent that the only way to be the best is to learn from the best. According to him, that’s Mr. Wilder here.”
Winnie stares up at her husband as though he hung the moon and the stars. Jesus, maybe he did. I’m a little teary-eyed here too.
I tune back into the conversation Thane is having. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him since we’ve been in New York.
“That’s an incredible theory, Weston. Do you have data to back that up? Have you done any testing?”
The kid launches into a series of numbers and stats that I have no way of following. Thane interjects a few times to offer an idea or to ask a question, but I have the distinct impression that these two could stand here talking for a week and not touch the surface of their shared passion.
“Weston?” Colton steps up beside his son. “Remember we can’t monopolize Mr. Wilder’s time.”
The heartbreak is written all over the boy’s face, but he recovers quickly. “This was the best night of my life.”
“Do you have trouble making eye contact, Weston?” Thane’s no-nonsense tone cuts through the air, and Colton goes from playful to pissed off in a heartbeat.
“S—sorry,” Weston stutters, and my throat closes up as Winnie wraps a protective arm around her son and Colton steps forward to get in Thane’s face.
Thane sidesteps Colton. “Can I teach you a trick?”
Everyone freezes.
“I’ve spent the last couple of months or so attempting to learn how to read expressions because I don’t hear tone properly, and eye contact was a real nightmare for me when I was your age.”
Weston nods, but his parents anchor him on both sides now.
Thane reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of glasses I’ve only ever seen a handful of times. Once they’re on his face, he points to his temple. “I used to count to five in my head every time I had to make eye contact, and then the timer would start all over again. But try staring just to the side of someone’s eye. I don’t know why it works. My friend Rafe would probably have all kinds of theories, but it’s worked for me. It’s even more effective if you have a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. It hides some of your eye movements. These are just blue light glasses, but I have them on me for events like this.”
“I’m going to try that.” Weston practices on Thane, and they share a smile. “Mom, I need new glasses.”
