Page 54 of Relentless (The Titans of Founder's Ridge 2)

“I’m not. I’m just saying that she’s still as much a part of our lives as she ever was. This thing between you two will need to be sorted before the trip. Don’t fuck up the trip because you’re bitter and holding onto hurt,” he says evenly.

“I’m not going to mess up my best friend and my cousin’s engagement.” I stand up. “I’m going home.”

I let the door slam behind me. Fucking asshole. I pound the elevator call button with my fist. When I get down to the lobby, I think about ordering an Uber but decide to walk instead. It’s a nice night. The sun has just dipped below the horizon. The building my Dad and I live in is only about ten blocks from where Griff lives. A walk should help me calm down.

I stew in my anger for the first few blocks. I feel like I should be the one Griff stands behind, but he’s talking like he knows intimate details of Ivy’s life. He shouldn’t know more than me about what’s going on in her life. Am I jealous that he knows more about her now than I do?

Yes. I am.

When I get back to our penthouse, I find Dad stretched across one of the couches in the media room watching a Red Sox game. I walk in and grab a handful of popcorn from the bowl beside him. The Sox are up six to four at the top of the eighth against the Orioles.

“We gonna win?” I ask as I plop down on the other couch.

“We should, the Os suck this year,” he says before taking a drink from the bottle of Sam Adams next to him. Yeah, my dad, owner and CEO of a billion-dollar bank and financial company drinks Sam Adams.

“What time are you going in tomorrow morning?” I ask.

“I have an 8 a.m. meeting with several of the VPs so I’ll be leaving early.” He looks over at me and frowns. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah,” fixating on the woman who broke your heart will do that, “I’m tired. I walked home from Griff’s.”

“Why?”

“Just needed to clear my head.”

“Ivy?”

“Among other things,” I answer dryly. There’s also the ever-present cloud hanging over my head. I changed my major from business to history without telling him at the beginning of last year. I haven’t even told him I’m not planning on taking over at the bank when he retires.

“I know you have issues to work out with her but leave those at the door at work. She kicked ass this week, and I would happily offer her a job when she graduates next year. She’s even impressed Bennett, and you know he’s never happy with anyone.”

That’s fucking true. He’s a crotchety old man who hates everything and anything; breathe wrong in his presence, and you’ll hear about it in a strongly worded email.

“I will.” I grab another handful of popcorn. “I’m actually getting a little pissed how little faith my friends and family have in me to keep myself under control.”

“Normally I wouldn’t worry, but this is Ivy. You and I both know she’s different, and you’ve been harboring hurt and longing for three years. It’s going to take a toll on your control.”

I barely suppress a derisive snort. Hurt, yes. Longing, probably. Anger, one hundred percent yes.

“I’ll be fine.” I stand up and stretch. “I’m going to bed. See you at the office tomorrow.”

“Night, son.”

* * *

I came into the office extra early this morning, so I could be here first. Is it a power move to be sitting here behind a desk when she walks in? Yes. Do I care that I’m clearly playing games? No.

I honestly don’t know how I will react when she walks through the door. Will I cave immediately and become a big teddy bear for her again? Will my need to punish her grow more intense? I’m considering which one of those possibilities would be best when the door swings open.

She doesn’t immediately notice me. I didn’t turn the lights on. The floor to ceiling window behind provides enough light. She looks good, better than any of the hundreds of pictures from social media I’ve been stalking for years. Her hair hangs straight down her back, and I curse myself for thinking that I hate that she’s still doing that instead of wearing it curly. She’s wearing a kelly green dress with a thin black leather belt and killer black stilettos. She still hasn’t noticed me.

“Ivy,” I say much more evenly than I feel.

Her head swings in my direction, and her bag falls to floor from her shoulder. “Levi,” she swallows nervously.

We stare each other down for a minute, tension and attraction thickening and electrifying the air.

“It’s super creepy that you’re sitting in dark like that,” she says once she’s steadied herself.

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