Page 22 of Matchmaking the Rival

"Yeah, what are we doing about that?" Spencer asked.

I groaned. "I don't know. I'll think of something."

Our brother was approaching burnout. While I didn't appreciate my grandmother's meddling, I did agree with Spencer that we needed to look after each other and interfere whenever we thought one of us needed it.

We hadn't been quick enough when it came to Grandfather. Last year, when Whitley Advertising was approaching bankruptcy, he insisted it was fine for him to go back to work. Deep down, I knew that wasn’t right. The man was ninety, and he'd had a heart attack many years ago, and the doctor had told him he needed to rest. But he was stubborn and ended up getting sick again. At least it hadn't been another heart attack, thank fuck. But after we brought him home, I swore I would always follow my instincts. And Colton needed saving from himself.

"You two, I see that look on your faces. What are you planning?" Grandmother asked, coming back to the kitchen.

"Ways to get Colton out of his lab."

"Oh, good. I hope you come up with something. I've run out of ideas."

"Out of curiosity," Spencer asked, "does this matchmaking plan of yours extend to our half brothers as well?"

She grinned. "Of course. They just don't know it. Not that it's a secret, dear. You're welcome to share it with them. I don't have any specific plans for them as of yet."

"Just for me," I said sarcastically.

"Just for you." There was no trace of irony in her voice.

I wasn't going to tell her how I felt about it. I mean, the woman was ninety. If this brought her joy and peace of mind, then so be it.

***

Iwas the first toleave our grandparents’ house. I was heading to Colton's office and called him on the way. Ambushing him wouldn't help; knowing him, he'd just push me away.

"Let’s go for a round of boxing," I said instead of hello. He liked to do that in his free time. It was the best way to blow off steam. I joined him in the ring sometimes, though he was better at sparring than me.

"I don't have time for that."

Someone’s in a mood.

"It's Saturday afternoon, and you say you always concentrate better after boxing."

He sighed. "Fuck it. You're right. Okay."

I arrived at his headquarters fifteen minutes later. He was already in front of the building in his BMW.

His boxing ring was one block away from the company. We parked our cars in the underground garage. I took my workout bag from the trunk before joining my brother.

"I knew I could always lure you out for a good old brawl," I said.

"You're right. It relaxes me."

"Are you ever planning on taking it slower?"

"As soon as we get a breakthrough. It’s eluding us. I mean, it’sright there."

“You’ve got to start taking it easier or you’ll have a nervous breakdown. You've been talking about that ‘breakthrough’ for at least a year. Anyway, it’ll happen when it does."

He scoffed. “Pot, kettle. You’ve been terrorizing your team ever since you started preparing for that contest thing.”

I blinked. "Who told you that?"

"I called you a couple days ago. You didn't pick up. Then I called your office. Your assistant sounded like he was about to shit his pants."

"How did you get them to tell you what was going on?"

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