Page 11 of Upshot

“She?” Geneva asks. “Peter, go see if you can find one of our mother’s pills.”

“I don’t need a Prozac,” I growl.

“I wasn’t talking about just one,” she mumbles.

“What in the ever-loving hell is going on in here?” I feel my body go rigid at my father’s voice. Geneva tenses next to me. “Well?” he asks, staring at me.

Our father is not an easy man. He expects perfection. We were to be seen occasionally and never heard growing up. If we became too much of an irritation, he would punish us accordingly. In my case, a belt was usually involved.

“Sorry, sir. I’m a klutz. They were helping me pick up the file I dropped,” Peter answers.

He learned early on that Father was easier on him than us. Often, he was all that prevented me from getting a beating when we were young. And I always took the blame for Geneva if I could. She might give me hell, but I still love her. Nothing was worse than listening to her cry in her room after being whipped.

“I swear, Peter, if you weren’t my son’s only friend—” Father turns on his heel and walks out.

“I have more than one friend,” I say to the silent room.

“No, you don’t,” Geneva snarls. We’re too old to spank now, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t punish us. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a verbal dressing-down. Other times, he ostracizes us from the company and family. We never know what will set him off either. Yet, it had been explained early on that we would be working here regardless.

“There has to be another way to find her,” Peter says. I smile helplessly at him. He nods. I’ve apologized at least a thousand times for him taking the blame for something I’ve done.

“Who is she?” Geneva asks again. Peter explains the whole ridiculous story of how I met her, our hunt to find her, and finally my breakdown in the conference room.

“I still say we hire a private detective,” Peter says.

“No, I need to just give up,” I argue back.

“Or we could road trip to New York and investigate ourselves.”

“I have vacation time due. We could do that.” We go back and forth until Geneva finally growls in frustration. She snatches up her phone and inputs a number.

“Yes, this is Geneva Randolph. I don’t believe you sent all of the available models. There’s one we are very keen to see. I believe she did the J’abear shoot. The brunette? Ahh, I see. Yes, that would be helpful. I’ll have our decision by the end of the day.” She hangs up without wishing them a good day. She’s badass like that. “She said she left.”

“What?” How could she leave? She was stunning. “Maybe a bigger agency picked her up.”

“Nope, they said she just up and quit. Moved home.”

“I guess that’s that then.” I can’t keep up this wild goose chase. It’s over. I’m moving on.

“So, you don’t want her home address they’re forwarding over?” Geneva asks.

Okay, not over.

“How is that legal?” Pete asks.

“Intimidation trumps legal,” she answers.

“You can convince me to give you whatever you want,” Pete says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Stop before I barf.” I turn to look at Pete. “What is wrong with you?”

He shrugs. My phone pings. Leave it to my sister to get the address of my mystery woman. Sitting safely in my text is my future. Okay, that might be a bit much. At least I can apologize for my behavior. We could get dinner and see how it goes. You don’t know, things could work out.

five

BRONTË

So my parents aren’t exactly “yay, unplanned pregnancy,” but they aren’t being horrible either. I’m living in my old room. Not exactly the glamorous life I had planned. I guess if Austen could do it, so can I. I know I’ll need their help once this little one decides to make their entrance into this world.

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