Page 62 of Upshot

“Give it a rest,” I warn.

“You’re just jealous of Brontë’s new boobs,” Peter says. “Owww,” he adds when Geneva punches his arm. I shake my head and walk into the kitchen. Those magnificent boobs and the woman that they belong to are bent over in front of the oven. Damn, look at that ass.

“I swear if you even try to dry hump me while I’m pulling this roast out of the oven, I will end you.”

She’s killing me. It’s been six weeks since she had the baby. Her sister went to her appointment today with her since I was on the phone for a job interview. So far, I haven’t found anything that keeps me home most of the time. It’s out there somewhere though. I just have to keep hunting.

“How did your appointment go?” I try to make the question sound nonchalant. I guess I failed. She sets the pan on the cooktop and spins to glare at me. “Not so good?”

“It was fine. Can we discuss it tonight? Right now, I’d like to feed our guests before the food gets cold.” I would salute, but I don’t want to be banished to the garage.

Keats still isn’t sleeping through the night, so Brontë’s temper is on a hair trigger. I don’t blame her. I don’t feel especially rested, myself.

“What can I do to help?”

“I’ve got this if you can start putting stuff on the table.” She takes a moment to smile at me. That smile still gets my heart racing every time.

I carry a bowl of salad and a basket of bread to the table. On the way back, I glance into the living room to check on Keats. Peter has him in what can only be described as a Lion King hold. Only he’s not over Peter’s head. I can tell he’s still breathing, so all’s well. I make it back to the kitchen right as Brontë finishes plating the roast.

“You sit down. I’ll haul this to the table and rescue the baby,” I say. She looks at me gratefully. I deposit the meat, then swing into the living room. “Come here, poor baby. Is Uncle Peter holding you like a sack of potatoes?” I ease Keats into his swing and join them at the table.

“How’s the job hunt going?” Geneva asks out of the blue. Up until now, it’s been one topic that seems to be off-limits.

“Slowly. I’ve done a lot of interviews, but everything I’m qualified for involves a lot of travel I’m not willing to do. Except for the local agent I bought this house from. He offered me a job, but I think he was just being nice. I can’t imagine this town can sustain more than one real estate agent.”

I have a massive trust fund my grandfather left me that my father can’t touch. I’m not worried about money. I’ve just never been someone who could stand sitting around the house. I need something to do.

“That’s what we came out here to talk to you about,” Peter says. He shares a look with Geneva I can’t interpret.

“I thought you came to see Keats.”

“Well, we did come to see smooshy face, but that’s not the whole reason we’re here.” Never in a million years did I think I’d hear the words smooshy face come out of my sister’s mouth. “Peter and I were talking.”

“Scheming really,” Peter cuts in. “It’s just not the same at work without you there.”

“Dad has been worse than normal,” Geneva adds.

“I’m not going back.” I hold up my hands as if that will stave off the evil that I associate with my old position.

“That’s not what we’re saying.”

“What we’re saying is”—Geneva pauses for a beat—“we’ve quit also. We want to form a new company, doing what we do best, flipping properties. You, me, Peter, and Brontë. I think with us calling the shots, it can be huge.”

“I would be part of this new company?” Brontë asks.

“Of course. We need someone who can see the aesthetic potential in what we buy. You’ve already proven yourself invaluable on that front. Look at how well the Denver project is coming along,” Geneva answers.

I can see Brontë swell with pride. It would be easier to work out our schedules if we own the company.

“How would this work?” I ask.

“We’ve been researching office space in Austin. We’ll both move there and run the office. You can commute when we need you and, with Brontë’s help, buy the properties,” Peter says.

“We can start slow and grow,” he continues. “That way, by the time you need to travel, Il Bambino will be old enough for any of us to watch.” Il Bambino? Did he and Geneva make a list of things to call the baby before showing up?

“Are you thinking of a partnership?” I ask.

“More of a corporation with the four of us as equal shareholders. We each invest an equal amount in the business and share the profits the same way,” Peter says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ve already been talking to a guy in Austin about drawing up the documents for incorporation.”

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