Page 18 of Upshot

“Why do you have a taser?” Austen asks.

“I live by myself. I need protection.”

“Who’s breaking in? The local teenage drug dealer?”

“How do you know who the local drug dealer is?”

“How do you not?”

Right now, I’d like to go hunt down that local teenage dealer for something to relax me. I know where he lives. We all try to act like small towns are these pristine pieces of America right out of a Norman Rockwell picture. But we all have that one guy. Currently, our guy is the school superintendent’s son. Nice kid, super laid-back.

“Brontë!” I look up to find them both staring at me.

“I don’t know,” I say. “But, for right now, I’m going home. I’m going to take a long, lukewarm bath and try to get some sleep. I’ll deal with all of this tomorrow.”

They both soften. Shit, I hate being the sister that fucked up.

“I’ll walk you home,” Eliot says, following me to the door. I open it and peek outside. I don’t know why I’m disappointed Rand’s car is not still sitting where it was. Would it have killed him to try again? I’m sure, at this point, he’s long gone on his way back to California.

“Are you okay?” Eliot asks, breaking into my reverie.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Because it’s okay if you’re not. We’re here for you.” I throw my arms around Eliot and give her a hug. She’s not a big hugger, but she suffers it for a minute. “You just have to tell us what you need. Even if it’s just someone to vent to.”

Eliot leaves me at the front door and walks back toward Austen’s house. I’m sure they have several more hours of discussing the problem that’s their youngest sister.

“Hey, sweetie,” Mom greets me when I walk in the door.

“Do you need something to eat?” That seems to be the only thing Dad can focus on lately. Apparently, I look undernourished.

“No thanks, I’m good. I’m heading upstairs.”

They nod. “Okay, then.” I don’t want to discuss Rand with either one of them. They obviously know there was a man involved, but none of us expected him to show up on the doorstep. That’s also something for tomorrow.

I climb the stairs to my room. My room looks like it did in high school. I should start taking down the posters of the Hemsworth brothers, the Jonas brothers, and the Sprouse brothers. I’m glad Rand didn’t have a brother in Arizona with him. I guess I have a siblings kink. Hmm, I’m not opposed. Oh my god, Brontë.

My body is desperate for that bath, but there’s something else I need to do first. I pull Rand’s business card out of my back pocket. This is the first time I have his last name. You better believe I’m going to do some hardcore creeping.

I open the laptop on my desk and run my finger over the trackpad. When a search window opens, I tap in his full name. Article after article pops up.

Very little of this man’s professional life has been left to the imagination. There are photos of him at social events, articles about his business, and information about his family life. No wife, thank goodness. He does have a ravishingly beautiful, yet somehow terrifying sister. There’s an article about the rising stars of real estate with a photo of Rand, his sister, and another man.

It only takes me a second to learn that Rand’s sister is Geneva and the other man in the photo is Peter Winsloe. What I don’t expect is that they are the power threesome that makes up one of the largest real estate development firms in the country. The company is owned by Rand’s father, Joseph, who heads up the investment side of the business.

The article also goes on to state that the company's total assets are estimated at… What? That’s more zeros than I can count. Okay, I can count that high, but damn. The value is in the billions.

Is he here only to make sure I’m not trying to trap him? What if he thinks I knew who he was before sitting next to him at the bar? Will his lawyers be the next people banging on our front door?

I slam the top of my computer closed. This information could be to my advantage. There’s a chance that I can work out a deal where I ask for nothing but the termination of his parental rights.

He looks like a busy man, he’s not going to want a kid. Or that’s what I’m telling myself anyway as I slip into the bath.

With a sigh, I rest my head on the back of the tub. Baths just aren’t as good since I read I’m not supposed to run the water too hot. No alcohol, no caffeine, no spicy foods, and now, some guy I barely remember here to cause problems. The first person who tells me I’m glowing, I’m punching in the throat.

* * *

RAND

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