Page 17 of Ariana's Hero

Chapter 6

CASH

He doesn’tlooklike he’s on drugs.

As Brett sits across from me in my office, I surreptitiously examine him for any of the telltale signs. Bloodshot eyes, dilated pupils, pale, unkempt, twitchy, perspiring, too heavy or too skinny. In the half dozen times I’ve seen him over the last ten years, he’s always displayed at least several of them.

Not today. Today, Brett is smiling at me—slightly strained, but expected for the circumstances—and he lookscompletely sober. His clothes aren’t all wrinkled and stained, like the last time I saw him five years ago. Now he’s shaven and tidy, his hair combed back in lines, his off-the-rack suit recently ironed.

Maybe he really does mean what he said yesterday. Maybe he genuinely wants a fresh start, and he’s not just here for money.

I hope.

“Cash,” Brett says earnestly. “It’s really good to see you.”

I lean forward in my chair. “You too.”

If he’s truly sober, it is.

Brett glances around my office, his eyes lingering on the large cherry desk, the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and the lush landscapes and seascapes decorating the walls. Then he leans forward and picks up the glass of water my assistant left on the table, taking a sip before speaking.

“It looks nicer than I remember when our grandfather was in this office.” His eyes rise to meet mine. “The entire building does. I remember it being very… stodgy.”

It wasn’t stodgy. It was classic and stately, all dark wood and lush carpeting and rich jewel tones. I only updated the interior design so we would seem more contemporary, modern, more in keeping with the digital age we’re embracing in the industry. But I loved how it looked before, in the days I came here as a teen.

My jaw clenches, and my tone is sharp. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember. You’ve only been here a coupleof times.”

Brett’s smile dips, his eyes darkening.

I feel kind of bad, but then again, I remember how hurt Pop was when Brett turned his back on him. How much it wounded Pop when Brett only called for money. And I remember the look of disappointment on Pop’s face when he was dying, and I had to tell him that Brett refused to come see him.

Why should I make this easy for Brett, when he never made things easy for us?

“You’re right.” His expression goes sheepish. “I screwed up. Big time. For a lot of years. Starting with how I treated you and our grandparents. But I’m ready to start over.”

Anger flares hot to hear him gloss over his behavior so easily. “You didn’t even come to see Pop when he was in hospice,” I snap. “You didn’t come to his funeral, or to Gram’s—”

“Cash,” he starts, but I’m not done.

“You didn’t want to work here, fine. Your choice. You wanted to live on your own instead of moving here. Also fine. But you turned your back on both of them. Fordrugs. And now you’re back, saying you want to work here. How do I know you won’t turn your back on your family again?”

Brett winces and sets his glass down. Putting his elbows on his knees, he leans forward, widening his eyes at me. “I know. I deserve everything you’re saying, and I’m so sorry. I can’t go back and fix it, but you’re still here, and I’m hoping I can try to fix things with you.”

“You can do that without working here,” I retort. “Why do you want to work here now?”

He looks at me steadily. “Because I’m trying to start over. I’ll be honest, with my background, it’s hard to find a job. Not many companies want to hire someone with a record. But if you just give me a chance…”

As he trails off, the sun breaks through the clouds, the light through the window illuminating fine wrinkles around Brett’s eyes and across his forehead. He looks older than thirty-eight, and he looks tired. Beaten down. And I can’t help feeling sorry for him.

“Fine.” I hold his gaze. “You can work here. But you’re going to have to start just like everyone else. I’m not giving you an executive-level position just because you’re my brother.”

His brow comes down, jaw tightening, but he doesn’t argue. “I understand.”

I sort through possibilities for him, not wanting to give Brett too much responsibility, but wanting him to learn the company. After a moment, I say, “You’ll start out as an editorial assistant. That will be a great way to get used to the company dynamic, and the industry.”

“Okay, Cash. That works.”

“And Brett—”

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