Misconduct

I sat back down, straightening my tie and grabbing the remote. I turned on the TVs on the wall, a barrage of news stations coming to life and their chatter filling the room as I turned to my computer and jumped online.

Trying to organize my day to allow for more time for Christian was kicking my ass.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked.

“Where the hell are those deeds to that land in California?” I barked, ignoring him as I scanned my e-mails.

The lawyer was supposed to scan them and send them over, so we could get on the land, and I knew there were at least fifteen other fucking things I was forgetting to do.

“Corinne, get in here!” I shouted.

“All right, I’m outta here. I’ll take care of this,” I heard him say, holding up the speech I’d run through last night. “Is Tessa coming to the luncheon?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered. “She’s influential, isn’t she?”

“And Ms. Bradbury?”

I stopped, looking up at him and sitting back in my seat. How the hell did he know?

He smirked, shaking his head at me. “Give me a break, Tyler,” he scolded. “It was pretty clear you weren’t the one taking that picture of your breakfast, and judging by the sparks in your office last Saturday…”

He stood there, probably waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t.

Jay was younger, but I knew he never took it to heart that I was the boss. He liked working here and working with someone who took his bullshit.

Working together had never been a problem. Until now.

An average assistant would know their boundaries. A brother had none.

“Look,” he started, “I’m not saying you can’t —”

“That’s right.” I cut him off, nodding. “You’re not telling me anything.”

I let his expertise drive the invitations I accepted, the platform I created, as well as guide my campaign, but I would keep Easton separate.

It wasn’t that my brother didn’t have a right to ask. I just didn’t care to hear what I knew he would say.

“Tessa McAuliffe is our business,” I clarified. “Whoever I fuck is mine.”

I’d gathered in my short and limited experience as a father that being a parent was like tossing marbles up into the air and seeing how many would land in a shot glass.

I’d read enough and seen enough to know that kids could grow up in the worst hell and become valedictorians and doctors. Or they could be raised in privilege with two parents and Christmas trees stocked with gifts and still die of overdoses or by suicide.

One irrefutable fact about parenting that I knew even before I was one was that there was no “right” way. No set list of proven methods to follow if you wanted your kid to captain a submarine or conduct orchestras or be president.

If you pushed them to succeed, they could resent you. If you didn’t push them enough, they could still resent you. If you gave them what they needed, they would complain about not having what they wanted, and if you gave them what they wanted, they may only want more.

How much was too much? How much was too little? How hard should you push to be able to call it encouragement, because if you pushed too hard, they’d call it bad parenting?

How do they know that you love them? How do you know if they love you?

How do you know if they’re going to be okay?

I stared out the car window, watching Christian talking to a couple of girls, and there was an ocean of regret for the years I’d missed. I could tell myself that he’d turned out well. Maybe if I had been in his life, he wouldn’t have become this strong or confident, but I knew I was making excuses. I should’ve been there.

Easton stood at the bottom of the stone steps, smiling as she talked to a parent, her arms crossed. The students had just gotten out of school, and although Patrick usually picked Christian up, I’d decided to be here as well. I’d worked through lunch, even stopping Corinne from ordering food, so I didn’t waste time eating. I still had a few loose ends to tie up for the day, but I could get to that after Christian and I had dinner.

“Patrick?” I leaned forward and handed him a small black bag. “Would you please take this to Miss Bradbury?” I told him. “And hurry Christian up, please.”

“Yes, sir.” He reached around and took the bag, then hopped out of the car, leaving me alone.

I watched as he traipsed over to Easton, interrupting her conversation. Politely, I was sure, knowing Patrick.

She smiled at him, and the parent waved goodbye to her as she took the bag Patrick offered. Her face was a mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t place. Curiosity, maybe?

She knew Patrick, so she had to know it was from me. He bowed his head quickly, saying goodbye, and she dipped her head, peering into the bag.

I watched her, my heart starting to beat faster, and I had to remind myself that I’d see her Sunday.

She slipped her hand into the bag and picked out the small box. Opening it up, she plucked out the smoky gray Lamborghini lighter I’d stopped to buy on the way here.

Her eyebrows pinched together as she cocked her head, studying it. I almost laughed, because she looked intrigued but utterly confused. Easton, I already knew, wasn’t a woman who liked to be caught off guard, and I enjoyed gaining the upper hand this once.

She pushed the button and jerked a little, breaking out in a smile as the flame appeared. Reaching back into the bag, she plucked out the small white card and read my message.

Don’t set any fires without me, it read.

She smiled to herself, the genuine kind of smile she always tried to hide. I knew if I were next to her I’d be able to see her blush.