Chapter 32 – Pleasing the Boss

“Dad seems to believe so. My uncle Reynard seems to believe the same.”

“So he requires you to be here as an extension of himself.”

He nods before he answers. “It’s not a verbal requirement. It’s more assumed. We know we’ll be in the doghouse if we don’t attend. I’m sure I’ll face some sort of punishment for being late. Left out of Dad’s next thank-you speech or cut out of the next family press event or ignored on my birthday.” He considers for a beat. “Now that I think about it, I’m not sure any of those things are really a punishment.”

I have a sudden certainty that I understand him profoundly. “You need him to prove his love. Doesn’t matter what it’s worth. You can’t help yourself.” Much the way I keep needing Elvis to prove his love, despite him being clear that his love isn’t worth what I want it to be.

“My father doesn’t love,” he says coldly. “I don’t expect him to prove something he’s incapable of. That’s not what I’m after.”

“Then what is it you’re after?”

“Reason, I suppose. Incentive.”

“Same thing. Whatever you disguise it as, it’s always love.”

Hadrian turns his attention back to the art, and I have the distinct impression I’ve said something wrong.

I should let it go and not care, but sometimes I push too far, and that’s what I do now. “I wasn’t trying to pry. I’m saying I get it. That’s all.”

He acts as though he hasn’t heard me. “This photo I find fascinating.”

I look at the image hanging in front of us. It’s one of the only pictures with people in it—a lone woman in a swimsuit against the side of an Olympic size pool. It wouldn’t be that extraordinary if it weren’t for the expression on her face. Her eyes are sad, and she’s got the slightest frown on her lips.

“She should be happy the pool’s empty,” I say. “Crowded pools are the worst, especially if you’re training, which, considering the type of suit she’s wearing and the muscle tone in her body, she probably is.”

Hadrian shakes his head. “She wants to win.” Then he looks at me. “You can’t win if you’re the only one in the race.”

His interpretation is correct. I know it as soon as he says it aloud. I’m also pretty sure he’s telling me something about himself, about his need to gain his father’s love, but I’m not quite sure what it is.

Or maybe he’s telling me something about his father’s need to win. About his own need to win. How his father and uncles pit themselves against each other because that’s the only thing that motivates them to be better, and being better—being best—is the only purpose that has been instilled in them.

He surprises me again when he returns to our conversation. “What about you, Brystin? What is it you understand? Are you trying to win your father’s love?”

I shake my head vehemently. “My father was never around. Too busy being an addict.”

“So that’s why you’re married to Elvis—daddy issues.”

“I don’t have daddy issues.”

He glares at me like I’m being purposefully obtuse.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you not to try to examine my relationship with my husband. It’s none of your business, and whatever you think about it, it’s wrong.” More accurately, whatever he thinks is too close to right for my comfort.

“Doth the lady protest too much?” But he drops the subject and presents me with another as he steers me toward a new wall of photos. “Boring, boring, boring. All of this is boring.”

“How about you be bored by yourself for a moment? I need to visit the ladies’ restroom.”

“Need help? I’m happy to accompany you.”

This was more in line with what I thought he had in mind for me. I somehow feel more grounded with this topic. “I’m not blowing you in the ladies’ restroom, Hadrian.”

“That hadn’t been what I was suggesting, but now that you’ve put it in my head—”

I’m already stepping away. “I’ll return soon.” I let a smile play on my lips as soon as I’m facing away from him.

It stays there as I make my way toward the bathroom, only vanishing when I collide into a hard body suddenly in my path. “Oh, I’m so—” I look up at the obstacle and my stomach drops. “Elvis. What are you doing here?”

He’s dressed less formally than Hadrian, wearing an everyday business suit, which is why I hadn’t expected he was coming into this city for anything other than work when he’d left this morning.

Based on his expression, he’s equally surprised to see me. “I should be asking you the same thing.” He glances down the length of my gown. “This is new.”

Being here with Hadrian feels wrong. Feels secret, especially now that I realize that Elvis might have told Hadrian where I was today, but Hadrian didn’t tell Elvis his plans to bring me to this event.

But of course those feelings are ridiculous. This thing with Hadrian isn’t a clandestine affair.

“Just got it.” I force myself to turn and look toward Hadrian who is currently wrapped up in a conversation with someone I recognize from one of SNC’s New York stations. “Not purchased by me, though.”

Elvis follows my gaze. “Ah, I see.” But the wrinkle in his brow says he doesn’t see entirely. “Did he invite you here for any specific reason?”

Some juvenile part of me wants to run with that, let Elvis think something different about my relationship with our boss. I’ve longed for him to be jealous over me for years, and that longing is hard to put to rest.

But again, I force myself to be mature and transparent. “It wasn’t presented as an invitation. It’s not going to be a one-time thing.”

He seems to understand immediately, gleaning the full picture with only a rough sketch. “I realize that. Now.” He pauses before he says more, scrutinizing me with new eyes. “And you’re still okay with this?”

I’m even more irritated about the question now than when he’s asked it before, particularly because of how little he’s told me about his meetings with Hadrian this week. He could have told me he was coming to this event today. He could have invited me himself. If he didn’t know that Hadrian meant to have me come with him, then Elvis should have at least asked.

So instead of answering his question, I redirect. “How are negotiations going, anyway?”

“Good,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “Stuck on minor details, is all. Format, airtime, vacation days. Those sort of things.”

Almost identical to what Hadrian had said, which should be validating. Unless they’re both following a script.

Which is stupid.

I’m being stupid.

“Anyway,” he says, as though he’s said enough for me to be satisfied. “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to stop by today, show my support. Show we’re committed to the Seymour family.”

Show he’s committed to the Seymour family, he means. There is no we when he shows up on his own, and not for the first time as of late, I start to wonder if our partnership ranks after his own self-interest in priority.

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