“Not anymore, no.”
“So throw your brother a bone and try to convince your father that Kieran deserves a chance.”
“You don’t know my dad. That wouldn’t go over well with him. He has clear expectations and rules for what success looks like, and me intervening on Kieran’s behalf isn’t in line with those rules.”
“Then break the rules,” Olivia replies as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “And hell, if you’re worried about what your dad is going to think, don’t come out swinging. Try it with a low stakes situation—like the toast. Tell your father that Kieran is going to do a great job.”
I raise a brow. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“I’ll take a compliment where I can find one, thanks.”
“Not surprised you’re good at this. You did always have a way with older men,” I reply smartly.
Olivia naturally picks up the double entendre—as I intended. She rolls her eyes. “Well, there’s got to be a silver lining to me having such bad daddy issues. But I don’t want to get into that. The important thing is that you figure this shit out with your brother.”
She has no idea how far we are from ever figuring our shit out. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s a good idea, but I’m not going to do it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, Olivia, the fact of the matter is that I don’t have any interest in making my brother’s life easier.”
She lifts an eyebrow and this skeptical expression crosses her face.
“What?” I question. “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing.”
“Not all of us have sweet baby brothers, Olivia.”
Olivia waves off my comment. “Charlie’s not a baby. He’s nineteen now, and he’s actually doing great. He’s going to Wash U and he’s grateful every time I try to push his own career along.”
“Well, it helps that you’re close,” I say, trying hard to ignore the beaming look she gets when she speaks about her brother.
“You and Kieran aren’t close anymore?”
“Not especially. After…well, after you and what he did in Amsterdam, I basically stopped talking to all of those guys. It was around the time that I starting focusing on getting my career here started, so it was a perfect storm.”
Olivia lets out a soft hum, her expression shifting into concern. “You don’t talk to any of them?”
“Not like I used to. Gray and I are good. I’m going to be in his wedding, actually, but that’s likely out of family obligation.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
“I don’t think that he and I were ever that close. We check in with each other, but he’s not the person I’d turn to for advice or anything remotely like that.”
“Didn’t you grow up together, go to college together…”
“It’s hard to be close to Gray Davenport. He’s exceptionally good at charming his way out of real, honest conversations. I genuinely think that the only people he truly cares about are Walsh and his fiancée Corinne. You should meet her, by the way. She works here.”
“You don’t think it’s risky to introduce me to someone who knows someone who was in Amsterdam?”
Her question immediately rattles me, partially because it’s true and partially because it’s a foregone conclusion that she and I can never be more that this—than a buyer and a seller, in so many words. Not that anything more would ever be on the table, but still.
Still.
Screw that. There is no “still,” and I have to chastise myself for being so naïve about this—for even letting my mind go there. I force myself to remember why I’m doing this in the first place. Redemption. Vindication. Motherfucking justice.
“Saturday night. My place,” I offer in response, changing the subject. “I’ll see you at eight.”
Silently, Olivia nods her head, annoyingly deferential in her response. I consider asking her why she’s like this—why the hell she’s so damn docile all of a sudden—but time is money, and the time I’m using with her right now isn’t the time I’ve paid for.
“Good.” I nod back because I don’t know what the hell else to do in a conversation like this. “That’s enough of that though. Let’s talk about synergies.”