“Have you spoken to her?”
“She’s texted.”
“And?”
I held the glass near my mouth. “And nothing. Unless she wakes up one morning and is no longer a Spade, she can’t fix the situation, and neither can I.”
“Do you think it’s worth having a conversation with Walter?”
I laughed. Which was exactly what I had done the last time he said something so fucking outlandish. “We’ve talked about this—and, no, I don’t.” I paused. “If you were in my shoes, would you?” I tried to think of a similar scenario, using one of his clients. “Would you request a meeting with Jerry Seinfeld to tell him you’re fucking his daughter?”
“Is she even of legal age?”
“Jo’s only twenty-two; she’s not that far off.”
He took a long drink. “Listen, if I couldn’t live without her, then yes. If she was a one-night stand, no. I’d move on and forget about her.”
“And if you lost Jerry as a client because of it?”
He smiled, but it was the kind of grin I hadn’t been prepared for. “I’m going to tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
“All right.”
“There is a whole world out there that doesn’t involve work. A world that’s more important than your clients and how much money they can make you.”
I exhaled. “I know that.”
“Do you?” His stare intensified. “I’m not so sure about that. From the way I understand it, you’d rather lose her than him.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?” He placed his arms on my desk. “Then, tell me what it’s like, Jenner.” He held up his hand as I tried to chime in. “I remember when things were at a standstill with Kendall,” he said, referring to his girlfriend. “You and Ford practically had a goddamn intervention. If you remember—and it seems like you’ve forgotten—Kendall was my client’s sister. Now, Daisy might have been a client I wanted to drop, but she was still a client at the time. I wasn’t looking to settle down, and you and Ford whipped my ass.” He adjusted his tie, his cuff links hitting the desktop when his arm landed. “That’s what I’m doing right now, whipping your fucking ass because you’re making a horrible mistake.”
“And you know that … how?”
“Because whenever you talk about her, you’re happy. You smile. You’re a different person. And after her trip to LA, you were the giddiest motherfucker in the world. You never act that way, and I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw that side of you.” He leaned back in his chair, taking his drink with him. “You’ve denied wanting a relationship with her, but no one believes that bullshit. She does matter, and you do fucking care.”
“Well, shit.”
I went back to the bar, grabbed the whiskey, and brought it to my desk. Since I’d finished my glass, I twisted off the cap and drank straight from the bottle.
“Someone’s looking to get drunk.”
I wiped my lips. “Not drunk. Wasted.”
“You think that’s going to help?”
I stared at my brother, honesty ripping at my chest. “It’s certainly not going to help, but it’s fucking necessary.”
And that became the theme for the next three hours until Dominick and I stumbled out of my office. My driver was waiting outside to take us to the restaurant where I’d told Ford to meet us since there was no reason to go back to my place—we needed food and much more booze.
“You’re both a fucking mess,” Ford said as Dominick and I sat at his table.
Fifteen minutes late.
We were lucky we’d made it here at all.
“It’s Jenner’s fault,” Dominick slurred. “He poured, and it continued to go downhill from there.”
“Downhill?” I chugged the water in front of me and then grabbed Ford’s water glass and drank his too. “Uphill, brother. Way fucking uphill.”
“What’s he saying?” Dominick asked Ford.
Ford shook his head. “It’s going to be a long night …”
The server approached our table and said, “What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll have whiskey—”
“He’ll have water,” Ford said, interrupting me. He then pointed at Dominick and added, “He’ll have water as well, and you can bring me a scotch. Make it a double.”
“We just got denied by our baby brother,” I told Dominick.
“Whose ass we had to fucking babysit when we were in Vegas,” Dominick said.
Ford slipped off his jacket and placed it on the back of his seat. “Sometimes, we have to sit out a round. When we get to the club, you can resume the whiskey drinking.”
“You’re taking this”—Dominick pressed his thumbs against his own chest—“to the club?”
“I might need to rethink that idea,” Ford admitted.
I nodded toward Dominick. “I’m not as fucked up as him.”
“Yes, you are,” they both said at the same time.
I laughed so fucking hard that I almost spilled Ford’s water.
The server returned with Ford’s drink and a basket of bread that I immediately reached for.
“This is delicious.” I moaned, chewing the sourdough. “What club are we going to?”
“Why?” Ford asked. “Is someone eager to hook up?”