“Thank God for small favors,” Ward rumbles.
Nick throws him a withering look. “The point is, your reputation can be smoothed out. Just enough to show Winthrope we can do the job without him breaking a monocle or something.”
Ward scoffs. “Yeah, right. You heard him on the phone. He knows who we are. Hell, if Grandma wasn’t in the mix, he never would’ve given this firm the time of day. He’s not the type to pass out second chances. We have to prove ourselves on skill, talent, and service. Although, if he won’t give us a foot in the door, I don’t know how we—”
I burst out laughing.
“How is that funny?” Ward looks at me, his eyebrow quirked.
“I mean, it’s not. It’s just—you talking about people not giving second chances.”
“Okay?” His forehead creases.
I shrug. “Ignore me. I’m just an obnoxious drunk.”
Nick lets out a belly laugh and meets my eyes.
“I like you. Never stop giving him everything he deserves, Paige.” He looks at Ward. “Bro, you’re boxing yourself in. You can save this company. You just need a reset and an open mind.”
“Don’t you think I’d do it in a heartbeat if I thought it would work? Human beings aren’t fucking blueprints, Nicholas. You don’t just redo a bad design and go about your merry way.”
Our eyes meet, and I hate how I’m totally blushing again.
He may be a bosshole, but right now, his words are strangely profound.
“Ah, Ward, you’re such a drama king,” Nick spits. “If you’d just man up and get over her, you wouldn’t even need a reset. You don’t stomp around Chicago with your dick hanging out like I do.”
He’s trying to be funny, but there’s something kind of sad behind his self-deprecation too.
Oh, Nick. You poor, poor soul.
Ward stands. “Wrong. The breakup was public. She made me look like a damn—”
But Nick cuts him off. “It was two years ago.”
What? What was pretty public? I want to know.
I have no idea what they’re talking about, but two years is ancient history for anything short of murder. Did Ward get his heart busted up by some girl?
I step forward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but—”
“See? She doesn’t even know and she works for you.” Nick rips open another water bottle and starts chugging, his eyes narrowed at his brother.
“Uh, actually I was just going to say my best friend Brina’s husband, Magnus Heron, was a total buttwipe. The dude paid some chick to fake an engagement once so he could stage a big press conference. He always did outlandish things, marketing himself, but when he had to take over his company and look after his kid brother, he turned it around fast. There’s no way either of you can match that guy in the jerk department.” I shrug. “I mean, I’ve never had to hit either of you in the face with a pie.”
“Shit. Heron’s wife is your best friend?” Nick asks, sputtering on his water.
Ward chuckles like a crackling fire.
“I’m more interested in the ‘she pied Heron’ part.” He looks at me. “You really hit him in the face with a pie?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted it.
“Um, yeah. He kinda deserved it. Long story. I didn’t realize you guys knew him.” I don’t know why. Billionaires in Chicagoland are practically neighbors, unless one of them pisses the others off. “The point is, the press used to treat him like an arrogant ogre...and he was. But now? It’s all fluff pieces since the wedding and the stuff that went down with HeronComm. If he turned into Mr. Rogers in a year, you guys can too.”
“He’s married to a small-town girl who doodles cat and dog cartoons for charity shelters,” Nick says.
I scowl at him. “Brina’s from the burbs. She owns her own company, thank you very much, and those pet cartoons attract tens of thousands in donations to help animals find new homes. She makes serious money with her graphic art and only works part time.”
Nick shrugs. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Paige. Just that Mag’s a family guy now.”
The room goes silent.
“Don’t you get it?” Nick asks.
I shake my head.
“No,” Ward clips.
“That’s it. That’s how we get your reset.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you saying I need to wife some graphic designer?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Good, because every girl in our graphics department isn’t my type,” Ward jokes.
What is your type, Wardhole? But I laugh again.
He looks at me exasperated.
“What’s wrong with making art for a living?” I ask. “Jeez, for the grandson of two famous architects, you’re such a snob.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a snob. I suppose nothing’s wrong with cartooning as long as I don’t have to be involved with it, but why would anyone marry someone whose hobbies are as bland as porridge?”
“Oh, Brina, I’m sorry. I never should’ve mentioned you. I didn’t mean to get hung up on cute pet cartoons. It wasn’t the point.”