Eight Brothers Fiancee (Love by Numbers 7)

I grimaced. “Come on dad, don’t talk about stuff like that.”

“I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about you, Harley. Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise, but Dante told me. You and Malia plan to get married while you’re here in Italy next week. Weddings are starting to become the theme of our annual family vacations, eh boys?” He let out a joyous laugh. “I can’t blame you. When I first came here, I didn’t look back. First you’ll get married here and next thing you know, you’ll want to live here.”

I could tell from the way Harley rigidified next to me that he had no idea Malia had such a plan up her sleeve. “Dad, I didn’t--”

“Oh, there they are! Harley and Huxley! The men who will take the Foxx Corporation to the next level!” It was as if someone had shot me straight through the head. Dante appeared in the frame next to my dad. Dante was a killer; ruthless if nothing else. If he was there in person to tell my dad about Malia and Harley’s ‘wedding,’ he was most likely in on whatever she had planned. “I can’t wait to see you marry my girl, Harley! She’s all a flutter. I decided to come down early and keep your old man company until the big day!”

My dad wrapped his arm around Dante’s back, flashing us a resplendent grin. “You hear that! If only my own sons would do that. We’re going to go for suit fittings tomorrow. Gotta look dapper for my son’s wedding!”

I side-eyed Harley and he looked like he was gonna pass out. I cleared my throat and put on a fake smile. “We’re looking forward to it! We’ll see you next week, dad!”

“I can’t wait to see you boys. Take care of things.” He was giddy, very unlike the dad I knew. He was probably so pleased he was going to be out from under Dante that he couldn’t think straight.

“We will dad, take care of yourself,” I responded.

He nodded and in a final, bone-chilling image, Dante reached forward and ended the call, making the screen go blank.

13

Alexa

I convinced myself that I was being silly to assume that Delvin invited me to his home for any reason other than to carpool to the club where his potential new artist was performing. I was really excited about the opportunity he’d laid out on the phone, to write an article about the artist and possibly do a story on the show if they signed him, so I may have sounded a little too eager when he asked me to come over. I had halfway expected the Foxxes to be throwing it at me from all angles once I was well enough immersed in the business, but they all seemed collectively distracted by something else.

I’d spent most of my time with Harley at the News Network, but I’d gotten time in with all of them. I was spending my mornings between the modeling agency and the event planning business helping Quentin, Keaton, Jett, and Rogan put together a series of fashion shows that were going to tour the entire United States to promote the companies themselves, and my afternoons were spent at Foxx Towers, either preparing for or giving my weekly newscasts. One night out of the week and every other weekend, I was at the record label, because they operated more in the evening. I was working with Delvin and Maverick to develop a couple of specific albums with some of the contemporary artists strictly for use in any Foxx marketing. If we have an entire record label, we shouldn’t be paying licensing fees for anything.

The Foxxes had been impressed with my work and made certain to tell me so, and I hated how, more than anything, I found it was me anticipating more from them than they were giving. They were exactly as everyone who I’d spoken to had said, kind, hardworking men. Go figure. Sure, Harley was arrogant, and Huxley was childish, and Quentin wasn’t trusting, and Keaton was aloof. And yes, Jett could be anal-retentive, and Rogan sometimes made me feel like I wasn’t more than speck in the this world. Delvin could be as manipulative as the Devil that went Down to Georgia, and Maverick had a Napoleon complex that made him difficult to work with, but I was beginning to see what Rogan had tried to tell me; they weren’t the men the media made them seem like.

My real question now was, if that wasn’t who they were, then who were they? All I saw of them was the business side. I was hoping that our trip to the club would prove to be a little more insightful for me. They’d gone from being men to avoid, to pure enigmas. I wasn’t working for the playboy billionaires that trended on Twitter, but I didn’t really know who I was working for. What were they all so distracted by? Why did it feel like at least one of them was with me every second of every day? Why had their interest in me dropped to zero when my interview process felt like it could go ‘casting couch’ at any second? More importantly, why did I care?