The ache in his head began to throb. “Sure.”
Betzy’s shoulders drooped. “I miss him too. This is weird…doing the live show without him.”
“Yeah,” Duke agreed. “This sucks.”
James wasn’t sure which was nagging at him worse—his overworked brain, his aching heart, or the tired soul within him that longed to venture out and find where Winston had gone off to. He tore his gaze off his siblings and looked out over the crowd. “It’s his own fault he’s not here,” he growled under his breath.
“Maybe,” Duke said. “Depends on how you look at it.”
Well, someone was to blame, and James had blamed himself for far too long. He forced his mind back to some of the deals he’d been interested in. He’d spent hours going over the material submitted by tonight’s guests. There were a few gems in the bunch, one he was particularly interested in. He only hoped his siblings hadn’t seen the same hints of potential.
“You’re still hosting it this year though, right?”
It.Duke didn’t have to say whatitwas. Their annual celebration of Dad’s life—held on his death date—had been moved to the day marking Winston’s death. On the year James was supposed to host, no less.
James had no desire to throw a life celebration party for the brother who threw his life away, but he dreaded the backlash that would come if he canceled—better to become sick suddenly. Or come up with a last minute out-of-the-country business trip he couldn’t avoid.
Duke nudged his arm and repeated himself, drawing out the word into two syllables. “Right?”
James fought back an eye roll. “Right.”
The countdown started again, and soon they were back on the air. Milo introduced their first guest. James listened, watched, and nodded with feigned interest as Betzy, Zander, and Duke took turns grilling the owner/CEO about the failed state of her once wildly successful floral business, known for delivering hand-crafted stuffed animals with each bouquet. The business was leaking its profits due to one, frankly avoidable, overhead expense.
James figured Betzy would go for it. He knew what she’d do to salvage it too: toss the hand-stitched idea and wrap up each delivery with an original yet mass-produced piece instead. Keep the unique quality; toss the expense.
“James,” Milo prompted, “you’re awfully quiet tonight. Do you have anything to say before the lovely Mrs. Beddingfield accepts your sister’s offer?”
The question made him realize that his mind had drifted. “Uh, no. Just uh…” He shot Mrs. Beddingfield a look. “Betzy knows what she’s doing. You’ll be in good hands.”
That seemed to please the woman because suddenly she was hopping in place while stifling sobs. Nothing brought a person to their knees the way money did. Yet money hadn’t stopped James from dropping to his knees over the years. It hadn’t been able to save Winston, either.
He cleared his throat and forced his head back into the new contenders. A set of partners who’d gotten in over their heads with a shipping business. Zander grilled the partners enough to rattle the pair while Betzy softened the blow by pointing out their accomplishments. In the end, Duke offered to partner with them and see if they couldn’t breathe life back into the project with a new business plan. He’d most likely lose money on it, but Duke was always up for a good challenge.
And then came the deal James had been waiting for. A young inheritor who’d purchased a multi-million dollar company and run it into the ground in a record eighteen months. At first glance, it was a lost cause. But that’s what attracted James to it the most. His siblings would want nothing to do with it, leaving the door wide open for James to swoop in and snatch up the lion’s share at a low price.
The guy stepped onto the stage after Milo announced him. Dark, slightly messy hair, an unshaven face, and a familiar look in his eye. A look that resembled Winston to a haunting degree.
Whoa.
A hot streak of adrenaline ripped through his chest. Sweat broke out over his palms. Slowly, eyes pasted on the twenty-year-old kid, James drew in a steady breath, hoping to quell the chaos erupting beneath the surface. But all he could see was Winston and his bruised arms and uncontrollable ticks. The messy state of his penthouse. The ruined state of his life.
“Tell us about yourself,” Milo said as he shook the guy’s hand.
“My name is Peter Shultz, and I bought the multi-million dollar studio company called Snap Photography.” He ran a hand up the back of his neck and twitched. A twitch James would recognize anywhere.
Peter. Peter Shultz.Already James could see the name etched into a cold marble tombstone like Winston’s. He was on the same path; it was easy to see.
“I outspent our profits,” the kid added, “which put the company into bankruptcy—”
“Why?” James snapped, locking eyes with the young guest.
The kid twitched again, then rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, sir, what was that?” he asked.
Somewhere in the back of James’ mind, he knew this wasn’t his brother. But that fact was a distant blur compared to the telltale tics and dark, desperate eyes.
“I asked youwhy?”James shot to his feet, his recurring dream coming to life like a raging storm. Before he could stop himself, he bolted toward him until they were face to face.
“Whydid you run your life into the ground?” The storm raged on, and before James could stop it, he was reaching out, fisting the guest’s sweater in both hands. His pulse was loud, his crazed mind even louder, but still he heard the gasps from the crowd.
