The housekeeper came to take away their plates, at which point Tripp stood and picked up his newly refilled glass of wine. “Grant, care to join me in my office? I’d like to discuss a few things with you ahead of tomorrow.”
Over the last forty-five minutes, all of the wind from Grant’s sails had deflated.
Tripp walked around the table and placed a quick kiss on Reese’s head. “It’s always good to see you, honey. Congrats on the acquisition by the way.”
Her father was a real Sourpatch Kid as far as Reese was concerned, which was the most euphemistic descriptor she could find, and still, she hated the way she preenedat the praise.
What Reese wouldn’t have given to be the one asked to go into his office and talk shop. To discuss the intricacies of the hotel world in general, the changing markets and the influx of foreign money that had been littering the space for the last five years.
All she’d ever wanted was to learn from him, to sit at his feet, work by his side, and understand how to build something that would last.
But it hadn’t happened up until this point, and it sure wasn’t going to happen now. Not when her father was dead set on The Devereux Group’s future riding on the back of a man who Reese knew for a fact had gotten a tribal tattoo across his shoulder blades at the age of twenty, something he’d somehow managed to keep from their parents all these years.
Her mother poured herself another glass of wine, and Reese held her hand over the top of hers. “Your father’s under a lot of stress, Reese.”
“Lifeis a lot of stress, Mom. For everyone. I don’t think he should be given a special award for wanting to be in a position of power and then taking the responsibility out on other people.”
Her mother leaned closer, like she was sharing a secret. “You know your brother is challenging.”
“Yeah, and water’s wet,” Reese said with a sarcastic laugh. “It was his choice to groom Grant as his successor. This was the futurehewanted.”
“Your father’s just old-fashioned.”
As if that made it any better. Tripp Devereux wasn’t too old-fashioned to keep up with the changes in technology and travel expectations, but ask him to support a woman in a position of power and suddenly he was Barney Fife, looking down at his shoes all ‘golly wiz, shucks.’
“But you’ll come tomorrow?” Sharon asked, squeezing Reese’s hand.
For the first time that night, Reese really looked at her mom. She seemed… tired. Her makeup was done flawlessly, but her shoulders sagged now that they were alone, and there was a dullness in her eyes that tugged uncomfortably at Reese’s heart.
For all the difficulties with her family, Reese was the one who’d stepped away from her mother, not the other way around. “Are you doing okay, Mom? I’m sorry that Grant and I got into it at dinner. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Sharon waved her off and stood up, breaking the intimacy of the moment. “You know me, sweetie. Always another event to chair or fundraiser to organize. Add in Grant’s wedding, and there aren’t enough hours in the day.”
Reese cocked her head to the side. “Why are we hosting the wedding events? Doesn’t the bride usually do that?”
“Your father insisted.” Sharon rolled her eyes as if to say, ‘You know men.’ “He wants to make a good impression on Stan Fitzpatrick.”
“If it’s his choice, why are you doing all the work?” Reese asked.
Another wave from her mother’s perfectly manicured hand was the only answer she was going to get.
Reese stood up, too. It looked like the night was going to be blessedly short, though tomorrow was going to come too soon. “Well, just make sure you’re taking time for yourself.”
“I will.” Her mother walked her to the door. “You were always so driven. I’m sorry that your father doesn’t look at it the same because you’re his daughter.”
“Too much business is done in cigar bars and on golf courses,” Reese said, mocking her dad’s matter-of-fact tone when he said misogynistic statements like they were facts instead of opinions.
Her mother took both of Reese’s hands within her own. There was a whole extra level of physical closeness in the Devereux household tonight. “I’m proud of you. I know I don’t say it enough, and god knows I don’t understand half of what your software did, but I’m really proud of you, honey. And it’ll be nice to see Sydney again. I’m glad you’re bringing her tomorrow.”
There it was again, that invisible hand that seemed to wrap itself around Reese’s heart and squeeze.
She gave her mother a soft kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“On your best behavior,” Sharon said in a no-nonsense tone, slipping back into the person Reese had come to know over the last thirty-one years.
Reese waved back at her mom as she reached her car, not answering.
Five
