Page 48 of Final Proposal

“I might be busy here. I’m not sure yet since we’ve just started.”

I already know the look on my brother’s face right now, and the way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek as he contemplates how to control a situation he has no control over. It has to be killing him. “You’re really going to miss it?”

I shrug, not that he can see. The last thing I want is to go to the book launch party for the biography. As it is, I can’t escape the hype of it. It’s everywhere. Inquiries for interviews or requests, comments to use as a lead-in for an article.

Why do they need us to promote it? Isn’t my father and his success enough cause for intrigue? I mean, there is the whole incredibly handsome and successful triplets thing going for us of course.

But no.

It’s because people are obsessed with money. Nothing captures an audience more than a family dynasty, and the drama that comes with it.

And I refuse to contribute to the family picture I fear they want to paint.

“I said I don’t know. If that’s not good enough for you, I don’t know what is.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“You’re one to talk.” I chuckle.

“Look, I know you’re still bothered by Just Ford. I can’t change that. I wasn’t going to tell you until I knew for sure, but I did reach out to the biographer and ask him if we could have copies of all of Dad’s taped interviews.”

“What for?”

“He has over fifty hours of tapes. I thought it would be cool to hear new things about Dad in his own voice. Things we might not have known. Have something to help keep him alive for our kids someday.” When I don’t say anything, he continues, “We don’t have much of Mom so I didn’t think it would hurt to ask.”

“Smart.” My throat feels like it’s constricting. Will tapes only prove I was just a bystander in this family in my father’s eyes? “Hey, I’ve got to go.”

“So the launch party?”

“Ask me next week.”

When I end the call, I’m antsy. Unsettled. Not used to the confines of this small hotel room, I need some fresh air.

But haven’t I felt that way all day even when I have been in the fresh air?

Ellery.

Isn’t that what prompted my restlessness? This . . . irritation?

There must be a simple answer to why she cancelled the dress fitting. Her lack of explanation only served to muddy the waters even more.

Desire is a son of a bitch when you can’t act on it.

A run. Some exercise.

That’s what I need to clear my head. The ocean. The moonlight. Some exertion. Distance from her and her perfume that I catch whiffs of every now and again.

It’s been less than a week here, and I already feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I knew I wanted her. I knew it would be tempting with her so close. What I didn’t know is that it was going to be absolute bedlam to my system every time she gets close to me.

Talk about torture.

I fling open the door to my room and head out into the hallway. I reach the corner and pull up when I come face-to-face with Ellery.

She’s standing there, face scrubbed fresh from makeup and hair piled on top of her head. She has an oversized sweatshirt on that’s lopsided, exposing one shoulder, and a pair of tiny shorts that display her killer legs.

Yeah, desire is definitely a son of a bitch.

“Hi,” she says, her smile sheepish as she takes a bite of an ice cream bar.