Page 95 of Final Proposal

Ford

This is ridiculous.

It would be one thing if she gave me an all-out cold shoulder for whatever she’s pissed off at me about.

But she hasn’t.

We work side by side. We sleep side by side. We fuck . . . well, we fuck in all different positions that are anything but side by side.

Yet . . . something is off with her. And the only clue she’s given me was the whole comment about the biography and what I haven’t told her.

Not exactly sure I believe that.

When my phone rings, I look at the screen and groan. “I’m not in the mood for your shit,” I answer in greeting.

“Wow. Hello to you too,” Callahan says.

I take a step outside of the inn for some privacy away from the craftsmen crawling all over the place.

“If you’re calling to rehash the same bullshit Ledger called about yesterday—”

“Yes, but . . . for other reasons.”

“So, we’re back to good cop then?”

“No. I’m the brother who says you have a right to be pissed. Hurt. Whatever it is you want to be. But I’m also the brother who is going to give you a little tough love and say those things but also be part of this with us.”

My hand pulling down on my neck eases some. “What was that?”

“You heard me, you fucker. Being nice is a rarity so don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Why?” It’s the same question I asked Ellery weeks ago. I have a feeling this answer will be just as important to me.

Callahan’s sigh is heavy. “Because we’re the only family we’ve got and we don’t like doing this without you. Look, I’ll be the first one to admit Dad was a bastard at times. It’s not exactly like the two of us got along all the time . . . and yet, he’s still my dad. I still love him. Just like I know you still love him too.”

“Callahan . . .”

“I know. Believe me, brother, I know. But you’re letting what someone wrote—what someone chose not to write—come between the three of us. Mom would be fucking pissed at that.”

I stand in silence before emitting a long, drawn-out sigh and moving to a set of chairs just delivered for the café. “You know what’s the hardest?” I finally ask. “I know you guys know what Dad felt about us, but it’s embarrassing for other people to know too.”

He barks out a laugh. “Dude, the whole world knows what a fuckup I am. How I dropped out of Wharton. How I was a challenge who rebelled every chance I could and got in trouble more times than not. He even retold that story about how he caught me screwing that intern on the desk.”

“That was so bad.” I laugh. I can’t help it. And it feels so good to. “I forgot that was in the book.”

“Yeah. I didn’t. And neither did Sutton. Christ,” he mutters. “That was a fun one to explain.”

“Like she was surprised by it.”

“You’re right. She wasn’t. She knows my past.” He chuckles. “If you’re desperate for the world to see you, there’s always the leaked sex tape angle. That always works getting your name out there.”

“Fuck off.” But there is a smile on my face.

“Make one. We can have a housekeeper at your house accidentally find it and sell it to the tabloids. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”

“Like I said, fuck off.”

“Speaking of sex,” he says, completely unfazed, “you and her still good?”