Page 20 of Austin

“Bullshit,” Bryce bellows.

I nearly jump out of my seat. “Tanner would never sign off on that. He knows what this company meant to our mother, and he’d rather die than let you take it apart.”

“Austin, honey”—she has a condescending tone—“your mother has been dead for eight years. It’s time you stopped the charade that she had anything to do with the success of the company. Marina Sexton was the face. Edward Sexton is the brains.”

My blood boils, and the simmering rage has just turned into a blistering inferno.

“Our mother built this company from a local quarterly magazine into a billion-dollar empire,” I shout. “She drove from door to door, making deliveries when no one would invest in her dream. She gave up everything to make a magazine that everyone else said would fail. She drove her damn car off a cliff on her way to make an advertising deal. Don’t you dare say she was just a face. Marina Sexton was the smartest, most driven woman to ever walk this earth.”

I can feel the heat simmering under my skin, and my finger throbs from the way I pounded it against the conference table with each word of my statement.

Bryce rises and glares at me. The same terrifying glare our mother used to give us when we were out in public, and she wanted us to stop fighting with each other. He might be a replica of our father, but when he tilts his head and raises his brows in that way, he is all Mom.

He hates when I lose my cool in front of Missy, and so do I.

I run a hand through my hair and push it back. As I take my seat, I look over at Pyle. Those hazel eyes are glassy, and that bowed mouth has slightly dropped, as if she is surprised by my outburst.

Welcome to Sexton Media, sweetheart.

Bryce sits back down as soon as I’m in my seat.

Missy seems pleased with herself for chancing such a rise out of me. She looks my way and gives a closed-mouth smile. “As I was saying, Edward is tired from two decades of hard work. He wants to retire.”

Bryce makes a mock laughing sound. “Retire from what? Daily rounds on the golf course and afternoon naps in the steam room?”

“You’d better watch how you talk about your father, young man,” Missy states in a steely voice.

“Young man?” Bryce snickers. “Missy, you’re a year younger than me.”

She flippantly dismisses the comment. “We’ve already discussed this, Bryce. Your father and I are selling the company. Here are the financials for the acquisition.”

She pulls out two booklets from her binder and tosses them down on the conference table toward Bryce and me like she’s slinging a shot across a bar.

As I open my booklet, I look at Bryce, who’s giving me an I told you expression. I clench my jaw and thumb through the pages.

“You’re looking at those rather quickly, Austin. If you’d like, I can explain the figures to you,” Missy says, causing me to glare at her.

“Our digital revenue is three hundred fifty million, the online revenue from the news operation in three hundred eighteen million, and our reach across our fifty websites is forty-one million unique visitors per month,” I quip, making Bryce look at me with a raised brow. I turn to him. “I’ve been reading the financials since I was thirteen years old. You just assumed I didn’t know basic math.”

Bryce laughs lightly to himself but then morphs right back to his pissed-off face.

I toss the booklet on the desk and rise. “Doesn’t matter how good those numbers look. We have enough money to afford anything we want. This company is worth more in memory share and heart than what’s in that thing,” I say, motioning to the booklet that would make us billionaires.

Pyle is staring at me again with these big doe eyes, and I can’t fucking take it.

Why the hell did we think it was a good idea to have assistants in here again?

Missy leans forward, her steady glare beading up at me. “Sit down, Austin. We’re not done.”

I’m not about to listen to her, but Bryce gives me the nod to sit down. I shake my head but do as he requested because we are the only team here, and we have to be a united front.

Stefanie leans forward and whispers into my ear, “Would you like me to get you anything? Perhaps a stiff drink?”

I look over my shoulder and see her leg is bouncing like a basketball. “No, thanks. If you want to get out of here though, it’s okay.”

“I’m good,” she says and sits back in her seat. “I got your back.”

With a sideways grin, I tell her, “That’s my girl.”