I have no idea why.
This is about Troy proving to his father what he’s capable of on his own, without his father always looking over his shoulder. It has nothing to do with me.
“Showtime,” Troy says and rolls his eyes.
Before I can ask what that’s about, he opens the front door. Uncle Jacob and his assistant step into the house.
“Hi, Kate.” My uncle hugs me and introduces me to Mark, his latest assistant. “I’d ask you how you’re doing, but I’m excited to see what you two have been up to while in this godforsaken town.”
Nope, my uncle hasn’t changed much. He’s very much a Beverly-Hills-is-the-only-place-that-matters kind of person—like the majority of my family. Even before his show became the success it now is, he was wealthy. The show’s success only increased his wealth tenfold.
Troy and I show him around, explaining what we did, the problems we faced, and the solutions Troy used to deal with them. During my years in private school and then in college, I had countless exams—both oral and written—but not once did I feel as nervous as I do now.
You shouldn’t be nervous, I remind myself.You smashed down a wall dividing the kitchen and living room. And you were kickass when you did it.
Noah even said so himself.
Sure, my manicure is a mess from the physical labor I did to help out—and from cleaning the stable. But it’s nothing my wonderful manicurist back home can’t deal with. I’ve already got an appointment with her for the day after tomorrow.
Which is a good thing, because Lucinda will freak if she sees my hands looking like this, since everything about the tea party has to be perfect.
My attempt to distract myself from my unexplained nervousness fails. It doesn’t help that Uncle Jacob has adopted the expression of a stone statue, not once giving away what he’s thinking.
And we’re not talking a happy Cupid statue—at least that would be a bit more reassuring.
He has the look of a statue who’s been pooped on by one too many pigeons.
“I wouldn’t have put the beam across the ceiling that way,” he says, pointing to the beam in question.
I catch Troy rolling his eyes.
“Where did you get the wood from?”
He nods as I explain where it came from and how Troy and I prepared it. He then tells me howhewould do it.
I’m not a hundred percent positive, but I swear Troy groans softly beside me.
And so continues the fun.
Every time Troy or I explain how we did something, my uncle tells us how he would have done it. Some of his suggestions are good, and I lock them away for future use. Others leave me mentally shaking my head.
On the bright side, he did agree with how Troy approached a few problems we had to deal with. So there’s always that.
I chalk it all up to a learning experience.
An hour and a half later, our tour comes to a close.
“By any chance are you interested in joining my team?” Uncle Jacob asks me. He couldn’t have surprised me more if he had transformed into a giant butterfly with googly eyes.
I look over at Troy. This was supposed to be about him proving himself to his father. It was never about me being part of the team.
My cousin gives me a slight nod of encouragement. Too slight to be noticed by his father, but not missed by me.
“It’s not something I had considered, but I might be interested.”
“Evie is leaving the show because she’s pregnant and wants to focus on her family.” Evie is the designer on the show. At one point, the tabloids had made it look like she and my uncle were involved—when they weren’t.
My uncle is happily married to my aunt.
