He chuckled, warm and shrewd. “My family. My kids. My grandkids. Their future.”
“Exactly,” I replied with a tight smile. “My grandparents, my brothers—they’re everything to me.”
Didn’t that count? Wasn’t that enough to make me a family man on paper?
“Tell me about your family,” he pressed, clearly losing interest in my team’s polished pitch.
“I don’t bring my family into the boardroom,” I said simply.
Which was true. My family was the one thing I kept separate from the noise. Sacred. Untouched.
Mr. McConnell stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Well, Mr. Brooks, this deal is motivated by family, so it matters. I reckon I’ll need to take this proposal home. For me, it's a family decision. You understand.”
I swallowed the frustration clawing its way up my throat. I didn’t just want his money, I needed his name. His signature alone could open doors, get the right contractors, the right city permits.
“I understand,” I said, managing a clipped smile. “The timeline’s flexible.”
He stood and shook my hand, firm and slow. My team shifted uncomfortably behind me, trying to mask their disappointment. I should’ve said something right then. Should’ve told them it wasn’t their fault. That it was mine.
But instead, before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth and made everything so much worse.
“If you need anything,” I said, “I’ll be spending time with my fiancée. She’s been wanting me to be more involved with the wedding plans, but I always tell her I’d marry her tomorrow, right here in this board room, if she’d let me.”
The words dropped like a live grenade.
Silence.
Eyes widened.
My team stared like I’d grown a second head.
Mr. McConnell blinked.
Fiancée?
Wedding plans?
What the actual hell, Westley?
To his credit, Mr. McConnell recovered first, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, congratulations. I look forward to meetin’ her.”
I mumbled something resembling thanks and bolted. I crossed the hall, slammed my office door, and paced like a caged animal.
The intercom buzzed twice, but I didn’t bother answering. Then, without knocking, Hattie, my longtime assistant and the only person brave enough to deal with my moods, marched in.
“Mr. Brooks,” she said calmly, “Mr. McConnell would like to schedule a dinner. With you. And your... fiancée?”
She was definitely asking more than one question.
“Do it,” I barked, waving her off before she could ask the ten thousand questions for which I had no answers. “Best restaurant in town. Book it for when he’s back.”
As the door clicked shut behind her, I dropped into my chair and rubbed my face as if that would somehow erase the disaster I’d just created.
Then I pressed the intercom.
“Hattie, tell Hugo to ready the chopper,” I muttered. “I need to be in Harmony Haven. ASAP.”
After dinner, I stepped out onto the back porch with a glass of iced tea I didn’t ask for, but was somehow always handed. Grams had gone to bed early, and Gramps joined me out on the porch, settling into his favorite chair like he’d been waiting for that exact moment. The one where he could give me another speech about how much I suck at life.
