Chapter Five
Garrett needed to talk to Shane. Not Dad, who didn’t know what he was up against, but Shane. But his older brother was nowhere to be found at the moment and not answering his text. In the meantime, then, Garrett needed to tell his father to stop trying to fix things, because he didn’t even know why they were broken.
In not so many words.
He entered the kitchen through the back door expecting to find his father there, sipping coffee, chatting with the housekeeper while she prepared sandwiches for the staff and guest lunches. But no one was in the oversized room, only polished butcher-block counters and a long, empty table.
He followed his instinct to the other side of the rambling house, glanced into the living and dining rooms, and checked the expansive family room where they gathered after Wednesday and Sunday dinners to hold impromptu company meetings.
But Dad wasn’t in any of those places. Finally, he headed down the hall to his father’s private office, finding the door closed, which was unusual.
So unusual, he didn’t know if he should knock or assume it was empty and continue his search. But he heard a voice on the other side of the door, muffled, with no response, telling him that Dad was on the phone.
He waited for a moment, then heard his father laugh.
“Well, that’s good to hear, Son. Keep me posted if your squadron goes on the move.”
Squadron? Dad was on the phone with Aidan? Garrett gave the door one quick tap to be polite, then pushed it open just in time to see his father hanging up the old-school landline he kept on his desk and insisted on using.
“Were you talking to Aidan?”
“Hello, Garrett,” Dad said. “Closed doors mean nothing, I suppose.”
Rusty got up from a nap in his dog bed and ambled over to Garrett for a sniff.
“About as much as the fact that I told you no journalists.”
He eyed Garrett, then gestured for him to sit. “I knew she’d tell you.”
He stayed standing. “Not soon enough.”
“I wanted her to wait until you got to know her. She is one very attractive girl, isn’t she?”
“First, she’s a woman. Second, she’s a journalist.”
“Do you have a problem with women and journalists?”
“I have a problem with being manipulated and interviewed.” He dropped into a chair, staring daggers at his father, but running his fingers through Rusty’s hair as the dog worked his nose over Garrett’s legs. “What the hell, Dad?”
“Garrett, she’s not some reporter off the street. She spent a lot of time here, she’s Molly’s childhood friend, and she deserves special care. I know you’ll give it to her.” He picked up a coffee cup up. “But she’s a pretty one. Always had such cute freckles. Ever notice?”
Yes, he noticed plenty. Until she started to sound an awful lot like a reporter. “Look, you know that after all those years in the spotlight, I’m not a fan of the media.”
“And you know that if this business is going to survive and thrive, we have to have some public relations.”
“Don’t act like that’s what you want, because she already told me you want her to write something favorable to counteract what’s been written before.”
“She did tell you everything.” He gave a little grunt. “But I do want coverage for Waterford. It’s good for our business.”
“We’re on social media, which is all we need in this day and age,” Garrett shot back. “Darcy’s brought in dozens of customers with that Instagram account she runs, and Gramma is a freaking blogging sensation.” Not that he’d ever understand how that happened, but once Molly’s daughter taught Gramma Finnie how to use a computer, it was all over. “We don’t need strangers digging up info.” He didn’t, anyway.
Dad slammed his elbows on his desk hard enough to startle Rusty, who’d dropped down to rest at Garrett’s feet.
“Son, you can’t spend the rest of your life trying to hide from your past. You built a company, you sold it for many, many millions of dollars, you made this family quite wealthy, and we’ve used those blessings to make people happy and dogs safe. That’s a great story, and it makes me inordinately proud.”
But if anyone dug too deep, it wouldn’t be so great and Dad wouldn’t be so proud. He looked down at his scuffed boots, but saw only the bright green eyes of a curious, warm, completely unthreatening woman who was probably very good at her job. But her job terrified him.
“It’s more than a reporter in our midst that’s bothering you,” his father said, always the most insightful human around for miles.
He looked up. “So, was that Aidan?” he asked, purposely ignoring the question. “I didn’t think he was able to get to a computer to email us, let alone call.”
“Well, he did.” Dad’s blue eyes, so much like the ones that stared back from the mirror every morning, shifted from sharply insightful to something a little softer, as they did when one of his kids was less than one hundred percent happy.
“Is he okay?” Garrett asked, his whole body tightening. Aidan was in constant danger over there.
“He’s fine, but you know.”
No, he didn’t know. He waited for more, silent.
“Your mom used to say you’re only as happy as your least-happy child.”
Many times, he thought. It had been his mother’s mantra. “So Aidan’s not happy?”
“He’s in a war zone,” Dad said simply.
“He could get out, you know,” Garrett said. “He’s hitting ten years.”
Dad snorted. “I know. And I reminded him how much he’s needed here.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t commit. But…” His father heaved a sigh. “A good buddy of his was badly injured in a skirmish last week, and it crushed him.”
Garrett closed his eyes, hurting for his little brother and fearing for him.
“Who got crushed?” Another man’s voice came from the hall, along with heavy, booted footsteps. Thank God, it was Shane.
“Aidan called,” Dad said. “He’s alive and safe, which is all that matters.”
Shane’s wide shoulders slumped as he walked in the door. “Wish that little bastard would come home.”
“He’s not a bastard,” Dad corrected.
“And he’s not little,” Garrett added. “When are you leaving for DC?” he asked Shane. “I need to talk to you.”
“I just got your text. I’m leaving now, actually.” He frowned at Garrett but instantly crouched down to greet Rusty with two hands. “Hey, big boy. Why aren’t you over in the kennels, Garrett? There’s a class getting assigned their training dogs any minute.”
“Do you remember Jessie Curtis, Molly’s friend when she was young?”
Shane screwed up his features. “Whippet Legs? Didn’t you feel her up once?”
Garrett shut his eyes in disgust.
“Well, don’t deny it, dude.”
“When did this happen?” Dad demanded, a flash in his eyes.
“A thousand years ago,” Garrett replied.
Dad gave him another good, long look. “So that’s why you don’t want her here. You have a little history.”
“Very little, and that’s not the reason.”
Dad pushed up from his seat, ending the conversation. “I know all I need to know. I have a meeting in town, and Shane, you better get on the road if you’re going to make it to the DOD this afternoon. They could be a big training client, Son.”
Dad came around his massive desk and put a hand on Shane’s shoulder on the way out. “Talk some sense into your younger brother here.” With a gentle pat on the back, he left the two men alone, his footsteps fading as he walked down the hall, Rusty hot on his heels.
“What sense do you need?” Shane asked.
“Common. Jessie Curtis is a journalist,” Garrett informed his brother through clenched teeth. Only Shane would know exactly why that was an issue. “She writes tell-all exposés for that ITAL site. Inside the A List or some such crap.”
“They have a TV show, too,” Shane said. “Biopics. I saw one on this hedge-fund billionaire who inherited a winery in Italy from his dead dad, and by the end, the guy was bawling like a baby because he met the love of his life. You should totally do that.”
“Are you out of your flipping mind? Or have you forgotten what we went through in Seattle?”
Shane thought about that, stabbing his fingers into his short brown hair and dragging it back. “Look, she’d have to be Pulitzer Prize quality to dig up your dirt. I made sure of that when I handled the legalities. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
Garrett stood. “Too late. I am. And Dad thinks a great story about me is going to mitigate the lingering effects of that Forbes story.”
“He might be right, but I think that’s ancient history. It’d be good PR for Waterford.”
“Also what Dad said.”
“I say do the interview. You know what she doesn’t know, and that gives you the upper hand.”
Garrett rolled his eyes. “Says the lawyer.”
“Says anyone with a brain. Haven’t you ever heard that you catch more flies with honey?”
“I’m not trying to catch anything.”
Shane hooted softly as they headed out. “No? Well, if she’s the one I saw out in the field, she looks good. From a distance.”
“She looks good close up.”
“Then I’m right. You should catch that honey and count your blessings.”
“She’s a journalist, Shane. You know why that could be a problem. I don’t care about me, but there are other people involved.”
That wiped the teasing smirk off his brother’s face.
“I made a promise, man,” Garrett said. “I’m keeping it.”
“I know,” Shane said. “But I’m telling you, stay on that woman, keep her close, and control whatever it is she’s doing. If you send her packing, you’ll look like you have something to hide.”
“Because I do.”
“I know that and you know that, but she doesn’t have to know that.”
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Suit yourself, Bro.” Shane punched his shoulder. “But a little action might put you in a better mood.”
“Screw you.”
“Not action with me.” Shane winked and walked out, leaving Garrett to stew.