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When Thomas is done, I can only open and close my mouth like a fish out of water, unable to form the words needed to truly do my father justice.
A rare smile peeks through my brother’s sternness. “The great wise-ass Chase Moore is speechless?”
Laughing in spite of the situation, I return his smile. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
He gives me a minute before moving forward. “So what do you think of the first part of my plan?”
“What? Pretend to hate both you and Stan until you can convince him to sign over control of Moore’s to you, legally this time?” I pretend to contemplate the idea. “Sounds doable.”
“Should be easy for you.” He fixates on fiddling with the papers in front of him. “You just have to keep acting like you always have.”
A pain pinches at my chest. We both say nothing for a while. Finally, I stop being a jerk about it. “But you know…”
“What?” I can hear a hopeful note in his tone, and it enables me to keep going.
“It would only be acting. Not, uh, how I really feel.” I run a hand through my hair. “About you, I mean.”
He just stares at me.
My exasperated sigh ruffles the paper on the table. “I’m saying I don’t hate you, man. Don’t make it weird.”
Thomas puts on his best superior face. “Yeah. I’m making it weird.”
Shaking my head and laughing again, I wonder at how I got here. To actually talking to my brother. To liking him.
It’s then that the papers in front of me come into focus. “Wait. Why does this say Warren and Baron? King Marketing created this ad.”
Sobering, Thomas turns the ad mock-ups so they face me. Multiple mock-ups with the Warren and Baron letterhead above each. And the step-by-step marketing strategy Bell and her team were working on. A sick feeling settles in my gut.
“What the fuck, dude?”
Sighing, Thomas brings me up to speed on Bell’s sacrifice.
Shocked stupid, I can only blink at the papers in front of me. “She did all this for Moore’s?”
“No, you idiot.” Thomas collects the papers, breaking my stare, and stacks them neatly to the side. “She did it for you.”
Guilt, self-pity, and hurt get swept aside by a rising tide of panic. “I… I fucked up.”
“Yes.”
“I need to go see her. Talk to her.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus, man. Be more helpful than just agreeing with me all the time!” I run my hands through my hair. “I need some advice here.”
“You want advice?”
Feeling hopeful the Golden Boy will have some nugget of knowledge, I nod vigorously.
“All right, then. Here’s some advice. Don’t call me dude.”
I stare at him, debating whether to break his nose or laugh. The corner of his mouth twitches, and I go with the latter. “Fuck you, man. Not helpful.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He stands. “Just go get her.”
I stand too, once again knocking all the papers to the floor. “Uh…”
