“Well, it’s a good thing you have one. A vagi . . . whatever. I’d hate to think I’d be this attracted to someone if they didn’t . . .” He laughs and his cheeks turn pink. It’s adorable and more than flattering to think he finds me attractive. “I just . . . let’s just say it’s my turn to stick my foot in my mouth.”
“We’re even then.”
“Yes. Sure. It’s the whiskey talking.” He takes a sip and lifts his eyebrows. “Where were we?”
“Talking about vaginas,” I say purposely to watch his reaction.
“Yes. How could I forget? Clearly, it’s of the utmost importance,” he teases. “Tell me about them.”
“Them?” I tease. “I assure you I have only one.”
“No. Not your vag—” He stops, that boyish grin back. “Brothers. Family. Those people.”
“Those people. Got it.” I chuckle. “There’s not much to tell. I took over my mother’s ownership of the company when she died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” I shrug subtly. But it’s not okay. I miss her dreadfully. Every minute of every day. But for anyone who mentions it, it’s okay.
“I know it is, but I’m also part of the Moms Who Have Passed Club so unfortunately, I know that it’s okay doesn’t always mean it’s really okay.”
I’m not used to such blatant honesty from a man. It’s welcome and foreign and makes the ring on my finger feel even heavier.
“I’m sorry for you too.”
“It’s okay.” His echo of my answer makes me smile.
“So much easier to talk about vaginas than this, right?”
His smile tells me he welcomes the levity. “So, Ellery, tell me all about the wicked stepfather and evil stepbrothers.”
I laugh this time and decide to explain it as best I can, when normally I’m known to just suck it up and hold it in.
“My real father died when I was nine. My mom remarried a very business-driven man with two sons of his own from a previous marriage. They started a company together doing remodeling, found moderate success, and when she passed away, her percentage of ownership was passed on to me.”
“I sense a but coming.”
“Nothing gets past you,” I say. “But they’re both assholes, vying for Daddy’s attention and approval.”
“Stepdaddy, right?”
“Yes, but it makes my life easier to just drop the step and not remind them that I’m not blood related.”
“And therefore, you are equal.”
“Exactly. Besides, they spend all their time hoping to be the one selected to take over dear old Dad’s ownership when he retires. Hell, everything I achieve they try and take credit for. Every idea I float out there is shot down only for them to say the same thing the next day, and it’s deemed the best thing in the world.”
“In other words, they’re misogynist pricks, and you’re living your own personal, modified Cinderella story.”
“Pretty much to the first and unfortunately, I am to the second part. In their eyes, I should just sit there, look pretty, and stay out of the way except to answer phones and get them coffee.”
“But that’s not what your mom did.”
“No. But they knew she trumped them in their dad’s eyes, and their shit would never fly. Now that she’s gone though . . .”
He snorts. “I may not know you well yet, but I can’t exactly see you accepting a subservient role.”
“Right?” I sigh. “It’s frustrating. Being a part of the company is my right. My mom helped build it. I want to help make it succeed . . . maybe it’s a way for me to remain close to something of hers. Just because I’m a woman—”
“With a vagina.”
“Yes, so we’ve established.” I chuckle, appreciating his attempt to lighten the conversation that somehow turned more intense than I expected.
“What is it about being a woman? I’m sorry. Please finish what you were saying before I cut you off.”
“No. It’s okay.” Why does his apology for having manners fluster me? Because you’re not used to men treating you with respect, perhaps? “But it’s not so much being a woman per se. It’s constantly being undervalued that’s the problem. Is it so wrong to have the desire, the want, to build something that’s truly my own? To have the chance to fail? To maybe succeed?” I blow out a breath in frustration, and when I look back toward Ford, there’s clarity in his eyes, an understanding that makes me feel heard in a way I haven’t felt in forever. “In a family business, much like you alluded to with your brothers and whatever happened tonight, it’s easy to get lost in the grand scheme of it all. The company’s day-to-day and overall success. My brothers’ needs to impress my stepfather so they get the biggest prize or pat on the head or whatever it is they need from him. I’m sick of being part of the noise. I want to be the one who’s making it.”
“Then make it,” he says matter-of-factly.
“It’s not as easy as you think it is.”
“Nothing worth wanting ever is, Ellery.”
There’s something about the way he says my name in his deep, hushed tenor that has me pausing for a beat to quietly sink into the sound of it.
“Take your chance. Shoot your shot.” He taps his glass against mine. “You might never know what could be if you don’t put yourself out there.”
I worry my bottom lip through my teeth as I pour more wine into my glass. He’s right. I know he’s right. And yet . . . the question is how?
There was the overhaul of the Carlton Hotel that I spent hours grinding out the details only to have the project handed to one of my brothers because I was needed elsewhere. And that elsewhere was reorganizing our job files.
There were jobs I’d negotiated and won to later be told the owners preferred a man to be the one in charge. A preference I knew was bullshit and resulted from a boys’ night out where my brothers wined and dined the project lead with his weaknesses—strippers and Wagyu steaks. No amount of fighting would change his mind after they were chummy together.
Not to mention the underhanded crap my brothers pulled. Telling me the wrong location or time for a meeting so I’d look flustered and unprofessional when I showed up thirty minutes late. Deleted emails that they somehow handled for me. Screwing up a construction schedule to prove I didn’t know what I was doing when I did.
And on and on . . .
So how do I step outside of my world to prove my worth, while staying in it? How do I, and I alone, bring a unique opportunity to the table of Haywood Redesigns to prove my value that my brothers can’t?
Leaning back on the couch, I put my feet up on the table and stare at the ceiling as a comfortable silence falls between us.
“Why did you brave Frank?” he asks. Alcohol is the culprit of the giggle I emit.
“Fred?”
“Whatever. Fred. Frank. Phil.” He waves a hand. “Why were you out here?”
“A road trip.”
“Just because?”
“I needed to clear my head. Make some decisions. Like I said before, stuff.”