Chapter 4: Real Regrets: Chapter 3

Asher Cotes and Isabel Sterling jump apart as soon as I enter the executive floor’s break room to grab a sparkling water from the fridge. Since they were only standing about a foot apart to begin with, I take their mutual jumpiness to mean they’ve spent time together in even closer proximity.

I couldn’t care less if they’re sleeping together. My father—and Crew—would be another story. Kensington Consolidated likely has a non-fraternization policy, but since dating an employee has never been so much as a passing thought in my mind, I don’t actually know if we do or not. If it’s not explicit, it’s certainly implied.

“Morning, Oliver,” Asher says easily, tucking a hand in his pocket and leaning back against the wall. His expression evens as he regains his usual, relaxed composure.

“Morning,” I respond, striding over to the glass-fronted fridge to grab the chilled water I came in here for.

“Good Friday so far?” Asher asks, the casual smirk that’s normally a permanent fixture on his face appearing.

Cool air chills my face as I grab a glass bottle from the neat line of waters before shutting the fridge door. “No major complaints.”

“I’m hearing good things about Thompson & Thompson.”

I nod before twisting the cap off my water and taking a long sip. Bubbles burn my throat as Asher attempts more small talk. I’m guessing he’s trying to distract me from Isabel.

“Ready for the Henderson pitch this afternoon?” he asks me.

“I won’t be there. I’m leaving for Las Vegas in a couple of hours.”

Asher’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead until they’re nearly to his hairline. “You’re going to Vegas?”

Irritation sparks in response to his incredulous tone, so I address Isabel in response. “That’s what I just said, no?”

She nods and clears her throat, smoothing the unwrinkled fabric of her dress. Wisely opting to say nothing.

If she and Asher are actually involved, I’m surprised. Asher is competent in his role, but everyone knows he works here because of Crew. In contrast, Isabel is ruthless and motivated. Every project we’ve worked on together, she’s impressed me. I wouldn’t have guessed she’d be willing to possibly sacrifice her professional reputation for a fling with a colleague. And I wouldn’t have guessed Asher was willing to overlook the obvious crush she had on Crew when she first started working here. I always figured he avoided women interested in Crew, the same way I do.

“Enjoy your…break.” I cap my water and head for the door.

Employees scatter out of my way as I stride back down the carpeted hallway toward my office. I have a dozen tasks to take care of before leaving a long list I’m sure has grown in the past few minutes.

My hasty steps falter when a familiar voice calls out my name.

I look over at Scarlett, and so does everyone else in the immediate vicinity. My sister-in-law saunters toward me purposefully, ignoring the many stares she’s attracting.

There’s no trace of the casual attire she was wearing last night. Scarlett looks every inch the successful billionaire she is, dressed in a tailored wool coat. Her dark hair is pulled up in a high ponytail that swings with each confident stride, the red-bottomed heels she’s wearing not slowing her down.

I pause in place, my grip on the glass bottle tightening as I experience a flicker of uncertainty.

I’m never quite sure how to act around Scarlett. She has an intimidating presence, but it’s more than that. I spent years thinking I would marry her. She represents part of the future I expected to be living right now.

“Morning, Scarlett.” I lean forward and kiss her cheek, hyperaware of how this hallway is lined by glass offices.

“Good morning, Oliver.”

In public, Scarlett and I are unfailingly polite around each other. In private, we don’t have much of a relationship at all. Most of our interactions are performative.

“Crew’s office is the other way.”

Her humorless expression shifts, revealing a glimmer of amusement. “I know. I was headed toward yours.”

“Oh?” I incline my head, masking my uneasiness. That’s another thing about Scarlett. Her poker face is as good as—better than—mine. I rarely have any idea what she’s thinking, and now is no exception.

“I wanted to thank you,” Scarlett says. “For last night.”

“Oh.” I break eye contact and tug on my tie. The knot suddenly feels too tight and restrictive. Uneasiness has turned uncomfortable as we move into totally foreign territory. I’m from a pretend it never happened family, and my guess is the Ellsworths were like that too. “All I did was get him drunker.”

Scarlett’s signature red lips quirk upward. “You did more than that. You were there for Crew. That means a lot to him. And…to me.”

The last two words are tacked on after a pause.

Another one follows them.

I have to clear my throat twice before speaking, and my response still comes out gruff. “Anytime.”

“Don’t you have a fashion empire to run, Mrs. Kensington?” Asher’s teasing voice interrupts.

I startle, having completely forgotten we’re standing in the middle of the hallway.

Scarlett tightens the belt on her coat before she glances over at Asher approaching us. It draws my attention down to her flat stomach. I wonder if she knows Crew mentioned the pregnancy to me.

He’s the convoy for most information between us, the source of what I hear about Scarlett and what she knows about me, and it’s belatedly occurring to me that our relationship could be more dimensional.

“Surprised to hear you mention hard work. I thought that was a foreign concept to you.” Scarlett sends Asher a sweet smile.

He chuckles in response. “Just here to keep Crew company while he takes over the world. He’s in a meeting with Arthur, at the moment.”

Something ugly and unpleasant curdles in my stomach. I should be used to getting cut out by now, but it stings every single time.

“I know,” Scarlett replies. But she’s not looking at Asher. She’s focused on me with an intensity that makes me think she noticed my reaction.

Crew has always tiptoed around unequivocally becoming our father’s favorite. I know it’s because he knows Candace is a touchy topic. Scarlett’s piercing gaze seems to see deeper than that, down to the other reasons it bothers me so much.

“Did you hear that Oliver is headed to Vegas?” Asher chuckles, still finding the trip funny.

Scarlett nods, then glances at me. “Garrett Anderson’s bachelor party, right?”

“Right.” Crew is a more detailed messenger than I thought. I wasn’t expecting her to know that.

“You’re friends with Garrett Anderson?” Asher asks. He sounds surprised, and a little impressed.

“We went to college together,” I say.

Friends is a term that’s thrown around loosely among the elite. A way to signify alliances or hint at insider knowledge. Truly the personification of keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Garrett Anderson is someone I actually consider a friend. Aside from Crew, he’s the one person I would attend a bachelor party in Las Vegas for. Asher was in charge of planning Crew’s bachelor party, and we ended up at a rock-climbing place. It was about as terrible as it sounds. Strippers and gambling aren’t my scene either. But Garrett called to invite me personally, so I agreed to go.

“You guys must be pretty close, if you’re flying to Vegas.”

“Chase planned it.”

“Wait. Chase…as in Chase Anderson? The hockey player?” Asher asks. “You’re partying in Vegas with Chase Anderson?”

“Yep,” I confirm. “I suggested we go to a rock gym instead, but he thought that sounded lame.”

“Fucking hilarious, Oliver.”

Scarlett’s red lips twitch. I forgot she was at the start of Crew’s bachelor party. After she stormed out shortly after we arrived, Crew sulked for the rest of the night. Saying the “party” was a disaster is an understatement.

The elevator doors we’re standing next to ding and open. My father steps out, with Crew right behind him.

They’re an intimidating pair. A king and his chosen heir. An emperor and his successor.

The only difference between them is that Crew’s stoic mask drops when he sees our small group, and Scarlett, specifically.

My father’s stoicism never wavers. He’s never learned how to appreciate someone for more than how they benefit him. Not even a nod of acknowledgment is aimed our way. Probably because I’m part of the group.

“Get me updates on those projects by noon, Crew.” That’s all my father says before continuing down the hall toward the largest office on the floor.

“Okay,” is Crew’s reply to his retreating back.

He’s fully focused on Scarlett, who’s mouthing something to him that makes Crew grin and shake his head.

Crew looks to me next. My expression remains blank. I know exactly what he’s testing me out for, and I have no interest in reacting.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” I reply.

Crew appears unsure what to say next.

“I’ve got a meeting. I’ll see you at lunch,” Asher says. He glances at me. “Have fun in Vegas, man.”

“Thanks.”

Crew is whispering something to Scarlett that makes her smile and shake her head.

They look like a happy, normal couple, with no trace of the stress that was on display last night.

Crew and I share the same parents and the same upbringing. Yet Crew somehow managed to do what has always felt impossible for me.

He let someone in.

I always expect the worst from people. Often, they deliver. They try to use me for my money or my name. My connections or my favor. When you’re always looking for duplicity, it’s easy to spot.

But I don’t think there’s anything Scarlett could do that Crew wouldn’t forgive. He fought for her even when evidence was damning. I’ve never been able to figure out where that confidence came from. I’ve never experienced that surety.

“I have to get to a meeting.” Scarlett smiles, pats Crew’s chest, then glances at me. “Have a good trip, Oliver.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

I’m expecting Crew to follow Scarlett over to the elevators, but he remains by my side after giving her a quick kiss goodbye.

“He wants a Thompson & Thompson update.”

When I glance over, Crew is staring straight ahead. Everything about his body language is now uncomfortable—his tensed shoulders and tightened jaw and rigid arms. We both know where arguing with Arthur Kensington leads—nowhere.

“It’ll go through.”

“I told him to ask you himself.”

“And here you are, asking.” I sigh when Crew manages to look even stiffer. I wish he’d stop trying to bridge the divide between me and our father. The outcome never changes. “It’s my shit, Crew. I’ll deal with it. And I’ll have someone from the team contact you if it’s finalized while I’m out of town, so you can tell him.”

I catch Crew’s nod before I continue down the hallway toward my office. My secretary, Alicia, is missing from her desk, so I make a mental note to tell her to have Crew cc’d on all the Thompson & Thompson emails going forward. He can break the happy news to dear old dad once the deal is done.

Predictably, emails piled up during what I planned on being a brief water break. I sift through everything unread. Approve three proposals and draft a memo. Answer two phone calls, and then realize I have to leave if I’m going to make my flight.

My luggage sits in the corner of my office, piled neatly next to the leather couch. I’m flying commercial to Vegas since my father has the company jet reserved. I have no idea where he’s flying or why. He might have placed a permanent hold just to keep me from using it.

I’m sliding a few packets of papers that I’m planning to review on the plane into my briefcase when there’s a firm knock on my door.

“Come in,” I call.

I glance up, expecting Alicia, but Crew is the one who walks in. Twice in one day with no meetings together is practically a record. He shuts the door behind him and strolls toward my desk, hands deep in his pockets.

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to sin city by now?” he asks, pausing to spin the giant metal globe that sits next to the bookcase before continuing toward my desk.

“I’m about to leave.”

He glances at the papers I’m holding. “Don’t forget to pack a few weeks’ worth of work for your Vegas weekend.”

“I’m not packing much,” I lie, quickly shutting the briefcase.

Crew’s grin is knowing. “Uh-huh. Celeste has been camped out in the copy room with Alicia all morning, making sure you have the latest Isaac Industries report along with everything else you requested.”

“I didn’t ask your secretary to help mine.”

Crew shrugs, glancing out the windows behind my desk, which offer an impressive view of the city’s skyline. “I’ve been distracted this morning. Not much else for Celeste to do.”

“I wasn’t sure what I’d need to prioritize, so I figured I’d bring it all,” I admit.

“Knowing you, you’ll finish it all.”

It’s meant to be a compliment, but it also pricks. Despite knowing about my biggest mistake, Crew has complete confidence in my ability to accomplish everything. He knows Kensington Consolidated is my whole life. I have few friends. No girlfriend. No pets. No hobbies. Not even a plant to take care of.

I have no idea how to take time off from work. To be not thinking about the million and one tasks piling up whenever I’m doing anything else. I sleep, I work out, and I work. Everything else is handled for me. Groceries are delivered. A cleaning crew comes through my penthouse once a week. Alicia handles managing all my travel and appointments.

My life is both privileged and pathetic.

“Someone needs to review it.”

“Someone will review it. It doesn’t have to be you.” Crew shakes his head, smiling a little. “You’re doing the jobs of three people right now, Oliver.”

I prod the inside of my cheek as I lock my computer and grab my briefcase off the desk. “You’re putting in the same number of hours.”

Crew shakes his head. “Not even close.” His voice softens. “Look, I know you want to prove that you’re—”

I interrupt. “I really need to get going.”

“Yeah, of course. I just wanted to say…thanks. For last night. Sorry I was kind of a mess.”

I don’t tell him it was kind of…nice. That if he’d stayed longer, I wouldn’t have hated it.

“Things are okay with Scarlett?”

A brief flash of surprise crosses Crew’s face in response to the question. It makes me feel like total shit. Because, yeah, I don’t usually ask. I listen to what he tells me about his family, but I don’t usually participate or ask any questions.

“Yeah. We’re good. We just both needed to freak out a little.”

“Good.”

Crew’s smile turns boyish. He rocks back on his heels, hands back in his pockets. “I’m hoping it’s a boy,” he confesses. “I’m not sure I’ll make it through Lili’s teenage years as she is. She’s a mini-Scarlett.”

I smile. “Just don’t name him Arthur Jr.” Our father doesn’t deserve the same honor our mother did.

Crew’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “I wouldn’t, Oliver.”

I’m surprised by the steel in his tone.

I know he hates how the deterioration of my relationship with our father has come at the benefit of his own. Our father used to vacillate between favorites, constantly making us fight for his favor, but now Crew is firmly planted in the number one position.

But it’s my own fucking fault. Because of one moment when I said yes, simply because I knew anyone I’d ever met would have bet I’d say no. Crew’s sympathy—his solidarity—doesn’t feel deserved.

I walk toward my luggage. I’m cutting it even closer on departure. “I need to get going.”

“Yeah, sure. Fly safe.”

“Thanks.”

“And try to have a little bit of fun.”

I force a smile in response. Aside from seeing Garrett, I’m already dreading everything about this trip. “I’ll try.”

Alicia is seated at her desk when I emerge from my office. Her graying hair is tucked away in a neat bun, but she smooths the strands as I approach anyway. “Have a safe trip, Mr. Kensington,” she tells me. “I’ve already checked you into your flight and the ticket is in your email. Patrick is waiting downstairs and there’s a car arranged for you at the Las Vegas airport as well. It will take you straight to your hotel.”

“Thank you, Alicia. Head out soon, all right?”

“Sure.”

We share an amused glance. She’s about as likely to leave the office at this hour as I would be under normal circumstances.

“I mean it,” I say, rapping my knuckles on the wooden ledge of her desk. “Or you’re fired.”

“Yes, Mr. Kensington.”

I head down the hallway, pulling my luggage behind me. I should have left it in the car this morning like Patrick suggested, but I figured I’d need to pack work papers in the suitcase after filling my briefcase. And I was right.

As poor luck would have it, my father is leaving his office right as I pass it. “Oliver.”

The acknowledgment is for show, so I’m forced to respond. “Dad.”

“You’re leaving?” He glances at his watch, as if to emphasize the time.

My molars grind. My office is the last one occupied most nights. After he’s long gone, out with women half his age.

He didn’t love Candace. The ink wasn’t dry on their divorce papers when he started bringing a different date to each event. Instead of freezing me out, he should be thanking me for blowing up their unhappy marriage.

“Yes.” My response is curt. If he wants to know where I’m going and why, he could ask.

He doesn’t, of course. All he does is keep walking. My expression remains blank through all of it, before I continue down the hall toward the elevator. I press the button for the garage.

When the doors open, my driver Patrick is already waiting. He loads the suitcase into the trunk for me as I settle into the backseat, pulling out my phone and sighing at the number of emails that have already piled up.

Rather than read any of them, I toss my phone on the leather seat, opting to stare out the window as Patrick drives through the city toward the airport.

It’s a gray, dreary day. Streaks of rain run down the outside of the tinted glass, blurring the sights and buildings we pass.

Once Patrick drops me off at the terminal, I head for security. Alicia handled all of the check-in logistics. She also set up the pre-check clearance. It takes me all of ten minutes to get through the metal detector before I head for the gate. There’s commotion everywhere. Screaming children, rushing flight attendants, confused passengers milling about.

I make it to my gate right as the first zone is boarding. Since I’m in first class, I join the line and am on the plane a few minutes later. I stick my suitcase in the overhead compartment and then settle in the third row, resigning myself to a long wait as the other passengers trickle onto the plane one by one.

I busy myself by pulling up the email Chase sent a few weeks ago detailing the itinerary for the weekend. As long as my flight doesn’t leave late—which I’m not confident won’t happen, based on the pace of passengers boarding—I’ll arrive at the hotel right around six. According to the email, dinner is at six thirty at a restaurant just down the street from the hotel. I should have plenty of time to check in and then make it to dinner.

“Well, hello there.”

I glance up from my phone to watch a woman with a wild array of brown curls take the seat next to me. She’s wearing a camel-colored coat and a bright pink sash that reads Bridesmaid.

“Hello,” I respond, polite but not overly friendly.

“I’m Marie.”

“Nice to meet you, Marie.”

“And you are?”

“Oliver.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Oliver.” Marie beams at me, not bothering to be the least bit subtle about her appraisal as her eyes skim up and down the suit I’m wearing.

I glance at the front of the plane. It’s still mostly empty, with no more passengers coming aboard. Across the aisle, two more women with pink sashes are now seated.

“Are you visiting Vegas for business or pleasure?” Marie asks me.

I start to get the sense that no matter how short my responses are, there will be a conversation taking place between us. Unless I want to be a total asshole, I’m stuck talking to her.

“Uh, pleasure, I guess.”

Her beaming expression suggests that’s the answer she was hoping for. “Oh my God! Me too! My best friend is getting married next month. We’re having her bachelorette party this weekend.”

“That explains the sash.”

Marie glances down. “Oh! I totally forgot I was wearing this.”

I’m not sure how. It’s neon. Easier to spot than the reflective vests the workers down on the tarmac are sporting.

She leans closer to me, and I realized exactly why she forgot about the sash. Marie smells like wine. The sweet, fruity scent surrounds me, cloying the stagnant air. She’s drunk, and I’m stuck sitting next to her for the next five and a half hours.

“What pleasure are you planning in Vegas?” Her elbow lands on the armrest between as she blatantly glances at my crotch.

“I’m going for a bachelor party,” I admit, certain that’s a tidbit Marie will latch right on to.

She doesn’t disappoint. “Oh my God! Really? How perfect. Are the rest of the groomsmen on this plane?” Her gaze whips away from me, obviously hoping to spot them.

“No. I’m traveling alone.”

Marie’s undivided attention returns to me. “Do the rest of the groomsmen look like you?”

I’m tempted to laugh. She’s tipsy and overly talkative, but her blunt interest is entertaining.

“I’ve never met most of them. The groom is an old friend from college.”

“That sounds so fun!”

I manage a polite smile in response. So fun is not how I would have characterized it.

“Have you been to Vegas before?” Marie asks.

“No. You?”

“Yep. Lots of times. It’s a really fun city.”

“That’s what people say.”

My phone vibrates with an incoming call from Alicia.

“Excuse me. I need to take this.”

Marie nods, leaning across the aisle to whisper something to her friends.

“Hello?” I answer.

Alicia’s exhale is loud. “Mr. Kensington, I’m so glad that I caught you. I just realized the Isaac Industries report that was printed isn’t the most up-to-date version. They sent new numbers late last night, and I didn’t realize—”

“It’s fine, Alicia. Thanks for letting me know.”

“I checked, and your hotel has a business center. I can call them and coordinate a way to get it printed. Or overnight a copy—”

“Alicia, really, it’s all right. It’s fine. I have other work I can do.”

“Okay.” Her exhale is hesitant.

Alicia is a perfectionist. She’s been my assistant ever since I finished business school and started at Kensington Consolidated full time. In that time, I could count the number of mistakes she’s made on one hand.

“I told you to leave the office.”

“There’s still—”

“Leave, Alicia. I mean it.”

“I’ll be gone by four thirty,” she tells me.

I smile. “Okay. Have a good weekend.”

“You too, Mr. Kensington.” No matter how many times I tell Alicia to dispatch with the formalities, she still insists on calling me Mr. Kensington.

The final passengers are finally boarding the plane. The overhead loudspeaker crackles to life, starting the pre-flight announcements. Marie shifts back into her seat, flashing me a bright smile.

I begin to wonder how much I’ll regret going on this trip.