The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Ripley

That woman drives me crazy.

Georgia’s perfume lingers in the air long after she’s gone. The sweetness of honey and the warmth of vanilla are irritating and intoxicating—just like her.

I try my best to ignore her because she gets too deep under my skin. She has since the first day of our senior year. She walked down the hallway to her locker, books clutched to her chest and ponytail swinging behind her. For the briefest moment, her soft, golden-colored eyes met mine, and I wobbled on my feet. I was both drawn to and terrified by the beautiful brunette in a way my teenage brain hadn’t encountered before.

That might’ve been the last time she looked at me without threatening to off me with her bare hands.

“I think she’s gone,” Tate says.

“Who?”

“Georgia.”

I turn to face him and ignore the conspiratorial grin on his face.

“You were just sitting there and staring at the exit,” he says. “I was starting to think you thought she was coming back.”

I sigh, bringing my beer to my lips.

“I was surprised to walk in and see the two of you talking civilly,” he says casually. “It almost looked like you were getting along for a moment.”

“Yeah, well, you caught the ten seconds she wasn’t being a total monster.”

“So what, you noticed she was without her monster vibes and decided to say hello?”

I snort. “Hardly. I tried to avoid her, but Sutton saw me before I could hide.”

He laughs. “I love that you hide from Georgia Hayes.”

“You say that like you think I’m scared of her.”

“Aren’t you?”

I flip him a dirty look that makes his laugh grow louder.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask, picking at the label on my beer. “Are you back for a while, or will Gannon have you leaving again next week?”

“I think my nonstop travel days are slowing down. The pressure is easing now that Dad has taken the plea deal and has been sentenced. People are starting to move on. Gannon is doing a great job leading the company, and that’s helping to gain back investor confidence. We have some work to do, mostly public facing, but we’re getting there. I’m not having to fight quite as hard.”

I smirk. “Good, because you’re a shit fighter.”

“Oh, okay. You spent some time at a gym in Vegas, and now you think you’re a fighting expert?”

“I’m just saying, the president of the world’s biggest mixed martial arts studio asked me to help get his fighters in shape.”

“Emphasis on getting his fighters in shape and not teaching them to fight.”

“I sparred a little with some of the guys.” I take a drink, remembering how fun the experience was in Vegas. “It made me wish Dad would’ve let me take boxing when I was younger instead of forcing soccer on me.”

Tate’s features sober. “In retrospect, it was probably a choice out of self-preservation.”

“No shit.”

My insides tighten as my mind wanders to our father.

“Speaking of Dad,” Tate says, “that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you tonight.”

“What about him?”

“Well, it’s not about him, per se. I got a call from Jonah Spaulding yesterday.”

I settle back in my chair and prepare myself for the number of ways this conversation could veer off the rails because Jonah Spaulding rarely calls to chat. Sure, there’s the occasional golf tournament or charity event invitation. But as the son of one of our mother’s attorneys—the badass woman who brought Dad’s counsel to his knees—Jonah was brought up writing contracts and negotiating settlements. When he calls, it’s usually to do business.

“And?” I ask.

“He needs a favor.”

Interesting. “We owe him.”

“I know. And I offered you as tribute.”

I chuckle, ignoring the attempts of my fan club, as Georgia called them, to get my attention as they leave. “Oh, you did, did you?”

“Trust me. This is one role you can conquer better than any of us. I have complete faith in you.”

“That definitely eases all of my concerns.”

Tate laughs. “I’ll forward you his email with the details. You’ll love it.”

“Doubtful.”

“So how was Vegas, anyway?” he asks before taking a long pull of his beer. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was good. There is a lot of talent to work with, but these new guys don’t know a thing about taking care of themselves. Their idea of balanced nutrition is massive doses of protein and a citrus-flavored energy drink.”

“Did you get them on the right track?”

“I tried.” I pause to nod to Bobby that we need another round of beers. “The management team asked me to stay a few more weeks because the guys seemed to respond well to me, but I told him I had to get back.”

“I’m assuming you have a full schedule around here.”

I nod. “Yeah, the Arrows are keeping me busy. I’m meeting with some of the players for individual assessments tomorrow. The head of baseball operations has some questions about team nutrition, too.”

“Great. Renn should control the Royals by the start of next month. Be prepared for that.”

We exchange a glance before chuckling.

None of us know what to think about Renn managing the Royals. It might be the best thing ever—the man does understand the ins and outs of rugby. It might also be the worst since he’s never managed a lemonade stand. Either way, we’ll back Renn because that’s what we do … even Jason, although he thinks Renn is getting in way over his head.

I shift in my seat. At least he’s contributing to the family …

Although it was unintended, Tate’s mention of Renn and the Royals gnaws at something deep inside me.

Tate picks up his phone and types away furiously, so I lean back and take a long, deep breath.

My siblings are all beasts. Bianca is a genius who, instead of doing what was expected of her and taking over Brewer Group, chose to do what was best for her and walked away. Such a little badass. Gannon took over Brewer Group and is successfully leading it out of the mess Dad made. Jason is the CEO of his own airline. Renn is expanding our holdings with the Royals. Tate has been instrumental in helping to restore our family’s reputation.

And then there’s me.

Bobby hands us fresh beers and carries our empty bottles away.

I love what I do each day. Working with people and helping them become healthier and happier is exactly what I chose to do with my life, and it was the right choice. But sometimes, it’s apparent that I’m not as valuable to the family business as everyone else. If you remove any of the others, there’s a glaring hole. If you take me out of the equation, life goes on.

The only person to ever mention this fact was Dad, and a part of me understands he was spouting off at the mouth because he was pissed. I did have my arm pressed on his throat while pinning him to the wall and threatening to kill him for assaulting Renn’s wife. Still, he said it, and I can’t quite forget it.

“Shit,” Tate mumbles, dropping his phone unceremoniously to the table.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Carys is just dating an asshole she met at a tailgate party last fall, and she wants to complain about him all the time. I told her I’m tired of hearing it.”

I hide a smile. “Well, I’m sure she’ll stop complaining now.”

Tate rolls his eyes. “She won’t stop until they inevitably break up. Then she’ll date someone new and complain about him. It’s a never-ending cycle with that girl.”

Carys has been Tate’s sidekick since college. They’re essentially the same person in different bodies. Both are good-looking, funny, and surprisingly intelligent once you get past the party-loving exterior. I used to think they’d end up together, but not anymore.

“I need a new best friend,” Tate says.

“She tried that once, and you melted down. Remember?”

He grins. “I didn’t melt down.”

“That’s not what she said.”

He glances at his phone screen, then turns it face down on the table. “Are we still going golfing on Saturday?”

“No, Gannon called it off. He has a meeting in Atlanta, and Renn wants to spend all the time he can at home with his family before the Royals acquisition goes through.”

“How’s the baby, anyway? I need to go over and see that little shit before he forgets that I’m his favorite uncle.”

“He can’t forget something he never knew.” I smile. “Arlo is growing like a weed. Every time I see him, he changes. He has huge hands like Renn and his mama’s lips. And he’s lost all his hair.”

“Really? Is that normal?”

I shrug. “I don’t fucking know. They don’t seem too worried about it, and Renn worries about everything. So I guess it’s all right.”

“Do you think you’ll have kids someday?”

I stretch my legs under the table and think about his question. I always expected that I’d have kids. Holding Renn’s son makes me think it would be amazing to have a little guy of my own. But after these past couple of years with our family, I’m not so sure I want to risk it anymore.

“Maybe,” I say, wincing. “What about you?”

“I want ten of them.”

I snort. “Ten? Really?”

“It’s a good even number, and it’s just four more than all of us. Think how cool it would be if there were four more of us after me. That’d be great.”

“Would it, though? You’ve lived your life as the baby of the family. Four more, and you’re suddenly a middle child. That might change your mind about things.”

“Yes, I think it would be great. Phenomenal, really. I’ve been thinking about having kids a lot lately,” Tate says.

“You might want to think in order.” I take a drink, enjoying the cool liquid slide smoothly down my throat. “Better find a good woman first.” Someone extremely patient to deal with my brother and his craziness.

He points at me. “And that’s why I haven’t gotten started yet. I can’t find the right woman.”

“Yeah, well, me either, but I’m also not looking.”

“I could hook you up with one of Carys’s friends,” Tate offers. “She has some hot ones, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

His offer hangs in the air between us.

The idea of hooking up with one of Carys’s friends doesn’t really do anything for me. Sure, they’re all gorgeous, and I don’t doubt that I’d have a good time. But every time I’ve hung out with her circle, it’s been … boring. There’s nothing to talk about. No spark. Nothing that keeps me up at night.

I don’t know what it is that’s causing my dry spell, but I’m definitely in one. That’s concerning, but it’s even more concerning that I don’t really care.

“They’re not my type,” I say.

“Since when?”

“Since … now.”

He nods as if he’s deciding whether to worry about me.

“I know that sounds crazy,” I say. “But I just don’t vibe with that group. They’re great girls from what I can tell, but … maybe I’m getting old.”

“You’re thirty,” he deadpans.

I shrug.

“When was the last time you had a date?” he asks.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve seen a few women here and there. It’s not like I’ve vowed celibacy or anything.”

“When was your last steady girlfriend?”

“The end of last year, I think.”

He watches me pointedly.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” I say with a sigh. “But I’m just … I’m tired of dating. I’m tired of trying to convince someone that I’m worthy of their time. I’m sick of the entire song and dance of spending time with someone I don’t care about when I could be alone doing something I love.”

“Like what?”

“Hanging out with Waffles, taking him to the pet store for new puppy toys.”

Tate laughs. “I can’t with you.” He glances at his phone again and sighs. “Okay, I need to go. I haven’t even been home yet and am on the verge of crashing.”

“Get out of here. I’ll get the check.”

He stands and clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Ripley. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. And I’ll send you that email as soon as I get home. I don’t have my work email on my phone.”

“No worries.”

He gives my shoulder a final pat before heading for the door.

I settle back in my chair and drink the rest of my beer, taking in the scene around me. The Swill has gotten busier since I arrived. Nearly every table is filled. The music is louder than before, and the customer base has changed from businesslike patronage to a more relaxed crowd.

Georgia’s purple boots would fit in perfectly now.

I rub my forehead, wincing at the start of a headache.

The day has been long and busy, starting well before sunrise and going full speed until I walked into The Swill. Meeting Tate here was the last thing I wanted to do this evening … until I saw Georgia. Dealing with her is always the last thing on my wish list.

Flames lick inside my stomach, still smoldering from the fire Georgia lights when she’s around. I exhale in a futile attempt at recentering myself.

I hate that she affects me this way. After all these years, I should be able to manage my reactions to her. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve avoided her. Ignored her. I’ve even reminded myself that reacting to her taunts and glares is exactly what she wants, and by doing that, I only bolster her life choices—mainly to piss me off.

Yet I can’t.

I’m caught on this decade-long roller coaster with Georgia Hayes and can’t get off.

We’re at the same parties. We celebrate the same birthdays. We go to the same weddings. Hell, we’re in the same fucking group text.

I can’t date women who wear perfume that reminds me of her. I stopped seeing a woman who worked with Georgia because she wouldn’t stop telling stories about their day. I returned a shirt my mother bought me for Christmas because it was purple—Georgia’s favorite color. I couldn’t wear it without seeing her stupid smug smile and knowing she’d like it, and I don’t need my days ruined over a shirt.

I hate that she gets so deep under my skin. I hate how damn stunning she is. After all these years, I should be able to manage my reactions to her.

She’s already ruined my life in so many ways.

I fucking hate her for it.

And that won’t be changing anytime soon.