The Invitation by Adriana Locke

Ripley

“I couldn’t tell Georgia my phone was in my pocket. She would’ve taken that as a victory,” I say to Waffles, setting his dinner in the built-in feeding station I had added to the kitchen island. “All I can say is that it’s good that my phone case is waterproof, and it worked.”

Waffles drops a tennis ball at my feet, his little tail wagging back and forth as he peers up at me.

“Eat, and then maybe we can go outside and play,” I say, scooping up the ball and placing it on the counter.

He barks in protest but loses his focus once he sniffs his food.

I peel an orange while gazing across the island, over the casual eating nook, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the room.

When I had this house built five years ago, I knew I wanted to be able to stand in the kitchen and look across the treetops to the valley behind it. The lot’s dense vegetation and varied wildlife were a huge selling point. Nature has always given me a sense of peace, and I wanted to incorporate that into my daily life—even if only through a pane of glass.

I pop a wedge of fruit into my mouth and savor the sweetness. It’s the first thing I’ve had since breakfast, thanks to Georgia’s little stunt making me miss lunch.

A chuckle rumbles from my chest as I think about it … and her.

I’d find her entertaining if I didn’t dislike her as much as I do. She can go from a centerfold stretched out on a lounge chair, to a mouthy pain in the ass, to a sexy siren with the best set of tits I’ve ever seen. It’s as impressive as it is discombobulating. I go from being speechless, wanting to murder her, to wanting to fuck her within an inch of her life—all in the same two-minute span. Yet we always end each interaction at the same point. Disdain.

At least I won today’s battle. I think.

Another tennis ball strikes my foot, and I find Waffles standing before me with his tongue sticking out.

“Where did you get this one?” I ask, laughing.

He barks.

“Did you finish your dinner?” I ask.

He barks again, this time adding a tongue wag to the mix.

“All right,” I say, picking up the ball. “Let’s go outside for a few minutes.”

He races to the door and sits, waiting for me to catch up. I put the rest of my orange back in the kitchen and shove my phone into my gym shorts pocket.

As I step into the backyard, the evening sun warms my bare chest. The air is filled with a honeyed fragrance from a mystery plant in my landscape design and the bubbling of the pool across the deck. Waffles leaps into the air and barks, redirecting my attention to him.

“Ready?” I ask before throwing the ball across the yard. “Get it.”

He zooms after the ball just as my phone begins to ring.

I pluck it out of my pocket. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Gannon says. “You busy?”

I take the slobbery ball from Waffles and launch it again. “Not really. What’s up?”

“I just read a report that the public perception of our family hasn’t fully rebounded following Dad’s attempted implosion of Brewer Group.”

“Really?” I ask, giving Waffles a look not to jump on me. He sits quickly and side-eyes the ball at my feet. “Tate said he was getting a warmer welcome with the investors.”

“Yes, but the investors aren’t the public, so to speak.”

I pick up the ball and throw it as far as I can. “I saw the financial reports from the last quarter. They looked solid. I thought everyone was pleased with them.”

Gannon sighs. “We’re happy with where we stand for now. We’ve done a hell of a lot better than I anticipated at turning things back around and cultivating investor confidence. But the public’s impression of us is a different battle, and one we don’t seem to be winning.”

My stomach twists as a dark cloud settles over my head … because as much as this sucks professionally for Brewer Group, this doesn’t directly relate to me. What I do doesn’t impact Brewer’s bottom line.

Dad’s sentence from years ago comes back to haunt me. “You are completely redundant to our company. You make no contributions to our family.” He laughs. “If we took you out of the equation, life would carry on.”

“If the public looks at us negatively, it’ll undoubtedly bleed into employee morale,” Gannon continues. “It’ll affect our brand value, and we’ll lose a marketing advantage. People want to support exciting, feel-good stories. Thanks to Dad, we might be exciting, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.”

A year ago, Gannon and I would not be having this conversation. Dad kept me out of discussions about the family business as a punishment for not letting him direct my life. Of course, he never said that outright, but I know it’s true. We all do. But now that he’s gone, my siblings incorporate me into conversations and decisions, even if all I can offer is a sounding board. We all lean on each other more. We despise what our father did, but I think we’re all almost grateful for it in a way. He removed the thorn that kept our family segmented and brought us together.

It’s a silver lining in a very dark time. But it’s a silver lining, nonetheless.

“What can we do?” I ask, stopping short of asking what I personally can do to help the situation. Gannon sliding over the question or telling me outright that there’s nothing in my capacity as an exercise physiologist that I can do to assist the family efforts won’t do either of us any favors.

My chest is heavy as I toss Waffles’s ball again.

“Bianca is coming home for a few days next week for a big-picture strategy session. Tate is doing all he can,” Gannon says. “Jason has put together a PR campaign for Brewer Air. It’s getting approved by the legal team now. And once Renn is in the Royals front office, we’ll devise a plan for them, too. I have people assessing how we can best use the Arrows and the Raptors hockey team. It helps to have you go to the facilities and interact with the players. They like you. It gives us a very relatable vibe—like we care about people. Which we do, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

There’s a long pause. “While we’re here, I was going to ask if you’ve had a moment to call Jonah Spaulding.”

“Yeah, I did. I left a message for him yesterday and haven’t heard back. Do you know what he wants? Tate acted like it was a big secret, and Jonah’s email was pretty nondescript.” I pull the phone away from my face. “Leave it alone, Waffles. It’s going to sting your tongue.”

The puppy turns and lifts one ear on top of his head.

“Jonah might’ve changed his mind,” Gannon says. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much if he doesn’t return your call. But, if he does call you back with a proposition, I’d appreciate you considering it.”

“A proposition, huh?” I laugh. “Is there something I should know? I only like women, Gannon.”

He laughs, too. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Good.” I take the ball from Waffles and chuck it away from the insect. “So that’s all I get? There’s a mysterious proposition?”

“There might be a mysterious proposition, but it was up in the air when I talked to him on Tuesday. He was floating an idea by me, and I thought we might be able to make it work.”

“And somewhere along the way, you and Tate decided I might be able to make it work?”

“Well, Tate, Jason, Bianca, and me. Renn was iffy, but we got him on board.”

“Fuck you,” I say, laughing again. “So everyone knows about this but me?”

A car horn blasts in the background. “It’ll probably never come to fruition, so don’t worry about it. We’re making it out to be more than it is.”

I’m not sure I believe that, but I also know pushing Gannon won’t net the results I’m after. And I highly doubt that it’s anything important, and if it were, he wouldn’t have talked to my siblings about it and not me. It’s not how we roll.

“I need to go,” Gannon says. “I’m meeting a few people at a restaurant for a business dinner, and I just arrived.”

“Have fun.”

“Sure.” He sighs. “Let me know if Jonah calls.”

“I might.”

He chuckles. “Talk to you later, Ripley.”

“Later.”

As soon as I end the call, the phone buzzes in my palm with an incoming text.

Jonah: Are you available for a call in ten minutes?

Me: Yes.

Jonah: Great. Talk soon.

“Can’t wait to see what this is all about,” I say, sitting on the edge of a lounge chair.

My mind spins with a million possibilities for why Jonah wants to talk to me. Each one is more far-fetched than the next. When I couple it with Gannon and Tate agreeing that I should be the one to handle the proposition, it gets me no closer to an answer. It only increases my curiosity.

“I just read a report that the public perception of our family hasn’t fully rebounded following Dad’s attempted implosion of Brewer Group.”

Our family’s struggles since Dad’s crimes, including the attempted murder of both Mom and Bianca, have only brought us closer together. Before Dad went to prison, Gannon never called me. He and Tate could barely stand one another. Renn didn’t bother to come home often, and Jason lived in his own world. But now? Everything has changed for the better.

I only wish I could carry a bigger piece of the load—that I could do something to help ease the burden of Dad’s sins on my siblings.

My phone vibrates in my hand. The group chat I share with my friend circle is lit up on the screen.

Georgia: Has anyone seen my sunglasses? I know I had them at The Swill this week, but I haven’t seen them since.

Tate: Nope.

Jeremiah: Let me look by the pool.

I smirk, my cock hardening as visions of Georgia’s beaded nipples rip through my mind.

Me: Check in the pool, too. She lost a few things there today.

Before she responds, I exit the text app and answer Jonah’s call.