The Buy-In (Graham Brothers #1)(4)

I chew my lip, willing my hands not to grab the keys. At least, not too quickly. I need to keep some semblance of my dignity about me.

Who am I kidding? I have less than a fluid ounce of dignity in my entire body. I snatch the keys and dart toward the door leading to the garage, like Tank might change his mind at any second. Because he might.

I don’t know if it’s because of Tank calling me the glue and saying I’m the one with vision, or maybe just the chance to drive the Aston, but excitement has me glowing from within. I’m like the Griswolds’ lit-up house in Christmas Vacation—at least, before the fuses blow.

I slide in, loving the way the leather molds to my body like a caress. The engine doesn’t roar to life so much as purr. I can sense her power and her need for speed. She’s just a big, beautiful jungle cat, wanting me to play with her.

Happy to oblige.

Tank folds his big body into the passenger seat, adjusting it for leg room.

“Just so we understand each other, this little road trip doesn’t mean I’m on board with your hare-brained scheme, Tank. I hope you at least asked for the return policy on towns.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, buckling his seat belt. “I don’t plan to return to sender it.”

“If you’re going to do the noun as a verb thing, there’s an art to it,” I tell him, revving the engine a little just to hear her purr.

Tank waves a hand toward the Texas morning sun slanting over the driveway. “Come on, now. Fast and Furious this thing. But legally.”

I groan. “You’re not going to stop with this, are you?”

“Not until you realize how stupid it sounds to verb nouns.”

“Well, then, let’s road trip this thing, Pops. Where are we headed, anyway?”

He laughs. “That’s right—I haven’t mentioned the best part about the town yet.”

“It comes with a pro football team and a whole bunch of gorgeous and single cheerleaders?”

He shoots me a dirty look. “No. The best part is the name. It’s called Sheet Cake, Texas.”

A strange sensation zips up my spine. One that leaves me uncharacteristically and uncomfortably silent.

“You have no response to that name? I thought you’d be tossing out jokes like candy from a parade.”

Oh, I have a response: No way is a town named after cake.

But I don’t say it now. I said it five years ago, to the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. She told me she was from a town called Sheet Cake. I teasingly called her a liar, she dumped her drink on my head, and thus began the shortest, most intense, and the only real relationship in my life.

Lindy was the One, and I totally screwed it all up.

And out of all the towns in the state of Texas, my dad unknowingly bought hers.





Chapter Two





Lindy





I try not to stare at my lawyer, whose hands are neatly folded on her desk.

My lawyer. I have a lawyer, I think. Does this mean I’ve finally arrived, or that I’m a complete failure?

The jury’s still out. Ha! Jury—get it? A perfect lawyer joke.

A few seconds into my brain’s amateur comedy hour—which seems to be my response to panic—I realize Ashlee asked me a question. “I’m sorry—could you repeat that?”

Her deep brown eyes are sympathetic. “Do you want something to drink before we start? We have coffee, tea, or water.”

I shake my head. “Just lay it on me.”

Then I wince, because who says lay it on me to their lawyer? Or to anyone, really. Maybe it’s partly due to my stress levels. But it’s also because I’m more than a little star struck.

Ashlee Belle, better known to the world as Belle, is the biggest thing to come out of Sheet Cake. A supermodel heralded as the next Naomi Campbell, Ashlee hung up her runway heels when she hit thirty to attend Stanford Law. Two years ago, she moved home to star in her own version of a David and Goliath story. As a fairly young Black woman, she opened a law firm in direct opposition to Waters and Sons—the exclusively white male firm run by the richer-than-sin founding family.

I shouldn’t say exclusively male. I think there are a few women working as administrative assistants. Maybe a paralegal or two? Billy Waters Jr., my giant mistake of an ex, works there with his father, Billy Sr., and almost every other male Waters. Which is why I called Ashlee when I suddenly found myself in a custody battle over my niece, Jo.

Ashlee and I have crossed paths before, but this is the first time we’ve had a face-to-face conversation. I need to stop being weird and fangirly and focus on the issue at hand.

Being a consummate professional, Ashlee ignores my awkwardness and gets right to it. “I’ve had a chance to look into your case. Your sister hired one of the best family attorneys in Austin. Given the fact that Rachel has completed a 90-day rehab program, attends weekly AA meetings, and is married to a wealthy tech investor with strong community ties, the courts may look favorably on reunification.”

There are so many things to process. Rachel went to rehab? Rachel has the money to hire a decent lawyer? Rachel got married? That last one, for whatever reason, hits me hard. My baby sister is someone’s wife.

For now, I’m going to skip right over what Ashlee said about reunification. I cannot imagine a world in which my sister, who abandoned her month-old daughter and did not so much as call once in five years, would get to be reunified with Jo.