The Plight Before Christmas(21)

“Huh,” Serena remarks. “Too much responsibility?”

“I did what I set out to do,” Eli replies easily, dodging her obvious jab. Serena ignores the murder in my eyes as I blaze it along her profile.

“What did you set out to do?” Mom asks.

“Easy guys, the man just got here,” Brenden cuts in, his eyes volleying around the table. “Let him get a bite in before you singe his jolly old sack.”

“It’s okay,” Eli says, turning to Mom. “Create, corner the market, make a little money.”

Brenden coughs. “Understatement.” Erin nudges him. “What? My boy here is loaded.”

“So why work with my brother?” Serena asks. “If you are so successful.”

“He just told you, he got bored, Serena,” my mother scolds.

“What?” She asks, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious.”

“I’m not quite ready to retire and golf. I’ve traveled enough. I guess you could say I work for sport now.”

“Congrats, man. Must be nice,” Thatch says sincerely. “I sure wish I had that option.”

“Where do you work now?” Eli asks me point-blank from across the table.

“She works at a marketing firm in Nashville. She’s thriving,” Serena offers on my behalf, which only humiliates me.

“Thriving is a stretch,” I correct, draining what little alcohol is left in my drink and eyeing the bottle, which is too far away.

“So what if you didn’t get the promotion. Doesn’t mean you don’t run that place,” Serena pipes. It takes all my human strength not to reach over the table and strangle her.

“You didn’t get the promotion?” Mom exclaims, fanning the flames in my face. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“No big deal,” I lie. “I mean, it sucks, but I’m over it.”

“You’re in advertising?” Eli asks as if the rest of the conversation doesn’t matter.

“Yes, why does that surprise you?”

“You majored in music comp,” he says, eyeing everyone at the table before turning to me. “It’s just…surprising.”

“It helped her,” Serena retorts. “She composes some of the jingles to go with her campaigns in-house. Saves them a fortune, not that they appreciate it. The jerks.”

I kick back in my chair, wishing my drink would magically refill itself.

Finally lifting my eyes to his, I see nothing but the same pity that’s been doled out the last few days from everyone I’m close to. I hate the sight of it. He used to listen to me talk about my aspirations to be a songwriter and producer, and none of those dreams included a desk, mostly a sound board. But after I graduated, I accepted a desk job that led me in a different direction.

“So, you never got into producing?”

“No,” I say as if the conversation is boring me. “I took a different route.”

“You took a different road altogether,” Eli counters as all heads turn our way.

“I double majored for a reason. Advertising was always one of my game plans.”

He forks a bite of lasagna, refusing to back down. “It seemed to matter to you,” he insists. “A lot.”

I give him a tight smile as all eyes and ears focus on us while we volley back and forth.

“I changed my mind a lot after college.”

“That’s evident,” he huffs.

The. Fucking. Nerve.

I have half a mind to unleash Serena, but surprising myself, I decide to take the high road.

“I only have a few regrets,” I bite out, “and my career path isn’t one of them.”

As my insinuation rings clear, I realize I may have taken a left back onto simple Sally Avenue.

Oops.

“He’s been a great addition to Networth,” Brenden interjects, playing referee.

“You run an investment firm,” I draw out sarcastically. “Innovation and money don’t really go hand and hand.” I rake my fork across a mammoth noodle. “Numbers are exact. That’s a little black and white.”

My remark seems to amuse Eli as his lips lift with satisfaction. He always did love it when he got me rattled. Sadly, he was the only one who could defuse his own bombs.

“He’s not managing portfolios,” my brother—offended by my comment—tosses my way. “He’s come up with—”

“Kids, it’s Christmas,” my mother warns. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“I’m just saying,” stab, stab, stab, “it’s not like it takes a genius to tally dollars and cents.”

“Like I said, he’s not in management. In fact, he’s working on a groundbreaking app while you sell dog food and toilet paper.”

“Wow,” I say dryly. “Guess you put me in my place, brother.”

“Kids,” Dad sighs.

“Congratulations,” I mutter and lift my eyes to Eli. “On all of your success.”

This is hell. Knowing he’s successful, rich, and no doubt has a running car. Not only that, but his gene pool is also far superior to others. The dating app I used for all of five minutes—with suggestions of profiles of men in my age range—is a testament to that. I have no doubt British women would happily engage in a street fight for him. He probably has weekdays to go with his female roster. Molly Monday, Tina Tuesday, Wendy Wednesday, or some shit like that. He most definitely isn’t the laughingstock of his firm.