The Reunion(42)

The room has an eerie feel to it—not what I was expecting. Honestly, I thought I was going to come in here and find him pacing the length of the space, hand in his hair, ready to fire off, but that’s not the vibe.

His shoulders are hunched over, he’s wearing a plain T-shirt and sweatpants, an outfit I’ve never seen him in before, and he doesn’t look fidgety or mad, more . . . sullen.

I quietly shut the door behind me and make my way toward the fireplace. “Hey, how are you doing?” I ask, taking a seat across from him in a matching wingback chair.

Eyes cast down toward the fire, he doesn’t bother to look at me. “Do you think I’m an asshole?”

“What?” I ask, confused, brows pulling together. “No, why would you think that?”

“Controlling?”

“Controlling in what way?” I ask, trying to be as cautious as possible while assessing the kind of mental state he’s in. “I think you’re controlling on the business front, but not in a bad way—in a way that holds your employees to a certain standard, and that’s the reason you’re so successful, why the company is so successful.”

“Do you like me? As a human, do you think I’m a decent guy?”

“Of course,” I answer, completely confused as he glances at my lips and then back up to my eyes.

“You like me as a friend?”

Uh, what’s happening?

“Ford, I—”

“Do you think I understand you?”

“Ford, where is this all coming from?”

He tilts his head to the side, the light from the flames of the fire bouncing off his hardened jaw. “Answer the question, Larkin.”

“Do I think you understand me?” I venture, uneasy. “I mean . . . yes. I think we’ve spent enough time together to know each other well.”

“No, do I get you? Or do you think I’ve only chosen what I want to hear about you, only scratched the surface.”

Something happened at brunch today, and it has shaken Ford to his core. I can see it in his distraught eyes, in the slight tremor in his hand, and the worried tone of his voice. But what exactly? What has made him question himself so much?

“I think you get me,” I answer honestly. “I think you are one of the few people who gets me, and do you know how I know that?”

“How?” he asks, staring down at the fire again.

“Because when I came to you for a job, all you had to hear was my story. You didn’t need to hear about my qualifications, or lack thereof; you heard my story and you understood. You knew I needed to feel close to my dad after his death, and working for the store would do that. You gave me a shot, and ever since then, not only have you given me the chance to stay connected to my dad, but you continue to challenge me, to grow my skills, and motivate me to grow professionally. You know exactly what I need and when I need it. You can anticipate my needs, and no one else does that like you do.”

Still not looking at me, he slowly nods.

In all the years I’ve worked for Ford Chance, not once have I ever seen him like this, so . . . dejected. There isn’t an ounce of his usual charismatic confidence, and it’s incredibly concerning. He’s a rock, someone I can lean on, and right now, he seems to be missing the strength that makes him the amazing man he is.

“Where is this coming from?”

His jaw tics with tension as he studies the fire in front of us. I’m afraid he’s not going to answer and I’m going to have to pressure him, but finally, “My siblings hate me.”

“What? No, why would you—”

“They practically told me they hate me.” He sets the poker down. “They told me I’m a shitty brother, that I don’t understand them, I don’t listen. That I’m a workaholic, that I only scratch the surface when it comes to them, that I really don’t care about them . . .”

“They said all of that?” I ask, completely shocked.

“Yes.” He leans back in his chair. “I’ve only wanted to protect them.” He smooths his hand over his eyes, and my heart lurches in my chest. I could not imagine what that kind of confessional blame would feel like. If Beau said those things to me, the hurt would bring me to my knees.

“Ford, you do protect them.”

He shakes his head. “I isolate them. I suppress them.”

“You don’t suppress them. Their accomplishments and successes aren’t on you; that is not your responsibility.”

“And they’re right, I don’t think I even know them, but even worse . . .” He looks at me. “I don’t think I know myself or this company.”

Oh man, they really did a number on him. Sure, he might have issues with his siblings, and yes, he seems quite lost at the moment, not just with his brother and sister but with the company, with himself. For the past month I’ve felt that he’s been withdrawn, confused at times, second-guessing himself, and I’m not sure if it’s from the impending reunion with his family or if he’s been stressed with the party, but I can’t stand by and listen to him talk about himself in such a negative way, not when he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known.

He’s thoughtful, intense, driven, but so caring, especially with me. He watches out for me, helps me, guides me, makes me feel like I’m important.