America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(44)

“Shut up and sit down. This is still your fault.”

“Fair enough,” I grumble.

“You need to go play with animals at that shelter your sister likes,” Hestia says.

“He needs to get Levi Wilson and Cash Rivers making more noise about him being a good guy,” Bruce replies.

“He called in personal favors from over fifty celebrities and politicians and talked them all into buying thousand-dollar tickets for a fifty-dollar affair to raise money for the world’s most famous endangered animal, and he’s taking both his and Sarah’s entire families,” Charlie says. “You let him loose in a dog pound, he’ll crack a joke about a bitch and we’re done. You let the plan play out as the plan is supposed to play out, and this will all be just fine.” She glares at me and makes a slashing motion across her throat.

Right. She’s done with Bruce.

“Got a call from a movie producer who wants to know if you want a cameo in a slasher pic,” Bruce tells me. “They’d make you look good when you die.”

“We’re not doing cameos,” my marketing guru, Vicki, replies. “It’s starring roles or nothing.”

“Whoa, wait, we’re not doing movies,” I say.

My entire team shuts up and stares at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Ryder, I like you, but you’re a PR nightmare,” Bruce says. “We’re saving your ass this time, but what happens when you call one of the royal babies ugly, or get caught sticking your dick in a goat?”

“PR nightmare? The Ryder Family Foundation gives away millions every year, and not two weeks ago I was all over the news when those cameras crashed my visit to the children’s hospital in London.”

He shakes his head. “You need to think long-term, because sooner or later, you’re gonna blow it in business. So do a slasher pic. Not like you’re the type to write a tell-all book. Haven’t slept with enough women anyone wants the dirt on for that. And I got a guy who’s interested in buying out your DRYVE and SHYNE lines. You should take him up on it. Won’t get a better deal.”

“Sell my lines?”

Charlie’s not even speaking. She’s just gawking. Hestia and Vicki both clear their throats and dive for coffee and cigarettes.

“Sell them,” Bruce repeats. “Then you need to kiss Crawford’s ass, because we all know this FLY HYGH Foundation is really just an excuse to get a partnership with him so we can branch out into footwear.”

I stand and accidentally on purpose dump an entire coffee mug all over the computer.

It sizzles and fries and sparks and the screen goes blank, and Charlie slumps back in her chair with a sigh. “Took you fucking long enough.”

“Sell my lines?” I say to her.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t care how long he’s been your manager, you need to fire him. He’s losing his fucking mind. And he’s always been a twatwaffle. Also, I’m not replacing that computer. You can get your ass down to the Apple store yourself this time, and I don’t care how many people try to run you over on the street.”

She grabs her phone and types out a message—undoubtedly telling my team I fucked up and we’ll talk again tomorrow at our regularly scheduled time, because that’s what she does, and I probably need to give her a raise again this week—and I head for the kitchenette in the small office area. The rest of the floor is apartments.

“You like Moroccan?” I call. “Sarah showed me this place over in University City. We could order couscous. Or kefta. Or kebabs. Or all of it. With four gallons of mint tea. And cookies. Definitely cookies.”

She follows me and leans into the doorway, head still down over her phone. “You can’t eat this away, Beck. You still have a shoot in three weeks.”

“And nothing to do in the meantime except work out and play video games.” Everything’s on hold. Everything. The designs I was supposed to look at this week are delayed. All my meetings—outside the crisis meetings with my team—are canceled. My only job is to not fuck up more and keep publicly wooing Sarah.

Maybe privately wooing Sarah.

I wanted to kiss her so badly last night, and I still don’t know if it was a good idea or a bad idea, but it’s what I wanted.

Charlie doesn’t smile. “You ever seriously consider selling out and retiring?”

I told her I was going to last year, after Ellie’s accident. She didn’t take me seriously, but she also made sure everything on my schedule got delayed or canceled, and she’s kept me booked less full so I could be home more.

“Why?” I ask her. “You want to slow down?” She sees her family less than I see mine, but she’s never complained about it.

“I don’t do slow, Ryder. You know that.”

“Good, because even if I did sell out and retire, I’d still need you running my life, you know. Who else would make me get out of bed and remind me to brush my teeth in the morning?”

“Your mother, Ryder. Your mother.”

I laugh at the image of my mom trying to get me up in the morning. She’d dump ice water on my head without hesitation, a tidbit I won’t be sharing with Charlie, or she might try the same next time we’re traveling.

She’s smiling too, because she doesn’t actually set my alarms or remind me to brush my teeth.