I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(16)

Amalie rolls her eyes, as if I’m an idiot for even suggesting this. “You make it sound so much worse than it is. Besides, how would he find out if I bought one? It’s not like he has access to my credit card statements.”

“I don’t know how you can be okay with dolls that look like you being used for personal pleasure.” The thought actually makes me nauseous.

“They don’t really look like me. They’re just blond-haired and blue-eyed blow-up dolls.”

She’s wrong about that. Those dolls look eerily like my sister, which is why I was so disturbed when I discovered what had happened with the patent. Wording is always paramount.

“Anyway, enough about that. How are things going with Lawson? Is he driving you crazy yet?”

I laugh at that. “He’s a hard one to rein in sometimes, but so far it’s been fun.” Particularly the renovation part.

Amalie smiles. “Good, I’m glad to hear that. He needs somewhere to focus all that energy, doesn’t he?”

“He sure does.” My younger brother has lots of ideas and not a lot of direction. Like me, he works for our father, except on the marketing side of things. Mostly it’s him posting pictures of the damn dolls on social media, and coming up with ways to push the app.

In his spare time, which he seems to have a lot of, he’s been dabbling in the real estate market for the past few years, specifically in the Hamptons, where he lives year round. Since going on hiatus, I’ve taken on a more active role in the renovation side of his venture, where I’m able to foster the more practical aspect of my detail-oriented skill set.

Hands-on has always been where I excel the most. Back in high school I loved reading blueprints and seeing how things fit together. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an approved career path. Not when my father had worked so hard to take us from lower middle class to elite. When Amalie was born, we lived in a tiny three-bedroom house. By the time she was six, we lived in a mansion.

“We’re supposed to sell a property I’ve been working on this weekend.” I’m actually pretty excited to see what it will go for.

“Will you reinvest in another one?”

“That’s the plan.”

Amalie tilts her head a little. “You really like this, don’t you?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t even feel like work.” At first the time off from the firm felt like a punishment, but then I started working with my brother, getting my hands dirty, but in a good way. “As much as I don’t like that Dad’s still pissed at me, I think my screwup might not be the worst thing in the world.”

“Have you thought any more about talking to Dad about this?”

I have discussed my unhappiness with my career path more times than I can count with Amalie. “I don’t think now is a good time.”

“It’ll never be a good time. You can’t spend your life doing something you hate.”

“I can’t really afford to do what I’m doing if I lose my trust or my shares in the company, though, so I can’t quit either.” Jesus. We’re such spoiled brats.

Amalie frowns. “Dad wouldn’t pull your trust or take your shares.”

“He’s threatened it before.”

“When you were screwing around in college, being a frat boy. This is different. I’m not working for the family business and I still have my trust and my shares,” she says with a raised eyebrow.

“You’re the reason the company exists in the first place. It’s different for you. Anyway, we’ll have to see how things go this summer, and if this can be more than a hobby. For now it’s a good break if nothing else.” The server delivers our appetizers, saving me from further discussion on this subject. I spear a few leaves of lettuce. Amalie has calamari and it smells fantastic. My salad smells like garlic. “Can we share?”

“Having healthy-choice remorse?”

“Not if you’re willing to let me steal a few of those.”

She pushes a few to the edge of her plate, specifically the ones that look like tiny octopi. “These ones always freak me out. You can have them.”

“So generous.” I steal her fork out of her hand and eat the ones she’s already speared.

“Hey!”

I hear an indelicate snort from my left and glance over. Rian is still alone. Maybe her date isn’t coming back. I revel in the joy of that possibility as I take another moment to appreciate her. She has a nice neck, long, slender, and her hair is pulled up away from her face, highlighting her cheekbones and the delicate line of her jaw. When I reach her face, I find her glaring at me.

Man, she looks pissed off. Maybe because I keep staring.

She slaps her napkin on the table and pushes her chair back with a loud scrape. She smooths her dress out, squares her shoulders, and takes four long strides, stopping in front of our table.

My grin widens as she gets right up in my personal space, one fist propped on her curvy hip. Her height puts her chest close to eye level—okay, I still have to look up a bit—but I’m forced to lean back in my chair to make eye contact.

“Hi again,” I offer by way of greeting.

“You!” She points a shaking finger at me.

I glance at my sister, who has set her silverware down to watch whatever is about to go down. Her smile is al most a smirk. It’s an expression we share since our mouths are the same.