“Bentley won an ass?”
Grandfather let out a heavy sigh. “He bet his brother, his version of an ass, and the other party bet an actual animal. Simple misunderstanding.”
“How did I not know about this?”
“You rarely come to my parties,” Grandfather said with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Parties? What parties?”
What alternate universe had he just stepped into?
Grandfather ignored him. “It’s good for these old bones to jump and jive every once in a while.”
Jump and jive? The hell?
“You’ve been busy,” Grandfather interrupted. Brock shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You’ve been working yourself into the ground. I want you to take an official vacation until the press dies down a bit over this whole auction business.” A guilty look flashed across his face. “I assume they’re still downstairs.”
“Let me get this straight.” Anger started pulsating through Brock’s body once more. “First, you force me to participate in the auction in order to get us publicity and gain the trust of the board, and now you want me gone?” His grandfather wasn’t making any sense. None of it made sense. “What’s really going on?”
His grandfather fidgeted in his seat. He never fidgeted. “The publicity team thinks the hype of you disappearing out of the limelight will keep Wellington Inc. in the press until we auction you off at the ball.”
Brock pressed the backs of his palms against his eyes and bit back a string of curses. “I can’t just leave.”
Not after what had just happened with his grandfather.
“It’s what I want.” His grandfather stared him down. “It’s what’s best for you. For the company.” His eyes lingered on a piece of paper on his desk. “The shareholders…” Tears filled his eyes. “They don’t trust you boys to take over the company. Brant and Bentley sleep with anything that walks, and you’re guilty by association.” His smile was apologetic but all it did was burn like acid in Brock’s stomach. “The auction…it re-establishes our control. Reminds the shareholders that we’re the face of the company and that this company”—he jabbed his finger onto the desk—“needs the Wellington men!”
Oh hell.
And now it all made sense.
Grandfather began to sweat and patted his handkerchief across his forehead and sighed. “Titus Enterprises has also agreed to participate in the auction as a way to show good relations between our two companies.” He shrugged. “The shareholders have been itching to mend the relationship between us and the Titus family and I’ve kept my promise that I would do everything in my power to do that. The point is, I promised them Titus, the auction, and you, and in return our name stays glued to this company.” He looked down and then back up at Brock with an unreadable expression. “Things are shaky with Titus Enterprises at best. One little snag and they’ll pull out.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why.”
“It’s not your concern. I’ve got it handled.” Grandfather shrugged. “A nice little vacation is just what you need. Besides, what could possibly be keeping you here? Let me run the company—my company—for a few weeks to get the faith of the shareholders back in our court. They’ll see that you’re being the dutiful grandson by agreeing to be auctioned off and we’ll let the press do what they do best.”
“Destroy lives?” Brock offered.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Grandfather pulled the papers into a neat pile and leaned forward. “Now, was there anything else?”
He was officially being dismissed.
Brock stood and nodded his head. “I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
“If I worry about you, you’ll worry about me, which in turn makes me worry about you more.”
Brock jerked back as if he’d just been slapped. “You worry about me?”
“Ever since that day when I watched the light fade from your eyes. The same day the responsibility for you boys came to rest on my shoulders. Do this for me, Brock. I’m not telling, I’m asking.”
He wanted nothing more than to push back. To turn and walk away from this conversation, from this life. To yell no over and over again until his voice was hoarse, but he was caught.
Memories of his parents’ deaths flooded his brain. The shock, the tears, the twins waiting for them to come home, the knowledge they never would.
And he knew his thoughts were written all over his face, because his grandfather stared at him with pity-filled eyes, as if to say, “We can talk about it.”
But he didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to push the whole horrible situation to the furthest recess of his mind and put it on lockdown, where he didn’t have to deal with it—any of it.
Because once he dealt with it, healed, and got over the trauma, there was this lingering fear that he’d forget them.
“Yes,” he whispered and closed his eyes. “The answer is yes.”
“Good.” Grandfather’s smile was strained; he looked like he was about to say more, but didn’t.
God, it was always the same with them.
So much was always left unsaid.
A fake smile replaced Grandfather’s worried one.
And there it was.
His mind immediately went to all the freedom he’d lose.
And the girl with pretty lips and wide eyes that he’d probably never see again.