Twenty-One
That afternoon when Stefanie had followed Emmett to Chase’s office, she’d learned plenty about what was going on with her oldest brother.
It’d taken some doing, but she’d eventually pried out of Emmett that all of this was over the girl Chase had met when they’d summer vacationed in Montana.
The rebellious age of nineteen at the time, she’d been notat all interested in her brother’s love life. Not that she was interested in it now, but she was a grown woman and well aware that since he’d returned to Dallas, something was amiss.
When Stef showed up at the conference hall, she flashed a smile at the security guy posted at the door. Since he was one of Emmett’s heavies, he knew her—no need to show her credentials. Inside, she bypassed the drooling, hunching horde of reporters, refusing to look any of them in their beady eyes.
Vultures.
As a Ferguson and a billionaire by her own rights, she’d had her fair share of having her name besmirched at any convenient occasion. She had no love for these people. Zero.
She slipped behind the stage and into an adjoining room acting as Chase’s hideaway. He looked more tired than usual, but there was a resolute set to his shoulders.
“I have no idea why you cater to those vultures when they’re more than happy to tear you into pieces,” she told him, folding her arms over her chest.
“Those vultures are responsible for my career.”
She didn’t agree with that, but any arguments on the matter had been trotted out in the past and had always ended with agreeing to disagree.
“Are you okay?” she asked, knowing that he’d likely keep the truth from her on that count, as well.
“Fine.”
“I mean it.” She put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up from his speech notes, decorated in red ink courtesy of the pen in his hand. “I can’t escape the idea that Blake Eastwood’s involvement is my fault.”
He frowned. “None of this is your fault, Stefanie. It’s important for you to understand that.”
“It’d feel like a lot less my fault if I didn’t know Blake.” She added a silent biblically, because no matter how grown-up she was, she wasn’t willing to discuss sex with her brother.
Chase straightened from his lean against a cheap desk the room had been outfitted with, and dropped his notes and pen onto it.
“Listen to me,” he said. “That bastard would do anything to get to our family. The only mistake you made was trusting him.” He palmed her cheek in a rare act of tenderness between them. “I should apologize to you. He took advantage of you, and you’re worth more than being a pawn in a vendetta he has against me.”
Gratitude clogging her throat, Stef nodded. Chase dropped his arm and bent to meet her gaze.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she agreed.
“All right, then. Now get out so I can prepare a statement. And don’t look any of the vultures in the eyes on your way out. It’s as good as an invitation to harass you.”
She smiled, feeling loved and cared for. Chase was a good brother. Both of her brothers were. But that warm fuzzy was obliterated by the appearance of Emmett Keaton, who was the opposite of a warm fuzzy.
A cold prickly, she thought with a chuckle.
“Excuse me, Lurch, I was just leaving.” She smiled sweetly up at Emmett, who remained silent. His lips flinched into a flat line, which meant she’d gotten under his skin.
Her work was done here.
She sidled along the wall, taking her brother’s advice to keep her eyes down. The members of the press were busily preparing for Chase’s speech, either touching up their makeup, scrolling through their cell phones or practicing their intros.
As God as her witness, if she ever ended up in a position of power either at Ferguson Oil or as a politician—Ha!—Stef would never call a meeting to defend her actions.
She exited the room, making a beeline for the coffee bar. On her approach she spotted a familiar brunette woman frantically searching the halls while clutching her purse to her shoulder.
“Miriam Andrix?” Stef kept her voice low so as not to draw unnecessary attention, but Miriam heard her and stopped dead in her tracks.