Uncle Rocky lets out a whistle. “He and your father don’t exactly get along.”
“They don’t? I thought they’d only met once. That’s what Hunt, I mean Mr. Cash told me.”
“I guess anyone can extend the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
“Business is business, sweetheart. Men can get all macho about it,” Uncle Rocky informs me. “They will protect their name and brand at all costs.”
“I know that. I am Lex Edwards’ daughter,” I remind him.
“Exactly. Just be careful.”
“Of what, exactly?”
Uncle Rocky watches me with a weighted gaze, but then he smiles and starts to talk about the sandwich. I’m glad we stopped talking about Hunter and Dad since I don’t want to get caught in either one of their egotistical dramas.
After lunch, Uncle Rocky takes me back to the stadium for a tour. The tour involves the men's locker room which, to be honest, caught me by surprise.
“Eric would love this.” I chuckle softly.
Uncle Rocky groans. “Trust me. He’s been here. He claimed he had to discuss something with me, then all of a sudden, he’s not in my office and supposedly lost his way … to the locker room.”
“Soooo, Eric.” I laugh.
The stadium is huge, not that I’m a sports fan or anything, and I barely go to games of any sort. As Uncle Rocky continues his tour, his phone buzzes with a text, prompting him to read it.
“Ah, shit,” he mumbles.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to drop off keys to Beau. We changed the locks on our place in the Hamptons, and he’s going there tomorrow. The problem is, I’ve got two meetings this afternoon and a flight out to Cincinnati tonight.”
“Oh, bummer.”
“Hold on.” Uncle Rocky motions for me to follow him back to his office. “Do you think you can drop them off when you head back to your hotel?”
“Uh, sure. Where exactly?”
“Beau lives on campus at NYU. I’ll give you directions to get there.”
It’s not like I can say no since he seems to be in a bind. He scribbles something on a post-it note, then passes it to me along with the keys. It’s the address and dorm room number.
A colleague of Uncle Rocky barges into his office with some major crisis, calling for Uncle Rocky’s attention. I say goodbye quickly, then leave to catch a cab to NYU.
As I stand in the NYU courtyard, I can’t help but admire the green trees surrounding the tall buildings. Students are sitting around, some in groups and a few by themselves. There’s a lot of laughter from a group sitting near a tree, yet it doesn’t seem to bother the students reading near them.
A warm feeling fills my chest, and I can’t help but smile at all these people in their element. People who happen to be my age. It reminds me so much of high school, but with fewer cliques and judging by what everyone is wearing. Everyone is just chilled doing their own thing.
I look down at my dress pants and blouse, not even remembering the last time I wore jeans and sneakers. Every day is corporate wear, which, to be brutally honest, is boring as fuck.
A part of me feels nostalgic like I’ll never ever experience this. I intake a breath, ignoring these thoughts because what’s the point of dwelling on it?
Glancing down at the piece of paper, it’s obvious my sense of direction is awful.
“Excuse me,” I ask a girl walking past. “Do you know where this building is?”
She quickly reads the paper. “Sure, over there on your left.”