Page 11 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)
six
. . .
geo
The Fight
Thankfully Quincey was already sold on the property, based on the excellent photos our staff photographer took for the listing. Once we arrived at the building, it merely took a singular walk through before he decided.
He’d already seen the inspections and run all the numbers—after discovering the property to be in the shape and condition that was promised, he signed.
My commission on properties like this is usually two percent, but because a person like Quincey Parker can recommend us to both clients and contemporaries, I dropped it to one percent, which means today I’m earning $150,000 in commission, and I sold another property in the FiDi last week, clocking my two percent commission on a thirty-million dollar medical building.
All things considered, I should be happy.
But when I put my SUV into park in my son’s driveway not more than three hours later, I’m nearly shaking.
Not every father and son has to be the type to go fishing together, restore an old car together, to call me up and ask me for advice or to go golfing. That’s some fathers with their sons, but that is not me and Sutton.
Not because I don’t want to be close with my only son– my only child.
I do. I always have.
Though I told him I’d return and he’s got a security system with cameras, a Ring doorbell with video feed, still–I knock.
A moment later, Sutton answers the back door, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
Instead of a hoodie, he’s now in a white t-shirt and jeans, messy hair damp.
Writing the vows have taken their toll on him, or— I glance at my watch. “Is this a bad time?”
He doesn’t reply, only shrugs, and turns, heading back inside. On the kitchen island, the books and notepad are no longer there, and in their place, are steaks on a baking sheet, the makings of dinner scattered around.
“Avery’s on her way home,” he tells me as he sets his drink down and moves to the sink, washing his hands. I loosen the tie around my neck, but leave my jacket on. Something tells me I’m not welcome for more than a few minutes, and I surely won’t be invited to stay for dinner.
When Sutton and Avery got serious, I wanted to talk to him about…
fuck, I don’t know. His life? His mother?
Our relationship? I didn’t know exactly what to say or how to bring it up, all that I knew is that I wanted our next phase of life to be better, happier, and closer.
I’d hoped that falling in love would soften Sutton’s hardness toward me, but with his wedding in just a few weeks, I’m afraid hoping isn’t enough.
I have to communicate.
“She staging a home today?” I ask, knowing of course the answer is yes because Avery works just as hard as Sutton, and if she isn’t by my son’s side, she’s working.
He nods, cracking pepper into a bowl, moving for the Himalayan salt.
Looking around, I notice a long sectional in the living space has a handful of colorful throw pillows, and on the open-air shelf adjacent to the range hood, a few colorful mugs are upturned, too.
“Did she officially move in?” I ask, fully aware that these could be his touches, everything normal.
I wouldn’t know— Sutton doesn’t invite me over.
We don’t have family dinners or stop-ins unrelated to real estate. And I suppose that is my fault.
He nods again, slipping on a glove as he kneads his seasoning mixture into the cut of raw meat. “Yes, over the last week. I finished unpacking everything today, in fact.”
I nod my head, officially out of small talk. Two questions and I have nothing left to say to my son, and if that’s not heartbreaking, I don’t know what is. “Sutton, I wanted to talk to you about the comment you made earlier.” I don’t name the specific remark, because he’s aware.
“Do you think Quincey Parker cares? He’s gonna buy the property regardless of who you are beyond some glossy photo on a bus stop bench,” he says, taking another snipe at my choice to market Mercer Properties around the city, using my face.
“I don’t think my choice of marketing is what’s on your mind,” I say slowly, noticing the way his shoulders lift, tension flowing through them. I bring my son stress and tension, and that’s another heartbreaking strike.
He abandons the meat, bracing his free hand against the counter, lifting his eyes to mine. “Say what you came here to say.”
My chest goes concave. “Why don’t you say what you have to say,” I suggest, “since?—”
“Next time you need property keys, text me and tell me. I don’t want to entertain some stranger and hear your ridiculously hypocritical views on marriage.”
Blinking, I watch as his nostrils flare and his chest gently rises, anger flowing through him with ease at just the mention of marriage, and the comment I made earlier.
My son has been aloof and high strung since he was a preteen.
The last time he was carefree was when his mother was alive.
Neither of us were the same after losing Margot.
“I’ve always thought that you were cold and aloof with me because that’s who you largely are with everyone. Or that losing your mother turned you into this version of yourself and that you take out your anger on me, because I’m your father. But now I have to wonder — who exactly do you think I am?”
The back door opens, the home security system announcing it, followed by the gentle sigh of Avery.
A moment later she appears in the kitchen, her blonde hair twisted into a messy bun on top of her head.
Wearing a fitted v-neck crop top and little leggings and sneakers, she drops her purse and keys on the counter, and places her palm over her forehead, sighing.
“No more mansions for at least a week. I’m absolutely exhausted,” she announces, and I watch like a voyeur as my son collects his fiancée in his arms, and smothers her in affection—kisses on her cheek, lips, along her jaw and down her throat.
She giggles in his arms, writhing against him affectionately until I clear my throat, making my presence known before this goes any farther.
He knows I’m here, but he’s doing his best to ignore me, per usual.
“Oh, Geo,” she says, slipping out of his arms as he glares at me, returning to his dinner prep. “How are you?”
I smile at my future daughter-in-law. “I’m okay, Avery. How are you?”
Heat blooms around my heart when Avery smiles at me, because her smile is not just sweet and beautiful, of course, but genuine too. She may be the only woman I know who gives me a genuine smile.
“I’m doing well. Stopped by earlier to grab some keys for a property in the Financial District.”
Avery bobs her head to show me she’s listening as she fills a kettle at the sink and slides it over a burner, turning it on. “Tea?” she asks, but I shake my head, and before I can say no, Sutton interjects.
“He was just leaving,” he deadpans, nudging a piece of dark hair out of his eye with the back of his wrist. Sutton’s dark hair reminds me of my youth, and the way I looked when I met Margot, his mother.
Avery tips her head to the side as she collects a bright blue mug from the shelf, raising to her toes to reach it. “Did you get the keys you need? I can grab them since Sutt is busy.”
I shake my head. “I came by earlier for that. Sold the property, actually.”
She brings her hands together in a slow motion clap, pressing her fingertips into her chin. “Congratulations, Geo! That’s wonderful.” I only smile in return, and after the moment fades, her brows pull together. “But you came back? Here?”
Even my future daughter-in-law is surprised to see me here, even though we are indeed father and son who also run a multi-million dollar company together.
This energy between us has become normal, and I want to undo it before I become a grandfather.
Looking at Avery, there’s no way my son is going to marry her and not have her pregnant within the damn minute.
I have little time to rectify what feels like a lifetime of pissing him off, just by being me.
“I did,” I confirm, waiting for my son to look at me. “I was hoping to speak with Sutton.”
Avery's face droops a little as she tugs a teabag from a jar she got from the walk-in pantry. “Oh. I’ll make myself scarce–just let me get my tea.”
I reach out and take her hand, squeezing gently, which finally gets Sutton looking my way. Actually, he’s glaring at the place where my hand holds Avery’s hand.
“You can stay, actually. We’re going to be family very soon, and I’m not adverse to you being in the room for any conversations with Sutton.” I pull out a barstool, despite the fact that I have not been invited to stay. He’ll never invite me, so I choose to sit down.
“I don’t want to discuss anything with you,” Sutton says, tone high, straddling the fine line between impatient and full-on irritated.
“That’s unfortunate, son, because I’d love to know what you meant by the comment you made when Quincey Parker was here.
” I think about the property on the line, and if Quincey was a different kind of man—I could have missed out on that sale today.
“You’ve not said two words to me that had any sort of meaning behind them since you were a boy and today, while a multi-million dollar property is on the line, you chose to make a passive aggressive comment about my life choices, or, really, your limited perception of my life’s choices? ”
Avery looks at Sutton, letting the tea bag fall idly into the mug. “What did you say?”
Sutton lets out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We were supposed to have a nice dinner in tonight,” he says, more to himself than either myself or Avery.
I don’t want this smart, thoughtful woman, who I might add has become an invaluable addition to Mercer Properties, becoming my daughter-in-law with her head full of ideas that I’m… Jesus, I don’t even know what Sutton believes.