Page 41 of The Parent Trap

“Why did I come back? Why did I buy Dell’s shares of McKenna?”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s hard to even try to trust you and your motives when I have no clue what your motives even are.”

He rolls his shoulders, sighs. “Buying Albion put me on a path, of sorts. I saw a pretty immediate positive valuation, so I figured okay, why not? Let’s do it again. So I started sniffing around and found another company. This one was just a baby one, though. No IPO, no stock offerings, just a private company with a good idea, and they needed an investor. So I invested. They were a tech company on the verge of going public with their product…some sort of chip or something that makes Wi-Fi go farther with better signal strength or something. I dunno exactly. Again, not a controlling interest investment, but sizable. My investment put them into manufacturing and they were a hit immediately. Including with Albion, who saw their product as a no-brainer. So that’s nice and symbiotic.” He shrugged, sipped coffee. “So then I bought into a medical supply company, just to diversify. I’ve invested in something like dozens of companies over half a dozen different industries, and I’m seeing great returns. But none of them reallyinterestedme. Like, I’m not on the board, I’m not part of running them. It’s all just making me more money, which is nice, but… I don’t need it. I needed something to do, and I honestly enjoy the work, the process. But investing my money in something is not at all the same thing as investing my emotions. Myself. My time.”

“I’m starting to see. But what I don’t get is whyMcKenna?”

His eyes went to mine. “Dell didn’t just walk away out of laziness. I’m sure you talked to him. I’m not trying to defend him or make this about him—I know you don’t want to talk about him. My only point is, he had valid reasons. But I was just like, you have something, here, Dell. Something real, something valuable. And I told him, when I agreed to his plan, that if I was going to be all in on McKenna, I was going to finally bepartof it. In it.” He huffs, rolls his shoulders. “So, why McKenna? I don’t know, Delia. I really don’t. It was familiar? I don’t know.”

I frown. “So, it wasn’t…” I don’t want to say what I’m thinking, not in so many words. But I do. “It wasn’t just to fuck with me?”

He shakes his head. “No, Delia. Not at all.”

There’s a distance in his eyes, though. ”What? What aren’t you saying?”

“Just that…I think when Dell first suggested it, I think he assumed I would be looking at it as a prank on you. Like, haha, guess who owns half of your company? This motherfucker, the asshole who made your life a living hell for eighteen years.” He shakes his head again, not looking at me. “I don’t know that I can delineate or…or quantify all my actual reasons for going through with it. I think part of it was that just from a financial standpoint, it was smart business. I know McKenna is successful. I know it’s a good investment, even if I had nothing to do with it. I know you would make it even more successful than it’s ever been. Plus, it does potentially dovetail with the investment I made before this one.”

“Which is?”

“They’re an indie startup. They 3D print construction supplies from recycled, sustainable, and recyclable materials. Their initial products are just things like switch plates and screws and braces and brackets and all that kind of piddly shit. But the product that their whole vision was based around was framing sections, printed whole, in bulk.”

I blink. “3D printed framing sections? Made of plastic?”

He nods. “Yeah. But, like, superplastic, or something. Special polymers engineered to withstand something like triple the amount of stresses that traditional framing can support, at least in part because the sections are all one piece, no joins, none of that.”

I gape. “And you’re just now telling me that you own this company that makes this product?”

“Well, I don’t own it. I’m just an investor.” He arches that eyebrow. “And I wasn’t sure I was quite at a place with you where I could make those kinds of suggestions. I was going to wait until you weren’t ready to knife me in the throat every time you saw me.”

“I’m not going to knife you in the throat,” I say, with an eye roll.

“You once told me you hoped my plane crashed.”

“That was then. You had just thrown a snake on me, also.”

He snorts. “Yeah, I suppose that’s relevant.” Another shrug. “But if you’re interested in the framing thing, I can set up a meeting. I know they’d love to have a big account with a reputable builder.”

“Do it. I think it could be good. Now that I’m in charge, I can make those kinds of decisions.” I can’t help but let out a groaning sigh. “I wish I could be happier about it. But Dad would never have gone for it. And it just makes me miss him all the more, even though I know modernizing the business is necessary and important.”

“I’ll get ahold of…god, what’s his name?” He frowns. “Marcus? I think his name is Marcus. Anyway, whatever the hell his hipster name is, I’ll call him and have him make us an official pitch.”

“Sounds good.” I glance at the clock on the oven. “Shoot, it’s getting late. I have to shower and change before I head into the office.”

He swallows hard and sets his mug down. “Yeah, me too. Can’t wear the same clothes in to work two days in a row.” He smirks. “My boss is a real ballbuster.”

I laugh, and it makes my stomach feel oddly warm, and kind of…flippy. “I’m not your boss, for one thing. We’re co-owners. And two, I don’t give a shit what you wear.”

He quirks that eyebrow yet again. “So if I came in wearing board shorts and a tank top, you’d be cool?”

I shrug. “I mean, it would be unprofessional, not to mention impractical on-site, but…I’m not your boss.” I make a face. “And I’m not a ballbuster. Am I?”

He laughs. “How should I know? I barely know you, in some ways. And in others, I know you too well to be an objective source.” A thoughtful expression crosses his face, then he shakes his head. “But if you’re asking me, I’d say no, you’re not a ballbuster. You have expectations and standards, and you personally work your ass off, but I’ve never gotten the impression that you expect perfection and go around busting people down if they don’t measure up.”

I’m oddly relieved, in a way I don’t dare think too closely about. Because this is Thai, and I don’t quite believe that this thoughtful, intelligent, hard-working person in the same Matthais Bristow I so hated, once upon a time.

He heads for the door, pauses. “Look at us, having civil conversations and shit, right?”

I laugh. “I guess itisan improvement.”