Page 130 of Tanner

“Two drinks, max. You, tequila, and women don’t mesh well together,” I warn him as I adjust his collar and tie and brush off his shoulders.

His eyes glance to the side to see if she’s listening, and then he whispers to me, “No worries, man. It’s just happy hour.”

“Last time I went to happy hour, I was ghosted.”

“And then you got married,” he offers.

I raise my brows at his premonition.

He defensively holds his hands up. “I’m just taking her out for a drink. I am in no rush to get married for at least another ten years. Twenty-three is way too young. No offense.” He looks back at Callie, who is checking her makeup in a compact mirror. “Although I kinda like her. She’s different, you know?”

I smile, knowing exactly what he means. “Just don’t blow her over. She’s a nice girl and a damn good assistant.”

“How is it going?” he asks, knowing I have been opposed to the idea.

Callie’s been working for me for a few weeks, and I already notice the difference. “My schedule is tighter, I’ve been able to have her handle some of my paperwork, and I only take meetings and calls that are absolutely necessary. I’ve been home at a decent time every day, which means I have more time for my wife.”

“Sweet. That means, you can go home and get some sookie sookie.” He waggles his brows as he adjusts the button of his jacket.

I might be a married man now, but I’ll still never kiss and tell. “It’s Charlie’s birthday party tonight.” I glance at the time on my phone. “I hope Austin and Bryce have left for the day as well.”

“I can read them the riot act if they haven’t,” he offers with a thumb pointing to the floor above where their offices are.

I roll my head from side to side and consider his offer. Bryce is the one I have to worry about. He expanded his department and delegated many of his responsibilities, so he can be home more for Tessa and Charlie, yet I sometimes find him burning the midnight oil well past when he wanted to be gone. Austin has always been good at balancing work and a social life.

“Get out of here. And behave.” I give him my best scowl.

“Damn. Give the guy a fancy title, and he decides to grow up,” Chris teases with a cocky grin as he steps back and heads to the hallway where Callie is now standing with her purse on her arm. He walks up next to her and places a hand on the small of her back, escorting her down the hallway toward the elevator.

He appears taller, all dressed up. I wouldn’t be surprised if his shoes had lifts in them.

I check my office one last time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything, grab my messenger bag, and close my door, staring at the nameplate that reads Tanner Sexton, President of Marketing and Advertising, Sexton Media.

I run a hand along the etched steel lettering of my name. Where there was once a pang in my chest at the thought of being back here, I now feel a sense of calm, walking the halls of the company my mother built.

After my father’s passing, my plan was to move back with the intention of helping my brothers during Missy’s trial and then selling them my shares of the company. What I wasn’t planning on was falling in love with the work. I’ve been able to use what I learned at Columbia to fortify some incredible campaigns for our clients. Plus, with Bryce heading print and Austin running digital, there are some amazing opportunities for cross-promotion. It’s exciting and a form of creation I didn’t know I’d enjoy so much.

I knock on the door of one of my employees. “Good night, Laura. Make sure you get out of here in time to see your daughter’s play.”

“Shutting down right now, boss. Enjoy the birthday party.”

My team is filled with a talented group of people who I’ve become close to over the past year. It’s another reason I decided to stay on board and take the place my mother had created for me. A place beside my brothers at the head of the table.

As I walk down the hall, I make sure my employees are gone or wrapping up for the day. Unless we’re on a major deadline, I try to get them out of here at a decent time every night. Many seem surprised when I stop to talk to them. I know the names of everyone’s significant other and make a point to ask them about their families. Sexton has always been a family business. My personal goal is to keep it that way.

“Night, George.” I wave to the office manager as I walk onto the elevator.

When I get off, I’m in the two-story lobby of marble and granite. The word SEXTON is written in large letters behind the security desk, and it causes me to reflect.

Our surname—the one given to us by our father to continue a legacy—has been in the paper a lot in the last twelve months and not for the reasons a son intends to carry his father’s name.

His suicide made national headlines. The corporate headshot that had made him seem prestigious was on every news show. Images of the house with police cars and yellow tape are forever etched in my brain. As is the sight of his body being wheeled outside, only covered by a thick white sheet.

My hand grips the leather strap of my bag, and I squeeze as hard as I can at the memory.

When we walked outside of his house that night, the patrol car Bryce had called was in the driveway. As we filled the police officers in on what our father had confessed to, a loud gunshot blasted inside the house. Deep down, I think we all knew what had happened.

The officers drew their guns, called for backup, and ran into the house, their footsteps heavy as they pummeled through the doorway. Austin was right behind them, but Bryce held me back as my body leaped forward to follow.