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His expression doesn’t change. “Been better. What have you been up to?”
He has no idea how loaded that question is.
“Do you remember how you told me social media wasn’t a viable option for a career?”
His brows dip just slightly, the only change in expression he’s had since I walked in. “Sure.”
He doesn’t remember. His answer makes that clear.
One of the things I’ve labored over for absolute years isn’t even a memory for him.
“You told me I always liked fashion, and there would be more opportunities for me there even though it was my dream to work in social media management,” I say flatly.
“Mm,” he murmurs.
“Well, fashion sucks and I hate it, and I’ve been working with Everleigh. I got my first client, and I’ve been managing his socials.”
His gaze softens still more. “That’s wonderful, Ivy. I’m so proud of you.”
I’m not sure if I should mention that I also lost that client. I don’t know if it would do any good to tell him the whole story. I don’t even know if he deserves to know the whole story.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “I’ve loved working with Ev, but honestly, I think I might take Madden up on his offer with VanBrad.”
“Oh?” he asks. “Why’s that?”
“Vegas isn’t for me,” I say softly.
He tilts his head a little. “In the end, it wasn’t much for me, either.”
I almost laugh at that. How true that is for both of us for such critically different reasons.
“What will you do with Madden?” he asks.
“I’ll be a design coordinator.”
“It’s not social media,” he points out, still completely devoid of emotion, which makes me feel like he doesn’t even care that I’m here with him.
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. It’s actually closer to fashion based on the colors and textures.”
“Vegas broke you that much?” he asks.
I press my lips together as my eyes fill with tears.
Not Vegas so much as a stupid fuckin’ hockey player, as Madden called him.
“Well, I do have some good news for you. I asked Paul to let me tell you if you came to the sentencing.”
My brows push together. “You have good news for me?” I ask.
He nods. “Before your mother died, she wanted to change the terms of your trust. Everything good was in her name so it would never be tainted by whatever I was doing. She was worried about you not having access to the family legacy the way your siblings did simply because they already turned twenty-five and you were born later.”
“My trust?” I whisper.
“It’s complicated because it was an irrevocable trust, so it’s been sitting in probate for months. But your mother signed the paperwork before she died, and Paul was the trustee, so he’s been pushing it forward. It went through a few days ago.”
“What went through?” I ask, my heart racing.
“You can legally access your trust fund. The money is yours, separate from my frozen assets.”
