Priceless(30)

“I do, but it’s also a company restaurant in some division or another.”

She studied him curiously. “You really don’t care about all that, do you?”

“Only when it’s convenient, like tonight,” he admitted. “Thank God I don’t need to think about it. The company is totally and completely Richard’s bailiwick.”

“You never had the slightest inclination to claim your part of the family legacy?”

“Nope,” he said readily. “I made my own money playing football, even though my career was brief. I made some sound investments, then used those to buy a share of the team. I love football. I get it. When I was on the field, I enjoyed the competitiveness, the physical demands of the game. I still like the strategy involved. I don’t care about manufacturing widgets or running restaurants or whatever else Carlton Industries is into.”

He waved a finger under her nose. “And don’t try to get me off track. I haven’t forgotten that we were talking about your family.”

Her expression immediately closed down. “There’s not much more to say.”

“Are you trying to prove something to them? Maybe finally earn the attention they denied you growing up?”

She deliberately put a bite of meat in her mouth and chewed slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Probably,” she said at last, surprising him with the admission.

“But didn’t you learn anything from them?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said at once. “I learned all about dedication and focus.”

Mack regarded her impatiently. “But they hurt you, Beth. Call it benign neglect, if you want to be generous, but it was neglect. Is that how you want to live your life, being oblivious to the people around you, not having any sort of personal life?”

She stared at him in shock. “Is that what you think? Do you think I don’t date much, because I’m trying to emulate my parents?”

“It looks plain as day to me.”

“Well, who died and named you Freud?” she inquired tartly.

“Are you denying it?”

“Of course I’m denying it. I work hard because I love what I do, because it matters.”

“I’m sure your folks thought the same thing. Did that make you cry any less when you went to bed at night without them there to read you a story or tuck you in?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted stubbornly. “I was ten when my brother died, much too old for stories.”

“But not for a kiss before bed,” Mack said, recalling how Destiny had insisted on tucking them all in, even when they protested that they were much too old. He and Ben had loved it. Richard had grumbled loudest of all, but Mack realized now that he’d needed Destiny’s attention most of all, and she had instinctively known that and ignored all their complaints.

“It wasn’t important,” Beth insisted.

Mack shrugged. “If you say so.” He met her gaze and saw the confusion and vulnerability she was trying so hard not to let him see. “You know, Beth, when you look at my life, you see a life of privilege, right?”

She nodded.

“Because my family has money?”

“Of course.”

He shook his head. “The money’s there, no question about it. And it’s made a lot of things easier, there’s no doubt about that, either. But you know what really made our lives rich?”

“What?”

“Having an aunt who was willing to give up a life she loved, even a man she loved, to come back to the States to take care of three little boys she barely knew just because they needed her. After our folks died, Destiny was there every single night to tuck us in and reassure us that we’d be okay. She taught us by example that there was still joy to be had in living life to its fullest. She didn’t retreat into some other place and hide out, leaving us to struggle to figure out how the hell to heal from the hurt.”

Beth carefully put her fork down and met his gaze. “Your aunt sounds remarkable, but my parents did the best they could,” she claimed, though there wasn’t much conviction behind her defense of them.

“Well, if you ask me, it sure as hell wasn’t good enough,” he said angrily, thinking about how terrified and lonely she must have been after her brother died, how she must have feared the same thing could happen to her. Had they reassured her about that much, at least? Probably not. In their self-absorbed world, they’d probably never even noticed she needed the reassurance, or maybe they’d even dismissed it as a weakness in a way that had stopped her from even voicing her fears.