Secretly Hers (Sterling Canyon)(32)

 

“Exactly. We need to jump ahead of him somehow, but I need to keep my name out of it because of my dad’s involvement with Wade. Somehow we’ve got to convince the owners not to sell, or make it too much of a headache for Wade to pursue.”

 

“I’d imagine the local retailers will band together to keep national chains out of town.” Grey snatched a lollipop from the cup on the desk. “Why don’t you join Avery and me and we can talk about it more?”

 

“No. Don’t say anything to Avery. I really want to keep a low profile, at least until I have more info. You go have a nice night. I’ve still got a ton of work to do on these website updates.”

 

“Okay. See you later.”

 

Trip returned his attention to the computer, jumping around to other ski enthusiast pages to leave comments and interact, just like Kelsey had suggested. The minute he’d thought of her—which had been happening all too frequently lately—he glanced at his phone.

 

He’d refrained from calling her or surprising her with a visit, although the thought had occurred to him more than once. And where the hell was Boomerang, anyway?

 

After meeting Grey last January and sharing one stupid public kiss, she’d dogged him for months with texts and drop-ins. Considering the mind-blowing sex she and Trip had enjoyed, he thought he should’ve heard from Kelsey by now. The fact she hadn’t made any attempt to seek him out pissed him off. Hell, he wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself it hurt his feelings a little, too. What the heck was so special about Grey?

 

A surprise after-hours visitor ringing the bell at the front desk interrupted Trip’s unpleasant musing. Kelsey?

 

“Coming!” he called while shoving back from the desk and trotting down the hallway. He rounded the corner into the reception area, a flirtatious grin plastered on his face, but then skidded to an abrupt halt. “Mason?”

 

His anticipatory euphoria vanished, making room for shock and a little bit of dread.

 

Mason stood, hands in his front pockets, glancing around the dated room, clearly unimpressed. “Gunner.”

 

In the far recess of Trip’s mind, his dad’s recent plea rattled. He awkwardly stuck his hand out to his brother, and Mason reluctantly shook it.

 

“This is a surprise.” Trip crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. Mason was only three and a half years older than him, but his graying hair and thicker build made him look closer to forty. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Can’t you guess?” Mason raised one brow.

 

Trip shook his head. “Honestly? No. I really can’t.”

 

“Dad sent me.” Mason’s face grimaced like he’d been force-fed a shot of cheap whiskey. “Put me in charge of Kessler’s hotel project with the misguided idea it’ll force you and me to deal with each other. Seems he’s still holding out hope for some kind of family reunion  . I told him you and I were fine with the status quo, but he’s determined that we become one big happy family. Not sure why. You haven’t seemed all that interested in being part of it for years.”

 

Trip couldn’t defend himself against that particular accusation. He had distanced himself from them since college with infrequent, brief phones calls and occasional holiday visits. Of course, Trip could lay some blame on Mason and Deb for their role in the family dynamic, but it didn’t matter. If Trip were a better man or son, he’d have made more effort. “I suppose I can’t argue with you there. I haven’t been a model son.”

 

Mason’s brows rose, apparently surprised by Trip’s confession. Someone else might be softened by such an admission, seeing it as a sign of maturity and remorse.

 

Not Mason.

 

“So this place is what Dad’s been boasting about since he saw you the other week?” He smirked, gesturing around the drab room, with its creaky wooden flooring and fluorescent lighting. Mason eyed Trip from head to toe. “At least you don’t have to wear a tie to the office.”

 

In the space of a heartbeat, Trip was right back to being a young teenage boy, defending himself against another insult. One might think, by nearly thirty-six, Mason would’ve finally outgrown his need to best his little brother. Then again, at thirty-two, Trip hadn’t matured much either, as he was about to prove.

 

“No tie, no nine-to-five. Just clean air, cliffs, and adrenaline. As for this place, it’s not much to look at, but it’s mine.” Trip pushed away from the counter, standing to his full height, and thus physically, if not otherwise, proving who was the bigger man. “The fact I never rode his coattails is probably why Dad’s impressed. Guess you wouldn’t understand, now, would you?”