What You Need(89)

He didn’t have to tell me which one won out.

“I figured I’d blown it with you, so I expended all my energy into the job. That was a familiar place for me to retreat. And excel. Because, god knows, that’s all that mattered. That I proved I’m worthy.”

“Worthy of what?”

“It’s more like worthy of who.”

“Then who?”

Brady remained quiet for so long that I thought he wouldn’t answer. And when he finally spoke, his voice was so soft I hardly heard him. “My grandfather.”

I wondered if he’d had this helpless feeling as he’d waited for me to talk about my past. I wanted to soothe him before he even said a word, because I suspected he’d need it.

“I’d forgotten about it. Blocked it out, most likely because it—” His body tensed behind me. “If someone had asked me what drove me to earn multiple undergrad business degrees as well as master’s degrees, I’d likely have answered with something pat like I wanted to be an asset to LI. But the truth is, I did it because my grandfather was a nasty, arrogant old bastard who assured me I’d never amount to anything. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism to block something like that from memory, but when Walker cornered me, I had a flashback.”

I couldn’t remain silent. “To when? To what?”

“Grandpa Jack never pretended to be kindly and wise to his grandkids. Despite the fact he lived on the other side of the Lund Compound, we hardly ever saw him. He wasn’t the kind of man to go to football or hockey games. Or dance recitals. So it surprised and—I’ll be honest—excited me when he offered to mentor me at LI the summer before I started college.

“But from the get-go it was awful. He berated me from the time I got there until I left at night. I couldn’t do anything right. I was stupid. Lazy. Ugly. I was lucky I had the last name Lund because I was too much of an idiot to survive outside the hallowed company walls and I’d never make enough money to support myself.”

That feeling of numbness began to unfurl in my belly.

“He was beyond mean and he was crude. At first his favorite taunt was, ‘The only reason a woman will want to get into your pants, Bratty, is to find your wallet.’”

“His nickname for you was Bratty?”

“One of the nicer ones. And maybe it makes me a whiner to say this, but I’d had a rough time of it at my high school and I transferred to an all-boys school my senior year. So he went off on a tangent about me liking dick so much I changed schools.”

I listened. And seethed.

“I was barely eighteen. My entire life I’d heard what a shrewd businessman Jackson Lund was. From the office staff—none of whom had actually worked with my grandfather during his glory days, so they had no clue about the type of verbal vitriol he was capable of. So for the first month I threw up every day before I went to work. By the second month I just had that continual gnawing in my gut because I knew that my grandfather was right. I was stupid, lazy and unfocused. Ugly, too. I’d probably die a virgin. And I’d end up just like—” He shuddered.

I rolled until my cheek was pressed against his chest and wrapped my arms around him. “Like who, Brady?”

“Like my dad. Not only had Grandpa picked me apart until I was nothing but a shell, he went after my dad. Telling me every day that he was embarrassed that his son had no drive, no brain for business. He went on to brag that the only reason my father even had a position at LI was because he’d allowed it. My dad was a pitiful example of a man who slid by with the minimum amount of work. Then he’d demand, ‘Is that what you’re striving for? Is that your big life plan—to be like your old man?’ So by the third month, I’d gotten mad. I swore I’d prove Jackson Lund wrong. I’d never be like my father. The fun guy. He set up corporate parties. He smoothed things over with clients. He wasn’t out acquiring and making the big money. I made myself a promise that I’d be running the goddamned company before I turned thirty-five, making me the youngest corporate executive in LI history. When I went off to college, I took every business and finance class they offered.”

“And you exceeded even your own expectations.”

“Yeah. I guess. Even after my grandfather died, I didn’t slow down. And that mean bastard didn’t live long enough to see my success. Part of me is glad, because I know nothing I ever accomplished would’ve been good enough.”

I kissed his chest over his heart, my own heart heavy with sadness. He’d been as much a victim as I had. Economic disparities didn’t matter; harsh cruel words bounced off a solid surface regardless of whether it was in a mansion or a trailer. “Does anyone in your family know how cruel he was to you?”