Chapter 2 I Always Win #2
“What’s that?” my father asked. The server whisked away his empty glass and replaced it with a second—third?—double scotch. He set another down in front of me, and I signaled for an ice cube. If I was going to choke down Lagavulin, I was going to do it my way.
“I got the job,” I said without preamble. The server flashed a congratulatory smile as he used tongs to lower an ice cube into my drink before discreetly retreating.
My mother sucked in a breath. “You’re CEO?”
The peaty whisky burned a path down my throat. “Yes. They’re making a public announcement tomorrow.”
“Congratulations, son.” My father shoved back his chair and came to shake my hand. My mother reached up to clasp my other hand. I let myself bask in the perfection of the moment. Soon, I’d be able to accept their praise for real.
“I’m sure you already have a long list of changes to make,” my father said, “starting with that COO. You’ve got to clean house by removing opposition.”
“Actually, there’s more.” I cleared the bitterness from my throat. “I’m sharing the role with the former COO.” Mason frowned, and I briefly regretted not telling him last night at the gym.
“What?” My father’s grip loosened.
“It’s a ninety-day trial period. A competition, if you will. Though I’m confident I’ll beat her out.”
His steel-gray eyebrows lifted. “Is this about diversity?” His carrying voice lowered on the last word as if it were obscene. And maybe it was, here in the dining room with its white diners and mostly brown serving staff.
“Possibly.” Ned had hinted at that. But he’d also mentioned her long tenure. “Bridget’s been at the company for years. They may have felt they owed it to her for her loyalty.”
My father returned to his seat. I sank into my chair and tossed back the pungent whisky. The ice did little to dilute the scotch’s bite.
“Ninety days?” Mason asked. “I suppose you have a plan?”
“Of course I do,” I said. “I’m working on a big deal. I’ll start strong so she’ll be in reaction mode. She won’t have the time or focus to launch her initiatives.”
My father lifted his glass. “Excellent plan.”
“Now that you’re CEO,” my mother said, “you should send Caitlyn to St. Marcellin. I’m so embarrassed when I have to tell people she goes to a public school.”
I didn’t give a shit about her embarrassment, but fond memories of my school days drifted into my mind.
I’d made lifelong friendships at the private school every Campion man had attended since my grandfather, and now it was coed.
I caught my brother’s eye. “You think Caitlyn’s got what it takes to be a Marcellin man like we were? ”
“Of course she does,” he said. “She’s half yours.”
“We love it,” Sheila said. “The boys are thriving there.”
“She’ll never get into Harvard from that mediocre public school,” my father said. “She needs the advantages of St. Marcellin to succeed.”
I couldn’t imagine living without the privilege that had opened the world to me. I certainly didn’t want an ordinary life for my daughter. “You’re right.”
“What do you think Zara will say?” Sheila asked.
I grimaced. My ex-wife was a staunch believer in public schools, and since she had primary custody, she sent our daughter to her neighborhood school.
It was fine for regular kids, but it was no St. Marcellin.
Caitlyn would never meet a future CEO, senator, or ambassador there like Mason and I had. “She won’t be a fan.”
“They don’t have a bus service. It’ll be inconvenient for her to get Cait there from Walnut Creek,” Sheila said. “I don’t know how the mothers who work do it.” She curled her manicured fingers around her wineglass, clinking her diamond-encrusted wedding ring against the crystal.
“If you had primary custody, you wouldn’t have to worry about it,” my mother said. “St. Marcellin has a residential option. Caitlyn could live at St. Marcellin, and it would be convenient for everyone.”
Zara would hate the thought of Cait going to a private boarding school, but it would certainly be convenient.
She could see Caitlyn on the weekends and school holidays, like I did now.
Perhaps if I had primary custody, Zara would have the time to advance in her job as an industrial designer, and she and Eli could afford to move closer to the city—and St. Marcellin’s campus.
Everyone would be better off, especially Caitlyn. She was so smart, with a glowing report card every quarter. About once a month, she beat me at the daily game of Mathlon we played. Even at a better school, she’d be a star. And she’d grow into her full, extraordinary potential.
“At St. Marcellin, Caitlyn will be a winner like us.” I nodded at Mason. “I’ll talk to Zara about it.”
“No doubt.” Sheila leaned back as the server set her dinner in front of her. “Just don’t expect Zara to be happy about giving up custody.”
I was certain she’d fight me on it. “Eventually, she’ll see reason.”
“Sure, she will,” Sheila said. “Like she saw reason about your eighty-hour work week schedule and lack of emotional support.”
I frowned at the swordfish the server set in front of me. I hated swordfish. “She wants what’s best for Caitlyn. I’m sure I can convince her that St. Marcellin will give Cait the advantage she needs to compete in a cutthroat world.”
“That’s the spirit, son.” My father beamed at the swordfish on his plate. “Campions are winners. You’ll win this one too.”
That was one thing I could agree with my father on.
Two days later, on Friday, I rocked up to Zara’s door. I was still in my suit, full of that winning spirit as my black Porsche 911 idled at the curb.
Zara closed her red front door behind her and stood in front of it like a palace guard. “You’re late.” Her natural curls were shiny, and her crimson lipstick matched her dress.
I resisted taking a step back on her porch. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No. You’re late again. And now I’m late.”
I summoned up my reserves of patience, which were never full. “I know. I had some work to finish up. I was promoted to CEO this week.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows smashed together. “Congratulations?”
“It’s a huge career milestone. CEO before thirty-five.”
“What does that mean for Caitlyn?” She crossed her arms.
“It’s huge for her too. We can get her into St. Marcellin.”
“You want to change her school?” Her lips flattened.
“As a CEO, it’s practically expected of me to send my daughter to prep school.”
“She’s in third grade.”
“When I was in third grade, we were doing pre-algebra. Caitlyn’s class is still learning their multiplication tables, which she’s known for a year. The way they’re holding her back, she’ll never get into Harvard.”
“She should be making friends and loving learning. Not prepping for college.”
“It’s never too early to prepare. Especially for girls. The world is stacked against them.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “You think I don’t know about the corporate world being harder for women?”
“No, of course not—”
“I know what’s best for our daughter, and that’s being in her neighborhood school.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “I also know what’s best for our daughter, and that’s getting better educational opportunities.”
She leaned closer. “Too bad I have primary custody.”
“We could revisit that, you know.”
“You want to revisit our custody agreement? Right as you’re starting your big job?”
I flipped up my palms. “What better time?”
“Cole, you never had time for her when you were a manager or when you were a vice president or a CFO. As a CEO, you definitely won’t have time to nurture her like she needs.”
“That’s the fantastic thing about St. Marcellin. They have a residential option.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She held up a hand. “You want custody so you can send her away?” She shook her head. “This is a terrible idea, Cole. If you proceed, I’m going to fight you on it.”
“Fine.” Although our divorce had been amicable, our relationship had never been smooth. “I’ll be prepared.”
Without taking her eyes off me, she opened the door and shouted, “Cait! Time to go.”
Three seconds later, Caitlyn barreled through the door, clutching her tote bag with her stuffed iguana poking out of the top. “Daddy!”
Zara’s husband, Eli, stepped up behind Zara and put a hand on her shoulder.
I bent to hug Caitlyn, rubbing my cheek against her soft braids, each of them tipped with a pink bead. “Hey, baby. It’s good to see you.”
She patted her bag. “I’ve got my Halloween costume.”
“That’s great.” I pretended I hadn’t forgotten. “We’ll go trick-or-treating in my building.” I’d have to sneak out to buy candy and plant it with my tech-bro neighbors. None of them had kids. “What are you dressing up as?”
“A warrior princess.”
“That’s my girl. Before trick-or-treating, how about we go to the rainforest exhibit at Cal Academy? Maybe we’ll see a real iguana.”
“Ooh, fun!”
I looked up at Zara and smirked. “I knew you’d like it. Okay, baby. Let’s go.” I took her tote bag from her.
Zara said, “See you Sunday.”
“See you Sunday.” I’d fill our daughter’s weekend with enough entertaining and educational activities that she’d talk about it nonstop for the next two weeks. Maybe I hadn’t won the war yet, but I’d won today’s battle.