4. CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
M ICAH
I yawn and turn over in bed, automatically hitting a stretch as I lie on my back. Then I open my eyes.
I blink at silver-tiled ceilings with elaborate engravings that remind me of a cathedral in Milan. A light fixture descends from the middle of the room, not quite as large as the chandelier in the ballroom but just as intricate with crystals dotting each panel. Sunlight washes in from the French doors leading out to a balcony. The corners of the room hold vases with pink flowers that match the pink velvet walls and give off the scent of lilies.
I’m at the Pink Hotel, I realize and with that, the events of last night start rushing back to me. I instantly sit up in bed, glancing around. My muscles ache when I move, protesting the abuse I put them through last night. But I smile regardless, so fucking sated I don’t mind.
That was an insanely enjoyable night. Watching Carly come apart in my arms over and over, writhing in passion, demanding and submissive all at once… a man could easily get addicted to that.
It doesn’t take more than a quick look around to realize she’s gone. I don’t hear the shower running in the bathroom, and there’s no one on the veranda. It’s likely she just stepped out for a second but probably not. She’s gone, with no note, no phone number, nothing.
Disappointment weighs heavy in my gut.
Typically, this would be my preferred scenario. When a woman is gone by the morning of a hookup it means she understands that this is simply a one-night stand. Except in rare cases, she won’t get attached and start dreaming of wedding bells and engagement rings. She enjoys the fun for what it is, and then moves on the next day.
And true to her word, Carly seems to be exactly the type.
But I’m disappointed because I wouldn’t have minded another round before she left. Or maybe have some breakfast with her. I enjoyed our conversation yesterday before we had sex and would have liked to see more of her easy wit.
Oh well. It’s not like I don’t know where to find her if I need to. I’ve only met Carly on a few occasions and even “met” is a strong word for it. On the day Declan proposed to Emma, I saw Carly across the grassy field and was around the general vicinity when she and Emma talked. I knew her name but that was about it. I didn’t notice her much beyond the fact that she looked cute and innocent.
And cute and innocent has never been my type.
I prefer worldly women, women who know what they want and go for it. Carly with the pigtails and the overly baggy clothing didn’t seem like that type.
But as it turns out, I was wrong. Because she definitely went for what she wanted last night.
My smile widens as I get out of bed, padding naked to the bathroom to wash my face. Then I look at my shoulders noting the red marks from when Carly scratched me as I ate her out the second time. I admire the marks like a badge, wondering if I should wear a vest today to show them off. Maybe I’ll show up to where she works. It would be worth it to see the blush spreading on her face.
And then maybe I’ll even get to see more than her face.
Who knew her baggy clothes were hiding a body like that?
The ringing phone breaks through my thoughts. I turn around and pad back to the room, retrieving my phone from my pocket. I sigh when I see the caller ID.
The jig is up.
I pick up, anticipating the explosion. “Hello?”
“Are you insane?” my father roars, and I can almost see him bristling behind his office desk at the top of a skyscraper near Central Park.
“It depends on the time of day,” I respond mildly. “I’m usually fine in the afternoon, but I’m told that I go rabid at night. Like a vampire.”
“This isn’t time for your stupid jokes, Micah. Do you have any idea what you just tried to do? Are you trying to ruin me?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Dad. How is selling my shares in the hotel going to ruin you? You could sneeze on a hypothetical billion-dollar note and it wouldn’t hurt you.”
“This hotel isn’t just any hotel. It’s the Pink Hotel, a hotel that has been on the tip of everyone’s tongue for months now. It’s advertising itself with how much it has been on the news.”
“Yes. It’s been advertised as the scene of several crimes. You think that people will want to stay here?”
“Are you kidding me? Of course! The only thing better than a vintage hotel is a vintage hotel with a killer story. Do you know how many people would stay in the Manson house if they could? We’ve struck literal gold here Micah and spent a fortune polishing it up. And now you want to throw all that away by selling it for a pittance of what it’s worth. To Benjamin DuPont of all fucking people.”
My dad’s voice screeches at the end and I move my ear away from the receiver to rub it.
“I’d hardly call thirty million a pittance.”
“It’s a pittance compared to what we stand to make in the future. It’s less than what we’re projected to earn even in the next ten years.”
“Aren’t you the same person who told me not to put too much stock in projections?”
“Now you choose to listen to me?”
“I always listen to you, Father. Listening and obeying are two different things.” I pick up the menu by the bed, wondering what to get from room service. Then I remembered the hotel is not technically operational yet and put it down again. I’ll have to go into town for breakfast before I leave.
I wait for the rest of my father’s rant. I know from his breathing that the old man is only getting started.
“I truly don’t know what your problem is, Micah,” he continues. “Here am I offering you a chance on a silver platter and you’re throwing it away. It’s a chance that many would kill for, the chance at a stable income, at ownership, something you could call your own that will make you millions for a lifetime.”
“And who says that’s a chance I want?” I say. “Maybe I want something different.”
My father is silent for a second and then in a shocked tone he says, “You want to be poor?”
“No,” I say. “What I want is freedom, Dad. The freedom of not running this hotel and answering to you and Tudor all the damn time. I want to do what excites me.”
“All the things that excite you are stupid.”
“To you,” I say.
“To everyone who’s not a child. Micah, you’re thirty-five years old. Don’t you think it’s time to stop your foolishness and start thinking of taking over the family legacy? I’m not going to be alive forever, you know, and someone will have to take the helm. What I’m offering you here is a chance to get the experience you need to run Landing Holdings. You’ll need experience to win over the board of directors and our investors and–”
“Yawn,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “Those old crones don’t want me on the board and, frankly, I don’t want to interact with them any more than I have to. As for the family legacy, that wasn’t what I signed up for, and it’s not the role you raised me to play. That was supposed to be Tristan’s job, no?”
My father reacts like I shot him. “Your brother is dead.”
“Precisely. And that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Because with Tristan gone, you need someone to neatly slot into his place. But I’m not him, Dad. I can’t just do the things he did and, even if I could, I don’t want to. I want something that’s mine, that isn’t tainted by his legacy.” I want to be Micah, not Tristan’s less competent wild card brother. I’m sick of playing a role that I’m not good at, a role that chafes.
And then my father goes for the low blow. “And how is that working out for you? What is it, five failed businesses in ten years? It’s an impressive track record if I think about it.”
I try not to grit my teeth. “Most businessmen fail before they succeed.”
“Not when they have billions of dollars at their disposal.”
“Okay, this has been a fun talk Dad, but I have to go have breakfast now.”
“I’m not going to let you sell those shares.”
“They’re my shares to sell,” I say.
“Shares that I gifted you,” he says. “Shares that I still control. I’ve already spoken to Ben DuPont and confirmed that the deal is off.”
Anger spikes inside me but I know better than to react. My father already thinks I’m a child. I don’t want to encourage that notion.
Come on, Micah. Say something pithy and mature.
“You can’t fucking do that.”
Great, way not to sound like a whining child.
“I can and I did,” Dad says simply. “And if you try to sell to anyone else, Tudor and I will strike it down too per our contract. If you insist on acting like a child, I’ll treat you like one. And I’m going to save you from yourself and make you a man if it’s the last thing I do.”
As my father hangs up, I resist the urge to fling my phone against the wall.
Damn.
One word from my dad and all my well-laid plans have gone to shit. I spent weeks convincing DuPont to buy off my shares.
And now he won’t do it, because my father got his panties in a twist.
I don’t blame Frank Tudor for telling my father. His friendship with my father predates my existence and so it’s only fair that his loyalty lies with him.
And so with that, I’m trapped once again.
Except I’m already thinking of a way out of it. And despite what my father thinks, I’m not lazy or stupid. I’m just someone who gets easily bored and needs a challenge. Working at this hotel won’t be a challenge. It will be just one more part of the humdrum of life.
Another thing I do that adds no value to the universe. Another thing I do less well than my brother.
I hate that Tristan died and left me to be the one in charge. That was never supposed to be me. I was the fun brother who was very comfortable in his shadow because it gave me the freedom to do what I want. And now, I’m supposed to play discount Tristan.
And then it hits me.
The only one who can help me out of this predicament.
The only person who can overstep my father, and it isn’t my mother who I haven’t heard from in almost a year, due to her extended sabbatical to cope with my brother’s death.
In a world of sharks, there’s always a bigger shark.
I go to the window at Laketown. Quaint streets dusted with petals and leaves from the trees framing them. Slow-moving people talking, laughing, holding hands. All the buildings are red brick or colonial-style architecture. Not a single glass skyrise in sight.
I refuse to be trapped here. I refuse.