6. CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
M ICAH
I whistle as I unlock the crafted bronze door of the Gilded Age mansion, letting myself in through the arched doorway.
The entryway is big enough to fit an apartment on its own and fixed with all the makings of a French chateau, including the wide windows that poured light over the vintage furniture, elaborate moldings and statues accenting each entryway, and a grand fireplace, featuring the quintessential gold leaf design.
The space smells of fresh flowers and citrus, which means it was just cleaned a few seconds ago. I hear voices coming from the next room, the dining room, which also means the old man is already up and kicking this morning.
Good.
His mood is always best after he just woke up, which is why I took an early morning flight from Laketown to New York to catch him in these rare early hours of serenity before the rest of the world pisses him off.
I stride into the dining room and catch my grandfather as he’s murmuring to his maid to bring him a cup of cappuccino.
I pause as his head slowly swivels to me and I do a double take.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say. “I think I must be in the wrong house. I was looking for my grandfather, but I seem to have stumbled into the home of a young, handsome Clint Eastwood. Let me try again.”
I make a point of walking back to the front door and then returning. “Huh, it says this is the address. Odd. Did you kill my grandfather and take his place, young handsome Clint Eastwood?’
My grandfather doesn’t crack a smile. “Your jokes get less amusing with age.”
“No, they don’t. And what is it with you and Dad age-shaming me all of a sudden? Thirty-five is not old.” I walk around the table and grin at the maid, who’s trying to hide her smile. “Hi, Elvira. How is it going?”
“Good morning, Master Micah,” she greets.
“No need to be so formal, Elvira. You changed my diapers at one point. Just ‘Master’ should be fine.”
She giggles and rolls her eyes before retreating. I face my grandfather who takes a sip of his orange juice. He always likes to have freshly squeezed fruit juice in the morning before he feeds his caffeine addiction.
“I assume you’re out of money,” he says.
I lay a hand on my chest. “You wound me, Grandfather. Are you trying to imply that the only reason I would visit you is to pad up my finances?”
“Don’t be too offended,” my grandfather responds drolly. “It’s not special. That’s the only reason most people visit me.”
The thought has some stray guilt propping up.
Well, I probably haven’t been coming over like I should, but that’s because I’ve been so busy trying to undo my father’s machinations that I haven’t had time to consider much else. Heck, I haven’t even partied in weeks. “It’s not like that, Grandfather.”
“Right.” He snorts. “Let me guess. You and your father had a fight and he cut you off again.”
“No,” I say although his guess is eerily close. “We simply had a small disagreement about this new business I’m starting.”
“Another one?”
I wince. “Yes, but this one is different. You remember how much I used to love architecture back in college?”
“I remember you dropped it in your third year to pursue a life of debauchery.”
Ouch. “Well, it didn’t quite happen like that.” There was more to it than that, but it would take too long and expose too many scars to explain.
My grandfather fixes me with a look. “You’re about to tell me that you dropped out because your father disapproved. That’s more of a childish reason than what I said.”
“Dad’s disapproval isn’t the reason I dropped out.” Yes, my dad didn’t approve of me studying architecture, just like he didn’t approve of it when I said I wanted to be a pilot at age twelve. He saw both as childish dreams I would eventually get over, when I was old and mature enough to see things his way. Plus, he’s always felt that my true place was in his company as my brother’s right-hand man.
Everything else was a distraction he only let me indulge in because he thought it was a hobby.
But when he saw me start to take architecture seriously in college, with an actual plan to start a company and everything, he got threatened.
He wanted me to drop it. I refused. So he approached it in a roundabout way. We had many arguments about it, arguments that my mother stayed out of, and my brother often mediated and took my side on.
“Leave him alone, Dad,” Tristan would say. “Can’t you see how badly he wants this?”
But my father didn’t relent. Ultimately, it came to a head when I started my company while I was still in college, using my savings and some of my inheritance from my mother’s side for it. Dad pretended to give up then. He pretended to even be supportive.
There was a building he wanted to renovate and he convinced me to put my bid on the project.
And then got Tristan to reject it, knowing it would hurt more coming from him than from my dad.
“It’s nothing personal, Micah,” Tristan said apologetically at the time. “It just wasn’t good enough, at least not to the stakeholders.”
But I knew my design was good. I poured my heart and soul into it, so I didn’t understand why he was saying that. Plus, it hurt.
It was one thing to be told I was talentless by my father. It was another for it to be Tristan, who I looked up to so much.
Only later did I realize that my father put him up to it.
Plus, it wasn’t just that. Dad also somehow planted moles in my budding company to report my moves to him. Then he made sure to obstruct those as much as possible. Blocking business deals, leaking scandals... all to make me give up.
And he got his wish.
My father’s continued sabotaging efforts crashed the company enough for me to give up on that dream.
And I’ve been making him pay for it ever since with my blatant life of debauchery.
“Anyway, that’s not the point,” I say, eager to get this conversation back on track. “The point is now I’m ready and I finally have something I want to do, something I’m good at.”
“As opposed to the last ten things that you didn’t want to do and were terrible at?”
“Just hear me out, Grandfather, alright? At least give me a chance to convince you.”
He stares at me and then takes another sip of his orange juice, which is probably all the allowance I’m getting.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I’ll have to be honest and just a little vulnerable, which I hate doing but honesty is the only thing that will convince him right now.
“I’ve always liked architecture, even though Dad disapproves. Always. All those years I’ve been out of college and wandering around, I haven’t been doing nothing. I’ve been exploring architecture from different countries, and studying design and sustainability. Did you know that biophilic designs have recently been proven to improve health outcomes and increase productivity in the workplace? Did you know that Asian bamboo architecture is seeing a rise in popularity in the West? Did you know how many sample designs I’ve drawn in that time that will never see the light of day? Because Dad doesn’t know and he doesn’t care to hear any of that. All he wants me to do is be a good boy and take Tristan’s place. But that’s not for me.”
I swallow back the bitterness, although some of it probably leaks into my voice. I also fight the surge of emotion that always hits when I think about Tristan being gone.
My grandfather’s expression doesn’t change. Not because he doesn’t care. Losing Tristan was as hard for him as anyone else, but he’s better at controlling his emotions than all of us combined.
“For now,” I continue, “Dad wants me to prove myself by running this hotel in Laketown. It’s a hotel with a lot of tragedy and the public is eating it up right now so there’s a lot of buzz. But that will probably die off soon. There isn’t anything really special about the place and the town itself is boring as all get out. I think it’s going to be a massive waste of time, but Dad isn’t ready to listen to me and wants to force me to stay there and run it, maybe so he can blame me when it doesn’t work out.”
My grandfather eyes me shrewdly for a few minutes, with a gaze that used to make me quail when I was younger. It’s hard to tell in situations like this, but the old man has a softer heart than he puts off.
I remember how he used to terrify me when I was younger. Until one day, I fell out of a tree and broke my leg. No one else was home except him and Elvira, and he picked me up and packed me into his bed. He ordered me to be silent while he worked, but I still kept crying about the pain while waiting for the doctor. And then my grandfather sighed and came to me. I thought he would tell me to shut up again, but the old man got in bed with me and held me while I sobbed.
That was when I saw that his bark was worse than his bite and that he had a soft spot for me. So I use that to my advantage now. He’s the only one who can defy my father. I just have to push the right buttons.
But with time and too much button-pushing, his dials were getting rusty.
Elvira comes out to deliver two cappuccinos while Grandpa deliberates. I shoot her a smile in thanks, and as she leaves, I take a sip from my cappuccino cup.
“When do you think you’ll be ready for marriage?”
The question takes me off guard so much that the coffee instantly shoots the wrong way and I spray it out on the table, becoming a coughing blubbering mess. Elvira sends me a wry look, to which I respond with an apologetic wince as she whips out a clean rag from her pocket and begins dabbing at the mess.
“What kind of question is that?” I ask my grandfather after Elvira retreats.
“It’s a serious question,” he says. “You’re nearly forty Micah–”
“Thirty-five.”
“And time waits for no one,” he says. “You keep running from thing to thing lacking stability, lacking the resolve and drive necessary to push past the hard parts. And I don’t blame you for not having those skills. Perhaps your father and mother have spoiled you too much. But at some point, you’re going to have to grow up, and having a woman by your side would help with that.”
I stare at the old man incredulously. Who knew he was such a romantic?
“It’s not like I haven’t been looking to settle down, Grandpa,” I lie because I have not. “It’s just that it’s so hard to find a good woman these days.”
Because I’ve wronged them all.
“Good women are not to be found in the crowd that you frolic with,” Grandpa says sternly. “You only hang out with riffraff and nobodies who have nothing to lose. Women from good families have the breeding necessary to help you grow and raise good children. That’s who you need to be meeting.”
“Right,” I say even though I wholly disagree. It would be pointless to argue. My grandfather, despite being a generally nice guy, is also a raging classist.
“I can introduce you to some of them. The country club is holding a mixer and a lot of single high-society women will likely be in attendance.”
I have a distinct idea of the type of women he’s talking about and nearly feel my dick shrivel up and die.
“Ah, no you don’t have to do that, sir. Actually, I kind of already have someone I’m seeing.”
My grandfather’s eyes flash with interest. “Is she from a good family?”
“Yes,” I say because if I’m going to lie about my fake girlfriend, I might as well make her the perfect one, right? “A very good family. Things have been getting serious between us so… yeah. Very stable.”
His eyes study me and I try to look as innocent as can be.
“I want to meet her.”
“What?”
“Since things are getting serious it would only make sense for me to meet her and ensure she’s the right woman for you. Choosing the right woman is harder than running a business. So if I see she’s the right one, then perhaps I’ll have more faith in your decisions. Then you may have my support.”
“And that’s when he all but told me I had to get married for him to give me the loan,” I say. “Can you believe it?”
It’s a few days later and I’m back in Laketown lying on Declan’s office couch, ranting about my problems. The couch is soft imported wool, smells like a lavender cleaning product, and it’s immensely comfortable. I should know since I spend a lot of time here lately, at least whenever I’m in Laketown.
Declan is at his desk reading something on his computer and doesn’t respond to the end of my story. I frown.
“Declan, are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, you’re really hard to tune out.”
I smile. “That’s only because you care, buddy.”
He gives me a sour look and I wink in return.
I’ll be honest, the only reason I tolerate the frequent trips to Laketown is because of Declan. Annoying him is quickly becoming my number one source of enjoyment.
Mostly though, I’m here to throw my dad off my scent and trick him into thinking that I’m being compliant with his order. I know he monitors my movement. If I spend enough time in Laketown, he’ll think I’m helping Declan with the hotel opening and won’t see the next part of my scheme coming.
But a plus of this arrangement is that I get to rant to Declan for hours and he will only throw me out when Emma comes in–although frequently Emma actually wants to listen to my rant. She’s nice like that.
Declan isn’t as nice, as he has a stick up his ass the size of a baseball bat, but I’m used to his brand of cranky. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of my brother.
I brush away the thought as someone knocks on Declan’s door.
“Come in,” he says and a large man in a long flannel coat walks in. He spots me and raises an eyebrow. I give him a fake salute before he turns to Declan.
“Erm, boss, there’s a problem.” Sweat is beaded on the man’s forehead and he wipes it off with a handkerchief. Who the hell sweats in fifty-degree weather?
But as sweaty as he is, he doesn’t take off his coat.
“When is there not a problem, Hal?” Declan sighs. “What is it this time?”
“The plumbing guys fucked up the HVAC in about three or four of the rooms. The walls will have to be broken for them to take care of this.”
“Jesus. And why didn’t y’all catch on before?”
Did he say ‘y’all’? I almost snort. Someone’s adopting his fiancée’s twang.
The man itches his hand, through his long sleeve, staring at the floor self-consciously. “Well, it all seemed fine at first. It wasn’t until one of the workers tried to use that bathroom that the problem became… obvious.”
Declan rubbed his temple. “We’re going to have to redo the entire wall after we fix it.”
“Not necessarily.”
They both glance at me.
“Just add it to the design.”
Declan’s eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”
“Industrial pipe decor is all the rage nowadays. Just extend the pipe outward and make it part of the design of the room.”
“I’m not sure that would work,” Hal says. “I’ll have to run it by the architect we have on staff first.”
“I doubt your architect has studied extensively the mechanics, history, and psychology of eighteenth-century design, but go for it,” I say, turning back to stare at the roof.
They’re silent for a second and then Declan says, “Just go ask him.” The door closes as Hal leaves.
“You know being arrogant won’t endear you to people in this town,” Declan points out. “I’m speaking from experience.”
“Hmm,” I say noncommittally. “Speaking of people in this town, how’s Carly?”
I turn to find Declan with a warning eyebrow raised. “In what way?”
I grin. “In the way that I’m inquiring about her general well-being.”
“And why are you inquiring now? You never have before.”
I’ve never spent a mind-blowing night with her before. “So I can’t ask how your fiancé’s friend is doing?”
“Stay away from Carly,” Declan says sternly. “She’s going through a lot, what with her cousin’s jail sentence and all. She doesn’t need you adding on to it.”
Oh, Declan. You’re so naive.
He should know me better by now.
Telling me to stay away from someone is a sure way of pushing me closer to them.