Chapter 2 Cole Present day, Cole’s thirtieth birthday
Cole
Present day, Cole’s thirtieth birthday
A smartly dressed woman was waiting for me in reception. “Welcome back, Mr. Thorner. Your brother has requested your company in the conference room.”
“Which brother?”
The woman jogged to keep up with me, her clicking heels echoing around the gleaming foyer. “Lucas.”
Bloody Lucas. It was always the same thing, and I had no time for morose shit about how I was a terrible uncle who didn’t visit enough.
“I’m busy.”
“Mr. Thorner . . . the other Mr. Thorner . . . told me you’d say that. He told me not to accept no for an answer.”
I cut a sharp glance at the woman. Honey-blonde waves framed a pleasant face. A smart suit wrapped around her slim frame. Lucas had to be fucking her if he’d convinced her to bug me like this before I’d even got back to my office. How did he find the time? I hadn’t taken a woman out for ages.
“You work here?”
She flashed an aggressively cheerful smile. “I’m Olive. One of your PA’s assistants. We spoke on the phone an hour ago.”
I’d never seen this woman before in my life. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure, Mr. Thorner. You asked me to set up a meeting with Gabe Rivers.”
“And have you done it yet?”
She dropped her gaze. “No. It’s . . . He declined. He said no to a meeting.”
“What reason?”
She cleared her throat. “His exact words were, ‘I have no interest in ever doing business with Cole Thorner.’”
My jaw ticked. What the fuck? I’d had a handful of interactions with Gabe Rivers at corporate functions, and they’d always been unremarkable. I stormed up the stairs.
“Mr. Thorner, wait. Please. Lucas said I needed to bring you to the conference room the minute you got back to the office.”
I turned on the stairs and gave her an unflinching glare.
The kind my father was famous for. He always teamed it with a tilt of the head and a downward tip of the chin.
Despicable as he was, I’d always admired his ability to say “Go fuck yourself” with no actual words.
It was an art form I’d been perfecting over the years.
The woman shrank under my gaze. Pink spots dotted her cheeks. She looked like she was about to burst into tears. The one thing she should have been doing was leaving me alone. Instead, she took a couple of steps up toward me.
“Please, Mr. Thorner. It’s important.”
I let out a sigh. Obviously, my go fuck yourself glare still needed work.
I glanced at my watch. Just after 6 p.m. It would have been nice to get out of here before midnight, but if I had to do another night in this office, then so be it.
I needed to find out what the fuck kind of problem Gabe Rivers had with me.
I headed back down the stairs. The woman who claimed to work here slumped with visible relief. I marched past her through gleaming open-plan offices. She paused outside the dark conference room. No Lucas. No lights on.
She shot me an anxious glance. “I’m sorry. Please don’t blame me for this. I lost the coin toss.”
Blame her for what? A chill went up my spine. Oh no. No fucking way. They better not be pulling some shi—
The fishbowl space flooded with fluorescent light.
“Surprise!” A melodic chorus of shouts rang out in unison.
People in stupid little hats stuffed every inch of the room. Party poppers exploded. A sudden blast of Stevie Wonder erupted from somewhere. My teeth gritted. Lucas held his arms open.
“Happy birthday, you old bastard.” His lips curved in a begrudging smile. “Thirty is a big one. You can ignore all the others, but you have to mark thirty.”
My heart pounded. A surprise party. My life was about minimizing surprises. It was about scrupulous control and discipline. That was the only way we’d achieved everything we had. A room full of expectant eyes trained on me.
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
I’d done a stress management course once.
An hour out of my calendar to breathe. Breathing was free.
I couldn’t keep a roof on this building for free or pay wages for free.
There were cheeses, glistening olives stuffed with little chilies, and fancy charcuterie.
Fruit was piled high on silver platters.
Champagne tumbled in a mini fountain. I wanted to get that tray of olives and ram the entire lot down Lucas’s throat. What was he thinking?
“Turn it off,” I muttered.
Lucas leaned in closer. “What?”
“Turn this racket off,” I shouted over the music.
Stevie Wonder halted abruptly, and a brittle quiet swept in. Smiles dimmed to anxious whispers. You could govern either by fear or love. I hadn’t dragged myself onto the Sunday Times Rich List by a desire to be loved.
My voice sounded low and dangerous. “Is this what I pay you for?”
Lucas’s hands landed on my shoulders and gave me a gentle shake. “It’s your birthday. Have a drink before you disappear again.”
I shrugged him off. This wasn’t good enough. Nobody here was trying. Only me. I never fucking stopped. Fuck turning thirty. Fuck Gabe Rivers not answering my calls. Fuck stuffed olives.
“Enjoy your champagne.” I addressed the crowd of bewildered faces. “You’re all fired.”