Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Weston
I was typing an email when my office door opened, and my grandmother walked in.
“Grandmother.” I smiled, standing from my seat. “It’s good to see you.” I walked over, kissed her cheek, and gave her a hug.
“You embarrassed yourself again, Weston.” She sat in the chair across from my desk.
“The breakup was inevitable. It’s really none of your concern.”
“You did it on the street, in public. Like a wild animal!”
“I didn’t do anything. Claudia is the one who broke up with me. Page Six has it all wrong.”
“She may have been the one, but you set the stage. And it’s not the first time I’ve watched you torch something and walk away like it wasn’t burning.”
I inhaled a sharp breath. “Everyone wants something from me. I’m not in the business of pleasing people outside of the company.”
“You’re in the business of control. People aren’t deals you can close and never think about them again.”
“I didn’t love her,” I said.
She stared at me momentarily, her jaw tight and a look of disappointment in her eyes.
“Page Six again, Weston.”
“It’ll blow over,” I said.
“No, it won’t. It’s building, not blowing over.”
“It was a breakup. Not a damn crime,” I said with irritation.
“Weston, being ruthless is one thing. Being reckless, that’s another.
That will hurt us. Page Six is after you, after the string of events and stories you’ve given them over the past years.
Board members don’t like scandals. And the press loves to watch an empire decline because of their gossip column, whether they print the truth or not. ”
“I don’t run this company based on gossip columns,” I said, shifting in my chair.
“No, but you run it with our name. The Castile name isn’t just a logo.
It’s a reputation. Your grandfather and I spent four decades building the reputation of Castile Properties, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and watch it fall apart because you become unhinged in public.
You keep giving the press what they want—blood. ”
“What do you want me to do, Grandmother? Smile more? Date someone with a personality found by our PR group?”
“You could start by caring about something other than yourself, Weston. Chaz called me this morning.”
“Why?” My brows furrowed.
“He said there are whispers that the board wants to restructure.”
“Restructure what, for fuck’s sake?”
“They want to neutralize the problem. And Weston, darling. Right now, you’re the problem.”
“They can kiss my ass,” I said.
She stood from her chair and pointed her bony finger at me.
“Fix it. Clean up your image. Look stable and relatable. Even if it is all pretend. We both know you’re very good at pretending.
I’m going to the PR department to talk to Kylie about cleaning up your damn image, and you’re going to listen to her or else. ” She left my office.
A couple of hours later, my PR manager, Kylie, entered my office.
“I threatened Page Six with lawsuits, and they don’t care. They won’t retract the story since they have a video of the shouting match in the street.”
“FUCK!” I shouted, leaning back in my chair and running my hand down my face. “I pay you damn good money to fix things. FIX THIS!” I shouted, pointing at her. I stood from my chair and slipped on my suit coat. “I need some fresh air.”
I left the office and walked a couple of blocks to clear my head. Passing by The Morning Blend, I stopped, opened the door, and stepped inside. My phone rang, and Reece was calling.
“Hold on a second, Reece?” I answered, snapping my fingers at the barista to get her attention. “Large black coffee,” I said. “Tell me it’s done, Reece?”
“It’s not done. Avila is stalling,” he said.
I threw some cash on the counter, grabbed my coffee, and sat down at a small table over by the window.
“He sent me a two-page email stating how he’s been in business for over forty years in the same exact location. He’s asking, and I’m quoting him, so you don’t shoot the messenger.”
“What is he asking?” I gritted my teeth.
“Whether there’s room to be reasonable,” Reece said.
I chuckled. “Room to be reasonable? He rents the property. Since when does he think he can negotiate against the man who owns it?”
“He wants to keep the same number that he did three years ago, Wes.”
“The number is the number. I don’t care what lease he signed three years ago. I own the building now, and the terms are mine. If the bakery can’t make the rent, the bakery can find a cheaper zip code. I couldn’t care less. He’s already paying well below market.”
“Listen, Wes. And just remember, this isn’t coming from me personally.
I’m telling you that if you don’t negotiate with Avila, there’s a version of this where he makes his way to a reporter, and the headline reads: Castile Properties Evicts Beloved Family Bakery of Forty Years.
Kylie is already trying to dig you out of one mess.
Do you really want another hanging over you? ”
“I don’t give a fuck if they’ve been there for forty years.
Forty years later, and they still don’t own the floor they stand on.
That’s not my problem. That’s a life-choice problem Avila made for himself.
You get him to sign the lease by the end of the week, or I will personally slap the eviction notice on his door. Got it?”
I heard Reece let out a long sigh. “Yes, Wes. I got it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I ended the call and tossed my phone on the table. As I sipped my coffee, I heard a voice behind me.
“Must be nice.”
Turning my head, my eyes locked on a beautiful woman sitting at the table behind me. How did I not notice her when I walked in?
“Sorry?” I spoke.
“Having that much.” She waved her hand. “And caring that little.”
“Do you always make a habit of listening in on other people’s phone calls?” My brow arched.
“Not usually. But I couldn’t help but overhear how awful you were being. If you’re going to publicly destroy a man’s livelihood for the past forty years, you should probably lower your voice.”
“Excuse me?” I cocked my head.
“The bakery owner you’ve apparently decided to toss into the street like yesterday’s muffin,” she said.
“I couldn’t help but chuckle. “A muffin?”
“Don’t focus on the muffin, Mr. Monopoly.”
“Excuse me?” I commanded. “Why the hell would you call me that?”
“You fit the profile. You know. Wealthy. Ruthless. Probably owns a top hat somewhere.”
“Sorry to crush your dramatic impression of me, but I don’t own a top hat. And you should really learn to mind your own business. There’s nothing less attractive than a woman who butts in where she doesn’t belong.”
“You’re a bully,” she said. “A rich man who thinks money gives him the right to push people around. You think you can say and do anything you want without consequences. I happen to love that bakery. And Mr. Avila is the sweetest man I’ve ever met.
Did you know that his wife passed away last year?
They were married for over forty years.”
“Not my problem. This is business. It’s not personal,” I said.
“Well, maybe if you had a soul, you’d see what you’re doing is wrong. There’s more to life than money.” She grabbed her bag and walked out of the coffee shop.
I sat there stunned. As much as she was on my nerves, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly beautiful she was.
Five feet seven inches, long brown wavy hair, and beautiful green eyes.
But she was a psychopath, and I didn’t have the time to give her another thought.
I grabbed my coffee and headed back to the office.
“Don’t say no until I’m done,” Kylie said, flying into my office.
“No.” I looked up at her.
“I said until I’m done. I haven’t even said anything yet,” she said. “You don’t have room to negotiate here. My job is on the line if I don’t fix your reputation and this company's reputation. Your grandmother threatened me.”
“She threatens me every day. She’s harmless.” I leaned back in my chair.
“Take a look at this.” She handed me a file. “I think it might be a fix.”
I opened the file and saw an old photograph. It was in black and white and of a football team from Manhattan Heights High School, from back in the day. And in the front row, my grandfather was proudly displayed as the school’s star quarterback.
“This is my grandfather,” I said.
“I know. Star quarterback and valedictorian. The man threw a forty-yard pass and gave the graduation speech. Manhattan Heights basically built a shrine in honor of Augustus Castile. There’s a trophy case with his name on it and all of his awards.
Did you know that your grandfather made yearly donations to the school for the first ten years of owning this company? ”
“No, he didn’t. He would have told me,” I said.
“You weren’t even born yet, so why would he?” She cocked her head.
“What does this have to do with fixing what Page Six reported?”
“Hear me out. A school. Manhattan Heights Public High School. And before you judge and make a face because I know you don’t do schools, it’s the perfect plan.”
“Are you going to actually tell me what the plan is? Or are you just going to skate around it? Because, frankly, Kylie, I don’t have time for this shit.”
“The school is facing financial trouble. The city cut the school’s budget twice in the past three years. They’re about to lose their arts program and athletic program. This school made your grandfather a superstar. And now it’s up to Augusta Castile’s grandson to save the legacy.”
“How much?” I sighed.
She waved her hand in front of her face.
“It’s a number you spend on art that you never even look at more than once.
But I don’t want you to write a check, Wes.
I want a night. A gala. In the gym, where your grandfather spent a lot of time.
The same gym where he gave his valedictorian speech.
Think of the headlines: The grandson of the legendary Augusta Castile saves the school that made him. ”
“What’s the catch here?” I asked.
“There’s an auction. Classic charity format. We’ll invite wealthy people, auction off expensive items, and host a blind-date auction. But you’ll have to participate, of course.”
“What do you mean?” I furrowed my brows.
“Ugh. Why aren’t you getting it?” She cocked her head. “You HAVE to be involved. You’ll bid on a date and take her out. For one night, you just have to show up somewhere your grandfather mattered besides here. One night, Wes. That’s it.”
“What if the women are ugly?” My brow arched.
Kylie closed her eyes and slowly shook her head.
“One night, Wes. One damn night. This way, you’ll be doing a great thing and restoring your reputation, presently known as Cold Castile.”
I sat there for a moment and pondered everything she’d said.
“And you believe this could turn things around?”
“I do. You will be back in the graces of the board and your grandmother once this is over.” She grinned.
“Fine. Go ahead with the plan.” I waved my hand.
“You won’t regret it.” Kylie grinned, jumping up from her chair.
“I already do,” I sighed.