2. Mira #2
“What you see is what you get,” he explained as I looked over a handful of photos.
Clayton standing in front of a few of his businesses—hotels and restaurants in the Los Angeles area.
There was one of him beside a surfboard, staring out over the Pacific with the Santa Monica Pier in the background.
It looked like a candid shot, and I had to wonder how Papa got a hold of it.
But then I knew better than to question his reach and abilities.
He might have played the part of a charming, warm, old-fashioned guy, which he was for the most part.
He also had a streak of pure steel running through him.
He was much shrewder than he let on. Never let them see you coming.
His motto. He wanted to be underestimated by his competitors.
All the easier to turn around and snatch business away from them if they never considered him a true competitor to begin with.
“Father ran off when he was in diapers,” Papa explained while I paged through the documents his team had compiled.
“Straight-A student, went to UCLA on a full academic scholarship. Could have gone for an athletic scholarship too. He was a damn good football player in high school, but an ACL tear screwed up his chances. Somehow, he maintained a 4.0 GPA even while playing, which tells me hard work is in his blood. You can’t teach a person to be that disciplined and driven. It has to be born in them.”
“All right, he’s disciplined and driven. So am I,” I reminded him, turning the page.
“ Si , which makes you a good match.” Dammit. I walked into that one. “In fact, he’s disciplined enough and intelligent enough to know better than to jump at my offer right away. I like that.”
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse. My heart sank even further before I looked up from the file. “Wait a second. You mean if he had jumped at the opportunity, you would have turned him down?”
“In a heartbeat.”
Motherfucker. I swallowed hard to clear my throat of the bile that rose in it. If only, if only. Then again, Papa wouldn’t have thrown his hands into the air and given up. He would’ve found somebody else. I would’ve been granted a brief reprieve, is all.
“He interned with a hospitality group in college,” Papa continued.
“He spent summers and breaks working at different locations. Learned everything he could about the business. Invested his earnings. Parlayed that into purchasing his first handful of motels and restaurants in LA. Within less than ten years, he’s built himself into the man you met today. ”
“To be fair, we didn’t exactly meet,” I reminded him.
Either he didn’t hear or didn’t feel like listening. “No history of complaints against him. No arbitration with dissatisfied employees or disgruntled guests. The man is clean, honest, driven. Self-made.”
“Like you,” I concluded, closing the folder and pushing it toward him. “I get the picture.”
“Now you understand?” It was clear from his faint smile and the indulgent lilt in his voice that he expected me to fall in line the way I had done so many times. I had made it too easy for too long. No wonder he thought he had this level of control over me.
Slowly, I stood. “It ever occur to you I might take your place? Without bringing in a third party, some stranger?”
“Mira—”
“No!” His head snapped back, and right away, I felt guilty.
There I was, twenty-eight years old, and my father still had the power to make me feel like a guilty child in trouble for raising her voice.
“No,” I repeated, quieter this time. “All these years. All this time. I have lived at the hotels. I have worked alongside the people there. I know them inside and out. Employee names, the names of their kids, everything. I have put time and effort and love into this, but none of that matters because I was born a girl and not the son you wanted.”
The worst part? How he didn’t bother correcting me. “Why do you think I made sure to include you being kept on after the wedding?” he asked.
“That’s not the same, and you know it! I’m talking to a wall.” I threw my hands in the air and turned away. If I continued this for even another minute, I might completely lose it. The last thing I needed was to be accused of being overly emotional yet again.
He doesn’t mean it. The old refrain echoed through my skull as I stomped down the hall toward my office. My fists swung at my sides, and if I ground my teeth much harder, they might crack.
All my life, I had made excuses for him for his old-fashioned attitude. I told myself he wasn’t hurting anybody, that old habits were hard to break—every explanation in the book. Maybe if I had pushed back sooner, I wouldn’t now be searching for a way out of this.
Who was I kidding? I had never considered myself na?ve. There was no room for na?veté in my life. I knew what I wanted, and it meant being clear-headed and free from childish fantasies. There was no room for that in business.
My assistant shot me a curious look when she watched me pass, but I didn’t have it in me to explain what had happened.
I didn’t know if I could find the words to paint a picture any less laughable and archaic than reality.
Sold in marriage like we were back in The Old Country centuries ago.
The man could hold meetings with investors halfway around the world from the comfort of his home laptop, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around how the world had changed.
Everything sat on my desk the way I’d left it before walking down the hall—financials from a handful of our properties, feedback from guests, a few issues I wanted to address with managers by the end of the business day.
Whatever it takes . The words were engraved on a small brass plate which I kept on the corner of my desk, facing me as a constant reminder to go above and beyond.
I didn’t normally need a reminder, but there were times when I had to grind my teeth and push through. This was one of them as I sank into my swivel chair and touched my head to the leather behind it. Somehow, I’d aged twenty years in the past half hour. Sudden shock could do that.
I had left my cell on the desk specifically for our meeting.
Papa preferred it that way. There was only one thing more important than me being constantly accessible to everyone in the company, and that was the attention I gave him when we were together.
As far as he was concerned, the phone could be an extension of my arm twenty-three hours a day so long as I pretended it didn’t exist during the single hour we had set aside to catch up.
The only thing waiting for me was a handful of texts.
My stomach flipped when I saw who they’d come from.
Matteo Lamberti and I had been on one date after chatting via text for a few weeks.
Normally, I’d see his name pop up on my screen and would smile to myself.
There was nothing serious going on—we hadn’t even slept together yet—but for the first time in at least two years, I’d met somebody I wanted to know better.
Matteo: How are you today, gorgeous?
Matteo: Still on for drinks tonight?
Matteo: Not sure I can go another day without looking at that face.
If I had seen those messages this morning before the meeting with Papa, I would’ve glowed inside. I would’ve fought back a grin for hours and might have been too distracted to pay attention.
Now? All I could do was set the phone down and press my fingers to my temples like that would do anything to cure the screaming in my skull.
What was I supposed to say? Sorry, I’m sort of being forced into marriage, this was fun?
Funny story. My father still thinks this is the nineteenth century, and I’ve been sold like a prize heifer.
It was laughable.
Absurd.
It was also reality.
I could say no. I could take my money and run.
There was nothing tying me down. Nothing except the people.
They were counting on me. How was I supposed to trust Clay or anybody else to take care of them the way I did?
How was I supposed to rest a single day, not knowing for sure that the properties I had started to think of as mine over the years were taken care of?
How could I walk away from what I had poured my entire life into all these years?
Just the thought of giving up and retreating made me grind my teeth.
Could I stand it? It would be like cutting off part of my body.
I knew every inch of those properties. I was on a first-name basis with the managers.
Our most loyal and frequent customers were like friends.
Was I supposed to walk away after putting in all that time, effort, patience?
No way. I had worked too hard for too long. Even if my father didn’t think I had it in me to take control, I had to be part of it. I’d be damned if I’d fall in line and be the sort of wife Papa would want me to be—barefoot and eternally pregnant, no matter how supposedly brilliant he thought I was.
But I would sign the marriage license if it was my only chance at protecting what I loved.
That didn’t mean I had the words to explain things to Matteo.
Not yet. Hell, I still wasn’t sure Clay would accept the offer, even if I had a strong suspicion he would.
My lip curled in a sneer at the thought of him marrying a stranger just so he could grow his empire.
At least I was trying to protect and nurture something that meant a lot to me.
He was only interested in his net worth.
You’ll never believe the day I’ve had, I told Matteo via text. I’m going to need more than one drink.
* * *
“Say something,” I begged, watching Matteo closely, cringing a little now that I’d spilled my guts. The whole situation was so ugly and sad.
He shook his head slightly, and his golden blond hair shone in the blue-tinted lights of the trendy bar he’d settled on for our second date.
He liked to name-drop during our conversations—people he knew and expensive clubs and restaurants he frequented.
I had met many men like him over the years of managing our upscale properties.
Satisfied to live off his trust, ready to throw money around if it meant impressing a woman.
“I don’t know what to say.” He finished his martini, then raised his empty glass to signal a server. “I need another drink if you expect me to understand what you just told me.”
“This doesn’t have to change anything,” I insisted. “We can see each other. I want us to keep talking. I like our conversations before bed.” Although I was usually the one going to bed while he was normally getting ready to go out.
“Me, too, though I’d like them a lot better if we were face-to-face.” His dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he tried to smile. “What are the chances of that happening now that you’ll be married?”
“Please, don’t make my head explode,” I begged, rubbing my temples then taking another sip of my wine and wishing I had chosen something stronger. “I already have so much to think about. All I can say is I’m going to have my own life. They are not going to tell me what to do.”
His handsome face fell a little before he frowned.
“It sounds like they already are.” He closed a hand around mine, squeezing gently, and the simple gesture almost brought tears to my eyes.
For the first time all day, somebody cared about how I felt.
“I’m not abandoning you. You don’t have to be alone in all of this. ”
“Thank you.” Still, I sighed miserably. “I’m going to need all the help I can get. You understand why I have to do it, right?” I asked, desperate for affirmation.
“Oh, sure. I guess.” He shrugged. “I guess my plans for showing you off around town and taking you home with me tonight are…”
“Not going to happen,” I concluded. “Sorry. I’m just not in any mood.” His disappointment was obvious.
It was something we had in common.