55. Cole
COLE
“Babe.” Jenny was nudging me. “Babe, wake up. You need to get ready to go fly-fishing.”
I opened one eye and stared at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be riding a horse and petting a buffalo or something?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting Audrey in a minute.” She sank onto the bed next to me. “But I got to thinking, so I came back to the suite. I was feeling guilty.”
My other eye snapped open. “Guilty about what?”
“About you taking me on vacation and missing work.” She tossed her curls and smiled at me. “You’ve been too good to me, Cole. I don’t want you to resent me because you’ve taken another trip.”
“It’s fine. And I appreciate the concern, but…” I sat up, confused. “Where is this coming from? I thought you were all excited about the horses and the buffalo. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I woke up thinking about it,” Jenny said. “We had so much fun yesterday that I almost forgot you were supposed to work on your deal.”
“Me too.” I grinned at her.
“But then I remembered yesterday,” she continued. “When we got to the airport, you seemed upset, so I was just concerned. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, everything’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I was just worried.” She sat there, an atypical frown on her face. A little crease appeared between her eyes. “I don’t want you to get behind, is all. I feel guilty that I’m taking you away from your business.”
“Babe, it’s okay. You’re not.” I lifted my phone from the nightstand and held it up. “See? It’s not like I can ever get away from it. I’m always working.”
She nodded. “Okay then. If you’re sure.”
“Why do you sound upset?” I felt my own crease forming between my eyes. Suddenly, I thought of Jenny’s note and how she’d convinced herself she wasn’t good for me. “Are you getting in your head again?”
Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“Like when you left me that note.” I sighed. “You seemed like you had some big conversation going on in your head about what ‘should’ be happening.”
“Maybe I am a little bit.” She shrugged. “I just don’t want to be too much of a distraction.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, babe. I have a team. I have Shirley. I have my phone.” I waved it back and forth for emphasis.
“Okay, Coley.” But she was still frowning.
“I am not falling behind,” I assured her. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll work on a few things before I meet James to go fishing. Okay? You can go on your trail ride. I promise you, I won’t miss out on anything important. And I sure as hell won’t blame you if I do.”
She traced an invisible pattern with her finger onto the comforter and nodded. “Okay. I hope you get everything done with your deal. It’s better to wrap things up, doncha think?”
“Sure,” I mumbled. Was something up with Jenny, or did I just need a coffee? She seemed upset, worrying about things that were none of her concern, which concerned me . I didn’t want her getting freaked out again and then running away.
I reached for her hand. “Everything’s okay, I promise. You don’t have to worry about anything. All right?”
“All right.” She leaned over and gave me a sweet kiss, the scent of her coconut-y body spray wafting over me. “But you gotta tell me if you need space. Promise?”
“I promise.” I kissed her again, and we both moaned.
Jenny pulled away. “Don’t be starting with that Cole hotness again,” she teased. “I have to go meet Audrey. I’ll see you this afternoon, okay? I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you more.” With another kiss, followed by a smack on the ass, I sent Jenny on her way.
I picked up my phone again and was unsurprised and un-delighted to find several voicemails from my father. Each message escalated—he was furious that Ramos hadn’t delivered the approvals yet. Sighing, I called Ramos again.
He didn’t bother to say hello. “I know your old man’s pissed,” he said. “But the city inspector said the structural beams need more support. What do you want me to do? I can’t permit a building that might collapse—not unless you pay upfront. I already told you that. I’m not sure why this is still my problem. I’m thinking the answer is a big, fat no.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll call him and let you know you’re leaning that way.” I was sure that wasn’t what Ramos wanted to hear. He was looking for a personal payday, but I wasn’t going to give it to him. That wasn’t how I did business.
Sighing, I called my father. “You better have some good news,” he barked.
“Ramos has conditions,” I said. “And I am not willing to meet them.”
“We don’t want conditions,” my father seethed.
“He wants to get paid. He wants us to buy the approvals,” I explained. “But he said there were existing structural integrity issues, so I said no way.”
“We can deal with the issues later,” my father spat. “Just do it.”
“No way,” I said. “If you want to get into a situation like that, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
“I can’t,” he seethed. “I’m directly involved in this thing, but you’re not. If something goes wrong, the project itself won’t be liable. You’re not connected to it, so we can’t get sued.”
“You’re putting this deal together, so if you want to take that risk, that’s on you. I’m out,” I said firmly.
“If we pay Ramos off and do this upfront, we can handle any structural issues later,” my father countered. “But we need this sorted out upfront so they’ll write the insurance policy, and my buyer can get his financing. Don’t you know anything about how real estate works, you idiot?”
“Bye, Dad,” I said. “I’m not listening to your rant right now. I called you as a courtesy.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me,” he spat. “Get Ramos in line for full approvals by the end of the day or you can kiss your inheritance goodbye. And then you can kiss your hooker all you want—because you’ll be dead to me.” He hung up.
I put my phone down and then stared into space.
Growing up, my father was always cold. He was a perfectionist, and if I did something he didn’t like—which was most of the time, as an unruly child and later, as a teenager—he called me out on it. Our relationship mostly consisted of him being disappointed in me and telling me so. When I got older, and I went to business school and started making connections of my own, he became more tolerant.
It was as if, all of a sudden, he realized I was a person. A person he could make use of. But when my usefulness ran out…
What do I care if he disinherits me? asked the voice in my head. I was my own man. I had plenty of money—billions, in fact.
So, I didn’t care about my inheritance. Not exactly. It was more the spitefulness of my father’s threat, the waste of it. He’d worked for years to build his empire. He’d sacrificed a lot, including his relationship with me. And now he was threatening to leave his billions to my enemies, including a hockey coach I’d fired and the Windsor sisters. It was such a ridiculous, impulsive, short-sighted threat that I couldn’t let it go. I had the nagging feeling that my mother would disapprove of this. She wouldn’t want me to walk away. She wouldn’t want my father’s years of sacrifice and the suffering we all did because of it to be for nothing.
Cooler heads needed to prevail. Just because I didn’t need my inheritance didn’t mean that I thought it was wise to divvy up my parents’ billions and dole it out to individuals who had no legitimate right to it. If my father threatened to give it all to charity, that would be one thing. But to people who meant less than nothing to our family? It was pointless to the brink of ridiculousness. It was nothing but spiteful.
I called my father back. “Dad—don’t hang up. Let’s talk this through. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but we can figure it out.”
“I’ve dealt with plenty of men like Ramos,” my father said. He still sounded angry, but at least he was calmer. “There’s only one way to deal with them, to pay them. We can figure the rest of it out afterward.”
“I don’t agree with you,” I said. “Paying Ramos off will only come back to bite us in the ass. If there’s something wrong with the building, it’ll come out someday. And I can’t have that on my record, not to mention my conscience.”
“Since when did you ever have a conscience?” My dad snorted. “You gave me your word that you would help me. Usually, you get deals done, son. That’s not happening. I’m starting to wonder if having this girl back is the problem. I’m wondering if this girl is the difference.”
“Leave Jenny out of it—she’s got nothing to do with this,” I said quickly. “We’re on vacation with our friends, celebrating their wedding. She’s not doing anything wrong.”
When he said nothing, I continued, “She came to me this morning and told me she feels guilty about taking me away from work. She said I should close my deal.”
“How interesting,” my father said. He suddenly sounded more upbeat. He also sounded… smug.
“Why is that interesting?” I asked.
“Why would she say something like that?” he asked. “Why would she feel guilty?”
“Because we’re on another vacation.” I sounded defensive, even to my own ears. “We just got back from the Caribbean.”
“Hmm. I find it curious that she’s suddenly interested in your business dealings. And that she’s using the word ‘guilty,’” my father said. He was making an accusation—I just wasn’t sure what he was accusing Jenny of.
“I don’t think you need to read too much into it,” I said mildly.
“Maybe, maybe not,” he responded. “Still, she’s telling you to close your deal. And then you called Ramos, and then you called me. Maybe she’s not the problem—not like I assumed. But it does seem that she has a fair bit of influence over you, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s leave Jenny out of it,” I said again. My father’s tone was shifting, and I didn’t like it. He was insinuating something. I didn’t want his words circling Jenny. I felt like they might surround her and twist her in their ugly grip like a snake squeezing its prey.
“I know you haven’t had a life in a long time,” I said. “But just because I have one doesn’t mean I’m ineffective in my business.”
“You don’t seem very effective at the moment,” he drawled.
I sighed. “Ramos won’t give us the approvals because of structural issues. He won’t do it unless we buy him off. This situation has nothing to do with me.”
“The fact that you can’t get him to move at all has everything to do with you.” He paused for a beat. “As does the fact that you failed to take action until your lady-friend urged you to do so.”
“Enough, Dad.” I fought to keep my tone neutral so that we wouldn’t start yelling at each other again. “Have your team deal with it—it’s not like you don’t have the resources. This isn’t my mess to clean up, but I’m still doing my best to help you. Maybe for once, you could be grateful.”
“Deliver, and then I’ll be grateful.”
We hung up, and I didn’t feel much better. In fact, I felt worse, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. My father was awful, but that was nothing new.
But his insinuation about Jenny was. Usually, this would be the sort of thinly veiled criticism I would let go in one ear and right out the other.
So why, all of a sudden, did I have a pit in my stomach?