Chapter 11
Adam left Abby at the Beachcomber with a promise to call her in a couple of hours. They both had things they needed to do, and in his case, he had someone he needed to see. At first he’d thought the best thing would be to keep his growing friendship with Abby a secret from Grant.
Now that he’d had time to rethink that plan, he could see it would be the worst way to proceed.
He enjoyed a harmonious relationship with his siblings because they didn’t play games with each other.
When Grant had so many other things on his mind at the moment, surely this wasn’t the time to make things worse by being less than honest with him.
With that in mind, Adam left the Beachcomber and stopped at the Surf, hoping first to see Laura about the work she wanted him to do on the reservation system.
“She’s at a doctor’s appointment,” Sarah told him when he found her at the reception desk. “The poor thing can’t seem to kick the flu.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she will be. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”
“She can call my cell whenever she’s ready to talk about the reservation system.”
Sarah’s eyes lit up with delight. “Oh, are you going fix that for us?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Maybe you can tell me what the problems are, so I can be thinking about what needs to happen.”
“Well, one of the biggest challenges we have is that families have been coming to the Surf for several generations now, and they have traditions tied up with the place. Take the Morton family, for example. They come every summer and have since I was a kid growing up here and my parents were running the place. They ask for the same rooms every year with several amenities and upgrades. My mom used to keep track of all that in a notebook she carried with her everywhere she went, but she also has a photographic memory that I don’t have—and neither does Laura.
We need to be able to better manage those requests now that we’re fully computerized. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Adam said, his mind already racing with custom programming ideas that might fit their needs. “Let me think about that and talk some more with you and Laura.”
“That’d be great. We’ll take whatever help you can give us. I’ll tell her to call you.”
“Thanks, Sarah. Have a good day.”
“You, too. It’s so nice to have our own computer whiz back in town.”
Adam smiled at the compliment. “That’s nice of you to say.
See you.” He left the Surf buoyed by Sarah’s confidence in him as well as the project she’d outlined.
He’d always enjoyed the challenge of finding creative solutions to his clients’ vexing issues.
There was nothing more satisfying than hearing that something he’d done had helped a business to achieve new efficiencies or economies.
As the adrenaline pumped through his veins, he remembered all at once that he no longer had clients or a booming business or a host of daily challenges to work through.
The loss of his company seemed to finally hit him right in that moment, stealing the breath from his lungs and sending him reeling.
The pain of it was physical, gripping his chest in a fierce hold that had him dropping onto the stoop of the building next to the Surf, which was, thankfully, abandoned at the moment.
Adam had no idea how long he sat there waiting for his heart rate and respiration to return to normal as the whole thing came crashing down on him.
Computronic Solutions Incorporated, or “the Other CSI,” as they had called it, was gone.
The company he’d built from scratch—at first from the living room of the loft he’d rented in Lower Manhattan—was no longer his.
With his elbows propped on his knees, Adam dropped his head to his hands, combing his fingers through his hair absently as he thought about the long struggle that had led to CSI becoming one of the top computer consulting companies in the city.
He thought about what his dad had said about fighting for what was his, and what Abby had said about how he must not care anymore if he didn’t put up a fight.
As days of numbness and shock finally wore off, Adam discovered that he did care, and he was very, very angry.
Not just at Sasha. That was only part of it.
He was equally furious with the board of directors he’d hand-chosen who’d turned on him in favor of his so-called partner, who’d apparently sold them a bill of goods.
All at once, it became clear to him that he was a fool not to fight for what was his. Even if he never got back what he’d lost, he could, at the very least, make life difficult for the people who’d screwed him over.
He drew his phone from his pocket, wincing when his tattooed bicep protested the movement, and found his lawyer’s number on his list of contacts.
“Adam,” Rick Levinson said when he came on the line, sounding relieved to receive Adam’s call. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you. Where’ve you been?”
“Licking my wounds,” Adam said with a laugh.
“Dude, you got royally screwed. I couldn’t even believe it when I heard the news. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”
“I needed a couple of days. It wasn’t only the company that screwed me over.”
“I heard that, too. I didn’t know that you and Sasha were a couple.”
“No one did. We kept it quiet for obvious reasons.”
“I have to say, though, I wondered a few times when I saw you two together. There was definitely something…”
Whatever it had been was definitely over now. Adam thought about the morning he’d spent with Abby. Now that was something—something sweet and fun and sexy—and yet pure, too. He already knew with one-hundred-percent certainty that she’d never treat him the way Sasha had.
“Adam? Still there?”
He realized he’d punched out on Rick. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to fight for what’s mine.”
“Right there with you. Since I had a feeling you might say that at some point, we’ve been all over it for a couple of days now.
I think you’ve got a very solid case, and with your approval, we’ll move forward with filings.
” Rick outlined the strategy his team had put together to fight Adam’s ouster from the company.
They had come to the conclusion that discrediting Sasha was the first step in what might be a long battle.
It would get ugly, Adam thought. Someone he’d once cared deeply about would become his enemy.
If he succeeded in regaining control of the company, he’d have a mountain to climb in restoring CSI’s reputation in the business community while also repairing the damage done to the morale of their workforce.
The question became—how could he not pursue it?
“Do it,” he said to Rick. However it turned out, he’d figure out the way forward the same way he always had—one step at a time.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
Adam ended the call and took a few minutes to regain his equilibrium and then got up and continued on to Grant’s house. He pounded on the door for several minutes before Grant appeared with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping.
“What the hell?” he asked Adam as he pushed open the door to let him in.
“Thought you were sleeping the day away again.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve been up since eight and actually getting some work done, which is a welcome relief.” He went into the bedroom to put on basketball shorts and a T-shirt.
It was a welcome relief to Adam, too, to hear that Grant was having a better day. “That’s good news.”
“You know it,” Grant said when he returned to the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”
“I could use a drink drink, if you’ve got anything.”
Grant stopped and gave Adam an inquisitive look. “What’s that all about?”
“I just agreed to file suit to get back the company my now ex-partner and ex-girlfriend stole from me.”
“I’d say that warrants a midday drink.” Grant rooted around in a kitchen cabinet and produced a bottle of whiskey. “Will this do the trick?”
“Bring it, brother.”
Grant poured several fingers worth in a short glass and handed it to Adam.
“Join me so I’m not drinking alone?”
“Not today. Not when I’m finally getting back to work.”
“Fine. Be that way.” Adam downed the shot in one big gulp, feeling it burn its way through his insides.
“More?”
“In a minute maybe.”
“So what gives with the company?”
Even though he hadn’t come here to talk to Grant about that, he told him anyway. And when he was done, Grant reached for Adam’s glass, poured him another shot and pushed it toward him on the counter.
Adam tipped his head back and downed it.
“Feel better?”
“Surprisingly, yes, I do. Sorry to unload on you when you’ve got enough of your own shit going on.”
“Trust me, I’d much rather focus on your shit than mine.”
“You know… The McCarthy brother bartending skills work both ways. Whenever you’re ready to talk about it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Adam nodded as his stomach tightened with the realization that it was now or never on the subject of Abby. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about if you have another minute,” Adam said, diving in before he could rethink his way out of having this conversation in the first place.
“What’s that?”
“Abby.”
Grant’s brows furrowed with confusion. “What about her?”
“We ran into each other on the ferry yesterday and unloaded on each other about our ugly breakups. Then I ran into her again last night when I was out looking for you.” Adam didn’t bother to mention that he’d dragged her out of a bar and spent the night in her hotel room.
Some details were better left unmentioned.
“So?”
“So I kind of like her. I like talking to her, and she gets what I’m dealing with. I was wondering if you’d have a problem if I hang out with her.”
This time Grant’s brows narrowed in obvious annoyance. “Define ‘hang out.’”
“Do I really have to?”
“Yeah, I think you do.”
“You know, hang out… and stuff.”
“That clears it right up. Are you asking me if I mind if you have a fling or whatever it’s called with my ex-girlfriend?”
“Ah, sort of. Yeah.”