Charlotte
Today is the day. I can feel it. Dad is finally going to announce his retirement, letting Chris and me take over the two halves of his empire.
Excitement bubbles through my veins like a freshly popped bottle of champagne. Wanting to own that energy, I slip on my brightest red pants, pairing them with a silky white top and a matching red jacket. Dad loves a good power suit, and what is more powerful than scarlet?
Twenty minutes later, makeup done, I pull the heatless curling band from my hair, gently shaking the curls loose. As I walk past the mirror at the front of my condo, I blow myself a quick kiss.
You gotta love yourself.
As I wait for the elevator, I sort through my sixty-plus Spotify playlists until I find the one labeled “Boss Bxtch Anthems” and press play. “God is a woman” by Ariana Grande blasts through my earpods, the soundtrack for the short walk to my father’s office in the heart of downtown Denver.
It’s a great day to be alive.
“Morning, Frank.” I wave enthusiastically when I pass the security desk, always pleased to see the same smiling face from my youth.
“Miss Charlotte,” Frank replies in his usual polite way, but I don’t miss the gleam in his eyes. This is the man who used to chase me around, playing hide-and-seek in the lobby with Chris and me, after all.
I turn back to offer one final smile and—
“Ooof,” I grunt, rubbing my forehead, pained from where it ran into a wall. Two warm hands grab my upper arms, and I realize, nope, not a wall.
“Are you oka—Charlotte?” The shock in the deep voice pulls me from my slight daze.
Ah, Callan Devine. I give myself a single moment to appreciate the sheer beauty of my dad’s star quarterback before pulling my face into a mask of confusion.
“Cameron, right?” I greet him, forcing myself to step back.
He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath.
It’s too easy to rile this man up.
“Callan. Devine. And before you throw out some embarrassingly inaccurate football position, I’m the quarterback for your dad’s team.”
I reach out and pat his arm. So pretty this one. “If you say so, Ball Boy.” Winking, I turn toward the elevators. “See you around, Carson.”
“It’s Callan,” he mutters, and I can’t help the small chuckle that escapes me as I walk away.
Three minutes later, I’m heading into my dad’s office, his executive team and their support staff taking up the entire top floor of what’s lovingly referred to as the cash register building.
I wave hello to Marla at the front desk, catching sight of my brother’s favorite pair of loafers as he rounds the corner in front of me.
“Chris!” I call after him.
He stops, waiting for me to catch up. “What’s up, little sister?”
“It was three minutes,” I grumble, looping my arm around his waist as he pulls me into a side hug.
As we continue down the hall to our dad’s office, he replies, “And, somehow, it got me all the looks, height, and brains.”
I poke his side. “Categorically false. Except for the height, obviously.” It’s our standard greeting at this point, so I continue with the rest, “I think my master’s from GSB proves it.”
“Only if you believe the clearly biased ratings. Booth is obviously superior,” Chris teases before his expression turns pensive. “Hey, did I see you—” He’s cut off by my father’s executive assistant, Ulysses, announcing my dad’s ready for us.
We walk into the office that feels like an extension of our home.
While a workaholic in every definition of the word, Steve Langford has always put his family at the very top of his list, which means Chris and I spent a lot of time here, working with Dad, even before we joined the company after grad school.
“Hi, Dad.” I join him on the other side of his large wooden desk before bending down to hug him.
I don’t think Chris and Dad have hugged since my brother hit puberty, so he simply takes his usual seat.
After a brief embrace, I take mine as well, more than ready to get this next phase of my life going—the one I’ve been working toward forever.
Dad, however, seems to be happy to make small talk. “How are Kim and Marlee?”
Chris smiles at the mention of his wife and their three-year-old daughter. “Kim’s tired these days, so Marlee has taken it upon herself to be extra energetic.”
My dad shakes his head. “I’m glad we got both our babies in one go. I don’t know whether I could’ve survived your mom pregnant and chasing around a little one. Kim’s thirteen weeks along now?”
“Fourteen,” Chris and I say at the same time. I love my niece to pieces and am so excited to have another little nugget around to spoil.
We chat about mundane things: the weather, the start of training camp, and the upcoming dinner Mom’s hosting next weekend.
I’m bouncing my knee to keep from bursting at the seams, needing to ask my dad why the hell he’s called us in today.
Not that I don’t love spending time with my dad and brother…
“Why are we here, Dad?” I blurt out, unable to control it any longer.
Chris and Dad both pointedly look at their watches. “Sixteen minutes,” Chris notes.
Dad sighs, shifting his weight to pull out his wallet. “You were right.” He hands Chris a crisp twenty-dollar bill.
I cross my arms over my chest, annoyed. “I told you to stop betting on me.”
“But you’re too easy to needle,” Chris replies. “Dad always thinks you’ll hold out longer than you do.”
“I’ve got things to do!”
Chris shrugs. “We all have things to do. We’re just better at being patient.”
“You have to manage one team that plays, like, twelve games a year,” I retort, though the fire is gone.
I’ve never been patient, and I’m certainly not going to start when I’m waiting to hear the most important words my father will ever say to me.
But regardless, I do as expected of me, engaging in yet another Langford family argument we like to recycle for everyone’s amusement.
“I have two hundred and fifty events each year at the arena, plus all the concerts and events at the field.”
“We manage similarly sized teams and budgets.”
Chris and I continue debating who has the more challenging job until finally Dad interjects, “And this is exactly why I brought you both in here today.”
My attention snaps back to the man whose expectations I’ve been trying to meet my entire life. “What do you mean?” I ask.
Leaning back in his chair, Dad places the tips of his fingers together in a thoughtful pose. “You both know that, at your mother’s request, I’ve been putting plans in place to retire.”
“Yes…” I practically squeal.
My dad continues his speech as if I hadn’t interrupted, “I built this company from the ground up; ensuring its success for my children and grandchildren has always been the top priority for me. I might not be around forever to make sure you have what you need, but Langford Enterprises will be. And that is what has always been most important to me—my family. And making sure my family has what they need for generations to come.”
I resist the urge to tell the man to hurry it along. He has worked hard his entire life to build this company from a faltering cable business into an entertainment conglomerate. I can let him pontificate for a few minutes.
Probably.
“I know you’ve always been under the impression that I’ll be splitting the business equally between you, but, after many discussions with respected colleagues and, most importantly, your mother, I’ve concluded that I can’t, in good conscience, spin off half the business.
If it’s split, part might be sold off down the road, and I cannot abide by that. ”
Okay, that’s fine. Chris and I can take turns being CEO, or something. Not ideal, but fine. We can make it work.
Dad continues, “Which is why I’ve decided I’ll be naming my successor at the end of this football season and turning the entire company over to them. It’s the best way to ensure generations of Langfords will have the support they need to reach their potential.”
The room is so quiet I can hear Ulysses typing in the next room. Chris’ gaze meets mine, and we share an in-depth what-the-fuck exchange that only two twins could ever truly achieve.
“What?” he asks.
“I know this comes as a shock to you both. But it’s what’s best for the firm, and it’s what’s best for you, too.
As Chris and Kim have had kids—as I’ve had grandkids—I’ve realized it was shortsighted of me to only consider what’s best for the next generation.
We all need to be thinking about three generations from now.
There will be nothing left if the company gets parceled up with each generation. ”
I breathe in for the count of four and hold it, like my therapist taught me.
This is the part of growing up as Steve Langford’s prodigy that leads a thirty-four-year-old woman to need a therapist since the age of eighteen.
He thinks he knows best and won’t stop pushing until you do exactly what he wants you to do.
Which suggests Chris and I may be well and truly fucked.