Chapter 4
James
Well, that was disappointing.
I really thought there was a spark between Hallie and me tonight. A spark I couldn’t ignore.
From the moment she walked into the Grangers’ kitchen with her extremely loud friend, I was drawn to her. Even with the room already humming with people, she stood out—not because she was loud or trying to command attention, but because she didn’t need to.
While Roxie turned heads the second she entered, all striking features and effortless allure, Hallie had a quieter kind of presence. The kind that lingered. Roxie moved like she was born to be the center of the room, Hallie didn’t need the spotlight—she just showed up fully, completely herself.
When everyone else tried to appear how they thought the world wanted them to appear, Hallie was refreshingly real. And maybe that’s what pulled me in the most. She didn’t try to impress. She didn’t have to.
She had that effortless beauty that others spent thousands of dollars trying to achieve. Her eyes and hair were a rich chocolate color, her skin was a creamy porcelain, and her small frame made her appear almost doll-like.
But even if she didn’t come from the same place that the women I grew up with did, she was no different.
They were all the same. All of them looking for someone with a trust fund that could support the lifestyle they wanted—take them to fancy restaurants or buy them a Birkin.
At best, they hoped they’d find a man that would get down on one knee with a ring from Tiffany’s and a family house ready to be passed down to them on the coast in Connecticut.
I’d already faced disappointment once, and I didn’t want to experience it again.
I hadn’t lied when I said I needed to leave. When my phone had gone off during dessert, I’d expected an automated notification on the markets after they’d all closed. Instead, I’d gotten a cryptic message from someone I hadn’t expected to hear from—Theodore Drake.
The Drake family owned Rooster, the world’s first search engine.
They were one of the most powerful families in the country and probably the world.
They had grown their small family tech business into a world-renowned gladiator that now led the way in multiple different fields.
All the message said was that he had some important, time-sensitive information for me that would apply to Berkley Williams, the company I worked for, and one of the largest investment firms on Wall Street.
Theo and I had met in passing at various parties.
We barely knew each other, but in investment banking, connections were key.
And the message was too tempting to pass up.
If Theo had valuable information, it could not only avoid a potential disaster for the firm and its clients, but it could boost my career.
It could even help me get one step closer to opening my own investment firm.
If Theo’s message was as big as I predicted it to be, my intervention tomorrow could sway the loyalty of some of the firm’s clients to me.
Theo had asked to meet at The Nest, one of many of Manhattan’s private clubs, known for its exclusivity and privacy.
Staff checked phones at the door, and the club’s board hand-selected new members.
They picked their clientele on a variety of factors that were a mystery to the public, but many guessed it aimed to create a diverse space for its clients for both business and pleasure.
The lobby was nondescript and appeared more like the lobby of a hotel than a club housing some of the wealthiest and most influential people in the world.
The concierge greeted me with a lockbox, which I placed my phone in before they gave me a card that would grant me access to the floor Theo was on—one of the many bars in the twenty-thousand-square-foot facility.
The room was dimly lit by gold wall sconces, lavishly decorated with round velvet booths that provided privacy, high-top tables in the middle of the floor if one wanted to be seen, and a bar that took up one entire wall serving clients looking to make business deals or simply decompress from the day’s events.
In the darkest corner of the room, Theodore Drake reclined in a booth.
His hair, a light blonde, was short on the sides and messier on top.
Tattoos snaked up his neck, peeking out from his collar.
He was the exact opposite of what a leader of the largest tech company in the world would look like, which is probably why his brother Peter was the CEO while Theo worked as a vice president.
“Theo, it’s been a while.” I slid into the booth. A waiter appeared moments later to take my order. Theo was nursing a glass of scotch already, the sweat on the outside of his glass showing he’d been there for quite some time.
“It has.” Theo brought his glass up to his lips for a sip. “I’ve been debating all day on whether I should even do this. What we are about to talk about could be considered illegal. It’s in a definite gray area. But the topic itself is far more illegal than this mere warning will be.”
I had to school my features lest I give away my surprise at Theo’s bluntness. People knew him for being aloof.
The waiter dropped my Old Fashioned down in front of me. “I’m all ears.”
“My brother will complete a deal tomorrow that will make Rooster a monopoly. It won’t be obvious, but it will be a monopoly. Tonight, I’ll be breaking the news to the press. I have a reporter coming after I meet with you.”
Measuring my thoughts, I tapped the side of my glass with my ring.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. In this business, information like this never came freely.
“Because I know that you’ve been aiming to open your own investment firm. Leveraging information like this could gain you the upper hand within your firm and its clients.”
Theo’s blue eyes were nearly clear—icy like his demeanor could be—and as sharp as knives as he studied me. But instead of feeling like his prey, this felt like a lone wolf pairing up at the most opportune time.
“What do you want in return, Theo?” I took another sip of my drink. “Information like this never comes free. You and I both know that.”
Theo’s gaze was predatory. He took his time watching me from across the booth. Unable to resist playing with food, even if he had no intention of eating this time. “I’m gathering favors for when the time is right.”
“What company will be there to take over if you saddle it with antitrust lawsuits?” I asked, my brain already working on how to mitigate the fallout at work with Rooster’s stocks sure to plummet.
“That’s my worry. Not yours, Rossi. Rooster is so large that it can afford to have some limbs cut off to remain intact. Peter will have to step down and finally allow the company to step into a new age. Rather than repeating past successes without adding anything new, Rooster needs innovation.
Then, like a snake uncoiling, Theo stood from the booth and re-buttoned his jacket. “Now, I have the reporter waiting for me upstairs. I presume we’re finished here?”
“Sure.” I left my glass half-drunk on the table and stood. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Theo.”
“I look forward to the future.” Theo gave me one more meaningful look before disappearing into the club.
As I watched him leave, I knew with certainty that Theodore Drake was cutting the head off the king, only to take the crown for himself. But not before leaving me with his sword to use for my protection.
“Your stop,” the cab driver barked from the front seat as the taxi pulled up to a Dumbo warehouse someone had converted into a nightclub.
Lights pulsed inside, visible from the windows on the top floor.
I wanted to be anywhere but a new club in Brooklyn on a Saturday night, especially because I was nearly done writing my Rooster piece for Monday’s market reopening.
But I’d gotten an S.O.S. text about my cousin Brandon.
It was his twenty-first birthday, and I figured I was going to be walking into a fire in need of putting out.
Instead, they ushered me to the VIP section, a gift from my father to his nephew.
Brandon was surrounded by his degenerate friends with a hostess perched on his lap.
Now I understood my uncle’s text message asking me to keep Brandon out of trouble.
“James!” Brandon hoisted an entire bottle of champagne in the air, his other arm wrapped around the waist of the hostess. “You made it!”
The bottle came dangerously close to smacking the head of his friend next to him.
“Woah, there!” Before any damage could be done, I snagged the bottle out of Brandon’s hand. “Maybe let’s keep the drinks on the table and out of the air.”
“You’re no fun when you’re sober. You know that, right?” Brandon looked at the hostess still perched on his lap. “Can you get my cousin a drink? He needs to catch up. You still drink Old Fashioneds, James?”
“I’m good—” But the hostess disappeared before I could wave her off. If I was going to have to babysit my drunk cousin, Old Fashioneds weren’t a luxury I could indulge in tonight. “Thanks.”
“Isn’t she great?” My cousin yelled over the sound of the thumping bass that was already rattling my eardrums.
“She’s something,” I replied, my voice already starting to grow hoarse from shouting to be heard above the music.
Brandon huffed out a laugh as he took another swig straight from the champagne bottle. “You’ve barely entertained a single woman that’s looked your way since Cassidy. It’s been over a year.”
Annoyance settled in the bottom of my stomach. “Is everybody counting or something? I’ll date someone when I’m ready and find someone that wants me for me and not my wealth.”
My cousin lifted his hands up in mock surrender. “I was only trying to look out for your happiness.”
A flash of the conversation I had with Hallie at last night’s dinner flashed into my mind. I had never had as much fun having meaningless conversation with a stranger through a dinner or getting to know her over dessert.
But if she’d realized you’re just another finance guy on Wall Street, she’d have dismissed you as arrogant and repulsive like the rest of them.
“I can handle myself.” As I leaned back in my seat, I remembered the fiery conversation I’d heard about between my father and his brother yesterday as I stopped by my parents’ apartment. “What’s going on with the restaurant? Dad seems tense lately.”
Brandon wiped a dribble of champagne off his chin, his eyes glossy with too much alcohol.
His dark eyes—just like our dads’—carried that typical Rossi fire and he had the same sharp features that I did.
We were often mistaken for brothers rather than cousins.
“Uncle G and Dad sat down last week to look at this year’s projections based on the current traffic the restaurant has seen so far this year.
It’s not looking good. With the price of goods going up and fewer customers coming in the door, Dad thinks we have a year tops before we go under. ”
The full Old Fashioned now in my hand was looking more appealing with every word Brandon said.
“It’s that bad?”
“Well, you’re off wearing your fancy suits and managing billions of dollars.
I would guess he wouldn’t want to bother you with our menial family problems. Besides, what do you care?
You’re the only one who doesn’t help at the restaurant.
Even Emilia comes in on the weekends when she isn’t studying for some test or playing volleyball. ”
That jab stung. It wasn’t lost on me that my younger cousin, with his Rossi features and his reckless enthusiasm, had put in more hours at the restaurant than I had.
Even his younger sister beat me in that regard, and she was still in high school.
But making pizzas and cleaning tables had never been my dream.
“Hey, Brandon. Just because I’m not slinging pizzas every night doesn’t mean I don’t care about our family and its legacy.
” I took a swig of my drink, nearly downing half of it to take the edge off the conversation—and the music that seemed to be shaking my skull.
“An argument tonight won’t get us anywhere, and it certainly won’t help our dads. I’m not here to fight.”
Brandon sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair with the bottle in hand. “Can I give the restaurant a lump sum?” The question felt ridiculous coming out of my mouth while my cousin was on his way to being wasted.
“Sure,” Brandon shrugged. “The restaurant would use it. But that still won’t solve the issue.
We need to get more customers in the door.
I’ve suggested concentrating on social media, but you know how our parents are.
They think that it’s a waste of time and wouldn’t work.
What we really need is the pizzeria to go viral. ”
Brandon might have been young and dumb, but he was on to something.
Money wouldn’t solve the problem outright.
It would just prolong the inevitable. The only solution was to make the restaurant a New York City staple.
It might have been my younger cousin’s idea, but I knew I had to be the one to figure something out to avoid my family’s legacy being taken away.