10. Brian
CHAPTER 10
Brian
“As you can see,” Morrison, the finance guy, says, “we’re counting on these four major clients to catapult next quarter’s earnings projections. It’s the difference between keeping the company private or having to go public. Which would mean a hundred times the scrutiny and far less control.” He clears his throat. “Any unfavorable publicity could certainly tip the outcome.”
I feel the weight of two dozen anxious faces landing on me at once. Probably because last night, I sent Mark and Jess on their way to breathtaking Fiji. And now, a small part of me wishes I’d gone with them.
I blow out a breath and force a smile. “Why are you all staring at me?”
Morrison shifts uncomfortably. “You’re the heart of a Herald article.”
“A favorable one,” I add, having caught up on it during the more boring moments of this meeting .
“And now, you’re having dinner with Roxana Voss,” one of the attorneys says. “Tonight, correct?”
I am? Shit, is that tonight? I was going to go on a city-wide search for my watch tonight.
I clench my jaw. “How do you know that?”
He flashes a grin, annoyingly upbeat. “Your calendar’s an open book, boss. That’s why you’re pulling in the big bucks.”
Perfect. Technically, I was supposed to confirm, which I haven’t. Mostly because after my dumpster fire of a morning, I’m dreading it.
Roxana takes stalking to an Olympic-level sport. For the poor bastards who don’t play along, she’s got a talent for writing scathing articles that can ruin reputations. Her takedowns of the rich and powerful are legendary. And that’s the last thing The Centurion Group needs right now.
They continue to stare, eyes wide with expectation. I lean back in my chair, exuding calm confidence. “It’s not a date. It’s a meeting. A professional meeting.”
“Then why is it at Salvatore’s?” he asks.
A few light snickers ripple through the room, and, fuck, why is it there? It was supposed to be here, at the office.
I let the moment settle, then add with a measured tone, “It’s under control. Let’s stay focused. We’ve got work to do.”
By mid-afternoon, just as the dust finally begins to settle, I stand by the office window and lose my gaze in the street below. Most of the morning’s chaos has cleared, but a few die-hard stragglers still linger, refusing to let up. What a mess.
A knock sounds at my door. “Come in.”
Imani steps in, her smile warm and all business. “Just a quick reminder about the thing .” Imani isn’t just Mark’s assistant—she’s more like a team coach, handling everything from scheduling meetings to smoothing over any looming disaster, like the one she’s nudging me about right now.
That thing would be my meeting with Roxana Voss. “Why is it at Salvatore’s?”
Imani shrugs helplessly. “She insisted.”
I loosen my tie, feeling the noose tighten at the mere thought of the evening ahead. “Great.”
“Don’t worry. Salvatore’s is a great place for a meeting. I have standing instructions with Mark, so I called ahead and ensured a good, quiet table for a meeting.”
She hands me a Post-It. “The place isn’t far from your Upper East Side digs. The ma?tre d’ is expecting you. Private dining room. Dinner at eight.”
“Private dining room?” I echo, arching a brow. I’ve been going to Salvatore’s on and off for years, mostly for business because pretentious and overpriced isn’t exactly my thing. But a private dining room? Never noticed one before. And noticing shit is my thing. Along with surveillance, reconnaissance, and dragging skeletons out of closets.
I take the card, shaking my head. “It’s bad enough I’ll be seated across from a piranha. Is the private room really necessary?”
Imani shrugs. “The good thing is if there are no witnesses, it never happened. ”
I chuckle. “Good point.”
Two sharp knocks sound at the door. Then it flies open without waiting for a “come in.”
A tornado of kids rush past Imani. Connor, the teenager, strides to the floor-to-ceiling windows, his eyes going wide as he takes in the sprawling view of Central Park. “Whoa,” he breathes, completely entranced.
Ollie, the eight-year-old, makes a beeline for my desk chair, sprawling out with a comic book like he owns the place.
Then there’s adorable little Snooki-Pie, all of five years old, who gives Imani a quick hug before dragging her over to the bookshelf. Nowadays, with Zac comes Hannah, and with Hannah comes her brother Harrison and his brood of kids.
Snook starts scrutinizing books with the serious air of a pint-sized librarian. Jess had thoughtfully placed several books at her height, including her all-time favorite series like, Pinkalicious, Amelia Bedelia, and any and every book with princesses, fairies, and, of course, unicorns.
Their father, Harrison, chuckles from the doorway, a warm, amused glint in his eyes as he watches his kids invade the space. “Don’t mind them. They’re just making themselves at home.”
I nod, a smile tugging at my lips. “As they should.” Having Harrison and the kids meld seamlessly into our Bishop Mountain fold has been so natural, it’s as if they’ve always been there.
“This one,” Snook says, handing it to Imani to read to her. “I’ve never seen this one before.”
That’s because I only just added The Care and Feeding of Unicorns to the library yesterday. “Careful,” I caution her. “You know what happens if you make a unicorn a pet?”
Two big eyes look over to me. “What? ”
“You have to clean up all the unicorn poop.”
“Ewww.”
Imani takes a seat on the floor next to her. It’s not public, but Imani is a few months pregnant with her own little one on the way, and will happily take a few minutes out of her day to read to Snook.
I pull a new comic from my drawer and toss it to Ollie. His eyes light up as he catches it, an excited grin spreading across his face. “Finally! I’ve been waiting forever to see what happens to Dark Avenger since the last issue!” he exclaims, eagerly flipping through the pages.
Then, I grab the military-grade binoculars from the shelf and hand them to Connor. He takes them with a look of pure fascination, inspecting every detail. “These are insane! I bet I can see people in planes with these,” he asks, already lifting them to his eyes to peer out the window.
When Mom and Dad passed, the torch fell to me to care for Jess and the boys. Which wasn’t easy, but it taught me the fine art of keeping kids busy. Tossing around distractions like confetti is second nature, and it gives Harrison and me a chance to catch up.
“We all had to see you in a suit and tie to believe it,” Harrison teases, a grin stretching across his face as he takes a seat and hands me a brown paper bag. “Here,” he says, chuckling.
The savory aroma wafts up, making my mouth water.
I open the bag and peek inside, my stomach instantly growls in response. Inside the bag are a double cheeseburger and fries from my favorite spot in the city, along with a dozen giant homemade cookies from Hannah .
I bypass the burger and shove a cookie into my mouth, moaning in pure delight. “That is incredible.”
Harrison chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s her latest creation—Chocolate Sea Salt Paradise. She’s been obsessing over it for months.” He pats his belly with a satisfied grin.
The cookie is a masterpiece. Rich, gooey chocolate chunks melt into the chewy dough, the sprinkle of sea salt cutting through the sweetness with just the right balance. The edges are perfectly crispy, providing that satisfying crunch, but the center— mmm , the center—is soft and buttery, dissolving in my mouth with every bite.
I’m about to shove another one in when I pause, holding it up in offering. “Do the kids want some?”
Harrison shakes his head, smirking. “They’ve been at them all day. And I’m pretty sure Snooki’s stashed away a secret hoard somewhere. Like a little squirrel, saving them for later.”
“Jess used to do that.” I laugh, remembering her cookie phase all too well. “Then she’d be up all night with tummy aches, regretting every bite.” I take another bite, savoring the flavor. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Harrison’s grin widens. “Your sister told mine that if I didn’t bring you some, you might just starve to death.”
“Thank God. I was feeling faint,” I reply, shoving another cookie in my mouth and worshiping it for the glorious indulgence it is, considering it’s the only thing I’ve eaten all day.
Harrison leans back, watching me with amusement. “You know, seeing you in that suit, I almost didn’t recognize you. But hey, you clean up nice.”
I swallow, smiling back. “Thanks, man. Just don’t get used to it. I’d pick my BDUs over this corporate getup any day.” I take another bite, then glance over at Harrison. “So, how are you adjusting to life with the kids? Away from back-to-back deployments?”
Harrison’s expression softens, a shadow of loss flitting across his features. “There are days I ache for it,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze shifts to the kids playing nearby, and a deep sigh escapes him. “Then there are days when I wonder if I was out of my damned mind, leaving them behind for as long as I did.” He falls silent, the unspoken grief of losing his wife settling between us.
I reach over and clasp his shoulder. “I’m here for you, man.”
He nods, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Likewise. But tell me, why am I here bringing you food when you’re about to go on a date with the infamous Roxana Voss? Is it because women like Voss don’t actually eat? They just push their food around, hoping it’ll magically turn into gold.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that vampire doesn’t need food; she feeds on words. She’ll suck the blood from your neck and spit it out in print that reads like a damn indictment.” I shake my head, frustration and fatigue gnawing at me.
“Have you seen her legs?”
“Yeah, and trust me, the woman’s a walking nightmare,” I grumble. “But with Mark and Zac gone, it’s time I buckle down and, well, take one for the team.”
Harrison scans the room, making sure the kids are out of earshot before leaning in, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “ And by ‘take one for the team,’ what exactly are we talking about here?”
“Exactly what you think it means,” I mutter, shoving a few fries into my mouth.
He rolls his eyes, letting out a groan. “So, that’s where we’re at now? Martyr sex?”
I nearly choke. “What? No! Are you out of your damn mind? Roxie’s been trying to spider-crawl her way into my bed for months. Pretty sure that would end with me on Page Six and a restraining order on speed dial. We’re having dinner. One professional dinner.”
“Ah.” Harrison leans back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So there’s someone else.”
Instantly, an image of full red lips and jet-black hair comes to mind. Which reminds me, I have an email to send. “No,” I finally reply. “No one else. No one in months, actually.” Or a year, but who’s counting?
“Well, if she’s the living terror you say she is, you’ll need an escape plan to ditch her before dessert.”
I look up, a sliver of hope slicing through the dread. “You’ve got one?”
Harrison’s grin sharpens. “Oh, I’ve got three.”
Harrison glances over at Connor, Ollie, and Snooks, their faces all innocent and sweet.
I chuckle. “Bringing the kids on a date? That sounds like a catastrophe in the making.” I pause, letting the idea sink in, then shake my head. “It’ll never work. She’s got my stats—eternal bachelor, no kids. There’s no way she’ll buy that they’re mine.”
“What about a last-minute babysitting crisis? You can’t just leave them alone, right? And if things go south, oh well. Your calendar is packed, and by the time you can reschedule, Mark and Jess will be back.”
A slow grin spreads across my face. “Think they can fake being ‘sick’ on command?”
Harrison laughs, tipping his chin in their direction. “Getting out of school with a little cough and a well-timed sniffle is sort of their superpower. And if Ms. Voss is as high-maintenance as you think she is, she’ll run from children like they just rolled out of a radioactive swamp.”
“Or fingerprinting day at school,” I add.
Harrison nods, confident and assured. “My kids? They were born for this. Toss in some Comic-Con tickets, and their performance will be Oscar-worthy.”
“Comic-Con?”
Harrison points the cookie at me. “They’d fake a cough for free. But I’ve been wanting to take them there for years. It’s the upside of being their dadager.”
“Dadager?”
“Dad-slash-manager.”
I glance over at the kids, satisfied that my secret weapons are as innocent-looking as they are absolutely nuclear. Shaking my head, I can’t help but grin. “Selling out your kids—pure evil genius.”
Harrison laughs, giving me a solid clap on the back. “One team, one fight, brother,” he says, his eyes already locked on the bag.
“And maybe one more cookie.”
His hand dives in. “Only if you insist.”