18. Easton
18
EASTON
I t might not have been the best day to come in late.
“You said it would blow over.” Mrs. Yaltzinger’s quickly becoming one of my least favorite people.
I don’t slap her hand away as she shoves a newspaper in my face. I do, however, duck around her and keep walking toward my office. “Who even reads newspapers these days?”
“This is the New York Times ,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says, doggedly trailing my steps. “But the Post ran it too, and they’re also several hundred thousand in circulation.”
I roll my eyes. “It was a rhetorical question. I don’t really care. My point was?—”
But Mr. Dressel’s waiting with Mr. Jimenez to attack together in my office. In my shock, I pull up short and nearly fall, dropping my briefcase, which is fine. I mostly carry it because it’s one of ours and it looks fancy. It has a few folders in it and my snacks, but nothing important. “How nice to see all of you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Mr. Dressel says. “But we said we’d give you time, and you said this whole thing would die down. ”
“It’s not,” Mr. Jimenez says. “Look.” He shoves his phone in my face, which is at least more relevant.
I sigh slowly as I read what they’re all so bent on showing me. Apparently there was a photo of Bea and me taken while we were in the lobby at Per Se, and it’s a great one. “I wonder if they’d send me a high res image of that.” The caption says, “ Sacrifice Nothing owner dines with its biggest critic.”
“Mister Moorland,” Mr. Jimenez says. “Please be serious.”
I scan the text, which is predictably a criticism of our brand that implies I must agree with Ms. Cipriani’s assessment, as we’re clearly still dating. Then it links to the video, which at least the New York Times can’t do.
Although, I suppose the online version can.
“Look, the point is that it’s still only been a few days. Clearly they were slow news days, but if you just give it a bit more time, I’m sure?—”
“You said we were right on track with the women’s select launch,” Mrs. Yaltzinger says. “If that’s the case, around the time this dies down, that should kick it back to life.” She arches one imperious eyebrow.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “Stop dating the first woman I’ve liked because?—”
“Because it’s bad for business?” Mr. Dressel asks. “Because if that’s what you’re asking, then yes. That’s exactly what we want you to do. If our stock price drops again, or if the news outlets keep sharing her video and ill-advised quote, we’re going to move for a vote of no confidence. On Friday.”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “You’re going to move for a vote of no confidence over the person who created this brand, the person who has shown consistent profits, even through this public transition, because I’m dating a perfectly wonderful woman? She’s not a crackhead. She’s not a miscreant. She said ‘sacrifice is good,’ which anyone with half a brain will know is true. Our brand may be called Sacrifice Nothing, but we don’t really mean that. Everyone knows that to succeed, you make sacrifices.”
“It is strange,” Mr. Jimenez says. “It’s almost like someone is fanning the flames, but who would do that?”
“I mean, why would they?” Mr. Dressel asks.
But when I finally shoo them out, having made no progress on calming them down, I can’t help thinking about what he said. Who would fan the flames of the dinky little nothing story of Bea spouting off her thoughts on my company’s name?
Who?
I mean, her grandfather comes to mind, since they didn’t seem to love each other, and she does have his last name. Cipriani. I type it into the search box, and stories on Beatrice Cipriani, granddaughter of New York’s governor, pop up at the top of every search.
All the media outlets are describing her as a woman of the people—down-to-earth and sensible, a real champion of integrity and frugality. They’re all asking why on earth she would date me. Apparently, without knowing it, I’ve become a symbol of all that’s wrong with America. Overpriced shoes for the wealthy. Overpriced wristwatches for people who are out of touch with reality. Jewelry for men who don’t care about human rights.
Which is ridiculous.
All our diamonds are cruelty free.
All our clothing is sustainable.
We donate five percent of our proceeds from several of our lines to various charities. My stupid luxury brand company gives back. We do our part .
Not that anyone is posting anything about that.
The real question is. . .why? Because the more I look into it, the stranger I find it. Sure, they did an article on me a few months ago that made my face a little more recognizable. It happened right after the company went public and my total worth became easier for people to ballpark. But the coverage at the time was largely very positive. So why the smear campaign now?
I have two in-person meetings and four calls set up today to line up our Women’s Select vendors, and then several interviews for possible Dream-Makers, which is what the board thinks we should call the team who will be choosing clothing, shoes, jewelry, and makeup for women who opt in. But in between a call and a meeting, I have an idea.
I’ve never been someone who sits around, waiting for things to happen to me. All the success I’ve found, I’ve created. I decide to gamble a bit, and I call the Governor’s office.
“Governor Cipriani’s office,” a perky woman says.
“Hello, there. My name is Easton Moorland, the CEO of Sacrifice Nothing. I’m dating Governor Cipriani’s granddaughter, and I thought he might spare a minute to talk to me.”
“Oh,” the woman says. “I’ve seen your photos online.” She giggles.
Giggles .
I sigh. “Yes, well, is there any chance I could chat with the governor sometime today?”
“He’s very busy, but I’ll check with his assistant and let you know. Would you like to leave a number?”
I’m suddenly a smidge uneasy giving Miss Giggles my phone number, but I do it. Shortly after, I’m drowning in pitches again, but I’m halfway through an interview when my assistant pokes her head into the conference room. “Mr. Moorland?”
The guy we’re interviewing freezes.
“The governor’s on the phone for you?” She looks a little shocked.
“The governor?” The interviewee has wide eyes.
It does feel a little strange. The owner of every designer label could call here, sure, but the governor? It’s surreal. “I’ll be right there.” I stand. “Do you mind waiting?”
The poor guy shakes his head slowly. “Take your time.”
I brace myself as I pick up the phone. I did make the governor wait, and he didn’t seem the most pleasant to begin with. “Hello? This is Easton Moorland.”
“Mr. Moorland.” His voice sounds just like it does on the news. Strong. Sure. A high-pitched voice, but a confident one. “You called me.”
“Yes, yes I did. The thing is?—”
“I’m actually glad you called. If you could possibly break up with my granddaughter in a public place, that would be very helpful.”
“Break up?” I can’t help spluttering. “I have no intention of breaking up with Bea. I adore her.”
“Adore?” He harrumphs. “At least you didn’t say love. Listen, with everything that’s going on right now, I really can’t have her dating the CEO of some kind of luxury brand. I’ve worked hard to make people see that I’m a family man, and that our family values hard work and sensible choices. My constituents know that I buy my shoes at H&M, same as them.”
“H and—” I sigh. “Governor Cipriani, I understand that for a politician, your image is important, but surely that doesn’t extend to telling your granddaughter who she can and cannot date. I’m an upstanding person, with no skeletons hiding in my closet. I?—”
“Listen carefully,” he says. “In about two hours, my candidacy for the open Senate seat in New York is going to be announced. People will speculate that taking this position will put me in line to run for President, and those people would be right. I’ve waited decades for my turn, and it’s finally here. My useless daughter is finally clean, or at least, she has been for more than six months, and her lovely daughter is going to have to stand up next to me at every campaign event for the next few years. Right now, people love her. They like her honesty, her charm, and her willingness to say things like they are. If, however, she keeps dating the rich man who sells shoes for a thousand dollars, their admiration for her morals will quickly wane.”
“But America was built on capitalist values,” I say. “I think that most people admire a self-made man.”
“You’re a silver-spoon trust baby,” Governor Cipriani says. “I’m sure you think that, but you’re out of touch. I’m not sure how I could be any more clear. Dump her somewhere public, and do it before the weekend, or you will run into all sorts of issues at work. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” He hangs up.
Why would he go from Governor to Senate if he wants to make a Presidential run? Federal experience? Some kind of favor for the party? I shake my head to clear my thoughts, because none of that matters. What does matter is. . .Bea might be upset, and she might even want to dump me. But my board definitely will, because there is someone fanning the flames of that dumb video.
Bea’s grandfather.
That’s a lot of pressure—on my company, but also on Bea. Pressure can make diamonds, sure, but it can also collapse buildings. A few years ago, I would’ve told you that owning my company would make me strong. It would keep me safe.
I thought it was the only way to keep my family safe—to protect what mattered.
But now, even with a public company, even with strong revenues, even with good ideas and ongoing progress, I’m being pushed around. My parents still don’t have my back, even now that they have money that I gave them.
In that moment, I realize something.
I thought money would give me power. I thought my company would make me strong. I put all my effort and all my work into this, because I thought that I would finally be free of the ups and downs Mom and Dad were constantly dealing with. I thought I could work hard enough and make enough money to be invulnerable.
But in this moment, the only thing I’m really afraid of losing is Bea.
I don’t go back to the interview. I tell my assistant to reschedule my next call as well. All of that can wait. None of it really matters. Not if it will make Bea want to dump me. Not if it’ll put more pressure on her.
I think about her smile.
The way she teases me and her family.
Her soft vulnerability. Her shocking talent. Her brave demands.
I didn’t tell her grandfather that I love her, but I realize that I do. I love Beatrice Cipriani, and that’s why I call my friend.
I spent over a decade of my life working to get where I am, building up a company that turns a profit every quarter. Developing a business model that is sustainable. Creating a brand people will pay top dollar to buy, to wear, and to show off. I gave my parents a large part of it so that they, too, could rest easy.
They didn’t have my back when I needed them.
Maybe they never have.
“Easton?” Laurent sounds groggy. “Is everything alright?”
“You’re asleep at eleven p.m.? How the mighty have fallen.”
“You’re so dumb,” Laurent says. “I’m in Shanghai , remember? It may be eleven in Paris, but it’s five a.m. here.”
“I thought you were back,” I say. “Sorry. But listen, I know I said I would never sell, but. . .”
“Sell?” Laurent clears his throat. “Wait. Are you saying—you might sell your company after all?”
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“Is something wrong?” he asks. “Are your sales down?”
I snort. “Hardly. It’s about a girl.”
Laurent whistles. “It’s about time, my man. It’s about time.”
“Do you think your dad really meant it? Would your grandpa really put up enough money to make it worth my while?”
“Dad meant it, and Grandfather’s passing things off to him,” he says. “In fact, when we talked about this last night, he asked me again if you might sell.”
“It’s his lucky day then,” I say.
“He’ll want a controlling interest. Can you provide that?”
“Yes,” I lie. Because somehow, I’ll force my parents to sell to him, too. “Send me a decent offer. Send it quick. ”
I can hear him yawning on the other end of the phone. “Gardez votre sang-froid, s’il vous pla?t.”
“I told you—it’s about a girl. And after what I did for you and Min Min, I’d think?—”
“I knew you’d bring that up.”
“Only because you’re telling me to hold my horses.”
“Your French sucks. I’m impressed you even understood me.”
I passed French thanks to Laurent’s help, but barely. “Talk to your dad and call me back.”
After work, I drive out to my parents’ house. Mom has a friend over, and Dad’s on the phone, but I wait. When they’re finally free, I drag them into the kitchen.
“What’s this about?” Mom asks.
“You didn’t even tell us you were coming,” Dad says.
“I have voluntarily loaned you money on fourteen occasions. Money you have never repaid me, in spite of there being a formal accounting and instrument documenting the debt in each instance.” I drop a sheet of paper in front of them. “This lists the amounts and the dates.”
“Easton.” Dad’s brow furrows.
“You have also stolen my money on at least seven more occasions that I can prove.” I drop another paper on the table.
“Are you in trouble?” Mom asks. “What’s going on?”
“And I voluntarily gifted you shares of my company before it went public. I had a valuation done at the time, so that the shares would be all yours when they appreciated in value.”
“We know, son,” Dad says. “Believe me, we appreciate all you’ve done.”
“When I called Mom and told her I needed her to vote with me, she told me to break up with Bea. ”
Mom exhales loudly, throwing her hands up in the air. “Easton. Don’t tell me all this is about that little foster kid.”
“Emerson Duplessis is a foster kid.”
“Emerson Richmond ,” Mom clarifies, “is the grandchild of a very powerful woman, and he’s inheriting her entire fortune.”
I think about telling them that Bea’s grandfather is the governor. I think about telling them that it gives us yet another tie to Emerson. I think about mentioning that her brother is a very famous actor.
But I don’t.
None of that matters. It’s not why I love her.
I didn’t want to have to do this, but for Bea, I’ll do whatever it takes. Arguing with them about Bea’s worth is just making me angry. “I gave you funds on all those dates.” I point. “Because at each point, you were on the verge of being totally ruined. The first time, I gave you half my trust fund, the money left by Grandpa. This time—” I jam my finger down on the other paper. “You stole money from my college fund, also from Grandpa, and I had to drop out of school. I lied to cover for you.”
“We know that,” Dad says, “and you have no idea how much we appreciate?—”
“Oh, on the contrary, I think I know exactly how much you appreciate me.” I shake my head. “I think that I’ve enabled you, and that’s on me. But if you don’t agree to sell your shares, the shares I gave you , to a friend of mine when he makes a very fair proposal to buy my company, I’ll take these lists with the dates and all the supporting evidence to the New York Times , and I’ll tell them how I created my company in spite of having a silver-spoon-shaped millstone hanging around my neck. I’m sure the Richmonds will be very impressed. ”
Mom’s mouth dangles open.
Dad’s entire face turns bright red.
“I wonder how many business partners you’ll find who want to work with you after that.” I stand up. “The offer for purchase of the company will probably be a good one, but even if it’s not, see that you approve it.”
I don’t stay to argue with them. I don’t listen to their complaints and their frustration. I walk through the front door and get in my car, and then I drive away.