Chapter 14 Everyone Wants to Prove Themselves #2
Jesus, Owen had accumulated quite a hoard.
Farms, mostly. Commercial buildings. Some properties that included bed-and-breakfasts or artisanal operations.
Like my own family business, they represented the blood, sweat, and tears of generations, and most combined people’s homes with their livelihoods.
This decision would ruin lives while making a few people very, very rich.
In school, students generally learn that the social contract basically means sacrificing a few things for the public good. A bit of liberty. An occasional life. A small surrender for the benefit of many.
What they don’t learn is that reality usually benefits a slim minority at the cost of nearly everyone else.
I ignored a weight in the pit of my stomach as I scanned the numbers of farms that seemed destined for foreclosure. I could try to be fair. Fair, but ruthless. “What’s the deal with Maple Acres?”
“They’re a syrup company,” Liam said. “Lots of corn and sugar. Not the best business model and their profits have been plummeting for the last several years. They’re behind on their mortgage and have gotten several extensions.”
“The land is fallow,” Owen bit out. “I wanted to develop it years ago. It’s two miles outside of Burlington, which needs more multi-family housing.”
I pointed to another. “What about Dandelion Farm? They have a lot of acreage too.”
“Yeah, family-run dairy, owned by I think six generations of the same family,” Liam supplied. “Had a solid following in the eighties and nineties, but they’ve been going through it since the turn of the millennium. They were already close to bankruptcy before we bought the mortgage.”
“‘Bought the mortgage,’” I muttered to myself as I continued to flip through page after page of bad real estate. “We’re a holding company, not a fuckin’ bank. When did we get in the business of helping out farms, of all goddamn things?”
“I believe that was my contribution,” Ronan piped up with a grin. “Legalizing pot was the best thing we ever got behind in Vermont. And Dad thought it was a waste of my time.”
“You made recreational pot legal?” Shea wondered.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ronan purred.
“I would, actually. I didn’t know we had that much power.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child.” Ronan patted her atop the head like a puppy. “Come to the table more than once every three months, and I’m sure Daddy will set you up with your own politicians to corrupt for your pet projects. You can’t do worse than Owen’s done with his today.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Owen snapped.
It was true. Once the four of us had joined the company, Dad had given us all projects and eventually real capital to invest as a way of testing our instincts.
Some of us had been more successful than others.
I went the route of pharmaceuticals, which had been particularly successful when one of our companies got on the ground floor of GLP-1s.
Ronan had explored the liquor, tobacco, and yes, marijuana markets.
His sector had done increasingly well as more states had moved to legalize weed.
Shea was barely getting started out in Silicon Valley.
Meanwhile, Owen had dabbled in a few different sectors, none of which had been overwhelmingly successful, but nothing that was a direct failure either. I imagined he’d been hoping this ecotourism venture would finally get him the recognition he wanted.
Or the position he so clearly sought.
Right now, however, he was seething.
“Don’t worry, bro.” Ronan bared his teeth at Owen with a sharkish grin. “It’s only, what, your fourth try to prove yourself to Pops? You’ll get it one of those days.”
“Liza,” I cut in before Owen decided to launch himself across the table at Ronan. “What’s the next order of business?”
The meeting went on without making a final decision about which properties to offload, but I asked Liza to stay behind as everyone packed up their things.
“These are all the bad mortgages?” I asked her, holding up the document she’d left on the table.
With a glance toward where Owen was hovering outside the room, just out of earshot, she nodded. “Most of them are either close to or already in default, yes.”
It was time to be decisive. “Dump them.”
From the other side of the glass, my brother watched me like a hawk.
“If you do this, you’re going to make some enemies.” My CFO looked uncertain as she glanced between Owen and me.
“I need to look at the whole picture, not just one part of it all. And shareholders need austerity right now, not massive risks. Now isn’t the time for risking that much on consolidation and building a neo-Telluride in the middle of Vermont.
” I nodded toward him, then turned my back. “Dump them. We’re done for today.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was going through Liza’s financial reports when I was interrupted by the buzzer at my desk.
“Mr. Black, there’s a young woman here to see you. She says her name is Simone Bishop.”
I sat up straight. Adjusted my tie. Suddenly felt like a middle school boy.
Get it the fuck together, Black.
“Send her in.” I adjusted my tie again before the door opened.
Simone looked smaller than I remembered as she stepped into my office.
Small, but still gorgeous. Seeing her now didn’t cast quite the same spell as it had when she’d opened the door to her apartment while covered in flour, but I had a feeling that had less to do with her and more to do with the office.
There was no magic in this place. Just the cold logic needed to run an empire.
She was dressed in clothes more suited to a student than a socialite: jeans, worn sneakers, and a toggled blue jacket that was fraying on the elbows and hems. Her blond hair was tied back again, but several pieces had come loose, golden strands framing her face.
Vaguely, I wondered what it would look like if I took it down. If it felt as soft as it looked woven around my fingers.
Or pulled.
She took in my office, which was larger than her apartment and filled with more expensive furnishings than her entire building, thanks to my designer.
Through the windows was the same expansive view as the conference room.
She stared toward Back Bay, seemingly unaware of my presence as I strode around her to close the door.
The gentle click of the latch seemed to pull her out of her daze.
“Oh!” She bumped into my chest, then jumped back like a scared rabbit.
I returned to my desk but sat against the front of it, putting us eye-to-eye as she approached. “Try not to look so terrified.”
I pressed the button that fogged the glass walls for privacy, but she still didn’t seem to relax.
“Seriously,” I tried again. “There are about forty-five people staring at this office right now, wondering why a pretty girl in jeans just wandered into my office and why I was fuckin’ smiling when I saw her, since that is pretty much something I never do if I can help it.”
At that, she finally cracked her own small grin that my mother might have called “cheeky.” It was fucking adorable.
“That’s better,” I said.
“You do smile. I’ve seen it at least five times now.” Her eyes blinked with kindness I was starting to suspect was uniquely, solely hers. “You look better when you smile, you know.”
“I thought that was something idiotic men say to women. ‘You should smile more, sweetheart.’ Should I be offended?”
That cheeky grin broadened. “Just an observation. It doesn’t matter, I guess, what I think of how you look.”
Or maybe what you think matters more than anyone.
The idea sprinted through my mind before I mentally threw it out the window.
After all…why should I care what she thought of me?
“Besides,” she continued. “Given what’s written here…I think it’s better if I try not to care about that at all.”
I watched as she pulled a wrinkled wad of papers from her coat pocket. The familiar words “Contract of Pseudo-Engagement” were typed across the top.
Immediately, I grabbed the document and set it face down on the desk behind me. Yes, the windows were fogged, but who knew who might walk in?
“Does this mean what I think it means?” I asked. “You being here? Is that contract signed?”
My heart gave one, two, then a third hard thump in my chest. Like I wasn’t waiting on the answer to a fake proposal, but an honest-to-God real one.
Simone bit her lip.
My gaze zeroed in on it like a hawk on its prey.
Christ, I was going to have to write that into the document.
No biting your lip unless you want me to bite it for you.
Simone looked around the office one more time, took a deep breath before speaking with a voice that shook. “Pending a counteroffer, I accept. For the next four months, I will be your fake fiancée.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I-it is.”
Sudden joy throbbed in my chest and surprised me to my core. This time, my grin wasn’t faked for viewers. It was so real and so broad, my face hurt.
I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket. “Good. Shall we make it official?”