2. Aaron
2
AARON
T he obnoxious clicking of that pen followed me to the elevator.
I inhaled the smell of the coffee and tried not to let it get to me.
Daisy fucking Coleman.
The caffeine ignited the fury that always lived inside me.
Why was she here? At my office? Still?
Nothing I did seemed to drive her off.
It had been years since I’d first gone to the coffee cart for my usual and found her there instead of the older Ukrainian lady who normally made my brew.
Daisy didn’t even dress like a woman who served coffee in the lobby of a very conservative business. No one wanted to entrust their money to a company if the first thing to greet you at the lobby of its building was a coffee girl wearing black jean cutoff shorts—perverse with legs and an ass like hers—a crop tank, hair up in a messy bun, a nose ring, for Chrissake, and an oversized plaid shirt—unbuttoned, mind you—that did nothing to hide the tattoos all over her hips.
I’d complained to the owner of the coffee company, a subcontractor of ours, and reminded them that Van de Berg Insurance could and would cancel their contract and find someone else if they didn’t make their employees dress appropriately. Daisy’s attire was distracting, both for our employees and our clients.
The owner had bitched to the human resources director that I’d been inappropriate, which had kicked off the feud I was currently engaged in with HR that was entering its sixteenth month.
“We’re late for this meeting.” Wolf was irritated when I stepped off the elevator at the executive level.
“I told you he didn’t run off.” Betty peered up at me through Coke-bottle-thick glasses. “He was just downstairs, flirting with the girl at the café.”
“Betty,” I hissed at my assistant, though I didn’t put any vitriol in it. She was about a thousand years old, four feet tall, and eighty pounds soaking wet. I’d inherited her when I took over the position of CFO from Wolf’s great-uncle. I’d tried other assistants, but they all ended up the same way as the pumpkin spice crier in the lobby.
“Did she turn you down again, sugar?” Betty chuckled to herself.
I was furious all over again.
“A cookie is on my credit card statement.”
“I thought you didn’t eat sweets.”
“They’re waiting in the conference room.” Wolf clicked his pen in annoyance, and I snarled before I could stop myself.
“We haven’t even had the meeting yet, and you’re already wound up.” He shook his head.
“I’m not wound up.”
Betty and Wolf exchanged a look .
I had no patience for it, and I chugged my coffee.
“You ever think about cutting back?” Wolf raised an eyebrow.
“Fuck—” I threw the coffee cup into the trash can. “You.”
I followed the CEO and sometimes friend, today being a nonfriend day, to the oversized corner conference room, which had a million-dollar view out over the water.
“I hope you have the firing squad ready,” I said snidely to Wolf. “If they need both of us at this meeting, then Coleman Mining fucked up.”
The two men at the table stood up when we entered.
“Bill.” I stayed ice-cold.
The much shorter man gave me a bland smile as he held out his hand for a weak shake.
I felt him flinch when our palms touched.
“We didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” I said, trying to keep my tone even and professional, to avoid letting him know the truth of how much it still bothered me after all these years. “Did one of the executive assistants offer you coffee or tea?”
“No need, Aaron, no need. I won’t be long.”
If we had been a normal grandfather and grandson, I would have said that Bill was trying to keep things professional, since he was at Van de Berg on business. However, I knew that even if he and I were meeting up for drinks or to go to a ball game—neither of which had ever happened and never would—that he would still act like he was having to eat a particularly nasty piece of fish at a client dinner.
I pretended not to notice Bill surreptitiously wipe the hand that had shaken mine on his navy-blue slacks as he sat down across from me at the desk.
The man next to me shook my hand, twitching his nose as his glasses slipped down.
I introduced Mr. Coleman to Wolf.
“Call me Wyatt, Aaron. We’ve known Aaron since he came… well…” He gave Bill a wan smile. “Well, you know.”
Bill took out a handkerchief. I recognized it as one my little cousin had given him for his birthday last fall. Meanwhile, all the ties I’d given him over the years likely sat in their boxes in the back of his closet.
My grandfather dabbed his sweaty forehead.
I wasn’t the only thing pushing him to an early heart attack—not that the Ragnors wouldn’t hesitate to blame me for it.
Wolf took a seat next to me.
I opened the leather portfolio that contained the Coleman Mining contract and gestured for Bill to begin.
The older man checked to confirm the door was closed then leaned forward, and his words came out in a whispered rush.
“Just to put it all out there on the table, Coleman Mining’s financial investing arm may or may not be having some, shall we say, problems that may or may not come to light in the next month or so.”
My professional mask snapped firmly into place.
Inside, I was seething. This was why Van de Berg historically hadn’t backed the finance industry. Inevitably, someone over there would fuck up, and the fallout would be explosive and expensive. But with the glut of financial-service firms in Manhattan all begging for some insurance policy, the money had been too good to pass up.
There’s no such thing as a free lunch , Wolf’s grandfather had always said. The old man was spinning in his grave right now.
“What kind of problems?” I forced out.
A muscle in Bill’s cheek flinched.
I checked the anger lacing my tone.
Keep it corporate. Keep it professional .
“Coal just isn’t that profitable. Plant upgrades needed to be made, not that we’re complaining. You know we love the migratory birds,” Wyatt said weakly. “Not to mention, Richmond Electric is expanding rapidly. We thought we would be able to pay back the loan...”
“They always think that.” Wolf leaned back in his chair.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“That’s what we’re dealing with,” Bill said carefully, sliding a printed spreadsheet over to me. “Just want you to have all the facts.”
Hot fury burned in the back of my throat as I scanned the numbers and mentally tallied the damage.
“You were warned when you signed your policy that any illegal activities would void the insurance policy,” Wolf began.
“It was all aboveboard. The pension loan was signed off on by all of the Coleman family board members,” Wyatt said in a rush.
“And this is why private companies shouldn’t seat the inbred spawn of their founders on the board.” Yeah, I shouldn’t have said that, but I was staring down the barrel of billions of dollars in insurance payouts for this bullshit.
Wyatt made a shocked noise.
Bill blustered, “Aaron, that is uncalled for. What kind of business is this?”
“That attack too personal for you?” I snarled, this close to losing it. “How about this? As CFO, I’m going to raise premiums on all financial policies in this city just out of spite. Greg Svensson is going to flip his fucking shit, and I’m pointing him all at Coleman Mining.”
Wyatt looked sick.
“Hopefully, the Manhattan hedge funds will tear you and Coleman Mining apart and feast on the corpse. Save me the trouble.”
Wolf stabbed me in the leg with his pen to get me to shut up.
“Nothing worse than a nasty surprise, eh?” Bill mopped his forehead.
Yeah.
Didn’t I know it.
“Coleman Mining’s pension fund is invested in a number of hospitals. If we default, we have to make a mass selloff,” Wyatt said, nose twitching.
“The Feds won’t like that,” Wolf observed.
“Yeah, no shit. They’ll have a battering ram at the door, wanting Van de Berg to pay out and end the madness. What a clusterfuck.” I gripped the edge of my armrest.
“We didn’t want to come without a solution.” Wyatt licked his lips. He rubbed his nose, pushed up his glasses, and set a leather-bound stack of yellowed papers on the oak tabletop. “There is another option, one that might be more financially beneficial to all parties.”
I stared at the leather-bound book like it was a bomb about to go off.
Wolf glanced at me then picked it up, frowning.
“This is a marriage contract.”
The book smelled musty. The date at the top of the first page, written in perfect calligraphy, read 1887.
“If Aaron marries one of the Coleman girls, the company is yours,” Bill stated as Wolf flipped to the last page, which had several signatures from long-deceased Ragnor and Coleman men.
There were two more blank lines: Coleman Bride and Ragnor Groom.
“I’m not a Ragnor,” I said abruptly.
“I thought you had his DNA tested when…” Wyatt trailed off, uncomfortable.
“He is. We already had a judge sign off.” Bill handed me more paperwork. “Coleman Mining is a private company, and we can simply hand it over to you, according to this contract.”
“I’m not marrying—”
Wolf grabbed my arm.
“Thank you for being solution oriented, gentlemen,” he said. “This sounds like the best possible scenario for all parties.”
“I don’t want a failing coal company.” I shook him off.
“They just need a strong hand and a cash infusion,” Wyatt assured me. “If someone can stabilize it and stop the downward spiral, the pension fund won’t default.”
“And most importantly,” Wolf said to me pointedly, “Van de Berg Insurance won’t have to cover the losses.”
“That’s that, then,” Bill said with finality. He stood up and slapped his thighs.
I squashed the memory the words and motion brought up.
That’s that.
I stripped off my suit jacket and threw it at the wall.
“Fuck this. Fuck those fucking finance companies.”
“You gonna call the Zhukov Syndicate or whoever the hell was in here just now and put out a hit?” Wolf crossed his arms.
“That wasn’t them. That was their legitimate international commerce arm.” I glowered. “I am going to find some way to void Coleman Mining’s insurance policy.”
As I paced in my office, Betty was reading through the contract at the round worktable in the corner with a magnifying glass and making notes.
“I don’t want to risk that. Marry one of the Coleman girls and this all goes away immediately,” Wolf urged. “Do what’s best for the company.”
“It has your name on it,” I said snidely to my friend.
“Don’t act like you don’t own forty-five percent. It’s your money too.”
“I didn’t grow up with a fucking silver spoon shoved up my ass. I don’t need money.”
“It’s only a month,” Betty piped up. “Minimum is thirty-one days to stay married and the company is yours.”
“You can handle a month.” Wolf crossed his arms. “Since we’re making personal childhood attacks now, need I remind you that you’ve had worse?”
“Fuck you.” I relaxed my balled fists.
Wolf just smirked. “ Going to the chapel …” he sang under his breath.
“You need to get a haircut today,” Betty told me. “You don’t want to wait until the day before your wedding. That’s a risky proposition.”
I saw red. “ I am not marrying anyone .”
“We cannot afford to pay out this pension,” Wolf said. “This will save us money. Once you finish throwing your tantrum, I know you’ll admit this is the only way.”
“Not if the company just fails under me.”
“You’re Aaron Richmond. You can figure it out.” Wolf’s smirk widened. “I see your brain working. You already have a solution, don’t you?”
I grabbed my jacket up from the floor.
“You can’t just run away, Aaron! Come on,” Wolf called after me.
“I’m not running away. I’m solving your fucking mess. And fuck me, I’m going to see my brother.”