Chapter 22
Brody
Tiny trots beside me as I walk up the path to Arthur’s door. His tail sways like a metronome, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, there’s a knot in my chest that has been sitting there since I asked Lark to marry me.
Otis opens the door before I knock.
Tiny launches himself forward, and the butler smiles. A turning up of the lips which is such a rarity, I blink.
He scratches Tiny’s ears while the dog wriggles with his entire massive body, like he’s a puppy instead of a grown Great Dane.
"Good boy, we missed you."
Otis grabs his collar. "Mr. Davenport is in the conservatory, Mr. Davenport."
I chuckle. Trust Otis to call every male in this family “Mr. Davenport,” and never confuse us. He changes his tone by a fraction, and we all, somehow, know who he’s talking about.
Otis leads Tiny in the direction of the kitchen. No doubt, to fuss over him and give him his favorite treats. The mutt’s spoiled by all of us. Including me. I’m going to miss him.
I confess, I’ve gotten used to having company at my place. And having a warm body beside me in bed. Tiny, unfortunately, snores. Also waking up to his doggy breath is not something I’d recommend.
I’ve learned to shove him with my foot until he changes position and stops snoring.
If I have my way, the next person in my bed will be a beautiful siren who I’m going to keep awake by doing various wicked things to her body.
Images of lush curves, creamy skin, soft moans and cries as I take her cunt fill my head.
My cock perks up with great interest. Fuck, I can’t exactly sport a chub for this conversation with Gramps. I manage to get myself together.
By the time I step into the conservatory, I feel confident I look composed.
It’s warm; sunlight pours in through the domed glass ceiling. The heat of the rays is magnified by the glass. Combined with the heating that’s on inside, it’s sweltering in here.
There are rows of flowering shrubs and towering plants, each one carefully tended. Pots of azaleas, hydrangeas, and fragrant jasmine line the edges, while tall fiddle-leaf figs and palms rise like a miniature indoor forest.
My feet make no noise on the terracotta tiles, yet he looks up from where he’s tending to the orchids.
"Aha, if it isn’t my non-prodigal grandson." He goes back to watering the plant.
I walk over and watch him with curiosity.
"Didn’t know you were into gardening."
"I’m not." He sets down the watering can. "Imelda insists I spend time taking care of the plants as some kind of therapy."
"Right." Arthur and therapy? Not what I’d normally associate together.
"She insists it’ll help with my blood pressure, and even out my temper.
And help me get less crotchety. Her words, not mine.
Figured I might as well indulge the woman.
After all, she puts up with me." He touches the petals of the orchid.
His features soften. He almost looks like a kind old grandfather there for a second. Almost. Maybe Imelda's onto something?
Then, as if catching himself, he straightens. "Right then, enough of this nonsense." He walks toward one of the two comfortable, faded armchairs facing a marble-topped iron table in the center of the space.
I take my seat opposite him.
He studies me from under his busy eyebrows. "So, you’re going through with it?"
I blink. “How did you guess?”
“You think I don't know what my grandsons get up to in this city?”
Likely, he heard about it from the owner of the jewelry store where I purchased the ring. He’s a friend of Arthur’s, as well as being our family jeweler.
Trust Gramps to be one step ahead. It’s no use pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about. I decide to not bullshit him.
"I’m marrying her."
"Good."
To his credit, he doesn’t give me the I-told-you-so bullshit routine.
When he stays silent, I can’t help but ask. "You’re not going to ask me why?"
"Does it matter?" He raises a shoulder.
"No," I concede.
"You’re here to speak to me about something else?" He levels an assessing look at me. The one I grew up under. I used to hate it. Now, I recognize it for what it is. Concern, dressed up as scrutiny. Gramps hates being seen as weak.
As much as I do.
Maybe, he’s influenced me more than I realized.
The silence stretches. He doesn’t prompt me. For which I’m grateful. I take my time gathering my thoughts.
"Lark’s the smartest person in my orbit. She’s steady. Reliable. Focused. And a very hard worker. She’s proven herself in a very short time. I trust her.” My jaw tightens.
"Good," he says, waiting for me to go on.
I let out a slow breath. “We have a good dynamic. We understand each other. We bounce off each other’s ideas. She’s…wonderful to be around."
I look out the glass walls and over the rolling expanse of Primrose Hill with the London skyline shimmering in the distance.
“But it’s more than that. She sees the whole picture.
She’s strategic yet also detailed. She spots problems before they become fires.
She handles people with a gentleness that somehow carries more authority than most men’s shouting.
She reads a room in seconds. And she’s steady.
Calm under pressure. And she cares about the employees.
She wants them to be happy at their jobs.
She seeks efficiency, but not at the cost of employee turnover.
She’s invested in the future of Davenport Capital.
It’s like she was built for leadership.”
I shift in my seat.
“She doesn’t just keep me organized. She tempers me. Sharpens me. Makes me better at what I do."
"Excellent." Arthur’s eyes light up. "That certainly makes for a good basis to build a marriage on."
"I want her to be more than my wife."
He stills. His gaze narrows, a calculating expression seeps into his face. I wonder if he knows where I’m going with this. Likely, he does. But he gives no indication.
"I also see her as my successor."
"You want her to take over as CEO?”
I nod. "She's operating at CEO level, and in a stunningly short period of time.”
He places the tips of his fingers together. "From what I heard of her performance at the board meeting, she certainly seems capable of leading the team."
I’m not surprised. Edgar and Arthur go way back. He’d have updated Gramps.
“Lark sees people. She understands how the pieces fit together. She listens. And she uses her intuition, along with her talent to make decisions about systems, relationships, and pressure points. She knows how to pull the best out of a room without forcing it. She’s the future of this company."
"You don’t have to sell me on her abilities. I was the one who spotted how right she was for you. Turns out, it’s in more ways than one."
"That may be so. I hired her. I was the one who first took a bet on her."
He chuckles. "And it paid off."
"Absolutely." I nod. "So, you’ll understand why I want her stepping up, and soon."
"How soon?"
"As soon as she accepts the role."
"So, you haven’t spoken to her yet."
"I wanted your blessings first, of course."
"Bull-fucking-shit." He snorts.
"Excuse me?"
"You’d have made her CEO, even if I decided she wasn’t right for the role."
"But you don’t think that," I say with confidence.
"I think she’ll be perfect for the role. She’s smart, astute, and courageous. Enough to marry you. And you trust her."
"I do. Implicitly."
"It’s time the Davenport Group welcomed its first female CEO," he agrees.
"Wow, I didn’t expect it to be that easy." I run my fingers through my hair.
"You knew I approved of her, so I’m sure you didn’t expect me to put up too much of a fight."
"That’s true." I allow my shoulders to relax for the first time since I entered Arthur’s place.
Arthur drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. “The board won’t accept a sudden handover. They don’t like changes, as you’re well aware.”
"With your backing, anything is possible." I smile.
"You bet it is. Which is why you brought it to me. You want me to smoothen Lark’s path."
"I’m sure, you’d have done it anyway. But I didn’t want to leave anything to chance."
"Wise." He searches my features. "And what will you focus on?"
"What gives me the most satisfaction. I want to set up the Davenport Foundation to help with veterans’ causes. And startups which fit my vision."
Arthur leans back in his seat. An inscrutable expression in his eyes. "I’m proud of you."
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. Praise from the old man is as rare as a Christmas anthem that doesn’t drive me batshit.
"Thanks." I tilt my head.
“There are only two questions left, in my opinion.”
“Two?” I frown, not sure what he’s getting at.
“When are you going to tell her? And—” He holds my gaze. “Will she go for it?”