Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
COLSON
As I walked out of our corporate building, the only things I wanted—things I had been dreaming about since I’d arrived at work this morning—were a tumbler of something extremely strong in my hand, my baby girl, and to be far away from this office.
One was about to happen the second the elevator doors opened and I entered the parking garage, where Paul was waiting. The other two wouldn’t be achieved until Paul fought the horrific traffic we were about to face and got my ass home.
I climbed into the back seat of my SUV, shutting the door behind me. “Paul, if you get a speeding ticket, I’ll pay it. Whatever you do, just get me home fast, my man.”
My driver laughed. “You got it.”
Two full days of ten-hour meetings—the four of us discussing every facet of buying out the Gordons, Beck conferencing in when his schedule allowed—had peaked my intensity scale.
Once we had the data in front of us—the Gordons’ entire portfolio of restaurants—we were able to run the numbers.
Walker hadn’t been wrong; this would be a beast of an undertaking, requiring a massive level of support we currently didn’t have in place.
Not only would that involve more office staff and a bigger building to house us all, but we would have to ramp up our IT department and work with our bank to make this financially possible.
Our operating expenses would reach highs we’d never experienced, along with an immense amount of travel to roll out the takeover.
Would it be worth it? Would it achieve what we always wanted—to be the largest restaurant conglomerate in the world?
Or would it bankrupt us, and we would lose everything?
Were we going to sue? Were we just going to try to buy them out? Or were we going to do both?
That answer would be decided tomorrow morning when the five of us voted. So, tonight, I needed to have dinner with my baby. I needed to clear my mind. I needed the liquor to burn across the top of my tongue.
And I needed to do everything in my power to somehow get a good night’s sleep—something I hadn’t accomplished since Fort Lauderdale.
What I didn’t need was to be in the back of this SUV for a second longer.
To get my mind off the drive, I took out my phone and pulled up the company’s Instagram account, holding my goddamn breath as the notifications loaded in the right corner of the app.
I hadn’t checked since yesterday. We’d been getting thousands a day.
Today was no different. That was a number impossible to keep up with.
So, I’d stopped trying, and instead, I absorbed the posts and opinions and did everything in my power not to respond, saying, Fuck off.
Some of the people sharing had actual experiences, dining at our restaurants. Some were looking to go viral.
Regardless, the hate hadn’t thinned at all.
I avoided the DMs and went straight to our account feed, noticing the amount of followers we’d gained overnight.
That was an interesting turn of events, for sure.
I wondered if they wanted a front-row seat to the drama, getting alerted whenever we made a post—something we’d kept up with, even after the Gordon fire, but we’d just turned off comments—or if the bad PR had helped somehow and the influx was from new and actual fans of our brand.
There was no way of knowing, not when reservations were still down almost fifteen percent.
But what I did notice, aside from the follower count, was that the total amount of likes on each post had increased, which skyrocketed our engagement. Whether that was for good reasons or bad, there were millions of eyes on our brand.
“I think this is the fastest I’ve ever gotten you home,” Paul said.
I glanced up from my phone as he pulled onto my street, relieved by the familiarness unfolding as he weaved through the narrow sections until he reached my gate.
“Expect a bonus to be deposited tomorrow.”
“No need for that, Colson.”
I texted my assistant, telling her to put a thousand in Paul’s account by the morning, and replied to him, “The only thing I wanted in this world was to get home. You made that happen. It’s the least I can do.” I pounded his shoulder before I opened my own door. “See you in the a.m.”
“Yes, you will.”
I closed the door behind me and entered my house through the front, immediately pulling at the bottom of my polo to untuck the shirt from my belt. I unbuttoned the final button at the top and dropped my bag in the entryway. There was laughter coming from the living room, so that was where I headed.
Sometimes, I called out to my daughter, giving her a heads-up that I was home. Sometimes, I enjoyed surprising her. I went with the latter, knowing the moment she detected my presence, she would stop whatever she was doing and squeal as she ran into my arms.
That was what I expected when I reached the base of the living room and said, “Hey, baby. Daddy’s home,” in the already-loud room.
But what I saw made my jaw clench. My heart was beating at a pace like I’d just finished a run. I tightened my hands into balls, wishing they were double-fisting glasses.
“Hi, Daddy!”
My daughter didn’t get up from the floor. She just smiled, holding the doll she was playing with, looking her happiest.
It took a long moment before I replied, “Hi, baby.”
I then slowly shifted my gaze to Michelle, demanding an explanation.
But my nanny didn’t seem to have one. She lifted her shoulders, her expression showing she was just as confused as I was.
Except there was no confusion here.
What I was looking at was premeditated, thoroughly thought out, and I didn’t fucking like it.
“Daddy, it finally happened!” Ellie shouted. “Everything I wanted came true!”
“It did.” I moved my gaze one last time, landing on the other little girl who occupied the large area rug with my daughter. “Hello, Abbi with an I.”
Sophie’s daughter waved at me. “Hi, Mr. Weston!”
Sophie, you have some fucking nerve.
I could have asked Abbi why she was here. I could have pulled Michelle into the kitchen and demanded an explanation.
But I would go straight to the source instead, which was what Sophie wanted—I was positive of that.
“Excuse me for a second,” I told the group.
I went into my bedroom and shut the door.
Sophie’s number had been blocked since I had walked into Hayden’s office in Fort Lauderdale and found her sitting behind his desk.
But due to her manipulation, I unblocked her, hitting the icon to call her.
As I held the phone to my ear, I didn’t take a seat on my bed.
I went over to the window and stared at the view, hoping the scenery of the Hollywood Hills would provide the calm I needed to get through this.
Because this—this fucking little game Sophie played—was bullshit.
“Do I have your attention?” she said when she answered.
I chuckled, the sound so deep that it rumbled through my chest. “Yes.”
“Good. Because we need to talk.”