CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Callahan
Ten Months Ago
“Can you please give us a moment?” I look up at Gil Diamante and his daughter Gia who are sitting at the table with us.
“For?” Gil asks.
“I need to speak with my father for a few moments,” I say.
“Is something wrong?” Gia asks, those eyes of hers skimming over me suggestively.
“Nothing is wrong. We just need to discuss several points in private for a few moments,” I explain.
“We’ll find a place at the bar. You can find us there when you’re finished.” Gil stands up and pushes his chair in. “But don’t keep us waiting long. I’m not a patient man, Mr. Sharpe.”
I nod and then watch them move through the restaurant. The soft sounds of silverware on plates and muted conversation can be heard all around us.
My dad stares out the window of the restaurant to the twinkling lights of the city below us.
Everything about this feels wrong to me. The Diamantes. The meeting. The contract.
My dad.
“I know they brought the contract to try and salvage the deal, Dad, but we’re sticking to our decision from earlier,” I say, mentioning the meeting we had earlier with my brothers. “We’re not signing it.”
“Last I checked, I was the majority owner of this company.” His smile holds no amusement when he offers it to me. It doesn’t make what I have to do any easier.
“The projections for Ocean’s Edge Resort aren’t good.
Ford and Ledger and the accountants have gone over them with a fine-tooth comb.
They’ve spent days trying to make them work in our favor, but between the asking price and the cost needed to turn the resort around, we’re looking at a considerable length of time to recoup our investment. ”
“I’m more than aware what the numbers are.”
“Besides, it’s far from being the Sharpe brand. It doesn’t fit with our portfolio. It’s—”
“Are you implying that if something isn’t up to Sharpe expectations that we shouldn’t put value in it?” He quirks an eyebrow, the reference to me and my screw-ups over time noted.
“Our point of this dinner tonight was to reject the deal. To walk away from it. Remember?”
He nods and looks at me, but a hollowness is in his eyes, and it feels like he really doesn’t see me. It’s been happening more and more these past few months.
He lifts his glass and takes a sip of his drink before pushing it away. “This isn’t what I ordered. I don’t even like scotch.”
I glance at the drink and a sinking feeling hits me.
He’s getting worse. What started as forgetting things every now and then is now becoming more frequent. Then there are holes in his memory about certain events in his life. Some days those moments are remembered, other days they are not.
He begged me to play it down to my brothers. Asked me to let him retain his dignity while he waited for the medication to do its trick, but it’s harder than fucking hell to stand by and watch whatever it is, take piece after piece of him.
Including his favorite scotch.
“Dad?” I ask and wait for him to orient himself toward me. “What would you like to drink?”
“Scotch,” he says. “You know what I like.”
“It’s right here,” I say with a smile and push the glass he just rejected toward him.
He lifts it and takes a sip. “Perfection.” He hums and closes his eyes as he savors the taste on his tongue. “Talk about hitting the spot.”
When his eyes look back up to me, they are clear and lucid. I sigh in relief that the episode appears to be over and was shorter than most as of late.
“Good. I’m glad.” I force a smile that I’m more than certain doesn’t wash the concern from my eyes. He doesn’t see it though because he’s too busy staring at the contract on the table in front of him that I’m slowly pulling away from him and toward me.
“What are you doing?” he asks as he reaches out and puts a hand on the bound stack of papers, preventing me from taking it.
“We agreed not to accept their offer, did we not? You wanted to make a show of bringing the paper contract, sliding it across the table unsigned as a rejection. You said it was better this way,” I explain.
I don’t know why we couldn’t have done this in an email, but the man is as old-fashioned as old-fashioned can be.
He’d make every deal a handshake if he could.
“Why would we do that when I want to sign the offer? I want to buy the property.”
“Dad,” I groan in frustration, more than pissed that I was left to babysit this dinner tonight.
Technically he can cast the final vote as the majority shareholder so why the hell am I here anyway?
You have to protect Dad, Callahan. Protect him from making unsound business decisions.
We’re counting on you. Ford’s words were not subtle.
“Do you know that was where your mom and I took our honeymoon?”
“No, it wasn’t. You went to—”
“I was there, I should know,” he snaps in a way I haven’t heard before.
“I know I’m losing my mind, Callahan, but don’t you dare tell me I don’t know or remember this.
It was your mother’s choice, her pick, and I told her someday I was going to buy a patch of land there and make it everything she wanted.
I failed her. I didn’t do it when she was alive, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make amends now.
That doesn’t mean I can’t still do it. Today is that day, son.
” He gets a soft, faraway look in his eyes and smiles.
“Do you know I can still picture her standing on the beach with a flower in her hair, smiling at me, and posing for the camera?”
I study him, unsure what to say and uncertain if I remember correctly what had been said to me in the past.
What the fuck do I say?
How do I convince him otherwise when he seems so adamant he’s right?
“Dad. We need to discuss your change of mind with—”
He reaches out and grips my forearm. “Give me this, son. Please. The company, the business, is what is helping to keep my mind clear. And I need to know while I still can remember that I fulfilled my promise to her.” He squeezes.
“No one else will understand this but you. Screw the numbers and projections and spreadsheets. Sometimes you have to go with your gut and your word.”
His words hit hard. They’re words my brothers won’t understand or respect. Just one more reason for them to treat me like shit.
But I’ll explain to them.
I’ll make them understand what happened. Dad’s reasoning.
“I’m all for going with your gut, but I’m certain we can hold out and negotiate a lower price to make up for the expense it will take to turn the resort into a Sharpe property.”
“I’m dying, Callahan. I don’t want to hold out.
I want you to grant me this one, last wish.
Of any of my three sons, you’d be the one to understand that while numbers don’t lie, they aren’t everything either.
” His eyes turn misty. “Please, son. Give me your blessing on this and grant me this one last thing.”
Shit. That’s the truth I don’t want to face. I’d give anything to pretend I didn’t hear them. Anything to make him live forever.
Anything to make him feel like he did right by his one true love.
“Okay.” I whisper the word and hate the dread that eats at me.
We’re a financially sound company that if the deal is shitty, we can sell and move on. We’ve done it before; we’ll do it again. It’s the nature of the beast.
“Okay?” His smile is the brightest and his eyes the clearest they’ve been in forever.
“Yes. Fine.” But it’s not. It’s so not.
“Thank you. You’re giving me the greatest gift anyone has ever bestowed upon me besides your mother giving me you three.” He gives a soft smile. “I can’t wait to tell her when I see her.”
Tears burn my eyes and I hate that I feel like this is more than just a thank you. That this is a goodbye of some sort. I shake the thought and blame it on the discord eating at me.
The same discord that eats at me as I head toward the bar to tell the Diamantes we’re ready to continue the meeting.
This isn’t the right financial decision.
It’s one made with the heart and not the head, but how do I say no to the man who has been the heart of this family for over thirty years?
The one who has lifted me up even when I didn’t deserve it?
The one who has made all the sacrifices so that I can be sitting here at Eleven Madison Park, one of the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan, without batting an eye about the cost of the ensuing meal.
There is going to be hell to pay for this, for allowing this to happen, but . . . I can’t wait to tell her when I see her.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Mr. Diamante, sir,” I say when I see him standing at the bar with a drink in hand. “Sorry for the delay, but we’re ready to proceed.”
“Proceed?” he asks. “Because I feel like you’ve been toying with me.
I’m a busy man who doesn’t like to be led on.
I never intended to sell Ocean’s Edge until your father pursued me doggedly.
This isn’t a must-sell for me, Callahan.
In fact it’s far from it. But I like your dad.
I don’t understand him, but I like him. So don’t invite me to fly here and have a discussion and then make me wait.
I’ve pulled deals from a table for less than that. ”
And with that, Gil Diamante walks past me, toward the table.
“Can I get you something, Mr. Sharpe?” Sam, the usual bartender, asks.
I need something strong to wash the bad taste from my mouth. “Yes. Please. A shot of your choice.” I glance around. “I’m going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, sir.”
The bathroom is empty when I enter it and just as I unzip my fly, the door opens at my back.
And I hear the click of heels.
When I turn to look, Gia Diamante is standing there with a smirk and desire firing in her eyes.
I stuff my cock back in my slacks and turn to face her as I zip up, although the look on her face says she’d prefer I keep it out.
“I’m assuming you know you’re in the wrong bathroom,” I say, taking a step toward the sink to wash my hands.
“Just like I assume you know where I’m staying this evening.” She takes a step closer. “Once the deal is signed, I would love to show you . . . my appreciation for your assistance in making your dad accept the deal.”
“Your appreciation, huh?”
Her siren’s smile is seductive. Her fingernail that scrapes up the front of my cloth-clad cock even more so. “I have a lot of appreciation,” she whispers.
“So this is how the Diamantes close deals?” If it is, maybe I should be more involved in closing them.
Her laugh is throaty as she leans in and tugs on my earlobe with her teeth causing my balls to draw up. “I’ll let you know once it’s closed,” she whispers before she turns on her heel and leaves the bathroom.
I have to wait a second for my hard-on to abate before I leave the bathroom. When I do, Sam is sliding my shot across the bar with a smirk.