CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ledger
“That won’t work.”
“Why not?” Hillary asks, hands on her hips, a crease in her brow.
“Because if we put local craftsmen in the hotel who already have a store in town, they’d be getting less profit after we take our cut. Grossman will accuse us of stealing from them or taking advantage of them or some shit like that,” I say and sigh in frustration.
“Then let’s find people who don’t have brick-and-mortar stores. There have to be locals we can showcase. Ones that are just starting out or who can’t get representation in local shops.”
“That’s an angle.” A shitty one, but one nonetheless.
“Don’t sound so enthused.” She chuckles. “I think it’s worth a shot. Maybe use one of the shops as a locals-only fare. Give it a catchy name. Place it off the main lobby next to the gift shop.”
“Get someone to work on that and see what we come up with. Quality is key.”
“As is everything.”
“Where are we on the school library thing?” I ask, frustrated that we even have to deal with bullshit like this.
The look on Hillary’s face says she feels the same way since she should be elbow deep in the details of the resort’s construction—contractor problems, supply chain issues, decisions that have to be made on the fly.
Hillary updates me over the next hour. On her meeting with the school district superintendent over a donation that S.I.N.
can make to give the library a facelift.
Then we moved to her follow-up meeting with the director of the assisted living facility.
They’re willing to accept our generosity of a new HVAC system, but have to cut through some red tape first.
It’s amazing how much money talks.
Then again, I’ve never known anything otherwise.
One meeting rolls into another. Union issues with the staff in our Aspen resort.
A possible property acquisition in California Wine Country—a market we’ve wanted to move into for years.
It’s still a long way off, but it’s a rarity something comes up for sale there, so I welcome the first step.
Conflicts with supply chain at our resort in the Virgin Islands.
And it doesn’t matter how much shit like this, the details, the complications, and the nitty-gritty of our business generally turn me on, my mind has a hell of a time concentrating this week.
Asher.
Jesus.
The woman.
Last night.
This morning.
How can each time get better with her?
That’s a stupid fucking thought considering I was a fumbling teenager the first time we were together .
. . and yet, usually the memory of something is better.
Call it selective amnesia or wishful thinking, but my memory of her doesn’t hold a fucking candle to the Asher I left behind in the farmhouse this morning.
Focus, Ledge.
Ha. That’s funny.
“You’re knocking down fires all over the place today,” Callahan says in greeting when he answers the phone. “We should have you vacate the office more often. Your productivity level seems to go up.”
“Fuck off.”
His chuckle rumbles through the line. “Nah. It’s too much fun giving you shit.”
“Tell Sutton she needs to keep you on a tighter leash,” I say, referencing his wife.
“Oh, I don’t know. I like how tight she grips me.”
“Yeah. Yeah. When are you two leaving to take on Japan?” I ask in reference to the property we’re buying from Takashi. Callahan and his wife will head there and manage the transition of the resort.
“After we close escrow.”
“Yes. Sorry. Every day here feels like ten.”
“That bad, huh?” He chuckles. “At least you’ll get to escape back to the city next month for the gala.”
“Shit. Yes. That,” I say, my mind completely blanking on the charity gala we’re sponsoring for the Alzheimer’s Association, something we’ve done every year since Dad’s diagnosis. “I’ve been preoccupied with this bullshit.”
“You forgot something? How unlike you. And here I thought you were counting down the days until your return to civilization.”
“Like I said, I’ve been busy.” I pull on the back of my neck, confused over my sudden desire to make up an excuse as to why I can’t go back. Seriously, Ledge?
“Or preoccupied. Everything okay?”
“Yes. Yeah. Sure.”
He laughs again. “What’s up with the three-word answers? That’s your tell.”
“My tell?”
“Yeah, when you’re lying about something.” He pauses. “So, what exactly are you keeping from me?”
I shake my head and practically flip the phone off. This is the problem with having brothers who are as close as we are. They know too much about you even when you don’t say a word.
“I’m not keeping shit from you. I’m just trying to get this whole shitshow here sorted out and fixed. You know how much menial crap like this drives me crazy,” I deflect.
“It’s a necessary evil though.”
“I mean, we’ve always had to grease palms in one way or another for a new project, whether it be in discounted room rates for an inspector or whatever, but this ask is flat-out ridiculous.”
“Bribery. Extortion. Blackmail.” He makes a noncommittal sound. “Sounds about right. The question we should be asking though is do you think it will work?”
“Only time will fucking tell, but I swear to God, if we do all this shit and Grossman moves the bar again for us to jump over, I’ll be fucking pissed.”
Set the goal. Meet the goal. Adjust the goalposts.
If it were Dad in Grossman’s shoes, he’d definitely move the bar.
“Agreed. That’s why you need to move as fast as possible and get shit finished before new ideas can materialize. We need Harrison to double-check the contract to ensure there is nothing else they can legally pull on us.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Now you know how it feels.”
Both he and Ford swear I’m just like our father. They tease me about it relentlessly.
But after the revelations of the past week, the thought sits differently with me now.
“Hey, Callahan?”
“Hmm?”
“Remember that last night we were here? In Cedar Falls?” I ask.
“You mean when Dad had a deal go sour, and we had to get home right away so he could salvage it? That night?”
“Yeah.” My chest constricts.
“What about it?”
My mouth opens, my need to tell him everything—finally, after keeping it quiet for so many years—eating at me. But I don’t say a word. I find myself shoving up out of my seat and walking to the window to look outside, one hand fisted, my jaw clenched.
“Ledge? You there?”
“Yeah. Never mind.” I can’t do it. As much as I want to tell him, I can’t ruin his vision of who our father was. I can’t tarnish a memory simply to make myself feel better.
Like that night and its aftermath, I’ll have to stomach this one alone.
“You sure? Because it sounded important.”
I smile simply because I’m hoping it will carry over to my voice. “Not important at all. I just happened to drive by that old field we used to go hang out and drink at.”
“It’s still there?”
“It’s about a quarter of the size because it has houses on three sides now, but . . .” I continue rattling on about a field neither of us cares about. Because I’m afraid if I stop, my brother, my triplet, will pick up on something in my voice that tells him otherwise.
“I swear I thought you were going to tell me you ran into Asher and either hit it off or found out she has six kids or something like that.”
“Uh . . .” I’m caught flatfooted by his comment, rattled by a moment of uncertainty.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he says. “You have seen her, haven’t you?”
I scrunch my nose up, wanting and not wanting to tell him simultaneously. “Yeah. It slipped my mind. I just so happened to run into her at a bar.”
“You didn’t forget to tell me shit.” He snorts.
“You’ve always been so damn secretive when it comes to her.
Back then, it was like she was everything and then suddenly, poof, she was nothing.
It was like she’d dropped off the face of the earth, and now you tell me you ran into her, and that’s all you’re going to give me?
” he asks. “Because that screams to me she’s either dog ugly now and you ran the other way, or you guys fucked like rabbits.
” I don’t respond. “So, which one was it?”
Fucking Callahan. I hate that a smile breaks onto my lips. I hate that I want to confide in him so badly. I hate that I still want to keep whatever this is with Ash close to the vest.
“Neither,” I lie.
“Uh-huh.” Spoken like only an annoying little brother can.
“She’s fucking gorgeous is what she is.”
“Ohh.” More sounds from the asshole. “Why so sensitive?” His laughter fills the line.
“Are you trying to be a prick?”
“Only if you’re trying to evade the question.”
“We talked for a bit. Agreed to meet up at a later time to catch up. That’s all.”
“Liar.”
“Go away.”
“And she’s fucking gorgeous,” he says, mimicking my tone.
“She is. Full stop.”
“When Ledger pulls out the full stop, you know he means business.”
“I’m going now, Callahan.”
“Oh, I figured you were coming.” His chuckle fills the line. “And hey, Ledge?”
“What?” I snap.
“This is when you act like the old me since I’m now an old married fucker.”
“Act like you?” But the minute I say it, I start laughing, because I know what he’s going to say. Him and his penchant for telling me I have a stick up my ass.
“Yeah. Sleep with the woman. Skip some work to fuck off with her. Your lists can wait. Live a little outside of the office.”
“I’m going now, Callahan.”
“I bet you are.”
I glance at the clock. Let’s see how long it takes for Callahan to tell Ford and for Ford to call me.