Chapter 12 #2
She takes the seat I’ve vacated. Gideon pours her a glass of whiskey. Tristan offers her a cigar, and Beckett lights it for her.
She puffs on it, then arches an eyebrow. "Not bad."
"Tristan spares no expense when it comes to his cigars. Or James with his whiskey," Beckett points out.
Since Gideon provides us with the space, we take turns supplying the cigars and the whiskey.
She sets her cigar in the nearest ashtray, lifts the glass of twenty-five-year-old Macallan, inhales its aroma, then takes a measured sip.
"Well?" I half smile, knowing she’s going to give me her opinion, whether I ask for it or not.
"It tastes like a wet sock on a hot summer’s day."
My jaw drops, considering we all chose this top-shelf whiskey. "Ex-fu— I mean, what?"
"Gotcha." She chuckles. Then she concedes, "It’s not bad.”
Some of the tension drains from my muscles. I’ve run kitchens with teams of five hundred and turned over a thousand covers in one afternoon, but getting my grandmother’s approval is not something I take for granted.
“You won three Michelin stars. Clearly, you have taste.” Her gaze turns wicked. "Just not good sense."
I pause, studying her. "Care to explain?"
She sits up. Her back is straight, her shoulders back.
"You’re the oldest."
"I’m aware."
Gideon, who’s the closest, tops up my glass. His look says, you’re going to need it. Margot’s lectures are not for the faint of heart. And are easier to stomach with fine alcohol. I take a sip of the whiskey with gratitude.
"You need to set an example for your brothers." She frowns. “Unlike your uncle.” Looking in Tristan’s direction.
“Leave me out of this.” Tristan pretends to concentrate on his cards.
My brothers exchange amused glances.
Gideon scoffs, "Whatever he does, I’d do the exact opposite."
It’s true. I joined the Marines. Gideon embraced capitalism and joined the family business.
"If you’re Lachlan, you make sure you’re on another continent. That way, you’re as far away as possible from family pressure and from having to follow in the footsteps of our older brothers." Beckett taps his cards.
He’s referring to our youngest brother, who makes sure to keep well clear of the rest of the family.
Lachlan is with Doctors without Borders, and as a result, he's gone a lot of the time.
As for our second youngest brother Rowan, he’s a high-profile venture capitalist and spends a lot of time in Silicon Valley.
"If you’re the grandmother trying to shepherd her grandkids like errant donkeys, you use every weapon in your arsenal,” Margot huffs.
Tristan finally raises his gaze.
What he sees on Margot’s face has him furrowing his forehead. "Uh-oh. I don’t trust that gleam in your eyes, Mother.”
"What’re you up to Margot?" I roll my shoulders, trying to dispel the ache that’s settled there. Pretty normal, after having worked a twelve-hour day shift without a break.
"I love your parents, but they’re too busy traveling around the world to interfere"—she coughs—"I mean, to steer you boys into settling down."
"No doubt, you’re going to step in?" Beckett smirks.
"Don’t be cheeky." Margot levels him with a look known to make employees quiver in their shoes. Beckett merely smiles wider, knowing he’s her favorite.
"Are you going to hold our inheritances over us, unless we do as you say?" I lean back in my seat.
"Did you think I’d stoop that low?" She scoffs.
"Yes." I smirk.
"Yes." Tristan chuckles.
"Yes." Gideon and Beckett nod in unison.
Margot looks around the table. Her eyes sparkle. "Good to know I’m not underestimated.”
"You’re not upset?" I ask slowly.
"Why should I be upset?" She puffs on her cigar. "I’ve always been honest about my intentions. I want to be alive long enough to see my great-grandchildren."
I begin to speak, but she holds up her hand.
"I’m in no hurry to die. I promise, I’ll be around to make your lives miserable for a very long time.
But I’m also practical enough to know that no one can cheat death.
And none of you are getting any younger.
" She fixes me with what can only be described as gimlet eyes.
"Is that your way of saying that I need to settle down?"
She sniffs. “If you want to father children, you’d better get on with it. Sperm motility is a thing, after all."
Did my grandmother just talk to us, her grown-ass grandsons, about our sperm? I blink, not sure if I understand what she’s getting at. "You mean—"
"Yes. Exactly. There has been much talk about women needing to freeze eggs so they can have children later in life.
The same applies to men." She cuts her palm through the air.
"Male fertility declines with age. Sperm quality and motility deteriorate after thirty-five.
Biology doesn't care about gender equality. "
"You want us to freeze our sperm?" Beckett winces. "Doesn’t feel right saying that in front of you, Margot. But then, you’ve never been the usual grandmother."
"You mean, a weak, mousy old woman who lets people walk all over her?" She sniffs with disdain, as if the very thought is an insult to her DNA.
"I'd like to think you raised us with enough backbone that we'd never dare.
" Gideon's voice is smooth as aged whiskey.
He's only a year younger than me, but while I prefer to communicate in grunts and glares, Gideon could charm a viper into giving up its venom.
It works. Margot bestows one of her rare smiles on him, the kind that could end wars, or start them.
"Guess it's too late for me, then." Tristan’s the first to give up the attempt at being polite. He follows Margot’s example and slides his cigar between his lips. "I’m past forty."
"Never too late to start." Margot doesn't miss a beat. She pulls her phone from her Hermès Birkin—which is worth more than most people's cars—and fires off a message. "A specialist will be in touch with you. You'll thank me later."
Tristan's face goes slack. The cigar starts to slip from his mouth like his brain just short-circuited. He catches it at the last second, fumbling like he's never held one before.
He opens his mouth; probably to tell her exactly where she can shove the specialist, then thinks better of it. His jaw snaps shut.
Smart man.
I, apparently, am not a smart man.
"I'm only a year past your arbitrary deadline," I point out, unable to stop myself. "I still have time."
Wrong move.
Margot's eyes sharpen like she's just spotted prey.
"On the contrary, I have high hopes for you.
" She pauses, letting that land like a grenade.
"Sure, Phoenix is married and might produce an heir soon.
But considering you are my oldest grandson; your child would hold a very special place in the hierarchy of Hamilton inheritance. " Her smile could cut glass.
Jesus Christ. Margot can be casually male chauvinistic and twist it to make it sound like a compliment.
I catch Tristan's eye. He gives me the subtlest head shake. His expression signals, you absolute idiot, why did you engage?
Yeah. Should've kept my mouth shut.
"Time you did something about it, don't you think?" Margot's eyes gleam with predatory satisfaction.
Fuck.
I do not like that look. That's the look she gets right before she dismantles a competitor or orchestrates a hostile takeover. My stomach drops like I've just stepped off a cliff.
I can lie in wait for the enemy for twelve hours without moving. I can take down a target from half a mile away with a single shot. I've survived firefights and insurgencies and situations that would break most men.
But trying to outmaneuver Margot Hamilton?
That's a mission I can’t hope to succeed at.
"You know what you have to do." She sets down her cigar with the built-up ash in the ashtray, then taps her fingertips together.
I blow out a breath. "Let me guess, you want me to accept the ol’ ball and chain, then spawn?"
"Hush now, have some respect for your future wife." She smiles widely.
And that was akin to a shark showing their teeth.
"James and the concept of marriage have never seen eye-to-eye." Gideon smirks. He’s having too much fun at my expense. Wanker. I glare at him.
He smiles wider.
"You don’t have to see eye-to-eye to get married." Margot shrugs.
"You’ve been taking lessons from Arthur?" Gideon’s referencing Arthur Davenport, patriarch of the Davenport family, friends of ours.
"You’ve got to hand it to the man. He’s been on a single-minded mission to get the Davenport brothers married and settled down over the past few years, and he succeeded." She purses her lips.
"I gotta say, all of them look mighty happy, too." Beckett nods.
The rest of us glare at him.
"What?" He holds up his hands. "Not saying anything that isn’t true. I just ran into Nathan Davenport, and the man’s over the moon. Couldn’t stop smiling the entire time we shared a pint at the pub."
"If you’re so taken in by the thought of getting married, why don’t you be the first to get hitched?" I sound aggressive when there’s no need to be so, but Margot’s words have definitely touched a nerve.
She’s made it clear I’m putting off the inevitable.
I have no desire to get married. Sure, I have three stars. But I want more accolades. More restaurants; one in every big city in the world, if I have my way. I want more.
Maybe, that will fill this hollowness inside of me?
For some reason, Harper’s face intrudes in my thoughts. I shove it away.
It’s true that I kissed her within a few hours of meeting her on a night we spent exploring my home city. It’s true, I’ve never forgotten her.
And when she appeared in my restaurant, all the old feelings I buried came rushing back.
It confused me. It made me feel like I wasn't in control anymore. It’s another reason I’ve been standoffish with her.
I want to make sure she doesn’t realize how much her presence affects me.
“When you told me you didn’t want to join the Hamilton group as CEO, I was understanding.” Margot firms her lips.
“And I’m grateful for that.” I set my jaw. “I’m not going to apologize for it. I knew I’d never be happy if I joined the business.”
“Not when your heart lay in joining the Marines. And then, in building your restaurant business. Of which I have been supportive.” Her tone dares me to contradict her.
But I can’t.
She never stood in the way of me pursuing my dreams. “I have a feeling you’re going to exact your price now?” I narrow my gaze.
“If by that you mean that I insist you lot marry before you inherit your portion of the Hamiltons’ wealth… Then yes. But you can’t blame me for protecting our family legacy.”
She has a point.
“You look out for the Hamilton name. No one can deny that,” I concede.
"For people like us, marriage is a business arrangement.” Margot’s tone is matter of fact. “You marry to have kids and secure the Hamilton legacy. With the right incentive, no doubt, you’ll find plenty of women who’ll agree to it."
"And if I don’t?" I have to ask.
No matter what my personal feelings are about settling down, I need to know what my grandmother is thinking.
She leans back in her seat, tapping her fingers on the table. "I hate to be unoriginal about this, but if any of you don’t want to get married, then I’m afraid I have no choice but to take a leaf out of Arthur’s playbook."
"Meaning?" I tilt my head.
"Meaning, if you don’t get married within the next six months, I’ll disinherit you."