2. Caleb
Chapter 2
Caleb
I t’s a good thing I’m not your woman. The minute she said those words last night, something primal snapped in me. I wanted her to be my woman.
Probably just to prove to her she isn’t immune to my advances. Or to prove to myself that… Fuck if I know.
I could smile at any woman, and she’d be mine. So why do I care about this particular one? She’s hot as fuck, but her personality isn’t my type.
Untamable. Unpliable. Unpredictable.
Un-fucking-forgettable.
Goddammit.
“Oh, Cal, I’m going to miss you.” Reilly, my brother’s assistant, pulls me out of my reverie. Or a downward spiral .
He gets teary as he hands me a card that could easily serve as a glitter bomb.
I keep it at arm’s length. I don’t need my suit to sparkle as I leave this office for the last time.
It’s ironic how it took me thirty years to wake up one morning and finally realize that I was living a life planned for me by my parents—even by me—as I bought into the idea of this future.
That wake-up hadn’t come suddenly, like a splash of cold water would cause. It’d crept in over the last couple of months.
And as much as I pretended thirty was too soon for a mid-life crisis, the restless feeling persisted.
“Reilly, at least you finally have a chance to win karaoke at the office party.”
The boardroom and the reception area buzz like a bar on a Friday night, minus the cocktails. The table is laden with an assortment of bagels, muffins, and a ridiculously opulent fruit salad Reilly ordered, probably behind my brother’s back.
Laughter that is slightly inappropriate for a Tuesday morning fills the Quaintique-Linden offices. It’s for my benefit, and I enjoy seeing everyone relaxed.
It was important for Finn and me to create a culture diametrically different from what Linden Enterprises represented under its former CEO, our father .
“Yeah, if I ever blackmail Finn into renting a karaoke machine for us now once you’re gone.” Reilly huffs, sauntering away.
I make my way through the room, saying goodbye to my colleagues, coffee in my hand.
“So you’re sure?” Finn catches my elbow, steering me away from the action.
I chuckle. “It’s done, bro. Get used to it.”
“You can always come back.” The crease on his forehead deepens.
Finn not only spearheaded the hostile takeover of our father’s company, and grew it significantly in the last year and a half, but also became a father and a husband.
The exhaustion shows on his face, but at the same time, I’ve never seen him as dedicated as he’s been since he met his wife.
Seeing him might have planted the seed of discontent I’ve been dealing with lately. Not that I want a wife. No fucking way. But a sense of purpose has been missing.
I pat his shoulder. “I might not know what to do with my life at the moment, but I’m not that much of a loser.”
“Asshole, that’s not what I meant. I just… It’s always been the two of us—”
“Jesus, having a baby made you sentimental. ”
Finn glares at me, shaking his head. “Dickhead.”
“Look, I realized that fixing things was exciting, but running the day-to-day… I don't want to run his legacy,” I confess.
By him, I mean our father. Not that I utter that name much.
“Fuck, Cal. It’s our legacy. He’s out. We got the company and its name back. Better, bolder… ours .”
“Yeah, and you’re the right person to run it. But after everything, and the shit that…” I still can’t even name it, but Finn knows. “Anyway, I need to carve out my own thing. Something that isn’t tainted with the memory of him.”
“Yeah, but you could have stayed while you figured things out.”
“Don’t worry, bro, I won’t be too far. You can always call me when you can’t decide what tie to wear for a meeting.” I smirk.
“Yeah, it’s your invaluable fashion advice that I’ll miss the most.”
“You’ll perish without it.”
He punches my shoulder playfully. “Fuck. I don’t know, I just always thought we were in it together.”
“Well, I can’t hold your hand forever.”
“Fuck you.”
I laugh and raise my coffee. “To new adventures.”
Finn rolls his eyes, but can’t hide the worried tilt of his eyebrows. “Or your inevitable return,” he retorts, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I don’t understand the rush. What’s the plan now? You’ll plunder your trust fund and fuck all the women who cross your path?”
“As if. I haven’t partied properly ever since…” I put down my coffee mug, wishing this conversation could be washed down with something stronger. “Since Mia.”
“Ironically, you’re not dedicating much time or effort to her.” Finn doesn’t even attempt to hide his judgment.
“It’s complicated.” I look away, as if that made my poor excuse sound better.
“Bullshit. She just reminds you of another one of Charles’s failures. You can’t keep running away from your daddy issues, dude. You need to attack them head-on.” Finn often refers to our father by his given name, disassociating himself in all ways possible.
“Yeah, how is that working for you?”
He shrugs. “A hefty bill from my therapist and still no closure, but at least I’m trying.”
“Well, I’m the middle child. I sailed through without his notice, unlike you.” That’s a partial truth.
Finn, as the oldest, had been groomed to take over, growing up competing against an unattainable ideal our father harbored. While I was affected to a certain extent, my upbringing isn’t something I lose much sleep over.
“And yet, you feel responsible for all his mistakes.”
Fuck him for calling out my obsession to right my father’s wrongs.
I just can’t stand by and not address all of his horrible deeds. He negatively impacted the lives of so many others who suffered only because they crossed his path. I have the means to fix that, so I do.
“This party sucks.”
I shoot him a grin, done with the conversation, and return to my now-former coworkers for a few moments before we break to get some work done.
Well, they do. I walk into my office with nothing really on my agenda. Collecting a few of my personal things, questions swirl, unanswered and unsettled, in my mind.
I really enjoyed fixing what our father fucked up in this company, but once the basics were covered, I kept looking for more things to solve.
I tried to satisfy that call outside of work, but that didn’t make the days at the office any less dull.
Having grown up in hotels run by my father’s company, I always pictured myself running one or more of them. And it came quite naturally to me. Like slipping on a well-worn jacket. A perfect fit.
Only underneath it, there’s been an itch. A need to fix. To turn things upside down, inside out. For the better.
But fuck if I know what I’m looking for. And will I ever find it?
I pick up the small box of stuff I didn’t even know I’d accumulated. A book, a stress ball, a photo of Finn, Saar, and me in Italy, and a few sentimental trinkets from our hotels across the world, where I worked for a few days or even a year in the past.
“Anna, could you please have this wrapped and ship it to my home?” I drop the box at the counter.
The receptionist looks up, sniffling, tears welling in her eyes. “Of course, Mr. van den Linden.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stands up, fidgeting with her hands. “I’m just sad you’re leaving.”
“Anna, I’ll come and check on my brother. He and Reilly need you.” I wink at her and call the elevator.
Multiple gazes follow me as I step inside the car, and I force one more of my signature smiles before the door slides closed.
I blow a raspberry. Fuck, this feels final.
My shoes pound on the belt as I increase the incline. Hitting the gym seemed like the best option on a Tuesday mid-morning, when most people are already productive in their careers or lives.
Deciding to leave Quaintique-Linden wasn’t easy, but it felt right. I didn’t envision that the actual physical act of stepping away would bring this much emptiness.
And it’s only been two hours.
I guess I was supposed to plan for this. Why didn’t I? Despite many people believing I’m the jester in the family, I have my life more organized than any of my siblings.
What does a person without a job do? Not that I need to work. My trust fund and my shares in Quaintique-Linden would more than cover me for the rest of my life.
But having money isn’t the same as having a purpose. Only how does one find one?
Maybe I can have lunch with Saar before she leaves. That would cover at least two hours.
Fuck.
I missed the opening night of some exhibition at MOMA. Perhaps I can do that after my lunch.
The greenery shimmers behind the tall glass windows of the gym. Maybe I’ll take a walk in Central Park .
That thought makes me chuckle. Last time I did that was with my nanny when I was in middle school.
“Laughing to yourself?” A man jumps on the treadmill beside me.
“Xander Stone. What the fuck, man? I haven’t seen you since—”
“Shut up. I don’t need the ladies around hearing we’re old.” He winks at a woman on a stepper next to him and she blushes, biting her lip.
I laugh. “What are you doing here?”
“Seriously, van den Linden, have you hit your head? I’m exercising. It’s a gym.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
I snort. “Dickhead, I meant in New York.”
“I moved here a month ago.”
“Seriously? How come I haven’t run into you yet?”
He checks my screen and raises his incline by three more points. “Well, I’ve been busy flying back and forth between San Fran and here, no time for socializing.”
“I never would’ve thought you’d grow up like that, party boy.”
Xander Stone was my partner in crime during our time at Wharton. Three years younger than me, he was one of those kids too smart for his own good.
As a gifted child with photographic memory and an inherent ability to play the system, he skipped grades a couple of times, so we ended up in the same class in college. Not that he ever shows his intelligence, always the one stirring shit.
We lost touch after graduation. He moved to work in his family business in the San Francisco headquarters of their global developer firm, while I went to Asia to lead our flagship hotel there.
“Oh, that was just a temporary situation while I figured out the details of my relocation. I’m free tonight if you want to hit the town.” He increases the speed.
For some reason, even though I was ready to slow down, I increase my speed as well. “We can do that.”
“Let’s catch up once I’m done, if you have time.”
I have more time than I care. “I’ll move a few things around.”
An hour later, showered and sore—I’ll feel that last uphill sprint for a few days—we walk into a small juice bar adjacent to the club.
“Are you in New York permanently, or just visiting in between the exotic locations where you pretend to work?” Xander slurps his smoothie, his blue eyes gleaming.
“Try to be a hotel manager for a day or two, asshole.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Don’t be so sensitive. I’m happy to see you, that’s all.”
“Or you need hand-holding, being new to town and getting settled,” I quip.
We take seats in the corner. The place is airy and light, with most patrons coming from the gym. Hunter’s Clubs are state-of-the-art facilities, owned by celebrity trainer Hunter Stuart who owns similar gyms all over the country.
The businesspeople of Manhattan frequent this particular location, and a lot of deals get closed in this juice bar.
“I wouldn’t mind an introduction to an exclusive club scene here.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.
The fucker wants my connections to get into a sex club. Some things never change. “I can vouch for you at my club, but let’s go out first. I need to make sure you didn’t turn into some sort of perv. I have a reputation to protect.”
He laughs. “I doubt that, but thank you. We should go out, just like old times.”
“Yeah, only the recovery takes longer.” I shake my smoothie, the ice clanging.
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t have that problem, old man.”
“Sure.”
“Congratulations on Quaintique-Linden. What you and Finn did there is commendable. Stealing the company from your father and turning it into a success so quickly took guts.”
Shit. That’s the last thing I want to talk about. How do I explain to anyone outside that I left a company that everyone in the industry and beyond has praised?
“You’ve been following me.” I smirk. “That’s touching. I’m sorry I can’t say the same. What are you doing here? Has Stone senior finally let you out from under his wing?”
His features harden for a brief moment, but then he smirks. “Kind of hard not to follow you when you made sure your story was plastered all over social and traditional media. Papa van den Linden must be pissed.”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
“It’s for the best. His legacy has been haunting me with or without him.” I air-quote around the word legacy, letting my friend know a bit without telling him the whole sordid story.
“You did what you had to do. I remember him. Charles was an asshole, if I may say so.”
I nod and raise my glass. “And he probably still is. So, what are you doing here?”
He scratches his stubble with his thumb and index finger. “I guess I didn’t have what was expected to take over my family business, so I left.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father sold the business without consulting me or giving me the opportunity, so I left. I joined a new financial group.”
He explains the basic premise of the venture capital company he’s starting with his friends, and something in me stirs. It’s the familiar feeling of a challenge to be conquered.
“We’re actually looking for someone like you—someone who can assess a business and make the necessary changes to improve its profitability and efficiency while maintaining the culture. We have several companies lined up to take over as silent partners or just buy it outright. And endless applications from start-ups. But at this point, it’s just the three of us.”
I take a generous sip before I put the chilled glass on the table in front of me. Leaning on my elbows, I look Xander in the eye and make a spontaneous decision.
“Today was my last day at Quaintique-Linden.”