Chapter 2
KATE
Aweek after the convention, the only thing stopping me from flipping my father’s antique desk was the fact that it cost more than my apartment. Also, it was really heavy.
“You’re insane,” I said, pacing the length of his office for what had to be the fifteenth time. My heels clicked sharply against the polished wood floors, each step punctuating my fury. “Completely, clinically, should-be-studied insane.”
Dad leaned back in his chair like I’d just commented on the weather instead of his apparent desire to set our company on fire.
He held out both hands, patient in that infuriating, veteran-businessman way that suggested he’d already won this argument on paper and was now simply letting me in on how he was going to do it.
“Kate,” he said calmly. “Do you happen to have a few billion dollars lying around that I don’t know about?”
I stopped mid-stride. “That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point, because we’re going to need it if we don’t go into business with the Westwoods.”
Just that name made nausea swirl through my stomach. Fucking Nate had spent all of last week glaring at me like I was the reason he hadn’t had a pony as a kid. Or something equally as ridiculous.
I resumed pacing, moving faster now and dragging a hand through my hair as I tried not to scream. “We have other investors. We don’t need them.”
“Perhaps not, but we do need Abram Hinds,” Dad said gently, his brown eyes tracking my movements as I strode from one side of the room to the other.
I sighed but barely broke stride. Abram Hinds wasn’t just another client. He was the client. Twenty years ago, when Dad was still clawing his way into relevance, he’d helped Hinds structure his wealth, grow it, protect it, and turn it into the kind of generational fortune that made magazine covers.
Abram’s trust in my father and the results he’d gotten for him had catapulted our family back out of obscurity and now Hinds was retiring.
“Abram has no heirs,” Dad said, still watching me carefully. “He’s selling the company and he wants to live off the retirement accounts we created for him.”
“I know that,” I snapped, my voice sharper than necessary.
Dad didn’t flinch. “Well, then you know what it means for us.”
Shit.
Although we would still manage Abram’s personal wealth, our firm would lose billions over the next decade or so because there wouldn’t be any new income from his company.
“This is the biggest account we’ve ever had,” Dad said quietly. “I don’t want to lose it.”
“You won’t lose it,” I shot back. “You’ve managed his money for two decades. He trusts you.”
“He trusts results,” Dad corrected me. “If his company is sold to a firm that wants their own financial management structure, we risk being phased out over time. Maybe not immediately. But eventually.”
I hated that he was making sense. I hated it more because I already knew where this was going. “So your solution is to partner with a company I would rather set on fire than share air with?”
Dad sighed. “My solution is to protect the firm, our employees, and every client who depends on us continuing to grow. That’s where the Westwoods come in.”
That’s where the Westwoods come in. The words echoed through my mind as I stared at him, waiting for the punchline even though I knew he wasn’t joking. “You cannot be serious.”
“They want to buy Hinds’ company and they will, Kate. I’m sure of it,” he said firmly. “I’ve already talked to Alex Westwood about the financials and he made me an offer I need to consider.”
I slowed my pacing, suspicion prickling along my spine. “They’ll let you continue to manage the account even with Hinds out and in retirement?”
Dad nodded. “That’s part of the conversation. We’re still negotiating, but yes. They’re interested in keeping us attached to portions of the company portfolio once ownership transfers.”
“That’s surprisingly reasonable,” I admitted cautiously, immediately hating the words.
“It’s strategic, but it’s also complicated. Other companies are starting to circle the account like sharks. This isn’t a clean, single-buyer situation.”
Translation: the price tag is astronomical.
“Alex would have to put in a serious bid, and even then, despite their wealth, they likely won’t have enough on their own. There are rumors of other firms joining forces, planning on splitting divisions of Hinds’ company to make the acquisition viable.”
The realization hit me in stages, each one more unwelcome than the last. My head dropped forward at the final one. I sucked in a breath as I finally stopped pacing, the words whispering out of me. “You want in.”
Dad didn’t answer immediately, but just like that, I had my answer. I looked up, my eyebrows shooting high on my forehead at the resolve on his expression. “I want us at the table, Katie. Right now, Alex Westwood is the best way to make that happen.”
I laughed, but there was absolutely no humor behind the sound. “You’re suggesting we tie our future to a dynasty that measures worth in last names and trust funds.”
He shrugged. “That dynasty controls one of the most stable financial empires in the country.”
“They’re old money,” I snapped. “They don’t trust people like us. In fact, they love to keep us at arm’s length. We’re the cautionary tale, Dad. A failed old-money lineage that rebuilt itself into new money with a very public history and an even bigger target on our backs.”
“We rebuilt,” he replied patiently. “That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Not to them.”
“That’s why I’m sending you to Chicago.” He looked me right in the eyes when he said it, and he definitely wasn’t kidding. “You’re going to go over there, make our pitch, and play nice.”
“No,” I said immediately as my head shook back and forth. “There’s no way.”
“Yes.”
“No,” I repeated, louder. “Absolutely not. I have accounts to run for clients who actually like me. A life that does not involve flying halfway across the country to play nice with corporate aristocracy.”
“Laptops exist, Kate.” I glared at him, but he was undeterred. “You’ll be fine managing your clients remotely. You do it when you travel for conferences. This is no different.”
“It’s very different,” I retorted. “It’s political, and let’s not even talk about how humiliating it would be.”
“It’s necessary,” he insisted calmly, folding his hands on his desk and holding my gaze like he was expecting me to argue.
I opened my mouth to do just that, but he cut me off before I could get a word out.
“Alex is already expecting you. He insisted on hosting you personally while negotiations are ongoing and he’s rented you an apartment for the next month. The same high-rise he lives in.”
I stared at him, convinced I’d misheard. Or that I was hallucinating. Or having a nightmare. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“It’s a very nice building,” he offered. “The St. Regis. Have you ever heard of it? It’s on the Gold Coast. You’ll love it.”
“Dad.”
“Kate, this is a massive opportunity. For the firm. For your future role here. For the stability of everything we’ve built. I’m not asking you to go, baby. I’m telling you that you are.”
I held his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation, uncertainty, or anything else that suggested this decision wasn’t already locked in like a contract written in blood, but I didn’t find it. The fight drained out of me in one slow, reluctant exhale.
My father wasn’t some tyrannical bulldozer who issued orders like nobody else’s opinion was relevant. If he was this set on whatever he and Alex had discussed, there was a reason for it. A deeper reason than simply wanting to ruin my life by sending me to work with those assholes.
“Fine,” I said flatly, grabbing my tablet off the corner of his desk. “I’ll go. I’ll pitch, I’ll smile, and I’ll even pretend I don’t want to take a sledgehammer to their boardroom.”
Relief flashed in his eyes, subtle but disturbingly real. “Thank you. Go pack your things, honey. You’re flying out tomorrow.”
I gave him a quick, curt nod, but when I reached the door, I paused with my hand on the handle. Every instinct was screaming at me that this was going to spiral into something catastrophic.
My gut was insisting that I had to stop it now, to tell my dad that we could find another way, but then I thought of the intense relief I’d just seen when I’d agreed, and I left his office instead, shutting the door with a soft click behind me.
Whatever happened in Chicago, I could get through it if it meant saving my father from the stress he’d been feeling when he’d told me I had to go.
Even so, by the time I made it back to my apartment on the west side, my blood pressure had achieved levels usually reserved for people stuck behind tourists who stopped walking in the middle of busy sidewalks.
I dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl on the table by the door and immediately started pacing, abandoning my heels halfway across the living room. I dragged my hands through my hair for the hundredth time today, aggravation rolling through me no matter how many times I’d tried to breathe past it.
Late afternoon light spilled through my windows, bouncing off the glass towers around me. It painted my apartment in golden hues that always made me feel calm, but it did absolutely nothing for my mood today.
Chicago. For a month. With the Westwoods.
While I’d never met all of them and hadn’t spent enough time with the others to be sure, Nate was a complete dick. The absolute best case scenario was that I’d be doing most of my negotiating with Alex and not his brother.
Except, Nate was the CFO. Not Alex.
I groaned out loud at the realization and spun toward my kitchen island, bracing my palms against the cool marble as if the surface could save me. Despite how my dad had made it sound, this wasn’t just business travel.
It was corporate diplomacy. My father was essentially pushing me into a room full of wolves with impeccable tailors on speed dial.
My phone rang on the counter, vibrating against the stone, and my heart leaped. Please let it be my dad. Please let him be calling to tell me he’s changed his mind.
It was my mom instead. Of course.
I stared at the screen for a beat before answering. “How bad did he make it sound?”
“Hello to you too,” she said warmly, a hint of amusement in her voice. “And for the record, he sounded proud, and slightly terrified, which, knowing you, seems like an accurate emotional response. How bad did you let him have it?”
Despite my annoyance that it hadn’t been Dad calling to let me know he’d found a different solution, I huffed out a quiet laugh and leaned against the counter. “I thought I showed restraint, considering he’s sending me to Chicago.”
“Yes, he told me about your new assignment.”
“He wants me to negotiate with people who would probably take pictures of my financial statements and turn them into memes,” I said.
“Kate, this could be a good thing,” she replied gently.
“Besides, I don’t think they’re all that bad.
At the very least, they seem rather modest about their wealth in the tabloids.
None of them have ever waved around their own financial statements as a sign of their superiority, so I doubt they’d make a joke of yours. ”
I rolled my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. “You’re my mother. You’re contractually obligated to try to make me feel better.”
“Perhaps, but I’m also contractually obligated to remind you that sometimes, a change of scenery helps people breathe.”
“I breathe perfectly fine in Manhattan.”
“There’s a difference between breathing and hyperventilating, darling. What you do most frequently is the latter.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again because she wasn’t entirely wrong. “What if I like hyperventilating?”
“You’ve been running yourself ragged for months,” she said. “Stepping away from your routine, even temporarily, might give you some perspective.”
“I don’t need perspective,” I said automatically. “I need competent negotiating partners and fewer legacy finance empires judging my family tree.”
“You might meet someone there who doesn’t care about your family tree.”
I groaned and dragged my free hand across my face. “Mom.”
“What? Chicago is a big city.”
“I’m too busy for love.”
“That’s what people usually say right before they fall in love.”
“I barely have time to sleep, let alone emotionally invest in another human being.” I’d recently learned that lesson all over again, but I shook off the lingering regret and disappointment and refocused on her.
“What would a man even do with me? Pencil me into his calendar between ego boosts and professional insecurity?”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s historically accurate,” I countered. “Every man who ever looks my way starts out charming and ends up either intimidated by my success or trying to compete with it.”
She sighed. “Fine. No love.”
“Thank you.”
“But you still deserve to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I said, pushing off the counter and walking toward my bedroom. “I have everything I need to fulfill me.”
That much, at least, was true. I honestly didn’t need a man in my life to make me happy and I would rather die alone than be with someone who wasn’t right for me. But Mom had never understood any of that. In that respect, we were very different people.
We talked for a few more minutes. Then she let me go after I promised to visit once I got back.
When I reached my bedroom, I grabbed my favorite suitcase from the closet and tossed it onto the bed.
I’d received the email with my flight details while I’d been on the phone with my mom and I was taking off early in the morning, so I started pulling clothes from drawers and hangers with practiced efficiency, work dresses, tailored pants, and running gear.
If I was going to be exiled to Chicago, my routine was coming with me even if my mom thought it would be good for me to take a break from even that. But I was training for the New York City marathon and I wasn’t about to let the Westwoods take that from me too.
Halfway through packing, I paused, staring at a dress I’d bought a couple weeks ago and had never worn. It was softer than my usual style, less structured. It had been meant for—
I shoved past it before I could even finish the thought.
This was business, a way to prove that my family’s last name no longer deserved to be just a footnote in a cautionary tale.
I wasn’t going to Chicago to grow. I was going because my family’s future depended on it and that was the only thing I would be focusing on right then.