Chapter 2 #2
She clenched her fists, needing something, anything, to help her process the injustice she'd just endured, as her brother watched her silently, ready to offer support if she finally let her composure slip. She was close to tears, and it infuriated her to pieces.
She was not a female who dissolved at the drop of a hat. She had learned not to give into her emotions. She was a woman, a Black plus-sized woman in a competitive world of business, high profile.
She had people serving under her and had had to prove herself. When she first started at the company straight out of college, she had been treated like any other employee and had had to work her way up to the top.
Now, no one dared whisper that it was nepotism. She had earned her title. And she was damn good at her job.
That was what was burning her now. She was excellent at her job, one that was now hanging by a thread.
"He's a tyrant."
"That's established." Matthew had waited for her to calm down enough to start talking.
"I worked so damn hard, putting in sixteen hours a day, proving that I am not just there because my name happens to be Ryder.
I belong, made a difference." She spread her arms wide as she continued to pace.
"Above all odds, I proved myself and it's not enough.
" Her eyes flashed fire. "It's never enough.
The last person, the very last person on this fricking earth I want to marry is that womanizing jackass. I won't!"
"Then don't."
She whirled around at her brother's reasonable tone.
"Walk away from it. You have money put aside. Open your own company, go somewhere else, call their fricking bluff. You're too valuable to the company for them to lose you. Don't allow them to decide for you."
He rubbed the back of his neck wearily and felt the guilt charging right through him. It should be him. If he wasn't who he was, he would be the one carrying on the legacy, but he couldn't change, not even for her.
And the fact that she had done so much for him, stood up for him, stood by him, made him feel ashamed that he could not do the same for her. Ingrid stopped mid-pace, her breath coming hard, as the full weight of her brother's words settled over her.
The idea was reckless, terrifying, but it ignited a spark in her. It was a reminder that she still had agency, that she could seize control of her own destiny if she found the courage to step outside the rigid expectations imposed upon her.
For a fleeting moment, uncertainty warred with determination in her eyes, but the thought of reclaiming her life, her choices, wouldn't let go. Then reality reared its ugly head. She loved the company.
It was her home. She enjoyed the challenges of finding the right derelict building and turning it into something spectacular. She had a vision inside her head.
They had branched out from the ordinary into the fabulous, and she loved that she was part and parcel of all of it. Walking over to the single sofa, she sank down and closed her eyes in defeat.
"I can't leave." She whispered. "Both of them knew that I would never leave the company.
It's my home away from home. I helped to build something wonderful.
Each time I pass one of our buildings, I stop to admire and critique.
And make notes of what more we could offer.
I love the challenge of dreaming up designs no one else ever thought of. "
Leaning back, she stared up at the swirls and enchanting dips and patterns of the ceiling.
"I guess you're getting married."
Lifting her head, she stared at him.
"I guess I am. He might not agree." She shrugged. "At this very moment, Kyle McCreary is making his reluctance felt. He's involved with some actress. The papers say it's serious. Whatever the hell that means. So, he might not want to go through with it."
Snorting contemptuously, Matthew went over to the cabinet to pour himself some more scotch and thanked God that he was as far away from the politics of big business as he could be.
His grandfather, his father, and even his mother who had adored him when he was growing up had little or no time for him, and he preferred it that way.
If it wasn't for his sister, he would have cut all ties with them a long time ago. But he loved her and would never abandon her. No matter what.
"He'll fall in line." He predicted bitterly. "He won't have a choice."
*****
Inside the manor, Kyle was waging his own bitter war. The two elderly men had wreaked their havoc and left for a dinner engagement without blinking an eye or giving thought to what they had started.
It never occurred to them that their wishes or demands would not be met. Their words had always been law, and that was that.
"You just stood there and said nothing." Kyle roamed the large den like a caged tiger.
His father sat behind the desk, a slender cigar clamped between his teeth as he watched his son.
"What did you expect me to do?"
Kyle whirled to face him.
"Stand up to him. Stand up for me, for once in your life.
" He had to tamp down the rage. He was so furious, it was bringing tears to his eyes.
"He humiliated Jessica, hinting at her inability to conceive, and you let him.
" His hands fisted. "I'm involved with someone, and it's getting serious.
What do I say to Carly? 'Oh, please forgive me, but my grandfather and a complete stranger have decided my destiny? '"
He crossed to the window to stare out at the encroaching darkness. He was too irate to see the pretty moon illuminating the rose petals or even appreciate the varying colors of the leaves beneath the trees.
He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to calm the storm raging in his chest. The weight of family expectations felt suffocating, yet defiance simmered just beneath the surface.
Kyle knew the cost of rebellion, but for the first time, he wondered if it might be worth paying, if only to reclaim a shred of his autonomy.
The silence between father and son stretched, thick with things unsaid, as Kyle grappled with the reality that his life was being bartered like a business deal, his happiness a mere footnote in someone else's agenda.
"I will not marry her." He spoke almost to himself. "I can't. Jesus! I cannot even stand the woman. She gets on my last nerves. We argue in meetings. We barely tolerate each other, and this is the woman they want me to marry!"
The very idea of it made him want to smash something.
"What's the alternative?" His father's mild tone had him whirling around.
"You don't give a damn, do you?"
"I fail to see what the fuss is all about. I happen to think Ingrid is a very lovely young woman."
"Then you marry her," he suggested rudely.
Jason McCreary gave his son a telling look that had him backing down. He had lost his wife a few years ago, a loss that had crippled him, leaving him unable to function.
Therapy had not done him any good. Losing the woman he had loved since he was a teenager had made it impossible for him to recover. For a fleeting instant, Kyle almost felt sorry for him, but the old hurt quickly reasserted itself.
He drew a shaky breath, forcing himself to stay on topic.
"You want me to be happy, don't you? Or does that not factor in at all?" His voice was raw, the words scraping out despite his best efforts at composure.
Jason didn't answer, simply gazing at Kyle with weary resignation, as if the weight of the past was too heavy to lift but not enough to warrant change.
The atmosphere was thick, the old wounds between them reopened by the evening's events, and Kyle realized with sinking certainty that his father might never truly understand.
Ever since his wife died, he had come close to having a nervous breakdown. The accident had happened while they were on their way back from a dinner celebrating their thirtieth anniversary.
A drunk driver had run the red light, plowing into her side of the vehicle. Death had been instantaneous. Jason had been in a coma for three weeks, only to wake up to the awful knowledge that he had lost the only woman he ever loved.
There were times he felt like throwing in the towel. Now was one of those times. He was a figurehead at the company.
He sat on the board, had an office, but mentally, he was crippled. He feared he would never be whole again. He was an insomniac and had stopped taking the pills because they made him feel as if he was swimming in murky waters.
He lived with his grief every day of his life and was painfully aware that he was not here for his children.
"Be grateful this is just a business arrangement." He was suddenly exhausted and wanted to be alone. "Love has a way of hurting like hell."
Grinding the cigar out, he shoved from the desk. Staring at his son, he allowed his gaze to wander over the striking face. The boy had inherited his mother's stunning beauty, and it often pained Jason to look at him and see her eyes looking back at him.
"You've been flitting from one female to the next. It's time you settle down and produce an heir."
The hurt came and then the fury. Kyle should have known he wouldn't be getting any help from this quarter.
"Thanks for nothing, Dad. Why should I expect anything from you?" He asked bitterly. "You're not really here, are you? You died in that accident that took Mom's life and..."
His voice petered off at the stricken look on his father's face. Kyle felt the shame coursing through him as his father rose unsteadily. Whitened knuckles gripped the desk.
Afraid that he was going to have an episode, Kyle started towards him, stopping when he held up a hand.
"Stay away." He whispered hoarsely. "Just stay the hell away from me."
Taking several deep breaths like a man who was gasping for air to survive, he shuffled from the room.
"Great. Just great," Kyle muttered and went to pour himself a full glass of scotch.