Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
GAbrIEL
Ihad a headache. Not the kind a couple of Tylenol could fix but the kind that came from privately grinding your teeth all day.
My hotel room was small, which was typical of a city like London where space was at a premium. I didn’t mind the functional, modern, and utterly impersonal effect. There was a desk shoved against the wall, a queen-sized bed, and a window offering a sliver of skyline if you craned your neck.
I dropped my bag and stood there for a long beat, debating whether to collapse onto the bed or whether to do the thing I’d been cogitating since the merger: update my résumé, fire off emails to headhunters, and start lining up my next move.
If today had proved anything, it was that Charlotte Green wasn’t merely keeping the CEO seat warm; she was already owning it. People accepted her. Clients respected her. And as much as her whole rigor-and-kindness mantra baffled me, I could hardly deny it was working.
It annoyed me to admit it, but the truth was impossible to ignore.
I’d seen this before. My father had always led the same way.
Rougher around the edges, maybe, with more bark in his bite, but still, basically the same method as Charlotte.
And I had to admit it was the respect he commanded because of how he treated people that made Chambers Technology thrive.
And that was what triggered me most. Seeing Charlotte in action made me remember the conversation which had led me to turn down the COO position at his company. My father’s words were still sharp over a year later: you don’t have the heart for leadership.
At the time, I’d laughed in his face, calling him stubborn, outdated, too proud to change. But tonight, for the first time, I experienced the sting of realizing he might have had a point.
Today I’d watched Charlotte hold a room, witnessed her put John in his place, seen the way William Laurent himself softened when speaking to her.
And now I couldn’t escape the thought. Maybe heart really was the thing that set leaders apart.
And maybe that was the one thing I’d never managed to grow.
I stayed perched on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. The weight of the day coupled with jet lag was oppressive.
I needed to think about something else.
Samantha’s birthday party from Saturday came to mind, and the faintest smile tugged at my mouth.
Thirteen. My little girl, suddenly a teenager, with moods and opinions I could barely keep up with.
I’d spent days fumbling over what to give her.
Tickets to a concert crossed my mind, but that felt impersonal.
Sneakers were a fleeting idea too, until I realized that was about as lame as handing over cash like some clueless weekend dad.
In the end, I found something which felt like us in the form of a silver charm bracelet.
One charm shaped like a Disney castle for all the weekends we used to spend there.
Another of the Eiffel Tower for last summer’s trip to Paris.
And a tiny starfish, because nothing lights her up the way the beach does.
The beauty was she could keep adding charms as we made new memories.
She’d smiled genuinely, and for the first time, I’d had a glimmer of hope we might be on the road to a better relationship. Now I dialed Samantha’s cell phone number, grateful I could call her directly these days instead of having to go through her mother.
“Hello.” Her voice sounded older, more self-assured, less like the thirteen-year-old she still was and more like the young woman she was becoming.
“Hi, kiddo.”
“Please don’t call me kiddo anymore, Dad.”
I smiled faintly. “Sorry. Force of habit. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I’m in London, but I’ll be back Thursday. You ready for our weekend together?”
“Sure.”
One-word answers. Disinterest. I missed the little girl who used to chatter endlessly, who couldn’t wait to tell me about her day. “How’s school?”
“Good.”
My mom’s voice echoed in my head: keep talking until you find the thread she wants to pull on. “Do you have a favorite class so far?”
“Women’s studies. We’re studying history of the patriarchy.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised given her all-girls private school. But part of me wondered if she was pushing my buttons to see if I reacted. “Glad you’re enjoying it.”
“You ever work with female executives?”
The irony hit me square in the chest. “Matter of fact, my new boss is a very accomplished woman.”
“Really? Wait. So you have a woman who is in charge of you?”
Her sudden spark of enthusiasm made me grin. “She is the acting CEO, and yes, I report to her.”
“Wow. Do you think I could talk to her?”
“What? Why?”
“For my paper. I want to interview professional women about the struggles they’ve faced getting to where they are on the corporate ladder.”
“You could interview Dominic’s girlfriend, Kelsey. She’s a forensic accountant, or your cousin is in real estate.”
“They’re both great, but I want someone who’s climbed the ladder to the very top. Someone who runs a whole company.”
The excitement in her voice was the most positive emotion I’d heard from her in months. I hated to dampen it but asking Charlotte for a personal favor? Too soon. Too complicated. “We haven’t known each other long.”
“The paper isn’t due until the end of the month. There’s time.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Maybe by then Samantha would have found someone else.
“Thanks, Dad. I’ve gotta go finish my homework, but I’ll see you Friday.”
“See you then. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I was about to hang up when another voice came on the line. A voice like nails on a chalkboard.
“Gabriel, Samantha would rather spend time with her friends this weekend than with you. Can’t you learn to respect what’s best for her?”
My grip on the phone tightened. Tanya. Always ready with the dagger and using it ruthlessly to try convincing me I shouldn’t spend time with my daughter.
“If that’s true, I want to hear it from her. Put her back on.”
Her laugh was brittle, sharp. “She’s busy. And I’m not about to drag her into this to satisfy your ego—”
“You know what? Don’t put her back on.” My voice dropped, clipped. Controlled, though every muscle in me burned to lash out. I wouldn’t put my daughter in the middle of this battle that could never be won. “I’ll be there Friday to pick her up for my weekend. As per the custody agreement.”
Silence stretched, heavy. My jaw ached from how hard I clenched it.
I knew the best way to deal with Tanya was the gray rock method where I didn’t react.
But she knew just where to push the buttons.
Like last weekend when we’d agreed I’d get Samantha for a few hours on her birthday.
When I showed up, Tanya had somehow forgotten, taking her out of town. I was sick of the undermining.
“Maybe we should take it back to the judge,” she threatened, her tone sugar-sweet and poisonous all at once. “Let’s see who Samantha really wants to spend her time with.”
My stomach tightened. “This isn’t about weekends or plans, Tanya.” I forced calm into my tone despite my fists clenching. “It’s about you being terrified she’ll have a good relationship with her father.”
I hated myself for giving her the satisfaction of hearing my anger.
She struck back without missing a beat. “That’s rich, coming from a part-time dad she barely knows. Todd is her father figure and much better at it.”
The mention of her stepfather was triggering, and she knew it.
“Yeah, but how much longer will he be in the picture?” It was a low blow, and one I wasn’t exactly proud of.
Frankly, we’d all be better off if Tanya found love and stability in a partner, and Rick didn’t seem like a bad guy even if he was husband number three, and I had my doubts they’d go the distance.
“Goodbye,” I muttered, hanging up before we traded any more damaging statements. My temples throbbed. I’d escaped the marriage, but I’d never escape having her in my life as my daughter’s mother.
What I needed now wasn’t reflection. It was a drink. A strong one.
I lost my tie, rolled up my sleeves, and headed out.
The streets of London hummed with the late-night crowd, black cab taxis darting past in streaks of light.
A few blocks from the hotel sat my favorite refuge: a Scotch bar tucked just off St. James’s Street, down a narrow lane you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.
The type of place old bankers and barristers favored, with heavy oak doors which muted the roar of the city outside.
Inside, the atmosphere was hushed and refined with deep leather chairs, brass lamps, and shelves stacked floor to ceiling with single malts from the Highlands to Islay.
The air carried the faint scent of cigar smoke though no one had lit one in years.
The low murmur of conversation blended with the occasional clink of expensive crystal.
I stepped inside, already anticipating the bite of an aged Scotch on my tongue, only to stop dead in my tracks.
Because there, perched elegantly on a leather stool, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, martini in hand, was the one woman I hadn’t expected to see here, of all places.
Charlotte.