Chapter 1 #2
Louis sighs. “Ah, sorry. I figured you’d already told him.
” He looks at me and smiles again. “Well, since Fisher Group put an offer on a property here in San Francisco, we’re hosting a gala for investors.
It’s the perfect time to show our plans to the mayor in hopes he’ll approve all of our demolition permits.
” Louis punches my shoulder. I think he’s attempting to be playful but it feels more condescending.
“Our plans for the property will wow our investors, too.”
“Is there a reason you’re just now telling me about expanding Fisher Group to the city that I live in?” I ask, starting to feel like they left me out of this on purpose. “I have summers off, so maybe I could help with the expansion.”
My brother waves his hand like the idea is nonsense. “Oh, no, it’s nothing you’d be interested in, baby brother.”
He’s right. I have zero interest in the flashy skyscrapers my family’s corporation constructs. But being dismissed so readily stings enough that I cross my arms and raise a brow in challenge. “How do you know I wouldn’t be interested when you haven’t told me anything about the project?”
Father’s professional facade falls for a fraction of a second as he tuts a sarcastic laugh. He catches himself quickly, straightens and clears his throat. “If you want to be part of any Fisher Group project, you need to clean up your image.”
Louis looks between me and our father and chuckles awkwardly before he pulls his phone out of his pocket and texts me a link to a property. “Here’s the site we’re hoping to get permission to build on.”
I scroll through the listing, noticing it’s in the art district part of town where one of my favorite galleries is.
The listing says the brick building was initially used as a firehouse in the 1800s, and there are only two photos.
One shows the front of the building with big white letters painted on the brick that say Art District Firehouse.
The second photo is the inside of the building, one large room with exposed brick and wooden beams. It’s a beautiful property.
The price is cheap for San Francisco, so the seller must be desperate for quick cash or something.
That’s the thing about Fisher Group, they only care about their bottom line. If they want something, they never back down, never consider the person they’re buying from. To my father and brother, a property owner who’s desperate is always a good thing…for them.
“You’re not going to tear down this historical building, are you?” I ask, setting my phone down on the table. Father and Louis both mentioned needing permits for demo, so I’d assumed they were buying some ugly, eighties style concrete box of a building.
The Fisher Group isn’t known for restoration. They’re famous for their sleek glass high rises, rather than reviving interesting character properties in gentrified areas.
Louis and our father both chuckle, their pretentious golf course laugh…the one that sounds like huh, huh, huh. “Oh Archibald, of course we’ll tear down the firehouse, that’s the only way to make room for our business development. We’ve no use for a crumbling old building,” Louis answers.
My chest squeezes at the idea of tearing down the old firehouse.
I’m not sure where I inherited my love for the arts, but it assuredly wasn’t from my father or granddad.
I hate to see something beautiful torn down, or underappreciated.
Maybe that’s why I love women so much, they’re like works of art—and women are the only thing I’m good at, besides hockey.
“Is the mayor’s problem with me being seen at local night clubs, or with the fact Fisher Group wants him to approve the destruction of a historic property?” I question, raising an eyebrow at my father.
“Perhaps it’s both,” he says. “But he's attending our gala where we’ll wine and dine him. I’ll have him eating out of the palm of my hand and signing off on the permits before he’s even on his second glass of champagne.” He smirks, then frowns at me. “Do you have a tux to wear tomorrow night?”
“To the gala I wasn’t even invited to?” I arch a brow. “Yeah, I’m not going to that.”
My father closes his eyes for a second like he’s calming himself, then his cool gaze falls on me, chilling me to the core.
“You’ll be there. And you’ll do everything you can to show the mayor you’re not a delinquent hockey player, but a respectable member of the family.
” His tone is deadly serious. “Or the thing we talked about a moment ago, before your brother arrived? I’ll make sure that it happens, effective immediately. ”
Before I can process this, the waiter arrives with our breakfast orders, and Father gives me one last cautionary look before turning his attention away from me.
Soon, he and Louis are lost in conversation about some business deal or other, and it’s like I’m not even here.
Their food grows cold but business is always the most important thing to those two.
Granddad has his eyes closed and is softly snoring. I wish I could shake him awake and lecture him about how undignified it is to fall asleep in front of company—the way he did to me when I was a young boy.
I eat silently, every bite of my caviar and poached egg are tasteless as my father’s threats about my trust fund run through my mind…
would he actually cut me off? The look on his face just now tells me that yes, he would.
Guess I should have held my tongue earlier before making that comment about Granddad’s will; that might have been the final straw.
My skin prickles at the thought of letting him control me. I love going out and having fun…hell, I love women. I don’t want a damn thing to change. What does my father expect me to do as a young professional athlete, stay home and take up knitting?
But while I might have been all bravado when I said I could just live on my NHL salary, I’m fully aware that my contract with the Lions is only for my rookie year, with no guarantee of being renewed for next season.
My head begins to throb as I attempt to troubleshoot the situation, to find an option that will appease my father, keep my trust fund money flowing, and allow me not to live as a hermit.
There must be a compromise. My gaze moves to my father, his back straight, shoulders back, perfect posture.
I’m not sure he knows how to compromise… it’s either his way or nothing.
He’s got me backed into a corner right now, and he knows it, so I guess I have no choice but to suit up and attend the gala tomorrow. Be the good little Fisher puppet he wants me to be, one whose strings he can pull all night, until I figure out the perfect play to keep my life the way I want it.