Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Jim
So far, the week had smoothed itself out, and the only thing that’d been brought up about holiday party planning was the personal items needed to decorate our home and the beach house.
This was all typical, normal planning for the Christmas season. The girls and Avery fully indulged themselves in it, and everyone’s moods were always elevated with joy and cheer for the holidays. What wasn’t normal was this party planning family war we’d gotten ourselves into.
“Easy,” I said to Addy as she nearly ran the Aston Martin into the curb while taking it too tightly. “I actually like the rims on this Rapide model.”
“Oh, please,” she said with a typical teenage eyeroll to prove her point. “You’ve hated this car since we got it because it had to have four doors.”
“It’s most certainly not my Aston, but I’ve never hated it. If I did, I wouldn’t allow it in my garage,” I said, scrolling through morning texts. “By the way, you’re welcome for not making Alastair drive us both to school and work today.”
“I love Alastair, but thanks for letting me drive,” she smiled.
“Anytime, kid,” I said, my eyes roaming over an urgent email from my acquisitions teams overseas. “Shit,” I grumbled as Addy pulled into her school.
“Uh oh. Did Mom slide another phase sheet under your nose?” she laughed, checking her rearview as she gently slid next to the curb at the entrance of her school.
“No,” I said, frowning, “but she’s likely to win the whole holiday war planning if I’m forced to travel to Madrid for a goddamn merger that can’t seem to be nailed down without my physical presence.”
Addy put the car in park, unbuckled, and reached into the backseat for her bag. “Good thing Mom took Izzy to school today, because the language that’s coming out of your mouth today, sir. Tsk, tsk,” she teased in her most prudish voice.
We both stepped out of the car, and I smiled down at her, already knowing the hug goodbyes were off-limits and mortifying for the average teenage student in front of her peers.
“Well, you’re not a phone call away from leaving your family for the next week, so I get a pass,” I winked. “Have a fantastic day at school.”
“Thanks, Dad, and thanks for letting me drive today,” she said, and with minimal parent embarrassment, Addy was swallowed up by a crowd of friends and ushered up the stairs and into the school.
I dialed out to Spence. “What is going on with the Madrid deal?”
“I spoke to Alejandro just this morning,” he said, seemingly as annoyed as I was at the moment. “The de la Vega family is struggling to cling to their tradition and is second-guessing selling to foreigners.”
I rolled my eyes, pulling out of the school. “You’ve got to be fucking with me right now,” I answered.
“The family apparently torn that an American billionaire wants to buy their legacy,” he said. “Now the family’s divided, and the son, Santiago, wants you to pitch to him personally.”
“I knew we should have had every last member of that family sitting in on this, even down to their daughter Isabel’s newborn, to prevent this from happening.”
“The cultural pride is strong in Spain. You know that, Mitch,” he answered. “They want that handshake pledge.”
“God almighty,” I said, turning into traffic.
“And the media is also putting pressure on the family for selling to an American, too.”
“It’s all been blown entirely out of proportion. I’ll arrange a video conference and try to get this through that way. I have a stupid fucking—”
“Christmas party to plan? Sorry, are the billion-dollar mergers now getting in the way?” I heard Spence laugh while mocking me.
“Pretty fucking much,” I answered. “Well, we’re not losing the deal. And we’re not losing Christmas, either.”
Spence laughed, “Says the Grinch who apparently thinks he’s saving Christmas.”
“Thinks, Spence? Please, I know,” I said with full confidence.
“There’s that Lifetime Channel Christmas spirit that everyone loves.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t take it that far. By the time the holiday is here, I’ll probably be fully transformed into the Grinch, holed up in my house and skipping these two lavish events I didn’t want to have in the first place.”
“You keep chugging that pumpkin spice latte and telling yourself that, buddy,” Spence chided.
After we hung up, I called my secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Mitchell,” Brooke answered.
“Have the flight crew on standby,” I said. “I may be flying to Madrid this afternoon.”
“Right away, sir,” she said.
As I passed Brooke’s desk, she glanced up from her computer, “Nancy was just delivering more files for the planning. I placed them on your desk.”
“What? Are we not emailing anymore?” I snapped, my mood gone to shit after trying to maneuver out of flying to Madrid today.
“I don’t know, sir. She just said they needed your signature.”
“Very well,” I nodded and strode toward my office.
When I walked in to find an even bigger stack of folders than the first time this shit started coming across my desk, I had a feeling I was about to stare down phase two of Avery’s planning nightmare.
I honestly didn’t have time for this.
I called out to Brooke, almost forgetting that I needed to be wheels up in an hour if I was going to make the urgent meeting for the de la Vega family.
I didn’t have a second to waste.
“Brooke,” I said the moment she answered, my tone leaving no room for hesitation, “get the jet in the air within the hour. Contact the flight department and send them my itinerary for Madrid. I want the crew briefed and customs clearance already in place by the time I walk onto the tarmac.”
“Yes, sir,” she said while typing on her computer.
“Call my valet. Have him pack four days’ worth of wardrobe. I want business formal, evening suits, and casuals for downtime. Everything pressed, cufflinks included. I want the luggage delivered straight to the jet.”
“Understood.”
“And book the Ritz in Madrid—my usual suite. Confirm black car service with a bilingual driver waiting airside. He stays on call for the duration of my stay.”
“Of course.”
“Next, legal and acquisitions. I want the de la Vega files compiled and ready—digital copies on my laptop, hard copies delivered to the plane before departure. Four days of negotiations means every angle, every precedent, every clause at my fingertips. I’ve confirmed the meeting at seven tomorrow morning.
That jet can leave no later than ten this morning, as I will not walk in late. ”
“I’ll handle it.” Her voice didn’t so much as waver.
“Finally, clear my calendar. Push everything non-critical, and notify Spencer and the board that I’ll be overseas until this deal is finalized. He’ll handle everything while I’m gone.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll update them immediately.”
I exhaled through my nose, tension bleeding into a wry smirk.
Brooke’s efficiency had become more than serviceable these days, and I was impressed, which was saying a lot.
Instead of walking into my office with freshly brewed pumpkin spice lattes, she was now sharp, all business, and seamless—the kind of precision I expected from my secretary. Who knew, maybe I’d keep this one on.
I had a couple of minutes to review any morning emails that I would be forwarding to Spencer to handle, so I went through them first after texting him to meet me in my office before I rushed out.
After that was completed, I glanced over at the files that had been placed on my desk by Karen.
Goddammit. I had no time for Christmas planning shit right now.
I hadn’t even called Avery to tell her I would be leaving.
Karen had stacked the Paramount folder right on top, as if it were meant to ruin my morning.
“Paramount?” I muttered, flipping it open. “Why the hell does Avery need Paramount Studios to be approved? What in God’s name is she planning?”
The first page was a parade of line items that made no sense. “Horse-drawn carriages? And on the lot? Who the hell is she planning to cart around, the King of England?”
Spencer walked in just as I shoved the sheet aside. “Brooke said the jet is on standby.”
“Excellent. I need to get my ass out of here,” I grumbled, flipping again, “but instead, I’m signing approvals for carriages, snow machines, and fake cobblestones like I’m underwriting Disneyland.”
“Sounds like business as usual,” Spencer said with a grin.
“Figgy-fucking-pudding?” I said, staring at the first item from Velvet Crumb. “This shit is impossible. Velvet Crumb, the bakery I ordered from for my event, is now apparently partnering with Thomas Keller’s team for figgy pudding?”
I glanced up to see Spence’s lips tighten to prevent him from smiling, “If Marquee is merging her incredible skill with Keller, that might be some of the best damn dessert we’ve ever tasted.”
“That’s not dessert. That’s my next quarterly bonuses baked into a fruitcake.”
Spencer smirked, folding his arms. “Sounds like Avery’s planning something big.”
“She’s planning something, and it’s all beyond absurd.”
“Well, she is working with Veléz, dude. That woman doesn’t fuck around with her events. She’s got a name for that reason.”
“And no thanks to your wife for introducing her to Avery. Now, I’m at war with a highly sought-after event planner.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been such a bastard with the holiday events this year, and a stubborn egomaniac to try and cover for that, and we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t have time for this shit,” I said.
“I’ll go through it and make the approvals I know you’d confirm.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “How am I to believe you wouldn’t cross me?”
“Why the fuck would I cross you?”
“Because you’re being a little bitch like the rest of them, offended that you were getting a charcuterie board and champagne?”
Spence smirked. “If there’s one thing I don’t get sideways up my ass, it’s hurt feelings over holiday bullshit. So long as my wife and daughter have smiles on their faces come Christmas morning, I’m easy like that.”
“Then why did it seem you were on their side with this?”
He shrugged, “Because it’s always fun to watch you and Avery do the stupid shit you’re doing now to prove points to each other.”
“God,” I said, rising from my desk.
“You know, I can handle Madrid if you want to stay here and continue plotting against Avery for the Christmas events?”
I eyed him. “The second I put Christmas in front of work is the second I might as well close up shop. Approve the bullshit, but do not let the expenses get into the multi-millions, please.” I rolled my eyes at the thought. “That’s all I ask.”
“Never. We wouldn’t want Avery’s event to outshine the Birkinshire Gala, would we?”
“That was a two-billion-dollar merger,” I reminded him, “not a fucking Christmas party with fruitcakes.”
Before I could bitch about anything else, Brooke stepped in, calm as ever, tablet in hand.
“Sir, the jet is fueled and cleared for takeoff. Your luggage is being loaded now. If you leave within the next fifteen minutes, you’ll land in Madrid at six-thirty local time—perfectly in time for your meeting with the de la Vega family. Your driver is waiting out front.”
“Very well,” I muttered, snapping the folder shut.
“Call my wife and inform her of my last-minute trip. I’ll call from the plane to explain more when I’m in the air.
Also,” I picked up the files of bullshit, “scan these into the computer and email them to me. Spencer will take and approve them after that.”
“Have a good trip,” Spence said as I moved past him.
“It’s time we lock in this deal for once and for all.”
“I’ll call Avery and let her know what’s going on. If you have Brooke do it, the next thing you know, she’s going to have Cat hired to decorate both your houses with live reindeer or something for being an insensitive ass.”
“True,” I chuckled, looking at Brooke. “Spencer will handle Avery. Just focus on scanning all those documents and email the file to me.”
This was not how I’d planned my morning after casually suggesting I’d take Addy to school, and have some time with my daughter, after some little punk at school broke her heart.
However, I wasn’t going to lose that damn Madrid deal, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to lose this Christmas war either.
On the jet was where I’d dig a little more to figure out what the fuck Avery was planning to do with Paramount and all the other bullshit I hadn’t properly read through that Spencer would be signing off on.
I’d grab some sleep, and by the time I woke up, I would be in Madrid getting ink on this deal that should’ve been signed months ago by my overseas acquisitions team.
If anyone wasn’t getting chartered into mine and Avery’s festival of bullshit, it was the Madrid acquisitions team—the ones who dropped the ball. Now I was on a last-minute flight to Madrid to fix this mess, and I wouldn’t leave until that company was officially mine.