Chapter 19 The Question
CHAPTER NINETEEN
the question
MARK
Texting with Alice every day, and talking to her as much as I have, has made me realise how much I’ve been missing out on.
She points out all kinds of details to me I’ve not thought of.
Her favourite is the way the sun shines through leaves blowing in the breeze, and now I’ve started noticing these little treats of nature too.
I crack the window open in the morning to hear the birds outside, and I appreciate the view of the vast park below. It has huge ancient trees, and when the sun hits them from the right angle, shadows dance across the grass below.
I take my morning run through St James’s Park instead of the vast Hyde Park and, for the first time, absorb the wealth of colour surrounding me.
Alice told me she loves how the world sometimes pops as if someone put a filter on it, and I understand what she means.
The grass is greener than I ever knew. There are brightly coloured flowers everywhere, which has never registered before.
And I spot green parrots in the park. After ten years in Mayfair, I’ve never noticed there are sodding parrots in the parks.
I shower in the ensuite of my upstairs office (that I return to as often as I can), and when Patrice indicates it’s time, I make my way downstairs to meet with the strategy team.
My well-kept schedule leaves no room for dawdling, but maybe I should start sneaking in five minutes here and there for mindfulness, as Alice suggested.
Start acknowledging things I am grateful for.
There’s an excellent little bench alcove in the neighbouring park that looks secluded.
Or I can buy a spot in the private garden of the estate on the other side.
“Patrice,” I turn to her before entering the meeting room. “Please wedge two ten-minute breaks into my daily schedule.”
“Today, sir?”
“Every day.”
The answer makes the grey woman even greyer, and I probably shaved a few years off her life with that request.
“And I’ll also aim to finish up at seven most days, so I’ll need my US calls rescheduled.”
I swear she squeaks. Her mouth is open, but no words come out.
“Are you okay?”
“Mark, are you okay?” She puts a hand on my arm.
“Never been better, Patrice.”
After the meeting, I’m back at my downstairs-office desk for my allotted thirty minutes of emails and various requests. But before I can log in to my computer, my phone rings. I stare at it for a second, not expecting to see my middle sister’s name on a Thursday morning.
Ugh, I hope she hasn’t seen the gossip forum musings about me being Robin Hood, which showed up in the PR report this morning. My family knows better than to read that shit. Luckily, it’s not spread far, and I’m not giving it any attention. I don’t like that the blogger’s eyes are on me, though.
“Silvia? Is everything okay?”
“Morning, Mark,” she chirps. “Yes, of course, everything’s splendid. Can I not call my big brother out of the blue?”
“Is it, though?”
With Silvia, nothing is ever ‘out of the blue’.
“It’s your birthday next Wednesday. Remember?”
I grunt in response. I’d forgotten, and she knows it.
As much as I love my family, I don’t want to do our tradition. And it’s come around too quickly—it feels like it was just last week we did this.
“Let’s do dinner the week after,” I say.
“Wednesday is no good for me next week.” No day is good for me, so it’s not a complete lie.
Moving the event itself won’t change anything, though, but I need to avoid them starting our family games, at least. It takes up too much time. It doesn’t feel worthwhile anymore.
I’m working less these days because of Alice, but that does feel worth it. I can’t do a whole evening with them too.
“Nope. It’s our tradition. Everyone’s actual birthday. Every year. You know the drill.”
I sigh. Being a CEO doesn’t give you a get-out-of-jail-free card in a crowd like the Beckers.
Family first. Always.
Which is what has held them back from their true potential. Everyone except Fern, the youngest but fiercest of my sisters, who left three years ago to study abroad and hasn’t been back since.
“Fine,” I grunt. “Let’s go to Mocco’s by the river. 7pm.”
“Great,” she chimes.
“No Becktionary!” Practically growling, I hang up and continue going through my e-mails.
There are loud voices outside breaking my concentration.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I hate being down here. My upstairs office was perfect for focus time.
My frosted walls shield me from prying eyes, but they don’t keep the sound out. That girl, Rosemary and those new starters are loud. So is that Silas, who’s constantly around them, and, Jesus Christ, are they singing?
I bury my face in my hands and do my best to tune them out.
Since Monday, I’ve steered clear of Rosemary entirely.
She confused the hell out of me when I stood there, looking down at her.
Her brown eyes, long dark hair, and delicate face.
Why must she have similar features to what I imagine Alice has?
I need to separate work and private life, and Alice has to be firmly in the latter.
She even sounds like her and smells like her…
Or what I think I remember she smelled like.
The voices from the creative corner sound again and I look up towards the source of the noise.
I need to see her smile. Does she have dimples?
It can’t be her, though. I’m just stressed and have Alice on my mind so much I get confused.
It’s a coincidence that they might have similar features.
Yes. I’m seeing things. Sabotaging it before I’ve even given it a proper chance.
My phone buzzes on the desk, and I react on instinct as I have at every message notification in the last three weeks.
Alice.
Hi Robin, someone reminded me earlier this week that it’s important to fight for what brings us joy, and I wanted to make sure it’s clear to you: you bring me joy.
I’d like to meet you. Face to face. In the light. Maybe at a chilled-out market where we can wander and enjoy some food together.
What do you think?
I read them again and again. The idea of it elates me. I’ve been fooling myself thinking this is nice as it is, but I’ve also spent every night on the phone with her, listening to her falling asleep.
I’ve been completely obsessed, which must be why I see her in other people.
Countless times have I dreamed of her and woken up in the night, certain she’s right next to me, only to find the massive bed empty and cold. This has not been a problem before. I love my space. My big bed. But now it feels lifeless. It feels like she should be there.
Fuck, am I invested in this? Am I doing this? If I decide to meet her, I have to be.
I run a hand down my face.
What am I more scared of? Not seeing her and giving it all up? Or seeing her, and it actually works? It’ll require a change in my lifestyle. My priorities.
Or will it? Could I fit her in just the way I’ve been fitting her in over the phone?
If there’s a will, there’s a way, isn’t that what they say?
But a billionaire’s way is unusual. I don’t just have a job; this is my whole life.
I’m constantly on. And when I’m not working, I’m exercising, or I’m dealing with my real estate investments.
You don’t become and stay a billionaire by sitting around.
Or by lying in bed all day tangled up with a naked, delightful woman.
But that’s all I want to do. That should count for something.
There’s a careful knock on the door. Another intrusion of my day.
“Come in,” I bark. I regret the harshness of the tone, but I don’t like being interrupted.
“So sorry to disturb you,” a young man says, entering my office. I recognise him as the development lead of pod four I had a go at a while back.
“I wanted to tell you there’s some kind of mutiny taking place here,” he says, waving his tablet.
“What are you on about?”
“Here, look at this.”
He walks over and opens a picture on the tablet of a layered landscape I don’t recognise.
“What is this?”
“What Rey and Horace are working on behind your back. Right behind that wall.”
I grit my teeth, assuming Rey is Rosemary. Fucking hell. Again?
“Thank you,” I say.
“You might not know it,” he adds. “But I’ve worked here for five years, and I respect the rules, unlike others.”
I nod and wave him out. They’ve asked for it now. It was only three days ago that I told them both to stick to the rules.
There’s not much time until my next meeting, so I’ll have to keep it short and to the point.
I get up, stride out of my office and straight to the corner where the team is huddled around a screen.
There’s some kind of dog flopping around on it.
How much shit have they been making that’s outside the rules?
“Horace, Rosemary, my office, now.”
I walk back and assume they’re following.
Inside the office, I turn and face them. Paler than normal, the two insolent twats exchange a quick glance.
“This is my final warning,” I point at them. “Stop whatever you’re up to. Stick to the sodding rules, or I’ll be forced to get rid of you both.”
Rey gapes. “You can’t—”
“I can, and I will.”
“But—”
Horace puts up a hand to stop her from talking. “This was all my idea, Mark. I wanted Rey to make mock-ups I could share with you. Rey is very talented, and with the current environment, I believe that Damian’s style is not—”
“Damian’s ideas made this company. And until we can weather the storm of his arse-backwards way of handling the popularity and power that his games brought him, we are sticking to what we know works.”
“If you could only—” Rey pipes up, and I’ve had it.
“Enough!” I shout and regret it instantly. I breathe in deeply. “I’m s—”
“Don’t you get it?” she interrupts me, her voice shaking.
“People want something new, but because it’s a sure sell, we’re all stuck with Damian’s legacy.
No wonder all the good creatives left! Shouldn’t we at least try to shake it up?
” Rey looks at me with so much defiance—her fists balled up, holding onto the sides of her blue dress—I’m left momentarily speechless, my intended apology stuck in my throat.
I find my voice again and keep it calm, not showing the storm in me at her attitude. “You’ve worked here for five fucking minutes and you think you know what you’re talking about? Better than me? I built this company, and you treat it like it’s disposable. Just a job, right?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but I’ve heard enough.
“Get the hell out of my office now, and if I see you lot creating anything that isn’t following our style guide to the tee, I will not hesitate to get rid of you on the spot.”
Horace takes Rey’s arm, but I call out, “Horace, hang back.”
“Mark?”
I wait until Rey is gone before I face Horace. “I’ll say this once. The company culture is fragile. I can’t have insubordination like this. Stable and coherent leadership is what’ll bring this ship home, and I need you onboard.”
“You need passionate designers with space for imagination.”
“Stay in line, Horace.” I hold his gaze. He knows he has the power here and it pisses me off. He can go anywhere with his CV. But I need stability. If he resigns now…
He nods and leaves the office, and once the glass door clicks into place, I let out the breath I was holding.
I walk around my desk and sink into my chair, putting my head in my hands.
Fuck.
I don’t even think I’m right about the design. I just don’t know, and that’s what puts me on edge. Damian had a knack for it. What would work and what wouldn’t. Could Horace be as good? It’s what I need. Someone with a vision. But is now the right time to ‘shake things up’? When would it be?
I let my head fall onto my desk and let out a long groan.
There’s another knock on the door, and I ignore it.
The door opens, and I lift my head.
“Mark.” It’s Patrice. “There’s a call from your mother, but she says you’re unreachable on your phone.”
I look down at the phone on my desk and see the two calls I’ve missed. It reminds me of what I was doing before I was rudely interrupted. I was reading the latest message from Alice.
She said we need to fight for what brings us joy.
I need her in my life.
It can’t be only this. Only Infinio.
Damian’s Infinio.
“Thank you, I’ll take it here.” But before I pick up the receiver, I need to make sure I get what I want. “Patrice, clear my calendar for Saturday, please.” I’ve got someone very special to meet.
Another whimper, then she clears her throat. “Of course, sir.”
“And call me Mark, will you?”
“Never, sir.” She grins and points to the phone on my desk, reminding me my mother is waiting.
“Mum, what’s happening?”
“Did you go to a costume party dressed as Robin Hood?”
Shit.
Fuck, has Alice read it? Is that why she wants to meet me? No, it doesn’t seem like it from what she wrote. I push the thought away.
Right now, I wish I could lie to the woman who brought me into this world, but she’s instilled near-crippling honesty in me over the last three-and-a-half decades. There’s no way.
“Yes, Mum, I did.”
“My goodness, son!”
Here we go.
“Don’t make it a thing, please,” I say.
“I’ve never heard of you dressing up before. You were Steve Jobs for Halloween every year, for crying out loud.”
“Is this why you’re calling?” I roll my eyes, glad she can’t see me.
“It was on the blog thing, son. I needed to know.” She’s silent for a beat, but I wait for her to continue. “I’m glad you’re out having some fun.”
“You’re not calling to tell me to behave? It seems to be the discourse these days. I need to continue being the opposite of Damian.”
“Darling, Damian did what he did and it was all terrible, but it doesn’t mean you need to double down on the seriousness of everything you do. I worry about you, you know. I can’t remember the last time I saw you relaxed and smiling.”
“I’m okay.”
Despite the Horace and Rey situation that just spiked my heart-rate, I am better than ever. Thanks to a certain someone.
“So, if you were Robin,” Mum continues. “Who is Alice?”
The million-pound question.
“I’m about to find out,” I say, grinning at my phone where I’m ready to type out my response to Alice.