It’s weird having a woman around in the mornings again. Since Shannon died, I’ve had a fair few women stay the night, but I’ve ushered them out the door the second the sun came up.

Carly asked to start work at seven-thirty each morning and stay until I get home in the evening which is no earlier than seven. I told her Marie can help with Olivia for a few hours each day, but she insisted that the long days were fine with her. She probably needs the money.

It’s no bother to me, especially not when she keeps Olivia occupied in the morning and frees me up to fry some eggs and bacon. I don’t function well on an empty stomach, and shoving a protein bar in my mouth during the drive to work doesn’t cut it. Grady is constantly getting on my case for being a miserable bastard at work, and he’s right. I’m on edge and quick to let the stress show in front of my staff. Carly’s going to help more than she realizes.

“I brought your mail in,” Carly says, placing a stack of letters on the counter. “Most of it looks like junk.”

Most, but not all.

“Do you get that much every day?” she asks.

“No, I guess I haven’t been to collect it in a few days.”

A letter with a handwritten address stands out immediately. I know who it’s from and I know what it’s about.

“Everything okay?” Carly asks.

“Oh, yeah. Fine,” I reply, and go back to cooking the eggs. The letter taunts me. I can hear it calling out, reminding me about my dead wife and the man who knows what happened to her. That man and his letters have ruined enough mornings. He’s the reason I dread collecting my mail. I’m not going to let him ruin this breakfast.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” I ask Carly.

“No, I had breakfast before coming over.”

“If you’re going to start this early, then the least you can do is let me cook you breakfast.”

“Actually, I’d rather eat Olivia’s cereal. There’s no way I can stomach fried eggs first thing in the morning.”

Olivia grabs her box of cereal and clings it to her protectively. “My cereal,” she insists.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” I say.

“My cereal,” she repeats.

“You might have to teach her about sharing,” I say to Carly. “Do you have any plans for today?”

“We’re going to do some shopping because you’re low on food, and then we’re going to the park.”

“Sounds like fun.”

I probably sound sarcastic, but I’m not trying to be. I’d much rather spend the day at the park with Carly and Olivia than go to work where nothing but grief awaits me. I don’t need to work anymore. I have enough money to quit and live on my savings, and if I sold my company then Olivia would never have to worry either.

However, I have employees who are not in the same position. If I don’t work or if I sell the company, then they might lose their jobs. That’s about the only thing that keeps me going these days. That and Olivia.

“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” Carly says.

I look up and notice that, much to my disappointment, she’s talking to Olivia, who’s spilt milk and cereal all down her pajamas.

Carly takes her upstairs with no complaints from Olivia. Carly’s only been here two days, but Olivia is already comfortable around her.

I quickly eat my fried egg and bacon sandwich and pick the handwritten letter out of the pile. I used to ignore these letters as long as possible, but today I’m going to reply quickly and get it out of the way. Otherwise, it will only weigh on my mind.

How much does he want this time?

I open the letter and quickly skim through it. $15,000. More than last time. The most he’s asked for in one letter is $30,000. That came immediately after a great year for my company, so I paid him and barely noticed it. I can afford $15,000 without losing too much sleep. Doesn’t mean I want to pay him, though.

There’s no point torturing myself. I have to make the payments. He knows that and I know that.

I grab my checkbook from a drawer in my office and write out the check to Johan Contra. Johan includes a stamped addressed envelope with his letters. It’s nice to have a considerate blackmailer.

Carly comes back downstairs with Olivia looking adorable in a flowery dress that Marie bought her a few months back. Carly puts Olivia down in front of her current favorite doll, and heads back into the kitchen.

“Can you mail this when you’re out today?” I ask Carly, as I hand her the letter.

“Sure.” She takes the letter and my hand briefly brushes against hers. I haven’t got a thrill like that from touching a woman’s hand since I was thirteen. I need to get laid. That girl I met at the party ended up teasing and running, so I’ve been horny as hell. I’m sure that’s all this is. If I’d fucked that girl, then I wouldn’t be so eagerly eying up my daughter’s babysitter.

“Do you have rules on what Olivia can eat?” Carly asks. “I want to get her a small treat when we go shopping.”

“I’ve never thought about it much,” I admit. “Just use your best judgment. Before I forget…” I hand Carly $600 in cash. “I’ve ordered another credit card that will have you on it as an authorized user, but this should tide you over for a few days.”

“Uh, yeah, that will be more than enough. Thanks.”

“It’s me who should be thanking you. Olivia looks happier already.” We both look at Olivia as she plays with her dolls. Carly convinced Olivia to go to bed early last night, and it’s obvious she got a good night’s sleep and is better for it.

“She’s an awesome kid,” Carly replies, looking back at me and then frowning. “Isn’t that hot?”

Carly nods towards my hand which is resting on the pan I used to fry my eggs. “No, it’s… actually, yes. Yes, it’s hot.”

I quickly move my hand away from the pan, but it’s too late. My hand hurts like hell. Carly is already over by the sink running the cold water. I shove my hand under to feel the immediate relief.

“Stay there,” Carly says. “I’ll go get some antiseptic cream.” She disappears and finds a cream I didn’t even know I owned. After a few minutes holding my hand under the cold running water, Carly dries the wound and applies the cream to my hand.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’ll be fine.”

“It doesn’t look that bad, but it might blister.”

Olivia wanders into the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about. “Are you okay, Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie. I’m fine. Carly has patched me up. And I’m now late for work.”

I kiss Olivia goodbye and resist the urge to do the same with Carly. Marie messaged me asking me how things were going, so I send her a quick reply on the way to the car just to put her mind at rest. Everything’s going smoothly… at home. Work is another matter altogether.

I make it until midday without texting Carly. I eventually text her under the flimsy pretense of mentioning that Olivia is scared of the swings at the park. Carly replies a few minutes later with a picture of Olivia on the swings looking like she’s having the time of her life.

What I wouldn’t give to be with them right now instead of stuck in this office. Okay, it’s a nice corner office in downtown LA, with a glorious view of the city. Many people work hard their entire lives with little chance of ending up in an office even half as good as this. But it’s not where I want to be anymore. I have a child, and this business keeps me away from her far more than I’d like. Mind you, being busy gives me an excuse to keep Carly around until Olivia starts school in a year.

A knock at the door distracts me from my Carly-oriented trance.

“Got a minute?” Grady asks.

“Sure.” I’m busy as hell, but I’ve barely got anything done all day.

“Have you read the letter?”

“What letter?” My mind immediately goes to the blackmail letter I received this morning, although Grady clearly isn’t talking about that.

“The revised letter of intent from Sandra at Pacific Technologies. She’s upped the offer by 10% but says it’s the last one.”

“She said that last time.”

“Sounds like she means it. What are you going to do?”

I scroll through my emails and pull up the letter of intent from Pacific Technologies. Sure enough, the offer has been upped by 10% and Sandra’s email makes it clear that there will not be another offer.

“They’ve increased the amount that’s contingent on future profits,” I point out, scanning the letter. “In fact, the entire additional 10% is contingent.”

“That’s good news. The company will easily hit those contingencies, and the delayed payments to us mean less tax payable for this financial year.”

“I take it you’re in favor?”

Grady nods, which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. He wanted to sell his stake when the first offer came in six months ago and that offer was substantially lower than what’s on the table now.

“They’re offering far more than the company’s worth,” Grady says.

“It’s worth what someone will pay for it, so by definition, they’re not.”

“Well, Pacific Technologies is the only company who will pay this much for it.”

There’s no point arguing with Grady. He made up his mind a long time ago. More to the point, he’s right. No one knows this business better than me, but Grady is a close second. He’s been my Chief Financial Officer for six years, and was one of the first people I hired. If he says this offer is a good one, then it’s a good one.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to sell. Pacific Technologies wants to buy LCA, Inc. because we’re its biggest competitor in LA. The second they have control, they will gut the company by transferring the best clients and assets. They’ll take a few of the stronger employees, but what’s left of LCA will get wound up.

Hundreds of employees will lose their jobs, and they won’t all get new ones. I pay well—I always have done—but I can’t expect my blue collar employees to have months of savings available to tide them over while they look for jobs.

Grady wants me to make the decision based on the numbers, but I can’t detach people from it. My employees aren’t just numbers on a spreadsheet to me.

“You’d never need to work again if you sell,” Grady points out.

“Neither would you,” I remind him. I couldn’t afford large salaries when I first started out, and had to give Grady a generous stock option plan to convince him to leave his safe job with a big accounting firm. If we sell, he’s going to be rich too.

“Damn right,” Grady admits. “And I’m not going to lie—I want to spend my days drinking on beaches and screwing the type of women who hang out on beaches. Don’t you?”

“Sure,” I lie. There’s nothing that appeals less than going back to that lifestyle. I spent my teenage years hanging out on beaches and screwing loads of women. The sex was crap, and the women were annoying. I have a daughter to look after now—she comes first. And when I do have casual sex, I like it to have an edge. Hence the sex parties.

“I’m going to call Sandra and pretend you’re working from home because Olivia is sick. That should buy us some more time to make the decision. I genuinely think this is their final offer, so don’t be quick to decline it.”

Grady heads out and I read through the letter a few more times. I’m not going to make the decision now. I text Carly instead and tell her I’ll be home early. I don’t want to be here when Carly and Olivia are waiting for me at home.