Chapter One
The cell phone tucked away in his pants pocket screeched out Deck the Halls for the fifth time that morning, yanking Lance Barkley from a deep coma on the living room sofa. He turned over with a groan and cursed his assistant, Frankie, for changing his ring tone to a Christmas carol. Anyone who knew Lance knew that he didn’t do holiday cheers, or trees wrapped in lights, or carols. He didn’t do Christmas. At least, not since his father died five years ago this December.
He glanced up at the neon clock hanging on the wall. Sleep and the after effects of too much bourbon and beer blurred his vision, but even he could tell the morning was nearly gone. He’d slept through his alarm - again. Uncle Matthias and his loyal team of ads salesmen were waiting on him. They’d be livid.
Lance sprang from the couch, still dressed in a suit from yesterday’s evening out with an investor. He snagged a purple satin tie from his closet and with a quick dunk of his head under a streaming faucet of freezing water, he was out the door and sliding into the backseat of a taxi blaring a Mariah Carey version of I’ll Be Home for Christmas on its speakers. Barkley & Barkley advertising agency resided just a quick ten minute ride from his penthouse apartment in Minneapolis; eight minutes, on a good day. And right now, he needed a great day.
“Hey, boss, you’re late.” Those were the first words out of Frankie’s mouth as he came scrambling around the corner to his office.
Lance paused to catch a breath and roll his eyes. Frankie was sitting at his desk with a nicely starched white linen shirt and dress pants. He would’ve looked like any of the businessmen in this joint except for the burnt orange beanie nestled on top of his head. No matter how much Lance prodded, he just couldn’t get Frankie to burn that thing. It was as if it’d become permanently attached to his head, glued to the masses of uncombed dark curls that spilled out from the sides.
“Very helpful, thank you,” Lance finally managed to say with another roll of his blue eyes. “I don’t suppose you managed to stall them?”
“For three hours?” Frankie looked at his wrist where a large golden watch lay. “Not likely. Your uncle sees through my tricks. He’s furious you missed the meeting. He told me to call him the minute you got in.”
Lance swore under his breath and smoothed the wrinkles out of his shirt. He would’ve rather taken a few minutes to shave the five o’clock shadow on his chin and change his shirt, but Uncle Matthias seemed to have a second sense about when he was in the building. “Don’t bother. I’ll go see him now.”
“Good luck.” Frankie threw a mint at him. “You’re going to need it.”
Swearing again, Lance popped the mint in his mouth and made his way to his uncle’s office. He’d practically worn a path in the olive green carpet, he’d marched this way so many times with his head held low. The secretaries didn’t even bother to greet him anymore.
“You’re late.”
The same words seemed to echo from his uncle’s office as he pushed open the door. Lance ignored the nervous rumblings of his stomach and grinned. “How can I be late if I’m the boss?”
Uncle Matthias looked up from behind his giant oak desk. Permanent frown lines had etched their way into his face, making him appear much older than his age. His salt and pepper hair was combed meticulously to one side and framed the wearied lines across his forehead. If Lance caught his uncle in the right lighting, sometimes he could catch a glimpse of what his father would’ve looked like today. It was an eerie feeling that he didn’t like to dwell on.
“You’re not the boss yet,” Uncle Matthias grumbled. “And you’ll never be the boss if you don’t learn to grow up. What exactly were you doing last night?”
“Entertaining a future client,” Lance shot back, with an innocent shrug. “Just like you asked.”
“I don’t remember asking you to get the CEO of Blackjacks Gambling Services blazing drunk.”
He grinned. Last night had taken an interesting turn after dinner at the rooftop restaurant. A few drinks at a local bar had mutated into a tour of all the drinking establishments Minneapolis had to offer. He couldn’t remember much after the seventh round, but he knew it’d been a raucous time. “It’s not my fault Randy’s a lightweight. He turned out alright, though.”
“After the ER pumped out his stomach and gave him an IV drip,” Uncle Matthias countered. He glowered at Lance under thick black eyebrows. “Not exactly what I would call a great customer experience.”
“He had the time of his life,” Lance replied with another grin. “If I remember right, he ended up taking his hot nurse home. I think we’ll be hearing from him again. Very soon.”
Uncle Matthias pushed himself up from the desk and shook his head, pressing his lips into a tight line. He walked toward the window and looked down upon the street, his hands folded behind his back. A spark of nervous energy lit in Lance’s chest.
Usually, Uncle Matthias was a vocal man. If he could scream his anger, he would. Lance had been on the receiving end of many of his rants. They didn’t faze him. But this silence - this was bad. A silent Uncle Matthias was not a good one. It was the canary in the coalmine; the promise of worst things yet to come.
“When your father and I started this company twenty-eight years ago, you were just a babe, barely off your mother’s breast,” he began. Lance winced. He didn’t ever want to think about being on his mother’s breasts. “Your father always intended for you to take over his partnership. He spoke of it often. Before he died, he asked me to groom you into the co-CEO he knew you could be. I promised him that I would see it through.”
Lance nodded. He knew this story by heart. Uncle Matthias liked to pull it out for very strict lectures. “And you did, Uncle. I’ve earned my MBA, I’ve shadowed you for the past two years, and now I’ve begun building business for the company. I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
“And yet, somehow you’ve failed.” Uncle Matthias gazed mournfully at his nephew. “We both have. I’ve never broken a promise in my life, but I’m afraid I broke my promise to your father. You will never be ready to take on this role.”
Lance stood frozen in place, his pulse racing. Shame and betrayal coursed through his body, leaving his hands ice cold. “That’s not true, I’ll be ready. I want this.”
“You’re a loose cannon, my boy.” Matthias strolled back to his desk. His voice was calm and steady. “There was a time when I thought it was just a phase, but you’re a grown man now. The time for tom-foolery has long past. And yet, here you stand in my office, wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday and reeking of booze. I’ve no time for Playboys and wastes of space. Get out of my office.”
Anger began to replace the shame in Lance’s head. He gripped the back of a leather chair, his knuckles bone white. “I have done everything you’ve asked, Uncle.”
And he had. Ivy league school at eighteen. Internships with international businesses of prestige. An MBA from Stanford. Everything he’d done had been leading up to the moment he was to take his dad’s vacant roll at the business his family had built.
“But you’re still acting like a child,” Uncle Matthias shot back with a growl. “You’re not a man. A man knows his duties and his responsibilities. You are a boy.”
Lance bit into the side of his cheek until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. As much as he hated to admit it, his uncle wasn’t totally off base. He’d pushed the line as far as he could and created some wild times because of it. But learning how to run a business didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun once in a while. He didn’t want to end up stuck in the mud like his boring uncle. Still, he needed Uncle Matthias on his side. This position meant everything to him. It was only with his uncle’s approval that he could take up that role.
“What do I have to do?” Lance asked, his voice low and serious. It was the closest he’d ever come to begging. “Tell me what I have to do to convince you I’m ready.”
Uncle Matthias shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“Tell me. I’ll prove it to you.”
There was a long moment of silence in which Lance held his breath. Outside the large office windows, a flurry of snow began to twirl and fall to the streets below. The twin cities hadn’t received a substantial snow yet this season, and most of the office was hoping for a white Christmas. With two weeks left until the big day, every snowflake was a cause for celebration.
The only think Lance was hoping for were the infamous holiday parties his neighbors liked to throw. Nothing like getting buzzed on expensive liquors and peeing your name in the snow off the balcony of their third story apartment. That was the kind of holiday he preferred.
“I’ll tell you what.” Uncle Matthias leaned back in his ergonomic brown leather chair, resting his arms on the armrests. “I’ve got a family issue down state. Your grandmother, Pearl, started a foundation in her little hometown of New Hope about fifty years ago. This company has been supporting it since her trust fund ran out, but I’m thinking it’s time to close it down. I want you to go handle the dirty work of getting to know their finances, report back to me over the next two weeks, and when the time is right - shut her down. Think you can handle that?”
Lance swallowed hard. Two weeks in a tiny southeastern Minnesota town in the dead of winter? Might as well be stuck on a deserted island. He’d rather eat his own leg than spend a night in one of those cheery little highway motels with the nosy receptionist and the stale donut breakfasts. But he didn’t have a choice.
“Sure,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Uncle Matthias looked pleased with himself, as if he’d just found the cure to cancer. “You handle this job with some class and restraint, I think we might just have a new CEO on the team.”
Lance thanked his uncle and then retreated, before he could change his mind. He had a trip to plan with Frankie, immediately. The sooner he left, the sooner he’d get back.
And with any luck, he wouldn’t die of complete boredom in New Hope, Minnesota.