Should I have gone with him for just one more drink?
I sit in my hotel room as I wonder.
I did the right thing.
It’s after eleven here in New York. I called William when I got back to the room, but he sent me to voicemail; he’s at that event tonight, so I didn’t really expect him to answer. It’s only eight back home, and I’m restless. I haven’t adjusted to this time zone yet despite the fact that I took a redeye to get here and only slept an hour or two on the plane. I need to hear William’s soft voice warming my ear. He’ll call me when he can, but that could be hours from now and I could be sleeping.
I can’t stop seeing the expression on Carson’s face when he told me he didn’t want the company. He was forlorn, sincere. An air of loneliness surrounded him.
He’s surely the life of every party. Men who look like that and have the personalities to match always are. He has earned the right to be confident. He’s got it all—the looks, the money, the charm—but as I got to know him a little bit tonight, it’s clear that despite all that, he isn’t happy. It must be lonely to be at the top and have no one to talk to.
Maybe that’s why he chose me. Our lives are similar; mine is just on a much smaller scale. I’m not necessarily being groomed to take over Baker, but I do work for my family’s company. I understand what it’s like to be expected to work there. The difference is that I actually like my job. From the sound of it, he doesn’t.
His words replay in my head for the millionth time. I feel like I’m taking something from you, so I wanted to give you something to take from me.
His velvety voice wrapped around those words as he gave me a piece of him that no one else owns. My concern is that he gave me more than just a confession, and my fear is that I’m going to hold it and protect it.
It’s a big responsibility, owning that part of him, and I think about what I could do with it.
I could tell my board. They’d think twice before selling their shares to someone who’s not even invested in the future of the company…wouldn’t they?
I’d like to think they would, but the truth is, Carson is right: money talks, and he’s got it. He can do whatever he wants with it, and I hate him for it. I hate what he’s going to do to Baker.
But I don’t hate him.
I want to see him again.
I shake my head, vehemently denying the traitorous part of my brain that allowed that thought to surface.
I will see him again. He’ll be my boss. He’ll come in, steal the company, and be there to reorganize it—unless he hands the dirty work off to his lackeys, but really, it seems like that’s what his father did when he enlisted Carson to try to get my dad to sell.
My dad.
I try not to let the tears fill my eyes as I think about him. Aside from my mom, I’m the only one who knows—not even William is aware. He doesn’t want his employees to think he’s weak, but the disease will eventually take over his body.
It started on his left side, which is better than his right since he’s right-handed. It was a little tremor in his hand, something he couldn’t control. He hid it, pretended it wasn’t happening, but then his handwriting started to change—so he worked hard to boost technology, to go paperless. He started losing sleep, feeling dizzy. Eventually my mom made him see his doctor, and he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s.
He says he’s still in the early stages, that he’s fine, but I’ve seen him lose his balance when he thought no one was looking. I’ve seen him change before my eyes. He’s still got his mind, though. That’ll always be his…until it’s not anymore.
I leap up from the couch and resume my pacing to force a change of energy and a change of thought.
Sitting in a hotel room staring out at the New York skyline from the little couch by the window is doing nothing for my restlessness. I do need another drink, actually, and I wish it were with Carson. I wish I could tell him about my father. I can’t tell William; my dad made me promise to keep it to myself. I need to talk about it, though, and Carson shared his deepest secret with me tonight.
But I can’t give ammunition to the enemy. If he knew what we were going through on a personal level, it would be so much easier for him to come in and take what isn’t his.
I slip my shoes back on and head down to the lobby bar. A glass of wine even by myself in a hotel bar has got to be better than sitting up in the room with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.
Just as I order a glass of red, my phone lights up with an incoming call. William Rutherford.
I pick up the call. “Hi. How’s Canterbury?”
“Insufferable without you. How was your dinner meeting?” The sound of his voice throws a big, wet dose of guilt over my head.
How was my dinner meeting? I’m not totally sure how to answer that. “It was…interesting.”
The bartender sets my wine in front of me and I hand him my credit card.
“Did you get him to cease the takeover?”
“No,” I mutter. “There’s no way to stop him. I even brought up diluting shares, and he has more money than he knows what to do with.” I sip my wine, and it warms the ache in my chest.
“We don’t have time to dilute shares, and I’m not convinced the board would agree to it anyway.”
“Why not?”
William is quiet for a beat, and my heart races as I grip the stem of my wineglass.
“William, why not?”
He lets out a sigh. “There are some rumors going around. I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”
“What kind of rumors?”
It’s quiet on his end.
“William.” My voice is sharp and pointed, and he sighs again.
“People are worried about your dad.”
“What people?”
“Board members.”
“Which ones?”
“The insiders.”
I blow out a breath. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
“You’re one of them,” I remind him.
“I am.”
“What are you worried about?”
“He’s making mistakes, Sylvie.” His voice is gentler than it was a few seconds ago. He’s trying to soften the blow.
“So you’re telling me right now that this takeover might not be all that hostile after all?”
I can picture his shrug, his soft brown eyes, his floppy brown hair as he delivers the news. “I’m telling you we lost more revenue last quarter than we did all of last year. People want a change. Baker’s not thriving like it once was, and this way’s easier. It’s letting your dad go while keeping his pride intact. It’s getting someone new at the helm without an inside job full of backstabbing and hate. We can blame it on King.”
Tears prickle my eyes. “So my dad’s out either way,” I say flatly.
“It’s what our biggest stakeholders want.”
“How long have you known?”
“Let’s talk when you get home.”
“How long have you known?” I repeat my question, but this time each word is punctuated through gritted teeth.
“A board member came to me for legal advice. I can’t discuss it, least of all over the phone.”
“Who?”
“Sylvie…”
“Who?” I repeat.
“Attorney-client privilege.”
“Bullshit.” My voice is sharp. I almost never cuss in front of William. He doesn’t like it, thinks it’s unladylike or something. “Whoever it is isn’t your client if they were discussing Baker with you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’re using a weak defense.”
“Attorney-client privilege isn’t a weak defense. It’s not just my duty, it’s also the law.”
Anger washes over me. “How long has this been going on?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.”
William is stubborn, and I know that’s his final word on the subject. There’s no more fighting him.
“Fine. I have nothing further to discuss tonight, then.”
“I want to hear about your dinner.”
“And I want the details about the people who think my father is incompetent in his position. Guess neither of us is getting what we want tonight.” I end the call and toss my phone onto the bar, and then I pick up my glass and chug down the rest of the red liquid in a most unladylike fashion.
I definitely should’ve gone with Carson for just one more drink.
My phone lights up on the bar, but I ignore it. It’s William calling me back. We never fight, so this is uncharted territory for us. I’m tired of being agreeable all the time, though. I’m feeling extra irritable tonight, and I’m not sure if it’s the wine, the fact that I haven’t slept in two days, or the conversation I just had with William.
I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t actually any of those things, though. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the fact that I let Carson walk away when I shouldn’t have.
* * *
You know what’s really stupid? That movie Snakes on a Plane. I’ve never seen it, so maybe it’s not stupid, but I hate flying and I hate snakes. Why would anyone ever put the two together in one movie? It’s like a damn nightmare.
When the plane touches down safely on the ground in San Diego, I decide not to go to the office straight away. I should. I missed a day of work yesterday, and today’s work has already started as I’ve flown across the country.
Instead, I drive from the airport to the house I share with William. I know he’s at work, and I’m not ready to face him after our conversation last night—or after the subsequent calls he made that I ignored.
What he said hasn’t stopped replaying in my mind, and my entire “business” meeting with Carson hasn’t stopped replaying in my mind, either.
Since it happened last night rather than just a few hours ago, I’d like to say I’ve gained a little perspective on the situation through the distance of time.
I haven’t, though.
Typically when things happen that upset the balance of my life, I’m able to look at them with logic. I’m a pragmatic person to a fault, which is why William and I get along so well.
Well, my pragmatism and the fact that I’m willing to lie down for whatever makes William happy, apparently—something I didn’t even realize until I started butting heads with Carson last night.
He ignited this fire inside me, and not just a fire to fight for my company—a battle I’ve already lost. He ignited things I didn’t know were dormant, and as I walk through the door into my home, I still can’t stop thinking about him.
I should see William everywhere I walk in this house. We bought it together last year. We’d been dating for a year when he first brought up the idea of living together. I spent all my time at his place anyway so it made sense for us to live together, but we wanted to start from scratch. We wanted a place that was ours—not his that I moved into, and not mine that he moved into.
The painting we chose together at an art fair on the street hangs in our entryway. It’s a black and white abstract of some undefined metropolitan area. We both loved it because it could be San Diego, where I grew up, or it could be Seattle, where William originally hails from. It could be any city, really, and it somehow screams heart and soul through its ambiguity. It tied together our individual pasts and paved the way for a future together.
I look away from it, feeling guilt and shame as I walk down the hallway and into our kitchen. For the first time in the two years since we started dating, I’m questioning whether I want to be tied to him. I’m realizing things about us that have never been called into question, and it’s terrifying.
I’m a planner, always have been. My future was decided the moment William and I got together. I’d marry him within five years. I’d wear a white dress and we’d get married in the church I attended every Sunday of my childhood. We’d have two kids within our first few years of marriage. They’d go to the same church.
It’s formulaic, it’s logical, and it’s perfect.
I never even considered an alternate plan. Why would I ever need to when I was perfectly happy with the roadmap I created?
What if there’s a detour on that road? Construction I hadn’t expected leading me to a different route?
What if Carson King takes over Baker Media and becomes my boss?
Will I take more time with my makeup? Will I dress differently? Will I work harder and seek his approval?
How much will things change?
I pull a bottle of water out of our refrigerator as I look around the kitchen. It looks exactly as I left it. Not a single dish is out of place. Not a single cup sits in the sink. William is a neat freak, and if a dish were ever to be left behind rather than making its way directly into the dishwasher after use, it’d be mine without a doubt.
Call me crazy, but maybe I want to leave a dish in the damn sink once in a while.
And maybe I want a boyfriend who’s willing to stand with me and stand up for my family rather than spouting off about rumors and siding with people who are against us.
I feel weird about my dinner with Carson. I feel sick that I can’t get him out of my mind. It’s not just him that’s been on my mind, it’s his words, everything he said—not just his confession to me that he doesn’t want to run King, and not just the part about giving a piece of himself to me, but also the part about waking up from a long sleep, about seeing in color now because of me.
I think of the black and white painting in the front entryway of the home I share with the man I’m supposed to love.
Carson has no idea how true those words rang for me, too. Just one dinner with him doused me in color. It brought vibrant hues to a life that had been so black and white, and now that I’m seeing all these different shades, I’m not entirely sure I want the black and white life I’ve become accustomed to.
Carson isn’t the man that would side with me—in fact, the whole reason I met him in the first place is because he’s siding against me—but I don’t hold it against him, not the way I hold it against William. It seems odd that the exact same offense is acceptable from one person and not from another, but Carson is doing what’s best for his family business. He’s doing what his father asked him to do. He’s doing what he thinks is right for his thousands of employees.
William, on the other hand, is backstabbing his supposed future father-in-law. He’s claiming bullshit attorney-client privilege so he doesn’t have to give me the truth.
For the first time in the two years I’ve been with him, I wonder if I should be with him. I wonder if what he’s doing is enough to validate a breakup.
I push away those thoughts.
Never once in our relationship have I ever doubted what we have, and this has to just be because we happened to have a little argument on the same night I had dinner with a very attractive man.
A very attractive man who, I remind myself, is going to take my father out of his position as president of Baker Media and acquire the company my great-grandfather started nearly a century ago. Baker Media will cease to exist because of him, and I’m powerless to stop it.
But I’m also powerless to stop my thoughts, and today they’re centered squarely on Mr. Carson King.