CHAPTER ONE
Drew
The clink of glass on glass broke into my daydream. I looked up and found myself looking into the cool gray gaze of Uncle Rowell.
“I said, you're going to be handling the marketing side of the venture, right?”
I sighed. “Yes, uncle. That's right.”
He nodded, looking satisfied. “Good.”
I took my gaze away from his stern, firm features and around the rest of the dinner-table. Opposite me was Reese Berkshire, our newest partner, and then Blake Dennis. On my far right was Brent Bronson, a man I was trying my best to avoid. At least Uncle had the presence of mind not to seat us close by.
Beside me, he coughed. “Drew?”
“Mm?” I looked up mildly from my starter of Caesar salad and frowned.
“I hope you're going to North Carolina next week?”
“Of course, Uncle,” I agreed, taking a sip of water to calm my nerves, which were restless. “I said I would.”
He gave me a look. “Like you said lots of things.”
I felt my hand clench into a fist under the table. Did he have to raise that here? Now? I was doing my level best to forget about it, especially with the aggrieved party sitting on my right, about three feet off. Did he have to?
“I know, Uncle,” I sighed. “But you know how it is...” I trailed off as those stony gray eyes raked across my face, hard and pitiless.
“I know precisely how it is,” he said coldly. “Which is precisely what worries me.”
I sighed again. Why Uncle Rowell – owner of Bradford and Associates, one of the largest transport companies in this region of the country – had to put this kind of pressure on me, I did not know.
If winning Brent Bronson over is so important, why don't you do it?
I was irritated and I felt restless. Which was unfortunate, because we were here at the top of The Imperial hotel, having what should have been a wonderful afternoon. The day was cloudy – it was March, after all – but the weather was warm and the meal was exquisite, like the decor, the wait-staff discreet and helpful.
“I am sure you can trust me to launch an advertising campaign, uncle,” I said thinly. “After all, I've been acting CEO for the last six years.”
He raised a brow. “I know,” he said.
I looked at my hands, trying not to lace the fingers together – a habit when I was worried – and breathed steadily.
“I am certain you are aware that, during that time, we've had steady growth,” I said under my breath. Across the table, Blake and Reese were chatting about their plans for the summer – something involving yachting or traveling to the Bahamas. I was barely listening. Brent was looking at his place-mat thoughtfully, a frown on his brow.
“I am aware, nephew,” he said thinly. I closed my eyes. He only called me “nephew” when he was really in one of his autocrat moods. I sometimes thought had delusions of grandeur. Not that I could blame him – he did own a billion-dollar company and he'd built it up from a modest trucking venture when he was about my own age.
“Drew,” Reese said, interrupting my train of thought and breaking the roiling tension between me and Uncle.
“Yes, sir?”
Reese chuckled. “Use my name, son – it's easier. We've known each other ages.”
“Yes, Reese,” I said, taking another bite of my salad as he cleared his throat to continue.
“We were saying...maybe you know about a good investment prospect in Florida? There are great property predictions for the state for this year.”
I scratched my head. “Tampa?” I said. “I've heard great things about it as a place for property investors.”
“Ah,” Brent nodded, evidently listening in on the conversation. It was the first thing he'd said in a while, which was surely a good sign. “I heard that.”
“Wise suggestion,” Reese nodded. “Thanks.”
I looked at my hands. “It's nothing,” I murmured. I was secretly relieved I'd thought to read CNBC's recommendations on my way here. I knew very little about such things but it was always worth keeping up-to-date when talking to men like my uncle's business partners. I sometimes wondered if they were interested in anything besides share-prices.
I risked a glance at my uncle, and noticed he'd relaxed fractionally. I breathed out. Whew.
A waiter hovered and my uncle called him over.
“Ready to order?” he asked the others. We all nodded. “Good. I'll have the lemon-kale baked tuna.”
We all placed our orders and lunch progressed with markedly more enthusiasm than before.
“If I were you, Reese, I'd put my money in Commodities this year. The market's gonna grow...”
“No – I disagree, Brent...property's sound. Always has been.”
“Have any of you considered harnessing the new trade agreements?”
I drank my San Pellegrino – keeping a level head was my main aim this afternoon – and let the talk flow round me. I'd been hearing this kind of thing since I was a kid – it was the stuff of all family conversation – and I had to admit I was sick of it.
Give me a good honest chat about the weather. Or the meal. Or something that isn't stocks and shares and salaries.
I sighed and sampled some of my dinner, looking out of the big glass windows at the cityscape beyond.
I loved my life – I was privileged and I knew and appreciated it fully – but sometimes I felt a bit unreal.
I wish I could just connect to myself. I wish I could live life, with mud under my feet and a grin on my face, without having to worry if I'm going to make a good impression at the next meeting. I had allowed myself brief samples of that kind of life, but this one had a claim on me and it wouldn't let me go easily.
We talked about the stock-market and ordered dessert and then, almost before I'd noticed two hours had passed, lunch was finishing.
“Thanks, Drew,” Reese said, as we stood and said our farewells. He took my hand in his own warm one, a soft grin on his lined, gentle face. “I'll be considering putting my money in Tampa property...”
I smiled at him. “That's great. Glad I could help.”
“Always, Drew. Always good to have a fresh viewpoint...young investors have a totally different way of thinking about the market, you know.”
“Thanks,” I said.
When the other three men had gone, I joined Uncle and we headed downstairs in the glass-sided lift together. I watched the sunset on the way down, feeling wistful and more than a little trapped. It's like I'm in this glass box, watching the sunset, every day.
“That was successful,” My uncle said, breaking my reverie. “Well done, nephew.”
I nodded stiffly. “Well, it seems like they're all on board with Safetrans.”
“Yes. You're ready for the launch?”
“Yes, uncle.” I sighed. I had told him that at least five times this evening. He did insist on treating me like an incompetent. I wished he wouldn't – it made me doubt myself.
“Good. I trust you'll do it well.”
I felt my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. That was new, coming from him.
“Thanks,” I said sincerely.
The lift opened, leaving us in the downstairs car-park. I followed uncle to his BMW and slid into the passenger seat.
“Well,” Uncle said as we started off. “I've got hopes for this venture. Don't let me down.”
“No,” I promised miserably. “I wouldn't.”
He gave stiff nod and I closed my eyes. Would he insist on reminding me of my one failure?
When he left me at my apartment building I climbed the steps with tired legs. I reached the top and buzzed myself into my apartment, sinking down into the elegant designer leather seat and closing my eyes.
“Does he never get off my case?”
The thing that Uncle wouldn't let me forget was Carrie. Beautiful, appropriate and totally-unsuited, Carrie Bronson was the girl Uncle wanted me to marry.
We'd started dating six years ago and I'd done my best – really I had. When we finally split, about two months ago, I reckoned it was the best thing we'd yet done.
She's a great girl but we just aren't suited to each other.
I liked her and I wished her well. I think she felt the same for me. But that wasn't enough for them.
Them was my uncle and her father.
I don't know why they wanted to consolidate their empire by marrying us to each other. It all seemed positively old-fashioned and unfair. Not to mention wrong. We were adults – I was thirty-five and Carrie thirty-two – we could make our own choices.
“If they let us.”
I sighed and stretched and went through to the kitchen to make coffee. I had the speech to prepare for North Carolina before I left tomorrow.
Standing in my kitchen with the scent of coffee in my nose, I looked out over the cityscape and wondered what I would do in North Carolina. I was nervous of going there, because I had one important reason for knowing anything about the state. I had loved someone who lived there and, if I was honest with myself, it was memory of her that made me discontent with my life.
The past is the past. Nothing I can do now can change it.