Sully

Detroit was half a disaster until I threatened to pull out of the city entirely. Without a flagship luxury hotel of our caliber, Detroit would suffer. They’re already on the brink of lapsing back into utter poverty again. They can’t afford to lose any name brands.

But it’s good to see Chicago again. Now that I’ve got a win under my belt from the casino guys, I can talk to Royce about expanding our gaming here and abroad. Hotels have been very good to us, and casinos are a natural extension.

That’s my opinion, but Royce has always thought differently. He feels it’s vulgar entertainment. The hotel business itself, on the other hand, is elegant and refined. But once you put that hotel on top of a twenty-five-thousand-square-foot gaming floor filled with slot machines and carnival lights, it’s a little less dignified.

I see his point, but I have my eye on that next billion dollars. I’m always looking for that.

The driver navigates the Hummer through lunchtime traffic congestion, expertly maneuvering among the throngs of pedestrians and taxi drivers. Now that Uber and Lyft have also taken a hold of Chicago livery services, there are a bunch of novice drivers trying to get to the Magnificent Mile.

It’s really pretty dangerous. Driving down here is not for newbies. The streets are congested to begin with, and then there are literally thousands of pedestrians milling around in the crosswalks at the same time. It’s a wonder anybody survives the day.

But after some careful navigation, we’re back at home base. The center of our operations: the Worth Hotel on Michigan Avenue. Right in the heart of the city, right where everyone wants to be.

I don’t usually walk through the foyer, but I know the driver intends to get the Hummer serviced so he drops me off in front of the doorman.

“Good morning, Mr. Worth,” he says, tipping his old-fashioned hat.

“Good morning, Fernando,” I smile.

I know Royce has a point. That kind of thing—the doorman—there’s not a lot left of that sort of thing in the world, is there? It’s a really simple kind of business. We provide a hospitality for travelers. A place to stay, a comfortable bath to relax in, a restaurant, and outstanding customer service. That’s all. We do it better than almost anyone else, but it’s really just like staying at your grandmother’s house, all at four hundred dollars a night.

Do we need to add more? No. By all accounts, being the most recognized name in luxury hotels in the world is a hell of an accomplishment. But what’s our endgame? Is this hotel going to go the same way as Uber and Lyft? Will our prices continue to be eroded by Priceline.com and others? Or perhaps taken over by Airbnb?

Just like any business, we have to ask: will progress make us irrelevant?

It goes without saying, we would not know how to live if we weren’t stupidly wealthy. This is a lifestyle we definitely need to maintain. Being flexible and innovative will keep us in the game.

I should remember that Uber metaphor. I wonder if that argument would convince Royce to reconsider casino operations in any way.

As I cross the foyer, I notice Brock and Royce in the bar. Royce raises a hand over his head and gestures to me to come over.

“It’s a little early for drinking, isn’t it, guys?” I ask as I approach, irritated to be pushed off course like this.

“Just coffee, boss,” Brock replies. “You want some?”

“Yeah… actually, that would be terrific,” I admit.

Royce gestures to the bartender and then points to a table for us to occupy. There are only a few people across the lobby, staring at their cell phones, shifting from foot to foot as they wait for someone.

The bar is deserted, but it’s not partitioned off. It’s merely an elevated platform to one side of the lobby, separate from the more formal bar in the restaurant and jazz club on the other side of the building. But we do spend a considerable amount of time here, observing our staff and their interactions with guests. Sometimes we greet dignitaries and celebrities here. We can watch everything from this vantage.

“What’s all this about?” I ask as the cappuccino is set in front of me. The smell is already wafting through my sinuses, reminding me how good our coffee is.

“How was Detroit?” Royce asks.

“Detroit was... fine. Ultimately fine,” I answer. “We got everything sorted out with no cost overruns.”

Royce raises his eyebrows, obviously pleased. He and I look a lot alike, favoring our father most of all. Spencer does too. We all have the same dark, wavy hair. Square jaws. Thick eyebrows. Until stubble came back in style, we all had to shave twice a day.

Not like Brock and Trey; they look like our mother. When we were younger, Mom called them her “golden boys.” They had the light hair, the light eyes. Not quite as broad, though still athletic and quick. They ran track, while Royce and I stuck to wrestling. They’re a few inches shorter than the rest of us, but still close to six feet.

Golden boys. Nobody’s used that nickname since she passed away. It went right to their heads.

“So that’s good?” Royce continues.

I take a drink of the cappuccino. I can feel it warming me all the way down to my stomach.

“Yes. It was good,” I repeat. “The casino guys would like to talk to us more. We can worry about that some other time.”

Royce and Brock look at each other.

“Okay… what is going on here? You guys didn’t invite me to drink coffee with you, did you?”

“It’s… Bunny,” Brock finally says, glancing at me and then away. “Do you think you could get around to interviewing her today?”

“The nanny? From August’s recommendation?”

“Nanny. Yes,” Royce repeats.

“And also… you know. More than that,” Brock adds.

They glance at each other again.

“Yes… I had some time to think about that too,” I confess. “Can we talk about this later? After I have had a chance to decompress a little bit?”

Brock leans forward. He places one hand, palm down on the table.

“What do you mean? You thought about it? And... what?”

“Jeez, you guys,” I sigh irritably. They’re really on my nerves this morning. I’m not a morning guy. “Give me an hour, would you? Let’s have lunch or something.”

Royce reaches a hand out and chucks Brock gently on the shoulder. Then he turns back to me with a completely reasonable expression on his face.

“It’s just that… well, she’s done very well. We all really like her, though Spencer hasn’t had a chance to talk to her yet. We’re leaning toward a yes. Just hoping you can expedite that for us.”

I can tell that Royce thinks using a business tone with me is going to sway me. Well, it’s not. It’s just making me more suspicious.

“And how is she with Sophia?”

Royce’s eyebrows go up. His face freezes.

Brock leans back in his chair so he can look at the reception desk for some reason.

“Uh-huh. I see,” I enunciate slowly. “So, what you’re telling me is that you guys are hot for her? And you didn’t even bother to check if her job—her main job—is something she’s able and qualified to do?”

“Well, you know… I mean, with the rules and all… I mean, we’re distracted,” Brock explains. “She’s hot. Super hot. And it’s been a really long time.”

I point at Royce. “You see what your rules have done? You see how ridiculous and irrational this is? You guys are so horny you didn’t even bother to check and see if the nanny could, you know, actually nanny?”

“We’re getting to that,” Royce grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Maybe you shouldn’t bother,” I remark. “Maybe the whole idea of nanny and shared girlfriend is never going to work out. Maybe we should separate those into different responsibilities. Can you think about that? We could each even find our own—”

Bang!

Royce’s hand lands like a foul expletive in the middle of the table. My cappuccino sloshes over the side.

“Absolutely not,” he growls between his clenched teeth. “We created this in order to protect Sophia. We all sacrifice a little bit… for her. That’s what good fathers are going to do. That is not up for discussion!”

“But we’ve been through this before, Royce,” I persist, lowering my voice and hoping that will calm him somewhat. “I mean, we asked Nina every question under the sun. We thought it would be fine. And then look what happened. At least if we found our own women, everybody’s heart wouldn’t all be broken at the same time.”

“I don’t think she’s like that,” Brock replies, shaking his head. The sincerity in his green eyes is appalling. Like, I feel bad for this guy.

“Jesus, what did she do to you guys?” I breathe. “Is she some kind of witch or something? I mean, she’s cute and all, but…”

“Just interview her,” Royce insists. He shakes his head as though sad or something. “You’ll see. Just talk to her for a little while. She’s not like anybody else. You’ll see.”

Look at these two. Can they really be totally gaga over this woman in just a day? Have they forgotten everything? How Nina threatened to take Sophia away from us? How she lawyered up without even talking to us, suggesting she was willing to do anything to get away?

Losing her was the single most painful thing that ever happened in my life, and I’m not even the most emotional brother. Royce took it hard. Spencer was sad but he understood it was final. But Trey and Brock were absolutely crushed. Crushed like teenagers. I can’t believe they want to risk it all again.

“Just talk to her, Sully,” Brock says in a low voice. “I’ll get her in with Sophia today. In fact, I’ll put it on a videoconference if you wanna pop in and take a look or something, okay?”

“That’s a good idea,” Royce agrees. “I guess you’re right, Sully, we got a little carried away. We should have had her and Sophia at least getting acquainted. But if we get that squared up, can you give her a chance?”

I stare into the silky brown surface of my cappuccino. Can I? Do I have more chances to give?

Is the alternative even worse? I mean, the whole reason that we put this all together was because we believed the alternative was worse. We believed that there was the distinct possibility that we could have ten to fifteen ex-wives among us by the time we were done. We could wipe out this entire fortune in one generation, just by thinking with our dicks. Other dynasties have done the same or worse.

And we had to really do some convincing. Everybody knew that sharing one woman was going to mean less individual attention. Unless she had eight arms and three pussies, that is, and we certainly haven’t found that.

But I can remember Bunny’s face, her keen expression and curious demeanor. She seems like the kind of woman who can take a challenge. Like she even seeks them out. And definitely not shy or virginal—that would never do. If August suggested her, he knows things about her that make her appropriate for this role. He even told me once that if he had had a chance to vet Nina, he could’ve saved us a lot of heartache, and about two million dollars.

And those eyes. There’s something about those big brown eyes.

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt… to just talk to her some more,” I finally mutter. “After you have introduced her to Sophia. After you’re certain that she is acceptable for our daughter.”

“All right!” Brock hoots. I see a couple of business people glance over at us curiously.

“Totally fair,” Royce smiles. “And thanks. I really appreciate it. We can talk more about the casino stuff later, right?”

“Don’t blow smoke up my ass, Royce,” I snarl, getting up from the table. “You’re pushing your luck.”