Chapter
TWO
“This is a joke, right?” Luke asked.
Warren Stone turned from the vast windows overlooking the ocean from his eighth floor corner office at Sugar Rush. The noon sunlight spilled into the room. Four of his sons stood in varying stances of surprise and frustration—Luke with his arms crossed, Carson with his hands shoved in his pockets, Evan unconsciously rubbing his chest, Spencer slouched against the desk. Tension stretched the air.
“This is not a joke,” Warren said. “You knew I would retire eventually.”
“Maybe ten or fifteen years from now,” Evan replied. “And we figured you’d give us some notice, too. Like a year or two.”
Warren frowned. “I’ve no intention of giving you a year or two to replace me. I’d be useless within a few months. A lame duck presidency isn’t the way I intend to end a thirty-year career at Sugar Rush.”
“You don’t have to end it at all,” Carson pointed out. “If you want to step down from the presidency, fine, but you can take another position. Or work as a consultant. Right?”
“No. My career at Sugar Rush is at an end.”
“Dad, you can’t just quit.” Luke paced across the room, his forehead creasing. “You have a job here.”
“I know that.” As president, Warren had overseen the day-to-day Sugar Rush operations and developed strategies to fulfill CEO Luke’s vision. He loved the work, he loved Sugar Rush, and God knew he loved his sons. He’d also spent almost his entire lifetime working for his family’s historic company. Which was exactly what had made his decision so damned hard.
“Besides, you’re way too young to retire,” Luke continued.
“Age has nothing to do with it. I’ve worked for Sugar Rush since I was twenty-five. My first job was on the lollipop production line in the factory. I made my way up like everyone else. But with you boys running operations now, I’m ready to step down. Any one of you can take over as president.”
“What if none of us want to?” Evan shook his head. “I’m not leaving the Cocoa Bean Team.”
“Then bring in someone else. It might be better if the president was someone from outside the family anyway.”
“You want us to headhunt?” Carson spread his hands out in bafflement, like he couldn’t imagine an outsider coming in to run the family company.
“If necessary. Or you’d be a great fit for president, Carson, if Evan doesn’t want to do it.”
Carson and Evan exchanged scowls.
“I’ve expanded the chocolate division and increased revenue by thirty percent,” Carson said.
Warren nodded. “Exactly. Imagine what you could do as Sugar Rush president.”
“I don’t want to imagine it. You’re the Sugar Rush president.” Carson’s scowl deepened, and for an instant he looked like the rebellious ten-year-old boy who had been caught ditching school while his identical twin took a math test in his place.
Affection eased the tightness in Warren’s chest. He hadn’t intended to upset his sons with the news, but he hadn’t expected their resistance either.
He could understand it, though. Both their family and company had withstood massive trauma and upheaval in the past thirteen years, and it had been through Luke’s leadership that Sugar Rush was not only still standing but had flourished into one of the most prestigious companies on a global scale. Warren’s retirement meant a major structural change that the whole company would have to navigate, following the lead of his sons.
“I understand your reluctance to restructure,” he said. “But if companies… and people… don’t change, they stagnate. I won’t let that happen to Sugar Rush. I sure as hell won’t let it happen to me.”
Silence fell. The boys shuffled, casting glances at each other.
“Look.” Warren gentled his voice. “I know you’ve all worried about me over the years. My lack of socializing, the time I spend making these…” He gestured to the model boats and airplanes lining the shelves of his office. He completed the models in his home office/workshop, but had brought some to display at work. “My focus on you and Sugar Rush. So this is a new start.”
“But why now?” Evan asked. “I mean, this is out of nowhere.”
No. Warren didn’t tell them he’d been wrestling with the idea of retirement for the past year. Ever since his old college buddy Theo had died after a lengthy battle with cancer. Even in the midst of chemo, Theo had been planning one last “Great Climbing Road Trip” after his treatment was completed. He’d never made it.
And now with Luke happily married, Evan’s health prognosis excellent, Tyler successful with his new business, Hailey now graduated from Stanford… Warren had seen more and more the value of letting his children find their own way. He had no intention of becoming irrelevant, but it was time for him to step away from the company that had dominated his entire life.
“Sugar Rush is yours,” he told his sons. “It’s time for me to leave it in your hands.”
Luke frowned. “What’ll you even do if you retire?”
Warren shut down his computer. Their reaction to his announcement didn’t bode well for their reaction to his post-retirement plans. “Does it matter?”
“Well, yeah,” Luke said. “You’ll be bored stiff. You know that. How many model airplanes can you make?”
Warren’s jaw tightened. He’d taken up making model boats and airplanes after Spencer had brought him a model to work on while he was at Hailey’s side in the hospital after the accident. He’d built dozens of models over the years, though his sons saw the hobby as a way for him to isolate himself from the world instead of as a creative pursuit. He didn’t like thinking they might have been right.
And he sure as hell didn’t want to spend his retirement holed up in his home office, making model airplanes.
“Why don’t you start with an extended vacation?” Carson asked. “You’re taking a ski trip to Zermatt after Christmas, right? So stay for a few weeks, travel a little, then make your decision when you come back.”
“I’ve already made it.” Warren stood, deciding now was not the best time to tell them that his ski trip was much more than that. “I’m announcing my retirement at next week’s board meeting. And to the rest of the company at the holiday party. I strongly recommend you start the search now. I’ll stay on through the holidays, but on an as-needed basis.”
His sons all exchanged glances of exasperation. Warren’s shoulders tensed. He neither wanted nor needed them to think he hadn’t thought this through. He sure as hell didn’t want them to try and talk him out of it—because they might succeed.
“That’s my final word,” he said. “I leave Sugar Rush to all of you.”
He picked up his suit jacket and briefcase, then walked out of the office. Their voices rose in heated conversation behind him. Warren ignored his instinct to return, to mediate the arguments and make things right.
He returned to the parking lot. It was time for his sons to do the work alone. And it was past time for him to get away from a damned desk and to get back into the world again.
Before it was too late.
“Dad, you gotta tell them.” Adam handed a pool cue to Warren, his forehead creasing with a frown.
Warren took the cue and positioned his shot. Smoke and the smell of beer hung over the Troll’s House bar, and Elvis blasted from the old jukebox in the corner. Clusters of blue-collar workers gathered at the bar, and others hovered around the worn pool tables.
He sank the orange ball and straightened, moving aside to let his friend Henry take his shot. A poker buddy for over twenty years, Henry’s craggy face and heavy-lidded eyes belied his sharp mind.
“You haven’t told them about retiring yet?” Henry asked.
Warren chalked his cue, ignoring the pointed look from Adam. “Yeah, I told them this afternoon. They didn’t take it well.”
“Why not?”
“Pushback about restructuring,” Warren said. “If they’re giving me shit about this, they’re not going to like the idea of a climb.”
“Isn’t that why you’re retiring?” Henry asked. “So you can do stuff you never had a chance to?”
Warren shrugged. “I also need to make sure the transition goes well. I didn’t expect Luke to resist, which means it’s not going to be as easy as I’d hoped.”
“And that’s not going to make it any easier for them to accept the idea of the climb,” Adam argued.
“Exactly,” Warren agreed. “That’s the point.”
Adam made a noise of frustration. Henry glanced at them both.
“None of them want to step in as president?”
“They don’t want to shake up the company right when it’s doing so well.”
“What about the others?” Henry asked.
“Tyler won’t care.” Warren sank the yellow ball. “I don’t think Spencer or Hailey will either, but now I don’t know.”
“They won’t care about you retiring.” Adam eyed Warren pointedly. “They will care that you want to tackle a climb of this magnitude.”
Warren set his cue aside. His son was right—sooner or later, he’d have to tell Luke and the others about his mountaineering plans. They knew he’d been stepping up his rock climbing and bouldering—and they’d seen it as evidence that their father was finally getting back into the world thirteen years after their mother’s death.
But Warren hadn’t told them he was training to climb the Matterhorn. He’d taken extra time in his business trips to Switzerland so he could perfect his climbing and routing techniques. Adam, who owned a small travel company and had done plenty of adventure expeditions himself, was the only one Warren had told. He’d also sworn Adam to secrecy, although his son wouldn’t have broken the confidence regardless.
“I mean, it’s not like you’re going off on a weekend hike in the redwoods,” Adam pointed out. “I want to go with you.”
“I won’t let you.”
“I’ll sign up anyway.” A belligerent tone edged Adam’s voice.
“If you sign up,” Warren said, “I won’t go.”
Adam scowled. “You’re a stubborn old bastard, you know that?”
“I’ve been told.”
Affection for his son rose in him. He’d always had a particular soft spot for all his children in different ways. With Adam, it was because of the boy’s love for adventure, for seeking out new frontiers and embracing risks. He’d been the ten-year-old who’d convinced his brothers to run away from home and build a camp in the coastal forest. He’d shied away from Sugar Rush in favor of hiking the Inca Trail, leading safaris, climbing volcanos.
Of all the Stone sons, Adam was the only one who wouldn’t question Warren’s need to complete his own expedition. That, combined with Adam’s own experience in rock and mountain climbing, had made it easy for Warren to tell him his plans.
But he’d told Adam from the start he couldn’t go. If Adam climbed with him, Warren would be too focused on his son and not his own climb. And this was his trek, something he had to do with the people who had been training alongside him for over a year, friends he’d known much longer than that. The comrades who’d also known Theo and who wanted to do this in his honor.
He had to climb the Matterhorn before it was too late.
“I’ll tell them when we get the green light.” He hated that he was even partly lying to his son. “MeteoSwiss issued a bulletin about possible storms on the slope, so we’re waiting to see if we can even go right after Christmas. No use worrying the others if it’s not even going to happen.”
“And Aunt Julia?” Adam raised an eyebrow.
Warren’s shoulders tensed. Of his entire family, Julia’s reaction was the one he was least able to predict—and that made no sense since he knew her better than he knew himself. She wouldn’t like the idea of him taking on the iconic mountain, but would she try to stop him? Would she understand when he explained why he had to do this? Would she even listen?
“I’ll talk to her,” he told his son evasively.
He downed the last of his scotch and lifted his glass toward Melanie, a curvy bartender about ten years younger than him. She glanced his way and proceeded to ignore him.
Not a surprise. They’d spent one night together a year ago, shortly after he’d become a Troll’s House regular. Warren liked the casual anonymity of coming here for a drink and to play some pool. It was a place where he didn’t have to be Warren Stone, Sugar Rush president, or even Dad.
Which was probably what led him to hook up with Melanie in the first place. A night of forgetting who he was to his family, the company, the town. Unfortunately, Melanie had wanted more than he was willing to give, and though he’d been both straightforward and gentle about their lack of a future together, she hadn’t taken the break-up well.
That had been a theme with most women he’d been with over the past thirteen years. Once he’d finally gotten back into the dating scene after Rebecca’s death, he’d found it populated by divorcees looking for a husband and younger women looking for a sugar daddy. He’d taken a number of them out, but the dates had been forced and tedious at best and disastrous at worst.
He’d been with genuinely nice women over the years, but a second marriage wasn’t in the cards for him, and none of the women had liked the notion that their relationship wasn’t leading in that direction.
He set his cue down and nodded toward the bar. “Either one of you want anything else?”
“No, I’m heading out.” Adam shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll see you this weekend for the tree decorating.”
After saying goodbye to his son, Warren shouldered through the crowd. He paused at a table where the four other members of the Matterhorn expedition were drinking pints. Warren had known them for years, having met them through Theo, and they had dozens of hiking excursions and poker games behind them.
“Strike out, boss?” Justin, a tall skinny guy in his mid-forties, grinned and tilted his head toward Melanie. “I always ask a girl to play pool. Works every time.”
“Why’s that?”
“You can ask her to put her hands in your pockets and tickle your balls.”
The others laughed and raised their pints. Warren shook his head, though he liked their ribald banter. Reminded him of his college days—not that he’d tell them that. After him, Justin was the second oldest in the group, with Rick, Peter, and Dave all being ten to fifteen years younger.
But the age differences hadn’t affected their tight-knit group, especially during Theo’s illness and death. Two months after Theo died, and while Warren was still both grieving his death and reliving the loss of his wife, he’d had the idea to tackle the Matterhorn in his late friend’s honor.
He’d brought it up to their climbing and poker buddies, all of whom had agreed without hesitation. Warren had approached the venture like he did business—with methodical planning and research. He’d picked the date because it was the one-year anniversary of Theo’s death and also because it coincided with the start of his retirement.
Not that he hadn’t doubted the idea over the past year. He had no trouble matching the younger men in bouldering and fitness tests, but the Matterhorn was a relentless, difficult climb requiring superhuman effort. In winter, it would be even worse—a fact he was reminded of every time he considered the fact that he was the oldest member of their group.
He made his way to the bar and told the bartender to put the other men’s round on his tab. “I’ll have another scotch too.”
He settled the tab and picked up his drink. As he turned, a pair of shapely bare legs blocked his exit. He skimmed his gaze down to black heels and red-painted toenails, then back up over a flowered mini-skirt and low-cut T-shirt displaying abundant cleavage.
Well.
“Hi.” She smiled and extended a hand. “I’m Laura.”
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, if that, with long dark hair and pretty features layered with makeup.
“Warren.” He took her hand, glancing at the drink in front of her. Cosmopolitan. Figured.
“You come here often?” She eyed his chest and shoulders beneath his tailored shirt.
“On occasion.”
“Me too.” She took hold of his silk tie patterned with jellybeans and rubbed it between her fingers. “You like sweet stuff, huh?”
“I’ve been known to indulge.”
“Me too, especially with a girly drink.” She tilted her head toward her cosmopolitan and twirled a lock of hair around her forefinger. “Usually after work or classes.”
Classes. Christ, she was young.
“Where are you a student?” he asked.
“Over at Fordham’s Beauty College. I’m learning how to do hair. I work as an assistant at a salon.”
“Good for you.” Although she was a tempting little thing, Warren’s mind shifted to the logistics of that scenario. “Working in the same profession you’re studying is a great way to put what you’re learning into practice.”
She grinned. “You’re adorable. What do you do?”
“I work in the corporate environment.”
“Of course.” She leaned closer, nudging her breasts against his arm. “Hey, if you’re getting bored here, I know of another great little pub we can go to. You up for some company?”
He’d have to be a eunuch not to be tempted. And he’d be an asshole if he took her up on her offer. He knew what would happen—they’d get more drinks, go back to her place for the night, and then he’d feel the urge to give her some cash to help her pay for school—which would give the whole night a sleazy vibe. Then she’d want to see him again, and he’d put her off, and she’d take it badly.
Not to mention, she wasn’t much older than his daughter. He’d go ballistic if he thought some dickwad his age would ever hit on Hailey.
“Sorry, honey.” He put a few more bills on the bar to pay for her drink. “I’m going home alone tonight.”
Laura pursed her lips into a pout. “Seriously? I’m a sure thing.”
“Don’t be a sure thing for any man.” He slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “Be the only thing for one man.”
She blinked, faint consternation rising to her eyes. Warren turned away from her and headed back to the pool table. After saying goodbye to Henry and the others, he pulled his keys from his pocket and walked out to his car.
Not the first time he’d been hit on by a girl half his age, but it was a scenario he found increasingly depressing. Just like the rest of the dating scene.
As he drove home, he couldn’t help but wonder if his dating issues hadn’t been his fault. No, the women hadn’t been the most interesting company, but maybe he wasn’t either.
He’d married Rebecca when she’d gotten pregnant at twenty, though they’d been dating for a year. He’d had girlfriends before her, but he’d never played the field like most men did in their twenties. He’d had seven children before he’d turned thirty-two.
And while Warren didn’t regret anything about his marriage or children—just the opposite, as nothing could have made him happier—he’d been responsible and an adult early on. Focused on his children and work. Set in his ways. Hardly a wonder that he wouldn’t be a good companion to another woman, especially after Rebecca.
He drove past the gates of his estate, glad to see Julia’s BMW parked near the porch. He’d been more thrown off than he’d liked when she hadn’t responded to his call and texts yesterday. Her vague excuses hadn’t worked for him either. Something was going on, and maybe now was the time for him to find out what.
He opened the door, glancing over the decorations she’d started to put up. Julia had been the one to give Christmas back to his children after their mother died. Hailey had only been eleven at the time, and the boys were all in their teens and early twenties. None of them had known what to do about the holidays until Julia stepped in and reminded them that Rebecca would still want them to celebrate.
So they had. First with quiet festivities at home, then later with charity events for both the Rebecca Stone Foundation and Sugar Rush. Over the years, everyone tried to ensure they were home for the holidays, but invariably someone would be missing. Luke was off on Sugar Rush business, Adam was guiding a tour group through Kenya, Tyler was with a girlfriend.
This year, for the first time in a while, they would all be home for the holidays. While that was a welcome event, it also meant that Julia was working overtime to create the perfect Christmas for them all. She’d succeed, but at the expense of her own well-being.
Unless Warren exerted control over her.
He tossed his keys onto the entry table and walked into the great room, expecting to see her fussing with the placement of candles on the mantel. But there were only a few cardboard boxes alongside the wall.
“Jules?” He went into the kitchen. “Julia?”
No answer.
Cold air came through the half-open doors of the breakfast room, which led out to a stone terrace overlooking the valley. Warren pushed open the door and stepped outside. Julia sat at the mosaic patio table, which held a bottle of wine, a half-empty glass, and a creased piece of paper. Her smooth blonde hair concealed her profile, and her usually straight shoulders were slumped.
Warren crossed the terrace in three strides. “Julia, are you all right?”
She startled, turning toward him. Concern flooded his chest when the porch lights glinted off the tear stains on her cheeks.
“Did you take your medicine?” He went behind her chair to rest his hands on the sides of her head, his fingers finding her smooth temples. “How bad is it?”
“It’s not that.” She waved his hands away irritably. “I’m fine.”
Warren moved around the chair to look at her tight expression and reddened eyes. He pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, letting his fingers rest against her skin.
“You’re not fine,” he said. “Tell me.”
Julia wiped her eyes with a napkin and gave a hiccupping laugh. “I’m being unusually sensitive. Either that or I’m having an existential crisis.”
She reached for the wine bottle and poured some into the glass. “At least there’s this, thanks to your exceptional wine collection.”
Warren pulled a chair up beside hers. “What’s going on? Is it work related?”
“Sort of.” She gazed at the dark valley. “The Holiday Festival committee is driving me crazy, wanting things that aren’t in the budget. And a partnership that I’ve been working on for a year crashed and burned yesterday. We were less than a week away from closing the deal.”
“What was the deal?”
She let out her breath in a long sigh. “I’d approached Vincent Peck, the president of Evermore Associates, to invest in a new clothing line. I’ve been wanting to get back to design, and as much as I love my clients and styling for photo shoots, I’ve… rather surprisingly… enjoyed working with girls like Polly and Kate. They’re so unaffected and natural. I’d thought I would be transforming them, but it turned out to be more like bringing to the surface what they already had. Like they were little butterflies. Don’t tell them I said that.
“Anyway, they inspired me to create a clothing line for young working women. Vincent was really into the idea and prepared to invest, but… well, things went downhill.”
Warren frowned. “Why?”
“A disagreement over the designs.” She shook her head, her lips compressing. “He said they were dated and old. That clearly I was no longer in touch with what younger women wanted.”
Anger boiled in Warren’s blood at the idea of anyone, much less a douchebag investor, belittling Julia’s creativity because of her age. And because she was a woman. A man would never be subjected to the same kind of criticism.
“You know that’s not true,” he said. “Peck was making an excuse. More likely it was a budget thing.”
“Yeah, but with my fiftieth right around the corner, it stung more than I want to admit.” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I shouldn’t be so upset, really. Deals fail all the time. He called me yesterday and said it wasn’t the ‘right project for them at this time.’ So, you know. Fuck him.”
Warren smiled. He’d always liked the tough-girl steel beneath her polished beauty.
“Sounds like he’s not the right investor for you at any time,” he said.
“I know. But it still sucks. I’d been working on it so hard. And I was so close.”
“I’ll invest in you.”
“No.” Julia wiped her eyes again. “I never want to mix Sugar Rush business with my company. It just doesn’t feel right.”
He smothered a rush of frustration. It wasn’t the first time she’d rejected his offer. He’d offered to help her multiple times over the years, dating back to when she’d first started her stylist business shortly after returning to Indigo Bay. She’d turned him down every time. And while he admired her need for independence, she and her company were both highly successful. She’d done it all on her own. She had nothing left to prove—either to him or herself. Now her rejection made little sense. Why wouldn’t she want them to be partners in business when they were partners in so many other ways?
Especially after a failed deal had left her in tears.
He studied her darkened expression, his insides clenching. She’d had plenty of setbacks in her company, just like he had. None of them before had made her cry.
He picked up the wine and refilled her glass. His gaze fell on the crumpled paper. “What’s that?”
“Oh, lord.” Julia rolled her eyes with disdain. “I found it in an old box behind the Christmas decorations. I’d forgotten about it.”
Warren picked up the paper. Things To Do Before I Turn Fifty.
“When did you write this?”
“When I was nineteen. Back when fifty felt like a thousand years into the future.”
He scanned the list, which was numbered from one to fifty items.
Finish a 1000 piece puzzle.
Dye my hair blue.
Own a piece of La Perla lingerie.
Set a red balloon free.
Make mulled wine.
A strange feeling tightened his chest. He set the list down.
“Mulled wine?”
“Some sort of medieval Christmas tradition. I have no idea why I wanted to learn to make it, but there you go. The ambitions of a nineteen-year-old.”
“You’ve done some of these.” He tapped his finger on the page. “You must have dyed your hair blue at some point. And there’s no way you don’t own dozens of pieces of La Perla.”
“Well, most of that list contains the musings of a girl who clearly had no direction in life.” She shook her head, her lips compressing. “Bake a perfect carrot cake. Solve a Rubik’s Cube. Make vodka gummy bears. I don’t even know what those are. Buy Wonder Woman underwear. Clearly I wrote that list when I was high.”
“Or when you were a nineteen-year-old who believed that life should be fun and spontaneous.”
“Whatever.” She pulled in a breath, composure snapping into place around her. “That list just proves how utterly flakey I was. I couldn’t even get most of the things done in thirty years.”
“It’s not like this was meant to be a road map for your life,” Warren said. “The nineteen-year-old you probably never imagined you’d be as successful and accomplished as you are today.”
She acknowledged that with a slight nod. He scanned the second page of the list, his gaze landing on #26, which had a blue checkmark. Love the right man.
His jaw tightened. “What does the checkmark mean?”
She looked to where he was pointing and read the item. Regret shone in her eyes. She bit her lip.
“That means it was completed. I wrote the list when I was with Sam. Obviously that one was a mistake.”
Old anger cut through him. He took a breath, unsurprised that his dislike of the other man still boiled like acrid smoke. He hadn’t liked Sam Craven the first time they met, and his animosity had grown after he’d dumped Julia in an act of pure cowardice.
She set her wineglass on the table. Goosebumps prickled the bare skin of her arms. Warren shed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves, her gaze still on the valley.
“Even though it’s just a silly list, it should have been easy,” she said, almost to herself. “Thirty years to accomplish fifty things. It does make me wonder…”
Her voice trailed off. Warren’s shoulders tensed even before he asked, “Wonder what?”
“What else I missed out on.”
Missed out.
An image of Theo appeared in Warren’s mind. His chest knotted. The Matterhorn was the soaring, rough-hewn manifestation of his own urge to not miss out. To face challenges now. To push himself as far as he could.
Julia would understand that. Wouldn’t she? He was struck with a sudden urge to tell her about the climb. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to explain why he had to do it.
“Now I’ll stop being so maudlin,” she rose to her feet, tossing him a wry half-grin, “and get my shit together. I’ll do a little more decorating, then head home. Thanks for the wine.”
“There’s more.”
“Oh, I know.”
She went back inside, stripping off his jacket. He watched her go, his mind shifting from the mountain back to the thought of wispy little pieces of La Perla lingerie. On Julia. His eyes tracked over the curves of her waist and hips clad in a tight red T-shirt.
He picked up her wineglass and took a swallow. The rim of the glass was still warm from her lips. 2000 Hermitage Syrah. She knew how to choose good wine. She knew how to choose good everything—clothes, investments, fundraising sources, furnishings.
He studied the Before Fifty list, the big, looping letters and swirls that were so different from Julia’s neat, precise penmanship of today. He rarely let himself remember the gypsy girl she’d once been, the wild child who had been the exact opposite of her perfect older sister.
Because if he went down that path…
Warren folded the list in half, tucking it into his pocket before bringing the wine bottle and glass back inside.