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Is it fucked up beyond measure that I’m standing fifteen feet away from Brontë’s father, imagining doing all sorts of debase things to her? Yeah, I’d say that’s about as fucked as you can get, but maybe that’s part of the allure.
The forbidden fruit.
“Heard anything from Brontë about the job?” I ask as I take my position at the tee.
“No, haven’t spoken to her since the graduation party. I can give her a call if you want?” He holds his cell phone up, but I shake my head no.
“That’s okay. I don’t want her feeling pressured. I told her to let me know by Friday. I’m sure she will.”
“She’s a very bright woman, just like her mother. I just worry she’ll end up wasting her aptitude for finance and problem solving on some silly do-good endeavor in nonprofit. Now I know,” he says, lifting his gloved hands, “others need help and don’t have the opportunity like I had but still, she’s got something and it would be a shame to toss that aside. Even her professors have said as much, that she’s gifted.”
I smile, not surprised at all that she’s whip-smart. I could tell just from our short interaction she’s the kind of woman who has it all.
I’m trying to play it cool but I’m hoping she takes the job. I don’t know why because I know that no matter how much I want to, no matter how much she wants me to… I can’t touch her.
I won’t touch her.
I tee off, the ball sailing down the fairway.
“Not a bad shot but still won’t be enough to beat me. Get that checkbook ready.” He laughs as we climb inside the golf cart.
We’ve had a long-standing bet between us when we play golf. Loser has to donate winner’s chosen amount to winner’s chosen charity.
“We’ll see about that.”
“Wouldn’t bet money on a shot like that.”
I turn when I hear the grating voice of Mitchell Reardon, a joke of a man, pulling up beside me in his golf cart. I look to his left and see my ex, socialite Venus Davenport’s father Miles sitting shotgun.
Venus Davenport’s father, Miles, sitting shotgun.
“I see Miles has you being his little bi—I mean caddy today, Mitchell. I’m sure he’ll tip you well.” I give him a hearty grin and his freckled face flushes.
“Beckham, Jonas,” Miles says dismissively as if we’re bothering him.
We both tip our heads toward him and Mitchell drives off, flipping me the bird behind Miles’ back.
“What an arrogant little shit,” Jonas says. “What’s his deal? Why does he hate you?”
“He’s always had something against me. I think it has something to do with my dating Venus, but I don’t know for sure.”
I know for a fact it’s because of my relationship with Venus. Mitchell’s always had it bad for her and she’s always said he wasn’t her type but toward the end of our relationship, there were a few clues that she might have stepped out on me with him. Nothing I could prove or even cared to prove since I moved on.
“So any more thoughts about Pierce Investments? With almost twenty nationwide locations, it’s only upside for Archer if you guys acquire them from Ramsay Consulting.”
“I think you’re right. I’m actually going to be meeting with them in the next few weeks. They want to come to Chicago and see how we do things here. If they end up not wanting to go through with the acquisition, will you keep them?”
Jonas shakes his head as he reaches for his beer. “They’ve been on the chopping block for a while with us. I think there’s a lot of potential with them, could easily triple their locations nationwide, but in the last few years I’ve backed away from investment firms. I think it would be right up your alley to acquire them and rebrand them as Archer. Already have the overhead and infrastructure in place.”
He’s right. I’ve been looking to do a major expansion with Archer Financial and acquiring an already established company is the best way to do it.
“Bottom line,” he says, “they want to expand their portfolio and footprint but they need the capital from somewhere and they know they’re not going to get it from me.”
We finish our game and I head back home to try and relax and push the ever-present thoughts of my best friend’s daughter from my mind.
I’m just stepping out of the shower when my phone chirps at me from the counter. I look down to see a text from a number that’s not in my phone. It just reads: I’ll take the job.
I smile and add Brontë’s name to my contacts.
