Page 45 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

My mind finishes his adage automatically: “…you join the losing side.”

“I think you just have to see it, Dad. Then you’ll?—”

“Gerald Blake told me that you’ve completely blown off that private equity opportunity. And I’ve heard from countless others that you’re not showing up to meetings, rescheduling them into oblivion.”

My stomach swoops, like I’m a kid getting caught for skipping school. “My priorities have shifted, and I’m putting together a team to handle those responsibilities for me?—”

He makes a noncommittal noise, cutting me off. “Elliot, I can see that this is turning into something of a hobby for you, but framing it like a business decision? The margins are so slim, and think about all the time you’ve already poured into it. You’ve been in Dallas for months. Fitz & Eddings is way up in the market, and if we’re honest, your shares could be doing better…”

For a second, he gets me. Pulls me back into the mindset I’ve had for years, the way of thinking that got me to where I am. Ten years ago, I took my trust-fund money, my inheritance from Gramps, and ran with it, turning it into something much bigger than myself.

I focused everything on investing, turning that money into more money, and it was intoxicating. Funding startups and reaping the rewards. Staring my own companies, one after the other, and selling them off to the bigger fish once they garnered support.

But some of the shine has worn off from living that life.

Dad starts talking about interest rates and the Fed. I listen to him,hmmingin agreement, but the reality is that I haven’t been paying as much attention to it as normal. I haven’t been thinking about my portfolio, or checking in on my other investments.

I make a note to go through my emails from Skylar, to check in with her on the construction progress for the manufacturing plant, ask about the changes to the distribution system for the software company I invested in last quarter.

“Gotta go, son,” Dad says, ending the call, and I sigh into the cabin of my car, trying to let the tension out from my shoulders.

Keeping your feelings out of business separates you from the losers.

I think about Sophie, about the way things feel with her. So easy. Like time doesn’t exist when we’re together.

Maybe I’m falling right into the trap. Putting my feelings before the business.

But at what point do I make the swap? Do I dedicate my entire life to my money? Keep my foot on the throttle, only focusing on profits until the day I die?

Or do I take a chance on a woman who feels like something more?

Maybe Dad is right — that I’m viewing the Bolts as something more like a hobby than a business, but maybe it’s time I got to have a hobby. That I used all this money on something special.

Then again, the idea of wasting money feels sour, toxic.

The margins are so slim. Think about all the time you’ve poured into it.

The team can make me money, but not enough to justify the expense, the time suck. My dad is right about that, and I hate knowing he is. From the time I was old enough to start making my own business decisions, he’s had his eye on me, watching my every move.

I don’t want to end up like Brandon.

Just as I’m thinking it, another call comes through the car’s speakers. I’m only five minutes away from the practice facility, from telling Sophie exactly what I want, and my brain feels scrambled.

I answer, and the voice comes through the speaker. “Hello, is this Mr. Elliot Altman?”

“That’s me,” I say, exiting the highway and heading toward soccer complex. “What can I do for you?”

“Good morning, Mr. Altman. This is Andrea Williams, from the Schultz-Dennings Attorney’s Office. I’m calling on behalf of a client of mine. As I understand it, and just to confirm, you’re currently the owner of the Dallas Bolts?”

“Yes,” I start, brow furrowing as I try to figure out where this is going. A lawsuit? I’m pretty used to those by now, but most attorneys don’t call me straight away. Usually, lawsuits are served to the business, and I hear about it through the regular legal updating meetings.

When you own as many entities as I do, lawsuits are just part of the territory.

“Perfect. Well, I am calling you today with an offer to purchase the team.”

My mouth goes dry. The practice facility appears on the horizon, and I turn, pulling into the lot of a coffee shop, my mind racing.

This must be Clark Eddings. Realizing my team has a chance of beating his — realizing Dallas is in the playoffs. I grip the wheel, adjusting my position in my seat, thinking.