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But she’s wrong.
This is far from over.
And I will make this up to her.
…
Sleep eludes me again for most of the night, and my cold shower this morning is like icicles piercing my flesh. Still, I’m up by six a.m. Only 1,440 minutes in each day, and I’ve learned never to waste one.
After dressing and grabbing a quick cup of coffee and the breakfast sandwich Marilyn prepared for me, I head to the office, where a new set of emergencies greets me. After I gather the resources to put out the necessary fires, it’s nearly lunchtime—my usual time to hit the gym and then grab a healthy meal.
Not today, though. Today I have lunch with my brother and father at the Oyster House. It’s a monthly date that I never break. I definitely won’t break it today, as I’m famished. Sure, I ate a small breakfast sandwich this morning, but I went without dinner last night because I couldn’t wait to get Skye in bed.
Ben peeks into my office. “You ready?”
I nod and gulp down the last sip of lukewarm coffee in my mug. “Yeah. Where’s Dad?”
“He’s ditching us today. Wants to take the new legal intern out to lunch for some kind of orientation.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “We have a new legal intern?”
“Apparently. Kathy something.”
Interesting. I don’t recall an intern at the meeting where Legal handed me my ass on a silver platter. Whatever. My legal team is the best, so if they need an intern, I’m good with it.
I rise. “Let’s go. I’m starved.”
…
My brother is younger than I am, much more talkative and charismatic, and a bit of a loose cannon. Still, he’s smart as a whip and works nearly as hard as I do. His contribution to the company is unequaled, and I depend on him as my right-hand man. He may not have invented the product that put us on the map, but his skills at promotion and marketing led to our success just as much.
“The good Misters Black.” The maître d’ smiles. “Your regular table?”
“Is there any room at the bar today?” I ask.
“For you two? Of course.”
Union Oyster House is the oldest restaurant in Boston and even claims to be the oldest restaurant in continuous service in the United States. Daniel Webster and JFK were big fans. The place epitomizes the American dream, and I love everything about it—especially the oyster bar. Nothing like watching a fresh oyster get shucked, dabbing it with cocktail sauce, and sliding it onto your tongue. One time, right after Ben and I started Black, Inc., one of our favorite shuckers, Mickey, invited us behind the bar and taught us how to shuck. It’s a lot harder than they make it look. Mickey retired a few years ago, and today, as I take my place at the bar, I don’t recognize any of the shuckers.
The din of conversation is white noise around us. This isn’t the best place to conduct business—it’s too noisy—but that’s not what these monthly lunches are for. They’re for family, to remember what’s important. I often need that reminder as I get so engrossed in my work, I neglect my brother and father.
Ben and I have a good relationship. Brother squabbles sometimes, sure, but we’re pretty close. My father and I? That’s another story. Sober for over two decades, Robert Black is smart but trying in some ways. Due to things I don’t allow myself to think about, he and I have a love-hate relationship. But he’s my father, so I let him into my business, and he does an excellent job with the board of directors, of which he’s chairman. He’s a natural leader in many ways—he owned a small construction company before Black, Inc. made it big—and I learned much of what I know about running a business from him.
In truth, I’m glad he bailed today. This way, I can talk to my brother about the woman he’s currently dating. Not my business, of course, but Ben seems to attract gold diggers. Not that I don’t. I’m just good at ferreting them out before things go too far.
Of course, I never let things go too far anyway.
I open my mouth to start the uncomfortable conversation when—
“I hear you’re seeing Addison Ames’s assistant.”
I keep my mouth from dropping open. Barely.
Addison Ames isn’t someone I speak of. Ever. Just responding to her Instagram post the other day went way over the line as far as I’m concerned, but I couldn’t help myself. Her hypocrisy gets to me sometimes.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Her sister.”
