Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The first time I met her, I’d tossed it into the air as she’d held her breath. I’d caught it with ease and flashed her a mischievous smile. Those were happier days—before my life changed forever.
“Well, you’re the only one scheduled for the meeting,” Vanessa muttered, shaking her head.
“Interesting. This is personal then.”
I stood up from the desk and ran my fingers through my hair, defusing the unease prickling over my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time my father and I had been alone in his office without a sideshow of lawyers.
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, still acting as if she had no idea what the meeting was about. She probably didn’t. I could always count on her to give me a tidbit of information. Not enough to expose her loose lips, but enough to help me out.
“Speaking of personal,” she said in a sneaky inquisitive way, “I saw a society photo of you and your current girlfriend. She’s quite the looker. Anything serious?”
“She’s an ex,” I stated, returning the crystal globe to its rightful place on its stand. I didn’t add the term “girlfriend” either. Barbie and I had a bought-and-paid-for kind of relationship.
“I give up on you.” Vanessa threw her hands up in the air with a huff.
“Yeah, don’t expect a Mrs. Lucas Shaw from me in this lifetime.” The truth was, I’d given up on myself twenty years ago.
“Okay, Peter Pan.” She glanced at her computer screen, the smile disappearing from her face. “Your father is ready for you.”
“Wish me luck.” I threw the sentiment over my shoulder as I passed by Vanessa.
Pulling my shoulders back, I stood tall. I had a height advantage over my father, and I used it every chance I got. I turned the heavy handle to his office door and walked inside Lucifer’s lair.
Bartholomew Shaw stood ramrod straight behind his massive desk, facing the vast skyline out a wall of windows. His hands were clasped behind his back.
“Have a seat, Lucas,” he ordered in his baritone voice, flat and void of emotion. He’d learned to mask his hate well too.
“I’ll stand.” I strode to his desk, erasing the space between us.
“Have it your way.” He spun toward me, and our eyes connected. His were black like his soul. Mine were blue like my constant mood.
“When have I had it my way?” I threw down the first verbal punch, and he jerked back as if I’d hit him.
“Never. And I intend to keep that perfect record.” My father regained his footing.
“We’ll see.” I glanced around the empty office where his attorneys usually watched our interactions. “Where are your lawyers? Circus out of town?”
“Working on what I called you in here to talk about. We’ve had a serious offer for this company.”
He eyed me for a response, but I remained silent, waiting for him to continue. We’ve had countless attempts from others to buy Iron Gate, so this one must be extra fucking special—as in way over asking price.
“Considering you’ve never settled down and give us an heir for the next generation, I decided to vet this offer. But there is one problem, as you know.”
I laughed and shook my head while my father’s eyes narrowed in anger. Everything was crystal clear in the muddy waters our family had sunk into. My mother’s great-grandfather founded the company and had been smart enough to include a simple clause in the by-laws: the only way to sell Iron Gate was with a total consensus of the shareholders. It was all for one or none.
Dad needed my vote, and it was the only leverage I had on him. Without it, I’d lose the input into my mother’s care, so there was no way in hell I’d ever let go of it. Unless he made concessions—legal ones he’d never agree on.
“What will it take?” he hissed at me like a venomous snake.
He splayed his hands over the embossed leather top of his desk. The sneer on his lips communicated his utter contempt for me, along with the likely wish that I’d never been born.
I played my part as the dutiful son and attended a prestigious college, then Harvard Business School. I made those choices to stay involved in the company, but if I had my wish, I wouldn’t be working under his watchful eye or hard-pressed thumb. I’d be hunched over a keyboard, spilling my guts onto a page in an attempt to write the next great American novel about a dysfunctional family—a topic I knew well since I belonged to one.
Unable to keep looking into his seething eyes, I walked past his desk and stood in front of the window. My head pounded. I wanted to rub my forehead for relief, but it would expose a weakness I couldn’t afford in his presence. I closed my lids for a few seconds, trying to will the pain away.