“That’s a surprisingly accurate portrait of a younger me,” he says, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “I knew from a very early age what my future held and what I had to do to live up to the Rojas name.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” I say lightly.
“It can be. Take these last weeks, for example.” He stops and gives me a speculative look. “Everything we’re telling each other is off the record, yes?”
Giving him a half-grin, I say, “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to uphold my oath to journalistic integrity.”
“Good, because I’m about to tell you an embarrassing secret, and I can only do it if you’ve sworn yourself to secrecy.”
I hold up one hand, my curiosity piqued. “I swear. Whatever your deliciously juicy secret is will be safe with me.”
The look on his face suggests this may not be a laughing matter. “I’ve been staying awake until after three a.m. every night to make sure there’s no funny business going on.”
Funny business? Is he an old timey boarding school headmaster?“What do you mean? You sit in the hallway on a chair or something?”
“I watch through my peephole. I don’t want people to think I’m crazy.” His cheeks turn red, and he quickly adds, “And before you say it, I do know it’s possible for people to make bad choices during the day, but I figure there’s less chance then because everybody’s busy working or practicing. As illogical as I know it is, I have to do whatever possible to keep our brand out of the news.”
“So that’s what you meant when you said that thing about keeping watch.”
He nods, and I’m suddenly overcome by the desire to give him a hug. I won’t, obviously, but I can’t help feeling bad for the guy. “You must be exhausted.”
“I’m a little tired,” he admits. “But more than that, I’m worried. Agreeing to sponsor the competition was a risk. A calculated one, of course, but a risk nonetheless. If anything goes wrong, it could be the last nail in the coffin for our company.”
“But it won’t be your responsibility if a couple of employees of the network or the contestants get into a little trouble.”
“I know that, but it doesn’t matter. Public perception is everything in my business, just like it is in yours. It literally translates to money. This hole my company is in is deep, and if I can’t pull us up out of it soon, I’m going to have to start shutting down distilleries. The last thing I want is to have to lay people off, especially over something as stupid as a marketing campaign gone wrong.”
I chew on my bottom lip while I consider his words. “That must be a lot of pressure on you.”
“Yes, sometimes. Lately especially. Not that I’d dare complain openly. I do know how fortunate I am.” He tops off our glasses. “My father made sure I understood how lucky we were. He also taught me to take my position very seriously. Over eight thousand employees count on me to show up every day and make the right decisions, not just the easy ones. I owe them perfection.”
I take in his features while he talks—the way the skin around his eyes crinkles a little, and the worry lines that stretch across his forehead. He really does feel the weight of his responsibility. It’s etched on his face. “Do you want to be the president of the company?”
He has a sip of wine before answering. “I was born to do what I’m doing and trained from a very early age to lead the company into the future.”
Picking up my glass, I say, “That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want to do it.”
“It’s not a question of want. It’s a case of obligation. Rojas Rum has been in my family for over 170 years. It’s a legacy. I can’t just walk away from that because I’m not hashtagliving my best life.”
“You could turn it over to your brother, couldn’t you?”
He scoffs. “Markos wasn’t raised to be a leader. He was raised to be the comic relief.”
My head snaps back. “Ouch. That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
“He’d say the same thing if he were here.”
“So, what will you do? Have a son and pass it all onto him, burdens and all?”
Theo shrugs. “I haven’t thought that far ahead, but… probably.” He gazes out the window, then sighs. “Although I’d hate myself for it.”
I’m tempted to tell him not to do it then and to find a way to get out of it if he’s miserable, but I don’t. I don’t know Theo Rojas well enough to say such a thing to him.
He snaps out of whatever thoughts he was entertaining. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“What makes you think I was worrying?”
“The little crease between your eyebrows.”
