I chuckle. "Fair enough." If it wasn't for the stipulation of needing a wife to be named CEO, I wouldn’t introduce anyone to my family either.
My father's office sprawls across the entire northeast corner of the building, floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed view of the city. The space is all cold minimalism, black lacquered furniture, and an oversized desk set in front of large bookcases. Abstract art hangs on the walls, pieces he bought because some consultant told him they projected "visionary leadership."
Everything in here is calculated. The temperature kept precisely at sixty-eight degrees. The lighting engineered to make him look powerful while leaving visitors slightly off-balance. Even the chairs across from his desk sit two inches lower than his own, a trick he picked up from some business guru back in the eighties.
A full bar occupies one wall, stocked with bottles that cost four figures.
Charles knocks once, a courtesy more than a request for permission, and pushes the door open.
Leonard sits behind his desk, hands steepled, that familiar expression of controlled displeasure on his face. The one thatmeans someone fucked up royally, and he's about to make it their problem.
"Asher. Charles. Sit."
I don't.
"Father." I nod to him. Delmar Rhodes, the company's CFO and my father's longtime ally, sits on the couch that lines the far wall. And on the opposite side of my father’s desk sits my brother, Gabe.
What the hell is he doing here?
Gabe runs a hand through his beard; it's longer than it was the last time I saw him. Granted, it's been a while. He's been off living a life of charity and freedom, while I've been home, helping run the family business.
There are two seats left, one by Gabe and one by Delmar. Charles takes the spot on the couch next to Delmar, so I sit next to my brother. He returns my nod, and then all the attention goes to my father.
Leonard drums his fingers against his mahogany desk as his eyes scan each of us.
"As you all know, we're opening a charity foundation," he says. As long as I’ve been alive, my father has donated obscene sums of money to charity. And as long as I've been alive, he's hated doing it. The donations are purely for optics. "And Gabriel will be running it."
I'm surprised my father wants to start a charity. But I'm even more surprised he's putting Gabe in charge.
Six years ago, something happened between my father and brother, something neither of them have spoken of. Whatever it was, Gabe left the company because of it. The two have barely been amicable since then. Gabe returns maybe once a year for something or other, and most of the time, he and my father avoid each other like the plague. So yes, I'm surprised that thetwo now seem cozy enough for Gabe to be given a branch of this company.
It's on the tip of my tongue to ask Gabe what Dear Old Dad offered him, but I know better than to bring it up here. So instead, I nod and clap my brother on the shoulder.
"Welcome back," I say, letting my lips tilt into a small but fake smile.It seems I'm faking a lot lately.
"Happy to be back." He glances around the room of men. "I plan to do some good with this opportunity."
Father scoffs at his words and leans back in his leather chair. "Just enough to distract them. That's all."
My father has never been one to deal with problems head on, and I don’t think I’ve ever once heard an apology leave his lips. He’s always used what he callsdistractions.
He’s not off in his strategy, as everything comes down to perception, and the news cycle focuses on whatever the biggest story is at the moment. You can hide whatever misdeeds you want, as long as there’s something better for people to focus on.
"Distract them from what?" I ask. My father, while he's always been a top-grade businessman, is also hot headed with a mean streak. He doesn't like being questioned.
As kids, we managed this by avoiding making him anything but happy. That meant being perfect. At least, for Dove, Gabe, and I. Wren thrived on the negative attention. He'd get a kick out of getting my father riled up right now.
Dad stands, swiping a pile of papers off his desk. Charles flinches. He's been with us for a few years, but he still hasn't adjusted to my father's outbursts. Gabe closes his eyes briefly and sucks in a deep breath. Delmar looks completely unfazed, glancing down at his nails. I mimic Gabe and breathe deeply as my father's shouting begins.
"The fucking allegations!" he bellows into the room. "Those fucking cocksuckers. Liars! All of them are fucking liars."
I glance over at Charles. "What allegations?"
My old friend scrubs a hand over his face, and I get the gut feeling that I'm not going to like whatever he's about to say.
"There are a few women speaking out?—"
"Liars!" my father shouts angrily. "All of them are liars!"
