“No,” he said, a slight smile on his lips. “I’m good.”
“Good. Now stop talking. They’re about to touch hands.”
Knightley groaned. “Jesus…”
CHAPTER 6
Knightley had been in the office staring at his computer for over an hour. A few emails had come in during that time, but nothing urgent. Updates from his assistant Kate about a few meetings, a half dozen emails with last-minute questions about deals that were still in their early stages. He had answered them easily, and by noon realized he had nothing else to do.
He looked around his office, the windows that framed the downtown skyline, the glass walls that revealed the sprawling office of Knightley Capital beyond, a hive of activity. Everyone out there was busy. But even though it meant that this thing he had built was working as it should, better really, he was left idle.
His phone pinged with a text message, breaking his train of thought. He glanced down at the screen.
WILL
I haven’t received an agenda for the Wentworth Hydroponics meeting.
Knightley sighed. Will was a friend, but he was also head of Hampshire M&A, one of the city’s largest mergers and acquisition firms, which meant their business relationship often trumped the decade-long friendship.
KNIGHTLEY
Because that meeting isn’t until next month.
So end of week then.
I’ll have Kate send it to you by Friday.
He glanced up at his office, at his empty desk. Then he began typing again.
Want to grab lunch this week?
Can’t. I have about two dozen disasters to mitigate by Friday.
Let’s grab a bite after the Wentworth meeting when my schedule isn’t on fire.
He smiled. Will could feign irritation, but Knightley knew that he thrived on this. They were cut from the same cloth. It had been clear from the moment they met during their freshman year at Columbia University. A friendship had grown there, one built as much on mutual respect as a shared understanding of what drove them: it wasn’t about success, it was about creating something of their own.
Sounds good.
Hold on. Since when do you have time for lunch?
I guess I’m better at my job than you.
Right. Well, enjoy it.
Knightley dropped his phone back on his desk and let his eyes wander to his empty inbox. He should be able to enjoy it. Didn’t everyone wish for such a luxury?
But then he corrected himself. Most people probably did, but not everyone. Not his father. George Knightley Sr. used to say that you worked to create more work, and if there wasn’t more work, you obviously weren’t working hard enough. It was a mantra that had served him well in business, amassing an incredible fortune over the years. It also ensured that nothing else mattered apart from that fortune: not his wife, who finally left him for her yoga instructor, and definitely not their two sons she left behind.
After he died, Knightley founded this venture capital firm as payback. The intention had been to use it to give away his father’s money to people and ideas that were making the world a better place regardless of their profitability. Get rid of the entire fortune within a couple of years, and then he would move on.
That was five years ago. And instead of draining the bank, Knightley Capital now boasted some of the country’s most successful green tech companies as part of their portfolio.
Knightley stared out the glass wall of his office at the rows and rows of employees hard at work just a few feet from his desk.
Jesus. Maybe his father had won after all.
His thoughts were interrupted by his cell phone lighting up on his desk. A picture of his brother was on the screen.
