“What about the fact that Vidal Records is based in New York and we’re not?” Jules questioned drily.
“The music business can stay here. We can build out the rest from Louisiana.”
“Finally!” his brother said dramatically. “You’ve said something I can recognize as coming from my dear, beloved, lamentably pussy-whipped brother.”
Claudette elbowed him. “Don’t be crude, Jules.”
Their brother grinned. “Désolé, petite sœur.”
The limo’s progress slowed as they approached Times Square. Ronan looked out the tinted windows at the crush of people on the dirty streets and longed for the lush elegance of New Orleans. He still longed to take Ireland to his home in the Garden District. Perhaps she would find the charm in it that he did and want to revisit it often.
With Vidal expanding to the South, he hoped to give hischeranother reason to find commuting back and forth worthwhile. They could continue seeing one another, finding a rhythm that worked for them. Maybe she wouldn’t tire of him if she had occasion to miss him.
They reached their destination, and the limo pulled to the curb. Ronan exited first with his bags held in one hand and extended the other to assist Claudette out.
“Hey!” A man with his phone on a selfie stick came up to the open door. “Is Ireland Vidal in there?”
Ronan glanced incredulously at the twenty-something fellow with a patchy beard and oversized jeans. “No. Fuck off.”
“You don’t have to be an asshole, dude,” the man shot back, still aiming the camera lens of his phone into the limo. “Who else is in there? Chantal? London Grant?”
Ronan blocked the man with his back to make space for Claudy to get out. Jules followed and shut the door behind him.
Only when the limo drove off did the man lower the selfie stick. “Damn,” he said, before turning away.
Irritated, Ronan set his hand on his sister’s back and led her through Vidal’s entrance with Jules at their heels.
“Good morning, Mr. McCaffrey,” the guard greeted him, handing him his badge.
“To you as well, Charlie,” he replied.
“The studios are rocking. It’s business as usual. Everyone’s relieved about Ms. Vidal. I’m hoping she’s okay.”
“I’ll let her know you sent good wishes,” he assured him.
“Yes, please do.” Charlie handed badges to Claudette and Jules, whom he’d met previously and had been forewarned were accompanying Ronan into the offices.
It was on Ronan’s agenda to solidify his siblings’ positions within the company since he’d now decided to save it. Vidal already had a chief financial officer and a chief legal officer, the positions that best suited Claudette and Jules, respectively.
The current CFO would be removed, obviously, for allowing or even assisting the company’s financial collapse. He still hadn’t decided if the CLO, Debra Sherman, should also be fired. He first had to ascertain how vigorously—or not—she’d argued againstthe predatory loan he had extended to the label that allowed him to assume control of it.
The three of them took the elevator up to the executive offices on the third floor. Business opened at nine, and it was nearly twenty minutes past that—they really had to factor in how much the city’s traffic slowed travel time. It was astonishing to Ronan that an island less than fourteen miles long and less than three miles wide could take so long to traverse.
“I’m going to review that licensing agreement for the hotels,” Jules said as they exited the elevator in front of the receptionist’s desk.
“I’m going to dig around and see if Vidal has been approached with any other brand licensing opportunities before,” Claudette said. “Maybe there’s something we can move on quickly.”
“Bon.” Ronan nodded. “I’ll be in my office. If you need space other than the meeting rooms, let me know.”
They branched off. Ronan greeted the receptionist before passing her. He frowned to see what looked like employees just waiting around outside his office, but when they caught sight of him, they only nodded and looked grim.
Moving past them, he stopped on the threshold, startled and then furious. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The office had been Ireland’s before she swapped spaces with her father to establish that she was now in charge. Still, the room held echoes of her style in the sleek glass desk she’d left behind. And the man half-sitting on the front edge of that desk, talking to two employees in the visitors’ chairs, paused mid-speech.
Chris Vidal Sr. met Ronan’s incensed stare with a chilly one of his own. “Let’s pick this up later,” he said to the young woman and the middle-aged man sitting in front of him.
Ronan arched a brow in challenge. He recognized their sound engineer, but the woman wasn’t yet known to him. Theyboth gave him tense smiles as they passed him on their way out. He shut the door behind them and faced the man he’d spent many years thinking about with hatred.
