Hard Rules

by Lisa Renee Jones

  The next twenty minutes have me stuck in hellish traffic, wishing for a Manhattan subway to cut the time that is money, all the while in my own head, and not my father’s. I don’t need to consider what he’d meant with his accusation of my “weakness.” That was about me hanging on to New York and a career I’d busted my ass to create. But I’m past that now, and my focus is Derek’s weakness: his lack of morality, which he hates in me, paired with his greed. By the time I navigate the elite Polo Club neighborhood where my parents live and turn into the driveway of their sprawling fourteen-thousand-square-foot tan stucco mansion, I know that somehow, some way, I’m going to have to turn those things around on him.

  Pausing at the gate, I’m glad the rain has stopped, allowing me to key in a code. Once it opens, I continue past the brick paved gardens in front of the house, my gut twisting at the sight of the giant birdbath with a lion spraying water. My father is everywhere and the idea that he will soon be nowhere but our memories is unfathomable. Shaking off that idea, I pull to the back of the property, parking outside the five-car garage my father keeps filled with toys he never drives, and kill the engine. Shoving open the door, I’m about to stand when my cell phone rings. A glance at the caller ID confirms it’s Seth, and I hit decline, needing answers to certain questions from my mother before I’m presented with more problems or questions.

  Stepping out of the car, I’m almost to the back door when it opens. My mother, who normally sleeps until at least nine, appears in the doorway fully dressed, her raven hair puffed and sprayed, her lips painted red. “I expected I’d see you this morning,” she says, greeting me with a hug, which I return before pulling back to eye her black skirt and matching silk blouse scooped a little too low for my approval.

  “I know you didn’t dress like that for me.”

  “If you aren’t going to look good, why bother to get dressed?” she asks, motioning me forward. “Coffee’s ready.” She enters the house, calling out, “I figured you’d need it after your all-night company.”

  Following her inside, my shoes scraping the limestone tile, I forget her remark, and stop in the doorway, my gaze scanning the giant foyer that is more museum than house. But I don’t see the intricate design on the rounded ceiling, the expensive art on the walls, or the massive winding mahogany stairwell to my left. Memories of my childhood and teen years erupt in my mind, clawing at me in a less than kind way.

  “Shane?” my mother calls out.

  “Coming,” I reply, shaking myself and pulling the door shut behind me.

  Cutting left, I walk directly into an L-shaped kitchen larger than most Manhattan apartments, the centerpiece an island lined with pale wooden drawers and topped with a brown slate counter. My mother pours coffee into two cups. I round the island and take one of them. “Just how you like it,” she says. “Too strong for everyone else.”

  “And yet you’re about to drink it.”

  She walks to the fridge, opening the door. “With half a bottle of vanilla creamer in it.” She grabs the bottle and carries it to the island and fills her cup, while I step to the other side, directly across from her.

  “Why are you up so early?” I ask. “And don’t say for me. We both know I’m worthy of a robe and bad hair.”

  “Because you give unconditional love, honey. And you do remember that I do interior design work, right?”

  “Not at this time of the day.”

  “Some jobs inspire me. And this one is for the mayor, who in case you don’t recall, is highly thought—”

  “To be a future presidential contender. You do aspire big, don’t you, Mother?”

  She laughs. “You came by it naturally.”

  “You’re acting like nothing happened last night.”

  “Your father has always had affairs.”

  “Always?”

  “You find this hard to believe?”

  I grimace. “No. No, I suppose I don’t. And you’re fine with it?”

  “I’ve had a lot of years to be fine with it, son.”

  “Do you have affairs?”

  “Yes. I do.” She sets her cup down. “And before you judge me—”

  “I’m not. I know who he is and what he is.” I hesitate. “He brought that woman to the Four Seasons.”

  “I know.”

  “What do you mean, you know?”

  “I hired her.”

  I lean on the counter. “Mother, what the hell did you do?”

  “He’s going to have someone in his bed other than me until the day he dies. I want to know if he’s sick—”

  “We know he’s sick.”

  “He won’t tell me what the doctors are saying. Besides. I need our empire protected and that means I need you in charge, not Derek. This potentially allows me to access information you may need.” I give her my back, running a hand through my hair, in a rare display of frustration I don’t even try to contain. “Shane, look—”

  “No,” I say, facing her again. “Every time I think this family can’t get more fucked up, you all prove me wrong.”

  She leans on the counter. “I’m protecting us both. I’m helping you.”

  “There’s nothing about this that helps me. And why was this mistress you hired seen with Derek?”

  “Your brother works fast. She spent one night with your father and he tried to milk her for information.”

  “Like I said. There’s nothing about this that helps me, or any of us. I need to go.” I start to leave and force myself to stop. “Why did Father allow Mike Rogers onto the board? Why would he give away that kind of power?”

  “Mike’s a good man, Shane.”

  “You say that like you have personal knowledge.”

  “He was your father’s first major client. He’s been with us since almost the beginning. He put us on the map.”

  “And I’m supposed to expect that justifies father trusting him with twenty percent of the stock when he trusts no one else?”

  “We gave him stock for putting us on the map.”

  “You know your husband, my father, would not allow him to stay. He’s too greedy and cautious for that. Either he has some kind of leverage over Mike to control him or the opposite is true.”

  “Mike’s a billionaire, son. That’s a lot of motivation to your father, not to mention he’s high profile and good for the brand. But of course, your father has ammunition on everyone involved with the company.”

  “What does he have on Mike?”

  “He doesn’t tell me these things, Shane, but if that’s what you need to know—”

  “I need to know what he has on every member of the board.”

  “I’ll dig around his private files, but Mike isn’t a problem.”

  “Mike’s a twenty-percent stockholder,” I repeat. “He’s a problem for me.”

  “And an asset when you take over. He’s not like the others.”

  “Exactly my point,” I say. “Who’s the woman you’ve placed in Father’s bed?”

  “A med student who needs some help paying the bills. I thought she’d be an asset in evaluating your father’s health.”

  I’m not sure I’ve ever fully appreciated my mother’s cunningness until this moment and I’m glad I didn’t. If I’d known how screwed up both my parents were as a child, I might have ended up more like Derek. I don’t even bother to tell her my suspicions about my father’s health. I turn and walk away.

  “Shane,” she calls out, but I don’t stop or reply, heading for the door and exiting into a light rain that reminds me of Emily’s probable departure by foot.

  I climb in the Bentley that also reminds me of her, but unfortunately also drives home the many flavors of my father’s manipulation. What I’ve failed to see until now is my mother’s equal skill. I’d known she was smart and fiery enough to stand toe-to-toe with my father, but in the past twenty-four hours my eyes have opened to what I didn’t want to see. At some point, she became like him to survive him, just as Derek did.

  Starting
the engine, I shift into gear and head down the driveway, idling as the gate opens, my brother’s words repeating in my head. I know who’s in my corner. I wonder if you do. My mother is telling me she’s in my corner, but I wonder. Is she telling him the same? And does she have any side but her own? I pull through the gate and the rain erupts again, a prelude it seems to the battle brewing in the heart of the Brandon family empire that I intend to win. I’m just not sure there will be a family left to back the name.

  Once I’m on the highway, with my phone attached via Bluetooth, I dial Seth. “The woman’s name is Ashley Johnson,” he informs me. “She’s twenty-four—”

  “And a med student,” I supply.

  “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “My mother hired her to keep an eye on my father.”

  He whistles. “Every time I think your family can’t get more fucked up, they prove me wrong.”

  “That’s what I told my mother, who assures me my father has blackmail material on every member of the board. She’s working on getting it for us but I’m not counting on her.”

  “Like I said, I have dirt on everyone to push them out, should you so choose, with the exception of Mike. I’ll have those files to you today.”

  “The security feed?”

  “A few concerns I’m not ready to voice yet. I’ll have answers this afternoon.”

  We’re about to hang up when my mother’s remodeling job comes to mind, followed by my own words yesterday. Blood divides as easily as it unites, especially when money and power are involved. “My mother’s cozying up to the mayor,” I say. “I need to know if he’s got any connections to Brandon Enterprises other than her, especially my brother.”

  * * *

  With the realization that my briefcase is at my apartment, I decide that the plan is to hole up there with my files I still haven’t finished reviewing and a pot of coffee. In other words, far away from the family drama distracting me from my focus on building BP profits by way of creating the strongest team of experts in the industry. Only that drama feels front and center as I arrive at the Four Seasons, hand off my car to be parked, and enter the hotel, my encounter with my father ever present in my mind. As is him being here to fuck a woman my mother hired to sleep with him. The many ways that is insanity can’t be counted, but of major concern is a woman who will sell herself for money, having intimate knowledge of our family, which she can then sell as well.

  By the time I step off the elevator on my floor, I’ve vowed to shove all of this aside for a few hours of work, except my phone rings. It’s Jessica. My said “family drama” proves it will hunt me down with a damn hammer in its hand.

  “Your father is in a mood,” she announces. “I mean the man is terrorizing the entire building. Not just our staff. He went off on Karen at the coffee bar for getting his order wrong. He is such an ass.”

  If this were anyone else, I’d suggest it were cancer- or medication-related, but this isn’t my father’s first attack on everyone around him. Not by a long shot. “What do you need from me?” I ask, suspecting my father’s wrath has turned in my direction, most likely to punish me for this morning, when he’s the one who instigated it.

  “He’s having a conniption over a deal memo he wants reviewed,” she says.

  “Tell him to e-mail it to me,” I say, entering my apartment and shutting the door.

  “He doesn’t have it on e-mail. He says he needs to know if he’s being bent over before he’s screwed, not after.”

  “He said that to you?” I ask and quickly add, pressing fingers to the bridge of my nose, “Never mind. Of course he did.” I unbutton my jacket and settle my hands on my hips. “If I go there, it’s not going to end well. Bring it here.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour,” she says, ending the call before I can change my mind, clearly just wanting out of that office for a while.

  Sighing, I walk to the coatrack, shrug out of my jacket, and hang it next to the one that smells sweet like Emily, who’s still lingering in the back of my mind. A welcome distraction from my father’s bullshit or the complications that could arise from my brother handing an FDA inspector a bribe. I walk across the living room and stand at the window, watching rain splatter the glass, frowning at something I spy on the patio. Opening the door, I glance out in the storm and start laughing. Emily’s bra is hanging on one of the dangling lights. I laugh harder. Even when that woman isn’t here, she manages to break through the crap around me.

  An impossible smile lingering on my lips, I leave the bra, shutting the door, and walking into the kitchen, I take a barstool with me, and set my briefcase down on the island. Next I get that pot of coffee started and power up my MacBook with my files ready to view beside it. Once I have my cup of coffee, I sit down and take a sip, the strong bite of cinnamon in my favorite blend exploding in my taste buds, and I wonder if Emily would once again grimace. I set the cup down and reach for my files, organizing my four top candidates for the pharmaceutical division. Two executives and two of the top scientists in the pharmaceutical industry—I’ve spoken to one of each. Recruiting them won’t be an issue, but in light of the FDA bribe, I have to think about human corruptibility and them becoming my brother’s targets. Building BP to win over the board is no longer the plan. They won’t be around to impress if the plan I hatched yesterday morning works.

  I’ve just finished cup number one when the doorbell rings. I’m about to stand when the door opens and I hear Jessica call out, “I let myself in. I hope you’re decent.” She doesn’t wait to find out, because of course she knows I am. She rounds the corner in a one-piece black suit dress, running her fingers through her spiky blond hair, and stops on the other side of the island.

  “The deal memo,” she says, setting an envelope down. “He wants you to call him within the hour.” She snorts. “Like bossing you around ever works. I really love that about you by the way.” She eyes the coffeepot. “Why yes, boss, I would like a cup of coffee.”

  “Help yourself,” I say, but she’s already headed for the pot, and aside from filling her own cup, she refills mine.

  “Do you actually have creamer?”

  “Cabinet above the pot,” I say, my phone buzzing with a text where it lies next to my computer. I grab it and glance at the message from Seth. Your father leased room 751 for six months. Confirming, but I do believe the “other” woman is living there.

  I set the phone down, precisely, slowly, reining in the anger burning through me, and not quite sure if it’s more directed at my mother or my father.

  “Do you want your twenty or so messages now or never?” Jessica asks, appearing in front of me.

  “If never is actually an option, then you can handle them.”

  “I already did. I just wanted you to remember how efficient I am.” She sits down in front of me. “In case you leave and I need a reference.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Correction. I’m leaving this apartment. If you do your job. Get in touch with my realtor and find me a house.”

  She blanches. “You want me to find you a house?” She holds up her hands. “I mean that’s good. It’s job security for me, but Shane. A house is a big thing.”

  “Narrow it to the top three.”

  She looks like she wants to argue, but says, “Fine. Okay. Any specifics?”

  “Close to here.”

  “Apartment?”

  I think of my apartment in New York. “House.” Then I think of convenience. “Apartment. Just not in the Four Seasons.”

  “Price range?”

  “Whatever it takes to be in something comparable to what I’m in now.”

  “What about Cherry Creek? It’s ten minutes away and it has gyms, food, and shopping. There are new high-rises going up, but the house prices are on the rise too. In other words, if you buy now, you’re going to have great resale potential.”

  “Cherry Creek works. Top three, Jessica.”

  “All right then. Top three it is.”

&
nbsp; “Soon.”

  She gives me a curious look. “Of course.” She sips from her cup. “I should get back. I’m one of the only people who’ll stand up to your father.”

  “Before you go.” I close the folder and hand it to her. “Inside you’ll find two executives and two scientists I’ve shortlisted for BP. None of them is local. I’ve put calls into each of them and flagged the ones I spoke with. They’ll be e-mailing you official résumés, but I don’t want them run through human resources. Talk to their references and work with Seth, and his private security team, to look into their backgrounds.”

  “Operation ‘keep your family from screwing up a good thing before it happens.’ Check.” She runs her fingers through her spiky blond hair again and randomly changes the topic, feeding me information she believes is of interest. “Your brother hasn’t been in today.”

  “Good for everyone dealing with my father. Like you.”

  “Message received. Go back to the office.” She stands and rounds the counter to set her cup in the sink before leaving without another word. I like that about her. She gets when to talk and when to just not.

  I reach for the envelope holding the deal memo that caused so much hoopla, pulling it out. It takes me all of two minutes to know this isn’t about bending him over. It’s an investment in a nonsense business that has to be a bribe of some sort. Considering this new business is located in Boulder, where our trucking division is, it’s a good bet it’s related to that. I don’t even want to know what that means about what is going on there. I’ve had enough of this crap to last a lifetime. I text Jessica. Find out if there was, or is, a Nina Thompson working for the trucking division in Boulder.

  I don’t wait for her reply, dialing Seth. “I need those files on the stockholders, yesterday.”

  “I have them and more I need to talk to you about. Where will you be in an hour?”

  Working in this apartment clearly isn’t a success. I stand up and start packing my briefcase. “I’ll see you at the office. Before we hang up, I need you to have your security people run the name Nina Thompson in Boulder. I’ll explain later.”