by Amy Brent
Once we hung up the call, the girl I was once so excited about was hovering around me like a vulture. “I’m so sorry,” she said, having clearly heard some of my conversation.
For some reason, her sympathy angered me and turned me into something I strive hard not to be: a class A jerk.
With a set jaw and cold eyes, I turned to look at her and barked, “I don’t need your sympathy, I need you to disappear. You’ve done your part tonight, now go find another cock to fuck and leave me alone.”
Her eyes filled with tears and her lips started to tremble, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t care. My dad was gone, and I was all out of cares to give.
Chapter 2 - Ben
I sat alone on my living room couch and sipped my third whiskey of the day. Feeling numb with grieve and alcohol, I looked at the group of people that came to my home hoping to pay their last respects to my dead father and felt the ghost of a smile curl on my lips.
The turnout was impressive. Everyone, from neighbors and friends to our office’s genitor and high-level executives of competing companies, had come to say goodbye and offer me their sympathies for the loss of such an extraordinary man. For a businessman of his stature that was nothing short of a miracle, but if there was one thing to be said about Kevin Walker was that despite his success in business and his fortune he was a kind man who truly cared about people. That made him not only the best father and friend a man could wish for but also well and widely loved by all.
And now he was gone, and I was alone.
With a weight pressing down on my chest, I closed my eyes, brought my tumbler to my lips and finished my drink in one gulp. In the darkness, I allowed the nothingness of the alcohol to replace the pain I felt and, for just a second, it was like everything was as it should be.
Then, just as I found the first sliver of peace since picking up that damned phone call two days ago, the couch cushions shifted underneath me, and I sighed with dread at another sympathetic soul wanting to comfort me. Considering how reserved and, according to dad, cold I was, I had reached my quota of hugs within the first five minutes of the memorial and every other that came after that was just an added torture to my already broken soul.
However, my mom had raised me right, and despite how much I wanted to just be left the hell alone, these people were my guests. I didn’t have in me to simply blow them off and be rude. For that reason, I opened my eyes and turned my face to look at the nuisance next to me. To my surprise, the person beside me wasn’t a nuisance at all.
“Hank, I was wondering where you were,” I greeted my father’s lawyer and best friend with a smile that was almost genuine.
The light coming in from the window made his dark skin glow and look much younger than his seventy-one years. It also made the red in his eyes that more visible.
He forced a smile and offered me a glass of bourbon. “Got you a refill, Benji.”
“Thanks,” I said, placing my empty tumbler at the side table and taking the glass he was offering me. “This is my fourth, by the way.”
Hank shrugged his shoulders. “If there’s one day that it’s okay to get wasted, it’s the day you bury your father. When my Pop died, your dad and I threw up for two days straight. That’s how much we drank.”
“Didn’t he die when you were fourteen or something?” I asked with a frown forming between my brows.
“Yeah, the day after my fourteenth birthday, to be exact,” he informed with a sideways smirk. “Probably why took Kevin and me only two and a half beers to get completely shitfaced, but I don’t remember a single thing about the funeral which has helped me a lot throughout the years. Putting your dad in the ground isn’t a fun memory to keep.”
A sarcastic chuckle bubbled up my chest, and I rose my glass to him. “I’ll drink to that. To not remembering.”
“And to that son a bitch and his weak ass heart,” Hank added with tears in his eyes as he raised his glass as well.
With a nod and a sigh, we clicked our glasses and sipped the warm, burning liquid. For the next few minutes, Hank and I sat on that couch and exchanged stories about my father. We shared tales of growing up with him—Hank as a kid and friend, and me as a son—and though our situations were quite different, dad was the same. From there, we moved on to the company and dad’s dreams for it.
It was comforting to talk about all those things with someone who missed my father as much as me, and it helped clear my head from the grief for long enough to worry about practical things. We were in middle of a merger that would make our company the biggest telecommunication conglomerate in the country and would give us the opportunity to expand to an international level. This was the biggest deal we had ever brokered and something we had dreamt about for years, which meant I couldn’t allow my feelings and the uncertainty brought by the CEO’s death to jeopardize it.
As the guests started to leave, I turned to Hank and said, “If you can stay a while longer, I’d like to talk to you about the company. I know you’re retired, but I still value your opinion, and with me ascending to CEO and consolidating dad’s shares to my name, I need to start thinking about who will take my seat as both CFO and board member.”
For some reason that I couldn’t quite comprehend, my words made Hank fidget. My brows pulled together in confusion, but before I was able to ask him what was wrong, he said, “C’mon, Ben. Today is about how big of a pain in the ass your dad was and how much we’ll miss him. Let’s not ruin it by talking shop.”
“Why would it ruin the day?” I asked in a matter of fact tone. “My dad built that company, it was his baby. I just want to make sure that the transition will go smoothly and his legacy will be protected.”
Hank shook his head and gave me a ghost of a smile. “You were your father’s baby. Even at forty and with gray hair on your head, you were his boy. The company was just a way to provide you with a good life.”
“And he has,” I assured Hank, hoping to dissipate some of the worry plastered on his face. “He gave me a great life and will spend the rest of it making sure that what he built for us lasts longer than me. That’s why I don’t want to waste time. I’m leaving for NYC to finish the merger in the morning, and I want to have a game plan for when I come back.”
Unfortunately, the worry in Hank’s face didn’t dissipate. If anything, it intensified to the point of looking pained. Puzzled by his reaction, I held his dark eyes and tried to figure out what was eating at him.
As if feeling my request for him to open up and level with me, Hank ran his hands through his jeans and sighed. “You don’t have to concern yourself with that, Ben. The board will make those decisions together at the next meeting.”
His words fell on my ears like gibberish, and though I tried, I couldn’t understand them. I was the CFO, my father’s right-hand man and the only member of the board who had devoted over twenty years of his life to building this company. Above all, I was my dad’s only son and heir. The company was mine and, therefore, the decision should have been mine as well.
Once more, the shock and confusion plastered on my face prompted Hank to speak, and he explained, “Your father wrote a will and left me in charge of it. It would be best for us to talk about it in my office, but knowing you as well as I do, I have no doubt you won’t allow me to leave this house without the proper explanation.” Even though it wasn’t a question, I nodded in agreement and Hank went on. “The will states that you may act as CEO and head of the board—if the board votes in your favor, of course—but his shares and titles are to remain his until your first wedding anniversary.”
“What the fuck?” I barked outraged. My father had always annoyed me about still living the bachelor life at forty, but I had always thought his nagging was just fatherly concern. The thought he would refuse my birthright because of it had never even crossed my mind. Apparently, I was wrong.
I shook my head in disbelief and received a sympathetic glance from Hank. Clearly, at a loss for words, he reached into his jacket pocket and r
etrieved an envelope which he handed to me. “Just for the record, I told him not to meddle in your personal life like that, but you know how he was—stubborn as a cow stuck in the mud. But don’t let your anger keep you from reading the letter. You dad loved you more than life itself, and these are the last words he has for you. You should know them.”
With that, Hank patted me on the shoulder and got up from the couch. He said a quick goodbye and walked away, herding the last remaining mourners out of my mansion. My eyes, however, paid no attention to his actions or to the people saying goodbye as they left. All of my focus was on the envelope in my hand and the last words I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
Still, curious as to what explanation my father would give for his betrayal, I waited until I was alone in my home and opened the envelope. With a deep breath, I started reading.
My dearest Benji,
If you’re reading this, it means I’m dead. Although I’m happy to finally be reunited with your mom, I must admit I’m also sad because after learning about my will I won’t be your favorite person anymore—a pity since you’ll always be mine.
The fact that you are my number one is precisely why I included the marriage clause in my will. I’m proud to say that I’ve built many things in my life. I’ve built homes, careers, a very profitable business and a massive fortune, but the thing I’m proudest of is the life I made with your mother. Now, as I approach the end of my life, I see that our family and you, my beloved son, are my biggest accomplishments.
For the last fifty-five years, I’ve loved intensely. First your mother, the love of my life and soulmate whom I’ve missed for over a decade now, and then you, my buddy and best friend. It was that love that made me wake up in the morning and work my ass off all day. It was that love that guided me to create the empire we now own. And, contrary to what most people—you included—may think, it was that love that made me a billionaire.
I am a firm believer that the love our family shared was what made us wealthy and not the money we acquired. For that reason, although I’m very proud of how hard you work and all the amazing accomplishments you’ve amounted in your time working for our company, I must admit that it worries me that those will be the only accomplishments in your life. You deserve so much more than just work and money, son. You deserve to be happy and fulfilled in all aspects of your life, and that’s my final fatherly wish for you.
My wish is that you find a nice woman to love. Don’t settle for one of your brainless bedmates just to fulfill the clause in my will—Hank will see through that, and you know it. Instead, find someone who cares more about who you are than about how much money you’ve got, and enjoy being a whole person with her. Have kids and a home that isn’t tidy and perfect all the time. Get a dog and let it sleep in your bed. Go on vacations and turn your damn cell phone off every once in a while.
The company and the money will be waiting for you—for the two of you. And life will be just as you’ve dreamed, only better. Trust me on this, I know.
With all my love,
Dad.
I read that letter three times, and each time the result was the same. My whole being was filled with a terrible mixture of love, pain, and anger at my dad.
There was a part of me that understood his motivation for forcing me to get married. His marriage to my mother had been one of those fairy tale affairs, and, of course, he wanted that for me as well. However, that was his life and his happiness. It wasn’t mine, and I resented him for forcing me to either lose what I loved most or fake something for his benefit. It was selfish and wrong, and I didn’t want to deal with it.
Pissed and drunk, I shoved the letter back inside the envelope, tucked into my jacket pocket and called my driver to come pick me up. Since my fate now rested in the hands of the board, I was determined to go back to NYC, finish that merger and prove to everyone still alive that my father and his policies were wrong.
Challenging my father’s will wasn’t going to be easy, and I knew it, but the company was all I had now, and despite my dad’s Disney dreams for me, I wasn’t going to let it go because of a stupid rule. No fucking way in hell.
Chapter 3 — Pam
“What are you doing here?” James asked as I walked into the airline’s staff lounge at LAX.
I looked sideways at my friend and smirked at his question. With a raised a brow, I parked my suitcase next to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before walking to the counter to collect the paperwork for the flight.
“Working,” I deadpanned in a playful tone that made him roll his hazel eyes.
“Considering you’re in your uniform, I’d say that part is clear.” I chuckled at his usual sarcasm as he continued, “What isn’t clear is why you’re working when you just got back from London this morning.”
I shrugged and turned to look at him. “Lori’s sick with the stomach flu and asked me to cover for her. Since I’m a single mom putting her daughter through college with no financial aid, I can’t refuse extra shifts when they come around.”
“Damn,” James muttered under his breath and stared at me with admiration in his eyes. “I wish my mom had been that committed to my education. Jess is a lucky girl.”
I laughed at his comment and walked back to where my suitcase was waiting beside my friend. “Be sure to tell her that when you see her next. That brat sometimes forgets it.”
James assured me he would do as requested and walked to the coffee machine. Moments later, he returned with two steaming paper cups, and then asked, “Where are you going?”
“JFK,” I replied as I retrieved my much-needed dose of caffeine from his hands.
He rose a brow and gave me a smirk. “Nacional. How long has it been?”
“About three years, but at least I get to serve in first class.”
“Uhhh . . . Fancy!” he teased as we left the lounge and started making our way through the airport to our gates.
As we walked, James babbled about his life. As per usual, I laughed at his drama but still lived vicariously through him. Aside from our age and profession, our lives were complete opposites. While he lived an exciting life filled with lovers and adventure, I lived a dull existence of work and bills. Although I sometimes envied him, I wouldn’t change the life I had with my daughter for anything in the world.
“Okay, honey, this is me,” I told him as we arrived at my gate. “You have fun with Giuseppe and text me about it.”
He nodded and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Will do. Have fun with your coast to coast rich people.”
“And you have fun with your economy adventurers,” I replied and, at his eye roll, I urged, “At least try.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .” he said as he walked away.
For a few moments, I just stood there and watched as my friend walked away. Then, I turned around to walk to the aircraft. As I approached the gate, I saw from the corner of my eye, a man at the waiting area with his chin propped over the knuckles of one hand while the other tapped a white envelope against his knee. The gray streaks at his temples told me he was probably around my age and the unkempt scruff on his chiseled jaw looked contradictory to the perfect fit of his suit. His eyelids were a little droopy like he’d been drinking too much, but a flash of pain and maybe anger was still visible in his blue eyes.
In my forty years, I had known a lot of pain, and for that reason, my heart broke for that stranger. But I had work to do, and so I pushed thoughts of him aside and walked my ass to the plane.
After greeting the rest of the crew, I stored my stuff and started getting the first class ready for our guests. As much as I enjoyed traveling the world, I had to admit that I missed my days of continental first class flights. There was something deeply satisfying about fluffing actual pillowcases and serving food on porcelain plates.
Once we were all set and the boarding process began, I positioned myself at the plane’s entrance to welcome our guests. We would be flying at max capacity, and as customary, I checked the tickets and
greeted all ten passengers by name as I directed them to their seats. The last person to board was the man in the tailored suit who still had the envelope in his hand.
“Welcome on board, Mr. Walker,” I greeted in my kindest tone after checking his ticket. He looked me in the eyes and forced a ghost of a smile as he nodded, but didn’t say a word. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your seat.”
I received another nod and led the way to the very first row where his seat was located. Once he was settled, I asked, “May I bring you something to drink before we take off?”
“A bourbon, please,” he said, and I quickly went to the galley to fix his drink.
As I made my rounds through the cabin, I realized that for some reason I couldn’t quite explain, my mind and gaze kept returning to Mr. Walker time and time again. My staring had nothing to do with how handsome he was. Honestly, he wasn’t really my type and, judging by his trendy haircut and hip reading glasses, I could tell my twenty-two-year-old daughter would interest him a lot more than me. Still, between the discomfort in his face, the compulsive drinking, and the daggers his eyes were throwing at the piece of paper in his hands, there was something that made me feel like he needed me somehow.
