by Gun Brooke
“Oh, I find you hilarious. A laugh a minute, as you say in America.”
“Wow. You even have some of our idioms down pat.” Aeron was actually impressed with how little accent Sylvie had. “When do Swedes begin learning English?”
“It can vary between schools, but third or fourth grade. It’s one of the three subjects required for higher education, at a minimum. The others are math and Swedish.”
“That’s why most of you are so good at it.” Aeron nodded. “When did you come to New York?”
“I was twenty-five. Fifteen years ago.” Sylvie turned forward again.
“That’s pretty young to take over as CEO.”
“You’re joking, right?” Sylvie gave a far less joyous laugh than she had before. In fact, it was acerbic.
“What do you mean?” Glancing at Sylvie, Aeron frowned. She hadn’t been joking at all.
“My father considered me a failure and sent me here to learn the ropes because he actually realized I did even worse around him than in the presence of just about anyone else.”
This insight was so unexpected, Aeron had to force herself to focus solely on traffic for a few moments. Anger radiated from Sylvie and filled the silence in the car. She didn’t want to push for details, even if tons of questions crowded the tip of her tongue. What was Sylvie’s father like if he could intimidate this woman like he did? Even if Sylvie had been only twenty-five, one year younger than Aeron was now, he’d still wielded some strange power over her. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t that strange. Maeve reached for Aeron all the way from the grave.
“Daniel Thorn. You might as well know a few things about him,” Sylvie said in a dark voice. “After all, you’re going to come face-to-face with him soon enough, and he sniffs out fear or nervousness like a predator. Some would call him exactly that. His family has ruled the Swedish financial market for centuries. Banks, corporations, real estate, and lately, which he never mentions, refugees.”
“What do you mean, refugees?” The latter astonished Aeron.
“There’s a lot of money to be made providing housing to refugees seeking asylum in Sweden. I’m proud of my country for accepting so many people at our borders and showing them such support. My father sees the business opportunity and has bought real estate and also built some facilities that he rents to the state. It’s good money. The state needs the housing, yet the fact that my father feels it’s really beneath him makes my skin crawl.”
“That’s…unexpected.”
“Which part?” Sylvie waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t answer that.”
“I can tell your dad seems like a hard-nosed businessman. But I don’t get how you’re such a success at Thorn Industries USA. You’ve even been on the cover of Forbes with Helena Forsythe and Eleanor Ashcroft.” Aeron cheeks warmed. “I Googled you early on.”
“You did, huh?” Oddly, Aeron’s comment seemed to soften Sylvie’s tone. “I Googled you and came up with pretty much nothing.”
“That’s reassuring. For now.”
“I’ll say.” Sylvie went silent. “As it turned out, being away from my father and being allowed to blossom at my own pace was just the right way for me to learn. I employed my first assistant, Mark, using my own money, and his patience and loyalty made all the difference. Coming into this part of Thorn’s with very little self-esteem also meant I wasn’t a cocky, know-it-all boss’s daughter, but someone willing to listen and learn.”
“You came in with your cup empty.”
“Excuse me?”
“Those who think they know everything and act obnoxiously cocky, their cups are already full. They don’t have any room for new knowledge and never learn a thing unless they realize that fact.” Aeron reached across the gearshift and was patting Sylvie’s knee reassuringly before she realized her own intention.
“Thanks. That might have been why I got off to a good start.” Sylvie’s voice was strained, but she didn’t say “hands off” or something similar, which was a relief. “Of course I ran into some people who thought I’d sailed in on a shrimp sandwich—what?”
“A what?” Laughing, Aeron covered her mouth. “A shrimp sandwich?”
“Ah. It doesn’t translate well.” Sylvie chuckled. “But you get the idea.”
“I do.”
“The one time I ran into serious trouble, it wasn’t from anyone in power at the daughter company here.” All joy seeped out of Sylvie’s voice again. “It was from my father.”
*
Manhattan, 2006
“Have they lost their minds over there?” Daniel Thorn’s voice boomed over the phone, making him sound as if he were in the next room rather than across the ocean. “How they can even contemplate making you CEO is beyond me. I won’t allow it.”
“I don’t think it’s up to you, Father.” As a child Sylvie had called her father daddy, but that was a long time ago. Now, at age thirty-one, she stuck to the more formal way of addressing him. He probably didn’t care one way or the other. “The board of directors has voted.”
“That spineless Harry Stone. I’ll fire him the first chance I get.” Clearly seething now, Daniel growled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d slept with the lot of them.”
“Father!”
“Daniel!”
This was when Sylvie and her father realized Camilla was on another phone, listening in. Sylvie was grateful because, if anyone had any pull with Daniel, it was his wife. She’d grown increasingly less impressed with her husband’s methods over the years.
“Camilla, I—”
“If I hear you talk to our daughter like that one more time, you won’t know what hit you,” Camilla said, her voice filled with icicles. “What a foul thing to say to her, to anyone. You’ll be lucky if she ever forgives you for that one.”
“But, Camilla, they’ve made her—”
“I heard. I heard everything.” Camilla dismissed him with ease. “Congratulations, darling. That’s a tremendous achievement, and I think you’re going to do the Thorn name proud. Perhaps even rectify some of the reputation your father has bestowed upon it by being less cordial.”
“Thanks, Mom.” To hear this from her mother didn’t erase the hurt her father caused, but it was still nice. “Father, I’ll talk to you as soon as I’ve reviewed all the reports my department managers are putting together.”
“And how’s that going to happen? How will you possibly be able to?” Obviously, Daniel was trying to soften his tone, as his wife was still listening in.
“The same way I’ve made it work the last six years.” She refused to share anything about Mark. He was leaving as her personal assistant, and she’d offered him a good position at the sales department, which he’d gladly accepted. Now she’d employ two assistants, as one would be at her side, reviewing all documents with her, and the other running her office. Daniel didn’t need to know any of this.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“For heaven’s sake, let her go, Daniel,” Camilla said and sighed. “Sylvie, I’m coming over for my autumn shopping in a couple of weeks. We’ll celebrate then.”
“Uhm…”
“I thought it was a good opportunity, as your father’s spending two weeks in China at the time.”
Relieved, Sylvie began to smile. “Sounds good, Mom. See you then.”
“I’ll let you know in more detail.”
“Good-bye, Father. I’m sorry this was such a disappointment for you.” Sylvie had to say something.
“Hmm. Well. Perhaps if you’re not a disaster, we can spin it to the press the right way.”
Oh, God. Sylvie covered her eyes. “Bye.” She hung up and placed the phone on the nightstand before she lost her temper completely and crushed it against the wall.
It was high time to put her plans into action. She couldn’t put it off. She couldn’t let her father make her a weird sort of “look what I managed to achieve in the face of adversity” poster child. He’d humiliated her once too ofte
n, and this last offensive remark was so hurtful and out of line, she needed an escape route.
Several old comments from Daniel echoed in her mind. “Why can’t you just apply yourself?” “You’ll be lucky to flip burgers at McDonald’s.” “I paid enough for tutors for you to feed a small country, and still you fail.” “How you made it through the School of Business, Economics and Law, I’ll never know. Must have been because they knew you were a Thorn.”
Sylvie clenched her jaws and her fists so hard, it hurt. She’d been an average student at the university in Gothenburg, but she’d never cheated or been given any special treatment. To the contrary, she’d had to fight hard for every grade, and the only advantage she’d received was when she couldn’t find the textbooks in audio format and someone was appointed to read to her. That and giving her exams orally could hardly be considered perks for being a Thorn.
Determined to be successful as CEO for Thorn’s in the US while starting her own company based on her own painstakingly developed plans, Sylvie tried to disregard the hollow feeling in her stomach.
A very small part of her had hoped Daniel would finally recognize her ability and be proud of her. Clearly this would never happen.
Chapter Fourteen
Adirondacks—Present Day
“Finally!” Aeron’s cheerful voice made Sylvie jerk and sit up straight. The rocking motion of the pickup truck as they drove along the winding roads in the Adirondacks had put her to sleep. Now she glanced around her and saw a vast lawn leading all the way down to a lake. To the left sat a log cabin, not unlike the one her parents had in the north of Sweden, but a lot smaller.
“God. That last part was murderous. When you have only another half hour to go, why does that half hour feel like half a day?” Aeron shook her head and stepped out of the car.
Sylvie did the same on her side of the vehicle, remembering at the last moment that she was climbing down from the door opening, rather than up like she did in regular cars. Her Porsche was so low, it actually hurt her back sometimes to get out with reasonable grace.
Outside, the narrow heels of her favorite ankle boots sank a few inches into the grass. Sylvie didn’t care. She was busy taking in the beautiful scenery. The leaves on trees still had a light-green hue from spring, and the lawn virtually billowed down toward the lake. She thought she could spot a wooden dock at the edge of the lake and immediately thought of how long it had been since she swam in anything but a pool. As a child she’d always played in the lake not far from her parents’ cabin. Nowadays, she did her laps in the pool at her gym located on the roof of her condominium building. Definitely not the same.
“Pity I didn’t bring a swimsuit.” Sylvie didn’t realize she spoke out loud before Aeron answered.
“I have spare ones. You’re taller than me, but I’m, uhm, curvier, so I think one of them might fit you.”
The tone Aeron used when she spoke of her own curves made Sylvie swallow hard, and she had to fight off images of Aeron in a swimsuit. “Thanks,” she murmured. “We’ll see if we have time.”
“The pace is slower here, so I bet we will. Let me show you the guest room. It’s tiny, but it’ll give you some privacy.” She motioned toward the cabin and reached for what turned out to be a large, old-fashioned key, stuck to something underneath one of the windowsills. This truly was the countryside. Not even her parents were that casual about security. Their cabin had all the bells and whistles when it came to alarms.
As did Aeron, it turned out, when they stepped indoors. The key was only one way of opening the front door. Aeron tapped in a six-digit code on a touchscreen behind a weatherproof lid next to the door handle. The door clicked open and she held it for Sylvie to enter.
“Do I take my shoes off?” Sylvie asked, knowing that some Americans wanted you to do so, and others considered it downright weird.
“Either way’s fine, but I suggest keeping them on if you didn’t bring indoor shoes. I haven’t gotten around to installing floor heating yet.”
“I don’t think they’re dirty.” Sylvie wiped her feet on the doormat one more time to be sure before she continued into an open-plan kitchen and living-room area, all very rustic with exposed pine logs and cabinets. Except for the stainless-steel appliances, the rest of the cabin boasted enormous log walls, but oddly enough it all went well together. The kitchen island with its dark-granite top looked well used and suggested Aeron enjoyed cooking and baking.
“To the left of the island.” Aeron pointed toward a narrow opening that turned out to lead to an equally narrow staircase.
Upstairs, Aeron guided her to the guest room, which was indeed small but decorated in a way that fit the rusticity. A blue-and-white quilted bedspread on top of the twin bed matched the white linen curtains with blue trim. The room contained only a small dresser and an exposed clothes rack in addition to the bed and nightstand.
“We’ll have to share the large family-size bathroom up here, and there’s a half bath downstairs at the foot of the stairs.” Aeron shoved her hands into her pockets as if she was bracing herself against scorn or criticism from Sylvie. She obviously thought Sylvie was a hothouse flower, but she wasn’t, and obviously, neither was Aeron.
“Thank you. I really like this room. Is yours across the hallway?”
Relaxing visibly, Aeron smiled again. “Yes. It’s marginally bigger than this but at least can fit a queen-size bed. A girl’s got to have her luxuries, you know.”
“Damn straight,” Sylvie said and returned the smile. It became increasingly easier to loosen up around this woman. Right now, Aeron stood leaning against the door frame, one leg bent in front of the other and looking a little tired after the five-hour drive with only a few pit stops, but still so attractive. “Why don’t we go unpack the groceries we bought in that quaint little grocery store, and then maybe we can fire up your grill and make kabobs? I’ll even cook since you did all the driving.”
Aeron slumped sideways a little and her smile grew lopsided. “You’re on. I’ll go light the grill since I use the old-school type with real coals.”
“Even better.” Sylvie left her bags where they stood in the room and followed Aeron downstairs. As her hostess walked out on a deck via the back door, she made her way back to the car and unloaded the groceries. It took her two trips to carry everything back, and as she returned the second time, she met a frowning Aeron.
“You didn’t have to haul all that. I would’ve helped.”
“If you feel like helping even more, you can make us some iced tea or something. Nothing caffeinated or I’ll be chatting your ear off all evening.” Sylvie began filling the freezer with the new groceries.
“What? I find that hard to believe. You don’t seem like the chatty type.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Caffeine, or for that matter, wine or alcohol, can make me quite talkative.” Sylvie peered at Aeron, who was busy running the faucet. “Someone told me once I have three stages. Chatty, nostalgic, and lights out.”
Aeron guffawed. “Now there’s some useful information. Nostalgic, huh?”
“Don’t ask. I have no idea. Apparently I can become reminiscent with someone I’ve just met if I have a glass of wine too many.”
“Wow.” Aeron pulled something from the freezer and stirred it into the tall glasses of cold water. “Here you go. Some of Mrs. Gordimer’s homemade lemonade. She freezes it so she doesn’t have to add, and I quote, any funny stuff to make it last.”
“Good thinking.” Accepting one of the glasses, Sylvie tasted the pink beverage. It tasted sweet yet slightly acidic, all in all wonderful. Gulping half of it down, she sighed contentedly. “I have to send Mrs. Gordimer a thank-you note. That’s amazing.”
“She’s a lovely lady of almost ninety. Her son owns the grocery store we shopped at. He’s begged her to let him sell the lemonade in the store, but she claims that it’s a gift among friends only.”
“I like her even more.” Browsing through some drawers, Sylvie found metal kab
ob sticks. After dicing mushrooms, peppers, onions, squash, and tomatoes, and slicing ears of corn, she pushed them quickly onto the sticks and put them on a tray. “If you want meat, you can add that to yours.”
“No need. I’ll slice some bread, and we can have that with butter on the grill and put some herbs on top. That should be filling enough.”
They carried everything outside, where Aeron had set a picnic table with a white-and-red checkered tablecloth. “I know,” she said and smoothed it down, “it’s clichéd.”
“It’s clichéd for a reason. It’s very pretty.” Sylvie held her hand just above the glowing coals and judged they were hot enough. Placing the kabobs on the grill located at the far end of the table, she sat down next to Aeron, both of them with their backs against the table, and sipped her lemonade. “I wonder how I can befriend Mrs. Gordimer enough for her to give me some lemonade.” She was only half joking.
“No idea. I didn’t think I’d done anything to deserve it, but two years ago, she gave me a jar. Last year I got two, and this summer, we’ll see. If she gives me more than two, it might be enough that you’re my friend. I can give you one.”
Sylvie turned her head slowly toward Aeron, who looked entirely serious. “For real?” Had Aeron really meant it?
“For real.” Her mouth stretching into a smile, Aeron’s eyes were still guarded, as if she thought Sylvie might shoot this idea down. Or laugh. Or both.
“Then I hope I’ll become a lemonade-worthy friend.” She patted Aeron’s arm, much like Aeron had done with her knee in the car.
They sat in the half-shade under the large maple trees, waiting for the kabobs to cook. The sun came and went behind small tufts of clouds, a soft breeze kept it from getting too hot next to the grill, and Sylvie couldn’t remember feeling this peaceful in a long time. She adored the hustle and bustle of Manhattan and the world of business when it kept her on edge and ready to strike. Here she sat with a woman hardly anyone knew existed, or had forgotten about at least, and could actually breathe. Otherwise when life slowed down, old ghosts appeared and clung to her back, whispering of childhood pains and teenage traumas, which really should be over and done with by now, but weren’t.
