“Elena, please ask Sam to call me this afternoon.” I scan through the mountain of documents in Cam’s file then press the intercom once more. The legal jargon blurs my vision. “And get the legal team in the conference room. Now.”
Within minutes, seven men line the sides of the long table. The male to female ratio in this company is atrocious. I make a mental note to seek out qualified women employees. These men are my father’s friends, members of the “boys club”. Their faces reflect tolerance but nothing more. I call the meeting to order without prelude. “Please explain the details of Cameron Blackwood’s partnership to me—in plain English.”
Vince, the head of the legal team runs through the terms, including Cameron’s ability to call for dissolution of the partnership without cause. Nothing else stands out as unique or consequential. What is Cameron alluding to? I tap impatient fingers on the conference table.
“Perhaps we should call Sam?” the eldest attorney suggests. “He has a good grasp of the situation.”
My temper begins to sizzle. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the CEO.”
“We don’t mean to be disrespectful,” says the man to my left. “But Sam’s got experience in this area. Maybe you should leave the specifics to someone more qualified.”
Did he really say that? The other men nod in agreement. I close my eyes and count to ten before speaking. “Like it or not, I’m calling the shots. If you’re not okay with that, perhaps we should part ways.”
The color drains from the man’s face. He sits back in his chair. “I’ve been with this company for twenty-five years. I’m sure your father will have something to say about that.”
“If you want to make twenty-six, you need to readjust your thinking,” I reply. “My father isn’t coming back. He’s bedridden and unable to speak. If he recovers, he’s going to prison for tax evasion. This company is in crisis. I don’t have time to stroke egos or play games. If you want to walk, you’re welcome to leave. The door is that way.” Uncomfortable quiet circles the room. I stare at the men and lift my chin. Beneath the table, my knees tremble. After a long minute, I clear my throat. “Good. Let’s get back to business. I need to figure out a solution to this problem. Today.”
A young woman with vibrant red hair enters the room with a carafe of coffee. She sets it on the credenza and fills two pitchers with ice water at the wet bar. I’ve seen her around the office before, but her name escapes me.
“What about his profit structure?” I had assumed it was the same as mine. The sound of shuffling papers fills the silence.
“He doesn’t draw a salary,” says one of the men.
“Then how does he get paid? It has to be in the contract.” The men study the table top. No one speaks. “Really? What am I paying you guys for?”
Vince clears his throat. “It’s not our job to police Blackwood’s bank accounts.”
“These contracts were drawn up by a former associate,” someone else says.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
“Excuse me.” The young woman lifts a hand, glancing nervously in my direction. “Mr. Blackwood donates all his profits from Seaforth Media to charity.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, sitting up in my chair. The girl is in her early twenties, plump, and wears thick, black-framed glasses. “I’m Mr. Watt’s assistant.” She nods toward a short, bald man two chairs down from Vince. “And my friend is an administrator there. They work with victims of domestic violence and provide shelters for battered women.” She presses her lips together and glances at the men, like she’s afraid she’s said too much.
This tidbit sucks the breath from my lungs. I’ve been accusing Cam of greed and unscrupulous behavior when his actions suggest the complete opposite. Snippets of our conversation in the gazebo float to the surface of my memories. With all his success, he’s taken the initiative to give back to those less fortunate. Failure of Seaforth Media would mean the end of his charity. No wonder he’s pissed. I pass a hand over my forehead. I’m such a bitch.
“What’s your name?” I ask the young woman, pushing aside my self-loathing. There will be plenty of time to chastise myself later.
“Flannery.” She pauses to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “O’Dell. Flannery O’Dell.”
I scribble the name in the margin of my notes. She’s given me more information in ten seconds than this entire room of advisors has in a week. “Do you have a degree, Flannery?”
“Yes. Two, actually, from Brown.”
“And you’re making coffee?” The words stick in my throat. “Come see me tomorrow, would you? Get with Elena. She’ll find a time for you in my schedule.”
Flannery’s face flushes. “Sure.” The door closes quietly behind her.
I send the men on their way. I need time to process the information. Cam was right. I made a mistake taking over for my father. I have no idea what I’m doing. The players on the field are twice my size with tons more experience. Maybe I should resign, turn the reins over to Sam, who seems to handle these kinds of problems without blinking. But failure has never been an option. I’ll die before I give Cam or my legal team the satisfaction of seeing me fold.
The intercom beeps, and Elena’s disembodied voice cuts through my thoughts. “Ms. Seaforth? I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have your children on line four. I thought you’d want to talk to them.”
“Yes.” A surge of joy replaces the fiasco of my morning. I hit the speakerphone and pick up the call. “Hi, babies.”
“Hello, Mama,” they reply in unison. Their voices are a balm to my soul.
“How are you? I miss you so much.” Tears burn my eyes. We’ve been apart for over a month. The longest we’ve ever been separated. My chest aches with maternal need. When I close my eyes, I can smell their clean scent, their shampoo, the fabric softener in their clothes.
“Gaston broke Papa’s camera, and Papa grounded him from his phone,” Lisle says. “But I’ve been good, Mama, just like I promised.”
“She has not,” Gaston protests with a growl reminiscent of my father, whom he’s never met. “She won’t stay out of my room.”
They speak with a peculiar mix of English and French accents. During my marriage to Giles, we moved around a lot, splitting our time between a flat in London and our chateau in Paris, with a short stint in Germany. Both children are fluent in four languages, learning new ones with ease, but they never picked up my American accent.
“Gaston, Lisle is only six. You need to cut her some slack. You’re the big brother. You have to be patient with her.” He sighs dramatically. “And Lisle, you listen to your brother, okay?”
“Okay.” Lisle’s tone turns petulant. “When are you coming home, Mama? I miss you.”
The tears renew at her question. Even though Giles and I explained the divorce to the kids, Lisle still has trouble grasping the logistics of our new living arrangements. I swipe at the moisture on my cheeks with a tissue before answering. “Mama lives in Laurel Falls now, remember? And you’re coming to stay with me in the fall, just like we talked about. You’ll have a brand-new school and new friends. And you’ll spend the summers with Papa.”
“I don’t see why we have to change schools,” Gaston says. “Why can’t we stay here? I don’t want to move.”
Of the two children, Gaston is having the most difficulty coping with the new living arrangements. I hear the anger in his tone, renewing my feelings of guilt for uprooting their lives. More doubts fill my head. Maybe I should have stayed with Giles until they were out of school. Our marriage, however, had become intolerable for both of us. I never loved him, and I seriously doubt that he ever loved me.
“You’re going to love it here, and you’ll make new friends.” I can hear his eyes rolling across the phone lines. “Trust me.”
Their impromptu call brightens my day, and by the time I hang up the phone, my attitude is brighter as well. I’ll figure out a way to get past the fiasco of Seaforth
Media.
Instead of calling, Sam and Dakota, arrive in my office without warning. Judging by the muscle ticking in Sam’s cheek, he’s not pleased. He looks like my dad: implacable, relentless, and dangerous. Dakota, however, is the picture of calm. She’s wearing a blush suit, her chestnut hair piled high on her head. I extend my hand in greeting, but she draws me into a quick hug.
“We heard about Blackwood. I’m so sorry, Vanessa.” Dakota’s smile is sympathetic but not pitying. I’m growing to like her more and more every day.
“How can you know? It hasn’t even been two hours.”
“Word travels fast in the business world.” Sam raises his phone to show a picture of me storming into Cam’s office for the second time that morning. “And it helps to have a mole planted here and there.”
“Baby, your sneakiness never ceases to amaze me,” Dakota says and lifts on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He wraps an arm around her waist. Their love gives me hope for the future. They’ve survived a devastating divorce and managed to piece their relationship back together, despite the odds against them.
“Just trying to keep you on your toes.” His attention turns back to me. I feel like a naughty teenager outside the principal’s office, about to get disciplined. “I get that you and Blackwood have history, but this is going to have far-reaching consequences, Vanessa. I’ve already had a call from two of the shareholders questioning your motives. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I get it.” I want to hang my head in shame, but I’m too proud, and I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Don’t yell at her.” Dakota places both hands on her hips and squares off in front of her husband. “She’s doing the best she can. You said yourself this was going to be a nightmare. Stop bitching and help her.”
I cough to cover a chuckle.
Sam scowls and says the one word I’ve never heard him say to anyone else, “Sorry.” He draws in a breath and heads to the window. “Just tell me you have a plan.”
“Not yet, but I will.” My words are confident, but inside, I’m a mess of insecurity. The only thing I’ve got going for me is an infinite sense of positivity. Nothing is going to stop me from repairing the situation. “Did you know that he donates all of his profits from Seaforth Media to a domestic violence fund?”
“No.” Sam doesn’t seem impressed. “But I know that he blackmailed our father into becoming a partner and naming him as his replacement here. That’s the kind of guy he is.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Blackmail. Coercion. It’s when one person uses damaging information against another party as a means of manipulation.” Sam lifts an eyebrow.
“I know what it means, smart ass.” We scowl at each other. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe it.” He takes a seat on the corner of my desk and exhales before continuing. “I don’t have all the details, but I guess Mom was one of his clients. Blackwood threatened to leak their affair to the press. You know how Maxwell is. He never cared if anyone knew about his affairs, but he sure as hell didn’t want it getting around that his wife was out shagging a man-whore. It would have ruined his macho image.”
The words crush my already fragile heart. “Cam wouldn’t do that. He told me it wasn’t true.”
Sam shrugs. “Don’t be naïve.”
“I know him better than you.” Despite our broken relationship, I have an irrational need to defend Cam. The denials tumble out. “He’s done some bad things, but he’s not like that.”
Sam’s lips tremble. He stands and slams a hand on the desk. “He is like that, Vanessa. That’s the kind of man you’re dealing with. An extortionist.”
“Enough bickering. This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Dakota spreads her hands between us, forming an invisible barrier. “You Seaforths are exhausting.”
My head begins to pound. This job is taking a toll on my mental and physical health. No wonder my dad had a stroke. I place my palms on the cool desktop and try to think. Sam retreats to the window again, turning his back to me. Dakota rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“There’s more to the story than I told you.” The truth about Gaston burns on my tongue. I need to tell someone before I get any deeper in this mess. “Cam is Gaston’s father.”
Dakota’s eyes grow rounder. I can’t see Sam’s face, but his shoulders lift toward his ears. He hangs his head before shoving his hands into his pockets. “My God, Vanessa. Are you kidding me?”
“Why would I kid about that? I haven’t told either one of them, but I’m going to.” A tidal wave of relief washes over me as the burden of secrecy lifts.
“Does Giles know?” Dakota asks. Her aquamarine eyes swim with sympathy. She gives my shoulder a squeeze.
“Yes. He’s always known. We haven’t told Gaston, but he’s going to figure it out sooner or later.”
“When Blackwood finds out, we’re going to be screwed.” Sam scrubs a hand over his face. “We’ll never be rid of him. Have you consulted legal counsel? What about a paternity test?”
“Would you give me a minute? I can’t think when you’re shouting.” The throbbing behind my eyes intensifies. I massage my temples and groan. “Do either of you have an aspirin?”
“I need a freaking Valium,” Sam mutters.
“No wonder you’re stressed out, Vanessa. This is too much. You need to take a break.” Dakota digs in her purse and pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen. “I’m calling Venetia. We’re having a girls’ night out.”
“I don’t have time for fun.” Not now. Not when the whole world is tumbling down around my shoulders.
“You’re not going to solve this problem overnight. And you’ve got an entire building full of people to work on the business side of things. Let them help you.” While she talks, she goes to the bathroom and fills a glass with water. When she comes back, she hands the glass to me. I open my mouth to protest, but she lifts a hand to silence me. “One of our friends is having a birthday party Saturday night, and you’re going. We’ll make it a girls’ night out. Right, Sam?”
“God help me,” he groans. “Sure. Anything you say, baby.”
“You’ll come to our house tonight for supper. And afterward, the three of us will put our heads together about your situation and figure out a way to handle it.”
“Thank you.” Dakota’s calm reassurance soothes my frayed nerves. I give her a grateful smile. I appreciate her kind spirit, but I’m not so sure there’s hope for my future.
Chapter 23
Cam - Twelve Years Ago
DECEMBER ARRIVES WITH a vengeance, dumping a foot of snow on New York City. Winter break begins, a welcome reprieve from classes. The holidays loom around the corner. I try to pretend they don’t exist. Christmas brings back painful memories of my mom. The ache of her loss never lessens. Sometimes I wonder about my grandmother, aunts, and uncles in New Orleans. I haven’t seen them since Dad’s murder trial, although I send them money on a regular basis. I don’t fit in with them anyway, as they are always quick to point out. My skin is too light, my eyes too blue, and my accent too northern, along with a host of other criticisms.
While my classmates travel to their respective families, I spend the time working on my computer hardware project, honing the details, hoping for a second chance with NASA. They rejected my invention the first time but left the door open for any future refinements of the project. Their rebuff only fuels my drive, and I’ve been working day and night to make the needed changes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Nantucket with me?” Tristan asks for the third time this week. “You’ve been working way too hard. Take a break. Live a little. Lots of babes up there.”
“I’m good. Thanks.” Although I have plenty of invitations to leave the city, I prefer to hole up in the apartment. Kate is eager to spend a few weeks in Cancun. Audrey invites me to Miami for the holidays. And Celeste wants me to accompany her to San Francisco. I decline all the offers, especially California. Vanessa
is there, and I’ll be too tempted to look her up. Even though months have passed since we met, I still think about her.
The memory of her sun-kissed skin, the wind ruffling her long blond hair, is worn and faded, but I can’t let it go. She’s the thing that gets me through dry, boring appointments with women I don’t like. Lately, I’ve begun to obsess over what it might be like to have Vanessa as a girlfriend, to be a “normal” guy.
“Alright. Suit yourself.” Before Tristan disconnects, he makes one more offer. “If you change your mind, you can always fly out. Mom will be drunk, and Trish is in Aspen. It’ll just be us guys.”
“I can’t, but thanks anyway, man. You’re a good friend.” Emotional admissions of this sort are few and far between for me, but Tristan is the closest thing to family I’ve got.
“Whatever.” I can hear his eyes rolling through the phone line. “Merry Christmas, bud.”
“You, too.” I turn my attention back to my work. No sooner do I set the phone down than it rings again. I answer without looking at the caller ID, assuming it’s Tristan again. “Still not going, Tristan.”
“Cam?” A female says my name. My mouth goes dry at the familiar voice. “Cam, it’s Vanessa.”
The world stops turning then starts again at breakneck speed. At first, I think it’s Tristan pulling a prank. A glance at the caller ID causes my heart to skip a beat. “Yes?”
“Hey, how are you?” Her tone softens, rife with uncertainty. I stare at the phone, disbelieving. “I hope it’s okay that I called.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” The hardware is instantly forgotten. A rush of adrenalin barrels through my veins. “I’m good. How are you?”
Her tone brightens at my enthusiasm. “Great, thanks. I’m in the city for winter break. I thought maybe we could catch up, if you’re not busy.”
“Well—” I eyeball the project on the desk, knowing I should work, but unable to pass up the opportunity to see her.
“If you can’t, I totally understand.”
Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel Page 10
